#but i do think that tub should stop being filled

[fayeandknight]

I had a long, (I think) eloquent post about this but Tumblr ate it.

So here's the short version.

I can be of the opinion that certain kinds of dogs are poorly bred and shouldn't continue to be produced without hating the individual dogs themselves. Can they sometimes work out? Yes! Are they worthy of love and a good life? Absolutely! Can they accomplish amazing things? Hell yeah!

But do I think they should continue to be bred? No. Because dogs deserve quality of life and breeding unsound dogs, more often than not, produce puppies/dogs with behavioral/health issues and I feel that's a gamble too far into unfavorable odds to be fair to the dogs and the people who love them.

[kteezy997]

The Candy Man- Part Two//W.W.

Warnings: smut, bathtub sex, curse words, some dirty talk, Willy wanting to fill reader with his cum

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. Your candy man, your Willy Wonka. You were convinced that his wonder-filled green eyes were burned into your memory forever. Your mind raced with images of his springy dark curls, his creamy pale skin, and his big cock that filled you to the brim. Your pussy ached just thinking about it.

It was a week to the day that he came knocking again. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you opened your door to reveal Willy: brown top hat, purple coat, and the sweetest of smiles.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” you uttered dreamily. Your prayers had been answered: Willy had come back.

“Hey, y/n. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, you’re certainly not bothering me.”

Willy smiled kindly at you, then continued, “I have just been thinking about you, and I wonder if maybe what happened was wrong. I mean, it was absolutely wonderful, but you are a married woman. I would hate for your husband to find out-"

You cut him off as he was speaking, “Don’t worry, Willy. He will never know. It’s our little secret.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “alright then. That’s great. Um,” he looked down at his boots, shyly, “do you mind if I come in? There was something else I wanted to ask you.”

“Oh yes, of course, come in!” you said, maybe a little too enthusiastically, and you stepped aside, letting him by.

Willy walked over to the couch, rubbing his cold hands together. He did look rather cute with his rosy cheeks and slightly pink nose from the briskness outside. “You really should stay inside today, it’s too cold for you to be out there, y/n.” he said.

You blushed at his sweet words, “Should I get you some hot tea to warm you up? Or maybe some coffee?”

“No, no, I really don’t want to trouble you.” he insisted, “Come, sit with me if you would?”

You obliged him, and sat down next to him.

"Look, the real reason that I came by is to ask you if...it was okay, what I did? Was it any good?" Willy cleared his throat, apprehensively, "Did I do a good job?"

You laughed and touched his hand, "Yes, you did. I came twice, Willy. You were a natural. Better than my husband, might I add. And I've been having sex with him for years now. Well, not hardly at all lately, but that's neither here nor there." you shrugged.

"It's just that it was my first time, and I wanted to be sure that you enjoyed it as much as I did." his cheeks became a little bit flushed again, but it was not from the cold this time.

"I definitely did, Willy." you said sincerely, intertwining your fingers with his.

He softly squeezed your hand and nonchalantly looked over to the fireplace area. He shuddered ever so slightly, "That rug."

"Does it do things to you like it does to me? The memory?" you purred as you leaned in close to his ear with an idea creeping into your mind. You bit your lip.

"Yea-yeah, it does. I remember exactly what you looked like laying on that rug.” he turned to look in your eyes. The tension was palpable as your faces were just a few inches apart. “I can't get you out of my head, y/n."

"Ya know, I was about to draw a bath for myself before you came knocking, would you like to get in with me?"

"More than anything." Willy blurted out without hesitation.

.......

Willy had gotten into the hot water first, and you straddled his lap. With the both of you in the tub, the water level was dangerously high. But even if it were to spill onto the bathroom floor, you didn't notice. You were ravaging his lips, and he ran his wet hands all over your body, above and under the water.

Steam rose up from the water, creating a sweltering atmosphere. Your bodies were flushed.

You sank down onto his hard cock, and he rutted up into you. You cried out in pleasure as it slid all the way in. Your breasts bounced, tapping the surface of water and splashing in Willy's face. You grabbed his cheeks and kissed him sloppily as you fucked.

You did your best to grind your hips and keep up with him, but it was a losing battle. You were quickly brought to an orgasm with how fast he was thrusting up into you.

You whimpered as your body went limp, but Willy put his arms around you, and continued to pump his cock in and out. "Oh my God! Willy…Willy Wonka!" you cried, having never felt so good in all your life.

"I gonna come, y/n." he stuttered as his pace slowed and he thrusts became sloppy. He grabbed handfuls of your ass, and gave you a few more strokes as he kissed your face. He groaned in a huff, and you felt his cum filling your pussy.

You hugged him tightly, just needing to be close to him. Willy nuzzled into your neck and you rested your chin on his head. You put your hand on the back of his head, his curls at the nape of his neck were soaked as you pet them.

He looked up at you, his arms still linked around your body, "Kiss me?"

You leaned in and smashed your lips to his, "Mmm." you moaned happily against his mouth. You pulled away and he snuck in another peck to your swollen lips. You put your hands on either side of his chiseled cheekbones, "My angel candy man, dropped on my doorstep, so yummy and cute, with a cock made by the devil." you grinned, kissing him again. You couldn’t get enough. He was addictive like chocolate.

Willy chuckled, "I don't want to be done yet. Need to fill you with more of my cream.”

"Ugh, yes, treat me like one of your fine chocolates, Willy. Fill me, I want it.” you begged, moaning into his lips in another eager kiss.

"Turn over, please?" he asked, in between pecks, puppy dog eyes in full effect.

You couldn't deny his request. He was all you wanted, all you thought about and longed for, and you were going to take him as long as you wanted, as long as he was there. You nodded, swirling yourself in the water so your back was to him. Willy pushed you forward, careful to keep your head above water, and he pulled your hips up. With your ass to the surface and facing him, he held your waist, and slid his dripping wet cock inside you again.

"Ah!" you moaned as he thrusted fast, splashing the water and making it slosh out on the floor. The bathroom was filled with the loud splashing noises he created. You braced yourself on the bottom of the tub with your hands. The bath water sprinkled your face and hair with warm droplets as you took Willy's cock over and over.

After a moment, he let out a huff and you felt him release inside you once more. "Wheeew, sorry y/n. It may take more practice for me to last longer." his breathing was uneven as he spoke. He leaned over your back to leave a kiss on top of your head.

"No," you panted, "it's alright, it was amazing. You bring me more chocolate next week and we’ll practice some more.”

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @chalametbich

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (part 6)

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Here it is, after (quite) a long wait. Thank you for your patience! Oh, I actually shed a couple of tears writing this chapter, just warning you guys! I hope you’ll enjoy reading this <3

You couldn’t believe your eyes. So much in fact that you had to rub them to make sure you were seeing straight. Larissa Weems was sitting at your kitchen table.

“Just a second,” you muttered.

You walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, not even bothering to use a glass and choosing instead to drink straight from it. You couldn’t remember being that thirsty ever before and the water didn’t seem to help at all.

“I guess we need to talk.” You said as you placed the bottle back inside the fridge.

“Yes, we do. But I don’t think you’re in a fit state to have a serious conversation right now. How’s your head?”

“Hmpf-“ you groaned and looked down, noticing that you were still wearing your outfit from the previous night. You reeked. A nauseating mix of sweat and alcohol.

Larissa noticed the way you stared at your dress and pushed a small sympathetic smile.

“Would you like to take a shower?” She offered.

“I think so, but I’m not sure I’ll have the strength for it.”

“Let me help.” She wasn’t offering this time.

Letting Larissa see you naked would have been a highly arousing thought a few weeks before, but not anymore. Not after what you had done to her.

You closed your eyes as she walked with you to the bathroom, listening to the muffled sounds of her stocking-clad feet against the wooden floor.

“Let me-“ Larissa said when you struggled to reach for the zipper at the back of your dress.

She carefully unzipped it and you heard her breath hitch in her throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Larissa quickly answered.

A bitter iron taste filled her mouth as she bit down on her tongue at the sight of the bruises on your spine. She would make that man pay. She didn’t know how yet, but she would.

She helped you step out of the dress that was pooling at your feet before her hands moved to unclasp your bra until she suddenly stopped herself.

“Are you alright with me removing your underwear?” She asked.

You stayed quiet for a few seconds. She was asking for your consent. You had treated her like shit and still, she was showing you sympathy.

“Yes.”

Larissa gave a small nod and unclasped your bra before removing your panties, making a point of keeping her eyes off your body as she did so.

“There,” she said, gesturing towards the shower.

She turned the water on and made sure it was at a nice temperature before letting you in.

You sighed with relief as you stepped under the warm water jet, the gentle pressure massaging your back.

“Should we start with your hair?” Larissa offered, to which you answered with a nod.

Having her hands in your hair would feel less awkward than on your body to start with.

She rolled up her sleeves and poured some shampoo in her hands, waiting for you to turn around before applying it to your hair. She was gentle with her movements, her fingertips massaging your scalp and making sure to thoroughly wash your hair.

You were lost in your thoughts when Larissa suddenly started humming a song, a soft melody that immediately made a lump grow in your throat. You felt like a child. For a moment you were sent back to your childhood home, sitting in the tub as a little girl as your mother bathed you. It must have been a Sunday, you could still smell the cake that was baking in the oven.

You were brought back to reality by Larissa carefully spinning you around.

“I’ll wash your body now if that’s alright.” She waited until you gave another nod before starting to wash your shoulders. You kept your eyes closed as she carefully moved down your body and Larissa wished she could have done the same. She felt like she was intruding, only adding more weight to what had happened to you the previous night.

You were grateful for the water that was falling down your face for it hid the silent tears that you had been shedding for a couple of minutes.

Your body suddenly twitched as you tried to hold back a sob, making Larissa look up at your face. She stood up from the kneeling position she had taken to wash your legs and gently cupped your cheek.

“Sweetling, are you alright?” She asked.

You only gave a nod as an answer, your throat too tight to say anything.

“Look at me,” she said.

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes only to meet Larissa’s worried ones.

She stepped back as soon as she noticed that you were crying, the warmth of her hand leaving your cheek. Larissa immediately thought that she had hurt you somehow and you watched as her mouth fell open as she searched for a way to apologise.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“What?” She frowned.

“I said-“ You took a deep shaky breath, feeling more tears threatening to spill. “I am so, so sorry Larissa.” You managed to say before bursting into tears and falling to your knees.

Larissa stayed still for a moment, watching your body jolt as you sobbed loudly.

“Oh, sweetling…” She knelt and gently placed her hand on your shoulder.

“N-no!” You hiccuped looking at Larissa. You hid your face in your hands and tried your best to calm your breathing down, Larissa’s thumb rubbing soothing circles on your arm.

“Why are you here?” You eventually managed to say after a few minutes. You didn’t give her any time to answer before you went on. “After what I did to you, why the fuck are you here? Being nice to me and taking care of me when you should be gloating about me getting what I deserve.”

“You did not deserve that!” Larissa said severely, cupping your cheek so you’d look at her. She looked into your eyes for a moment before looking down at her lap. “You don’t wish any ill will on those you love, no matter how badly they hurt you.” She said barely audibly.

Love.

There. She had said it.

Love.

The lump in your throat only grew bigger as you watched her blue eyes get glassy.

“I’m so sorry,” you said again. “If I had known-“You shook your head and burst into tears again, feeling both helpless and hopeless.

“I know.” Larissa nodded and took a deep breath. You don’t wish any ill will on those you love. She carefully wrapped her arms around your body and pulled you close, letting your wet skin and hair soak through the fabric of her dress.

You don’t know how long you stayed there, the both of you kneeling on the bathroom floor until you started shivering and Larissa decided to wrap you in a towel. She picked a pair of pyjamas from your wardrobe and helped you put them on before taking you back to the living room.

“I’ll make you a cup of tea, it might help.” Larissa said as you lay back down on the couch.

“That’s what he said.” You answered after a while, remembering some bits of your night.

“He?”

“The man,” you groaned softly. “The one who saved me… He reminded me of you.”

“Did he?” Larissa asked as she walked back to the couch only to find you hiding under a cushion.

She placed the cup on your coffee table and carefully lifted your head to let it rest on her lap while her fingers brushed through your hair.

“Get some more sleep, you need it.”

“Will you be there when I wake up?”

There was a second of silence before Larissa answered.

“You know I will.”

————————————————————————-

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @azu-zu @barbarasstar @witchesmortuary @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi @i-love-nerdy-stuff @scarlettssub @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

[frenziedfireworks]

Prefects Bathroom

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary : You couldn't help but want a bath in the prefects tub.. What happens when your rival finds you?

A/N : DAY ONE OF KINKTOBER !! I hope you enjoy :^)

CW : SMUT, 18+, Mean!Draco, Fem!Reader, dubcon, choking, degrading, orgasm denial

masterlist

You don’t know where the urge to bathe in the prefects tub came from but it was one you could not shake off. Day after day passed that you would think about it and finally the time came. You had enough of the thought bothering you. 

Your legs moved quickly as you avoided the prefects and made your way towards the bathroom. You had a few close run-ins but successfully made it. The room was exactly how you had imagined, and the water was already looking enticing. You turned on the soaps and began to strip, desperate to finally get respite. The bath was as good as your mind had convinced itself it would be. The water washed away at the aches and tensions in your muscles, your head leaning against the wall in bliss.

It wasn’t seconds later that the door opened and your heart stopped. You had forgotten to close the door.

You had forgotten to close the door?!

You pulled bubbles around you and tried to cover yourself as you met eyes with your intruder. Your heart stopped and no warmth within the bath could fill the cold void that hit you.

“What do we have here? Y/N out of bed and breaking the rules?” Malfoy sneered as he locked the door and moved just a bit closer. You could feel your blood boil and knew either way you were fucked. You had hated him since first year, finding his ego and arrogance to be over the top and disrespectful.

“Malfoy, do you have any manners? I’m nude. Give me some decency to at least get dressed please.” You growled out as his footsteps stopped and he smirked.

“Oh but dear, why should I do that? It’s not like you’re a human anyways. Little bug is begging for decency. Ha!” His eyes glared into yours awaiting what nasty retort you could make.

You were left in quite the conundrum. Your clothes were more than a few steps away and the bubbles weren’t going to last forever. On top of that, Malfoy was no gentleman and would definitely get a kick out of seeing you like this. So there was only one option left - get up and turn it on him.

You took a deep breath and slowly swam to the stairs, stepping out of the tub. You stared at Malfoy as his eyes widened and he took in your form. You came closer to him, your hand reaching out to barely brush his.

“Enjoying the show Malfoy? I’m sure you’ve never seen a woman before anyways.” You whispered and a groan left his lips. You laughed at his pathetic display and turned around to go grab your clothes. It was obvious that you had won the little battle, even if it was at the loss of your dignity.

At least you thought, until you felt his grip on your wrists and he turned you around.

“Of course I’ve seen women before. I’ve added up quite the list. I will enjoy adding your name to it.” Draco yanked you towards him and your eyes widened. Was he being serious? He seriously thinks you would let him have you?

“That’s priceless Malfoy. I would rather die than sleep with the likes of you.”

“Then you can die taking my cock.” Draco’s hand wandered up to your throat and tightened, his face dangerously close to yours. You felt dirty at the fact that you convulsed around nothing, his words lighting a flame throughout your body,

“This isn’t right.” You smacked at his chest and his grin only grew.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t fucking want it then.” Draco’s voice still held malice but it seemed more towards himself. You couldn’t help but stay silent as his hands continued down your chest. His finger danced around your nipple, his cold eyes watching exactly what made you writhe. He leaned in, breath mingling across your ear.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

It was as if something erupted in the both of you. Draco’s mouth was on yours in seconds, his hands roaming across your nude form. Your lips shaped into his as your hands threw his cloak on the ground, desperate to have him.

“Ah, now pretty girl wants me? Talked a big talk beforehand.” Draco cackled and you grimaced. He really knew how to push your buttons. Lucky for you, two could play at that game.

“You think I’m pretty?” 

The silence was deafening as Draco rolled his eyes and leaned away to lick a stripe down your neck.

“I’ll fuck the attitude right out of you.”

“Any day now then.” You tapped at his neck, granting you a harsh tug at your hair.

“Fucking brat.”

His fingers crawled down, resting right above where you needed him most. You knew better than to expect kindness from the man. You pulled at his hand and placed it on your cunt, much to his surprise.

“Naughty little slag.” Draco digit moved through your folds, taking its sweet time to gather your slick. You squirmed in pleasure, waiting as he teased your hole.

“You want me to finger fuck you darling?” Draco cooed against your ear and you nodded quickly. You were much too desperate to play this little game anymore, your body taking control of your mind.

“Hmm.. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous. Only for a little though.” Draco pushed his fingers into you, stretching you out. You gripped at his shoulders, small moans leaving your mouth as he began to pump in and out.

“D-Draco..” You whispered and he raised an eyebrow in mock confusion.

“Is something wrong dear?” His tone matched his force, the next pump deeper than the last. You couldn’t help but gasp and feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. 

“Aw, are you about to cum?” Draco’s thumb moved down to your nub, stroking it with fervor. Your arms tightened around him as you drew up and then all at once it was gone. 

You would kill him.

“What the fuck Malfoy?!” You screeched and his wicked laughs filled the room.

“You didn’t think I’d let you cum on my fingers? You’re not that special darling. You can take my cock like the whore you are and that’s it.” Draco grabbed at your waist and didn’t wait to line himself up. 

“You fucker-”

“Oh yes, I am going to fuck you.” Draco retorted, shoveling his cock into your sopping hole. All you could do was grasp at the wall as he pushed you against it, basically smothering you into the stone.

His hand gripped at your throat as the other dug into your fleshy hip. It was sure to leave bruises tomorrow but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when his cock pummeled in and out of you at such a pace that it left you breathless.

“I-I fucking hate you. Walking around with this pretty ass and your attitude. Fucking finally get to teach you a lesson.” Draco’s grunts filled the room as his cock slammed further than you thought imaginable. You could only moan in response, your head feeling a bit dizzy from the lack of oxygen and pleasure.

“Fuck. Take it. Your pretty pussy was meant for me to ruin it. You hear me?” Draco continued to mumble nonsense as you clenched around him, rapidly approaching your orgasm. 

“Dra-co..”

“I know darling. I can feel you clenching me.. Fucking cum and make a mess like the slut you are.”

His lewd words broke the gates, sending you to your much awaited orgasm. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you felt him spill all over your ass.

Your breaths were the only thing filling the empty bathroom for the next few minutes until Draco adjusted himself and picked up his cloak.

“Don’t think I like you now because of this. Once a cocksleeve, always a cocksleeve.” He sneered as he handed you your clothes, slowly strutting out of the room. His words may have been cruel but you would celebrate one victory - at least he didn't turn you in.

[cameronspecial]

we all kmow drew loves to read and staying in, let’s make Dad!Drew staying in for the weekend and read to his 2 yo daughter and everything (hanging out, taking cute pics, doing her hair, play house) while reader going out with her friends and she felt a little guilty but he assured her that he loves spending time with their baby, so she should stop worrying.

Me And My Lady

Pairing: Dad!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Suggestion of Sex At The End

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.7K

Masterlist

“You be Ken, Daddy, and I be Chelsea,” Elizabeth orders, handing her father the doll. Most kids are obsessed with the titular character of Barbibe; however, Drew’s daughter loves her Chelsea doll with a passion. He takes it without hesitation, “'Cause I'm just Ken, anywhere else I'd be a ten. Is it my destiny to live and die a life of blonde fragility?” The singing goes over his daughter’s head and she begins the dialogue of the game. He isn’t too sure what exactly is going on; only catching every other word. He does hear cheating and divorce though, so he makes a mental note to ask Y/N if she has been watching Real Housewives with their daughter again. 

Around half an hour later, the young girl complains about being hungry, so the two of them get to cook dinner. He watches as the small hand grips the spatula and waves it back and forward, spreading tomato sauce over the lasagna slices. She accidentally yanks the utensil upward, which causes a splash of red to land on her nose. Drew laughs and Elizabeth goes crossed eyes to try to see what he is laughing at. This makes him laugh even harder and she joins in on the cheery mood. He takes the phone out, letting her put some sauce on his nose and angling the camera at both of them. They make a funny face and he takes multiple pictures. After their small photo shoot, the two of them finish making the lasagna and eat up their reward for their effort. He checks the time to see that it is the little one’s bedtime soon. “It’s bath time,” he announces. Excitement crosses her face because she loves being in the water. He helps her out of the chair and chuckles when she rushes to the bathroom. “Come on, Daddy,” she beckons from the other room. He jogs after her to find her sorting through her toys already, trying to figure out which one she wants to play with. The one thing she hates about bathtime is the three toys limit. 

He steps over the toys and plugs the drain so the tub will fill when he turns the tap on. As the water begins to occupy the hollow porcelain, Drew turns to his daughter and opens the cabinet beside the bath. “Do you want bubbles and what bath bomb do you want?” he questions. She looks up from her toys and examines the choices, “Can I use one of Mommy’s?” The cabinet is filled with bubbles for both Y/N and Elizabeth, but the bath bombs are divided between the two of them. Elizabeth’s are colourful and shaped in different forms, such as cats, unicorns, or dogs, while Y/N’s are more focused on the scents so they are less colourful and just round. Knowing his wife wouldn’t mind sharing, he nods. “Bubbles, please, and that one,” she answers, pointing to the light pink bath bomb that smells of roses. Drew grabs both of the chosen items, “Those are fine choices, My Lady.” Elizabeth giggles at the funny accent he uses and accepts the round object he hands her, dropping it into the tub when he instructs her to. 

Once the bubbles are in and the water is at an appropriate height, he helps her undress and sets her into the tub. He hands her the duck, the mermaid, and the boat she chose to play with, accepting the mermaid she gave him. “And we can swim all night together,” she recounts. The duck slaps against the water under the grip of the daughter. The force produces a large splash that hits her father in the face. His face scrunches as the water makes contact and drips to his neck. “Hahaha,” she yells. Drew fakes an angry look, “Grrr. You think that’s funny, Little Lady?” He dips his hand in the water and flicks some at his daughter. Her giggles intensify and she tries to get away from the attack. The warmth soon leaves her, creating a shiver in her. Upon seeing this, the father grabs the ducky hood towel from the hook and takes her out of the tub. He wraps it around her and runs his hands up and down her arms to create some heat. The floor is soaked because of their playing, so he takes a second to dry it with the floor towel. 

With the floor clean, he carries her to her room and they get her changed into her pyjamas. He runs the towel over her hair to get out as much moisture as he can. He takes the brush she hands him and runs it through her hair to get rid of the knots created in the bath. “Do we want one braid or two?” he confirms. She hmms for a little, “Two Fwench braids, please.” He divides her hair into two and then separates one of the sections into three. He begins weaving the strands together like his wife taught him and sings with his daughter whilst she waits for him to finish. 

“There you go, My Lady. Why don’t you go choose a bedtime story?” he encourages, watching her run to her bookcase. She spends about a minute looking at her options before choosing a book he knows she is going to pick because it has been her choice for a few nights now. She patters back to him and he helps her onto her big girl bed. Her head rests against his shoulder. He pretends he doesn’t see her thumb in her mouth even though Y/N would kill him for not stopping it. He thumbs through the book to find where they stopped last night and clears his throat to start reading. “To be, or not to be, that is the question.” The English major side of him loves that his daughter likes to read Shakespeare. He is sure she doesn’t understand anything he reads, yet he knows she enjoys it because she is always so attentive and she’ll ask what certain words will mean. Drew looks past the inappropriate subject matter of Hamlet for the two-year-old because it feels like a bonding experience for him. It is one of the reasons why he isn’t angry at Y/N for watching Real Housewives with Elizabeth. 

Ten minutes later, he fills her head relax as it digs into his muscles. He closes the book and kisses her forehead. His hand raises the blanket to her chin, turning on the night light. “I love you, My Lady,” he whispers. 

———

Drew is reading through Othello because he thinks it is what he and Elizabeth should read after Hamlet. She’ll like the witches’ scene. He hears the front door open and close. He shuts the book, placing it on the side table as his wife walks through the bedroom door. “Hey, did she go down to sleep okay?” she mumbles. Her back is facing him whilst she takes off her jewellery and places them on her vanity. His head bobs and he gets behind her. He hands her a makeup wipe, resting his chin on her shoulder. He observes her nighttime routine through the mirror. His lips press against her skin, “Yep, everything went by smoothly. We are almost done with Act Three for Hamlet. I’m thinking about reading Othello with her next. How was the club?” She hesitates about answering. Y/N honestly had an amazing time tonight. It felt so great not having to worry about another human being for an evening. She loves Elizabeth, except being a mom can create a lot of pressure. Even though the night was a success, guilt overcomes her when she meets her husband’s eyes in the mirror. Drew hasn’t gone out at night with friends since he got back from work and she has been out three times. “It was fine,” she plays off, wiping her makeup off with the wipes he provided for her.

His brow arches at her tone, “Really, only fine? I saw Layton’s story. You looked like you were having a blast.” Her eyes fall to the vanity. “It must have been a trick of the light,” she shrugs. She goes for another wipe, except veiny hands stop her. He takes her hand in his and spins her so they face each other. Warm hands cup her cheek. “What’s wrong, My Queen? Why so glum?” he worries, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. 

Her breath tickles his skin as she exhales, “Do you hate that I make you stay at home with Elizabeth when I go out?” His head shakes like an earthquake and he brings her in for a hug. He can feel the guilt oozing out of her. “No, of course not. I love Elizabeth. Why would I hate it?”

“I’m not saying that you hate her. I just wonder if you resent me for going out with the girls, which means you have sole parent duties for a night. You haven’t had a night out since she was born. I mean you go out, but never by yourself so that I have sole parent duties.” 

“You have sole duties when I work.”

“That’s different though. Just because you love your job doesn’t mean it is a personal outing for pleasure.”

“True.” 

She looks back at him with a pout, his last words intensifying her emotions. “Please don’t feel bad about this. I may not go out anymore, but I never used to go out that much before anyways, right?” he reminds her. She thinks about it, realizing that it is true. Whenever he went out, it was always with her by his side. She meets his gaze, “You are saying that to make me feel better.” His head moves from side to side. “No. I love having nights with me and My Lady. I mean they are perfect when it is me, My Lady, and My Queen, but if I can give you a much-needed break, then I am more than happy to help you with that. If anything, Elizabeth is my excuse to stay in.” A grin starts to grow on his face when he sees the tips of her lips flip upwards. “Well, I’m glad I made you the perfect excuse,” she jokes. His laugh joins her lightened mood, “You made me the best excuse. Maybe we should start working on another one. You know, to solidify our excuse.” His eyebrows waggle and she pulls him into a kiss with a smirk. Their giggles mix in the air as he locks their bedroom door and she flops onto their bed. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura

[sapphire-writes]

A Second Chance

pairing: Aemond x Reader request: Hello! Sorry to bother you but i have a little idea that came from all the reblogs you recently made! basically Aemond is away so Alicent requests that reader! Comes back after a long time to the red keep because she wants to see her boy happy 🥺 of course its just a simple start but would love to see nice Alicent helping his baby ~ anonymous

warnings: none! this has the tiniest amount of angst but mostly fluff word count: 1.4k note: loved this, loved writing emotional Aemond & your messages are NEVER ever a bother! 💚 masterlist

“I was ever so sorry to hear of the death of your lord husband, Lady (Y/N),” Alicent said, giving you a look full of a mother’s compassion, “and so unfortunate he should leave you so quickly after you wed.”

You take a sip from your cup. The Queen had invited you to the capital and you had been delighted to return. Ever since you arrived your eyes had been searching for Aemond.

You had both left on such harsh terms those several years ago when your betrothal had been announced. You had been missing him for years, feeling as though a very piece of your own heart had been missing. 

“Thank you, your grace,” you tell her, speaking softly.

Your lord husband had been a kind man. Married to you as an alliance for your families and that was all. He was nearly twice your age, but he had been sweet to you. 

“My son has missed your presence,” Alicent tells you. 

“I was hoping to see the prince,” you said, heart rate increasing. 

Alicent nods, looking off to the side. Your smile falters as the realization washes over you at her hesitant glance.

“Aemond does not know I am here,” you tell her. It is a statement, not a question. 

Alicent struggles to keep the smile on her face. She brought her hand to yours, squeezing it gently. 

“I thought perhaps we shall surprise him,” she says softly.

“I do not think he wishes to see me,” you tell her, and feel a slash of pain in your heart. The wound is still fresh, though the years had passed. 

“Tell them not to let me go,” you had begged him, chasing him down an empty corridor. 

The one-eyed prince had stopped his long strides turning to face you. 

“Tell them you wish to marry me,” you had begged.

Aemond had been silent for many moments. 

“I cannot tell them what is not true.”

You remembered it as though it had happened yesterday. The cold look in his eye, so unlike that of which he usually awarded you. None of the kindness you had grown to love. 

“He does,” Alicent insists, “he has been terribly lonely these past years. Growing more resentful each day. I worry about him.”

In truth, you had never stopped thinking of Aemond. He plagued your thoughts at every moment. 

You blink away the tears that gather in your eyes.

“He shall be returning soon,” Alicent tells you, “join us for supper tonight, please.”

Her thumb continues to stroke the back of your hand, a hopeful look is in her eyes. You nod in agreement. 

Aemond remembered watching you go, the way your eyes had filled with tears. The look of betrayal on your face. That most of all. That has haunted most of his days since your departure. 

In truth, he had wished to marry you. But duty is often in conflict with matters of the heart. And duty demanded he remained unwed. 

And though it pained him to do so, he had to let you go. 

Aemond walks quickly to his chambers, eager to bathe and dress before joining his mother for dinner. The days have been long, and there is no feeling like that of being home. 

He hisses as he lowers himself into the tub, the hot water nipping at his pale skin. Aemond wishes to be done quickly, he doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts. He finds himself constantly training, reading, researching, and doing anything to distract himself from the constant thoughts that plague him.

You. 

It has been years since he last saw you since you last spoke. He supposed you must have several children by now. This did not make him sad, he hoped you had children to brighten your life. 

Aemond readied himself before making his way to his mother’s chambers. It was to be a small affair for supper that evening, as Aegon was entertaining some guests from the west. 

“Aemond,” Alicent said, as he arrived. She embraced her son whom she had not seen in several months. 

“It is good to see you, mother,” he said.

“I have missed you,” she told him, “I have invited a guest for dinner..”

“A guest?” Aemond questions, as the door opens. 

He turns and his breath catches in his throat as he sees you in the doorway. Your eyes are wide as you take him in. Aemond looks good, taller perhaps if that is possible. Leaner, the entirety of him is ropey muscles. He is handsome as ever, eyepatch securely covering his ruined eye. Aemond’s lips part.

“Hello Aemond,” you say softly smiling. 

“Lady (Y/N) has agreed to join us for supper, isn’t that lovely?” Alicent says, placing a hand on her son’s arm. 

Aemond jerks his head in a nod causing Alicent to smile. 

“I shall be but a moment,” she says, starting toward the door. She stops to caress your cheek, before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her. 

You inhale a shaky breath. 

“Are you well?” you ask as Aemond continues to stare, a rather innocent expression on his normally harsh face. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice hoarse. You wet your lips wringing your hands together. 

“Your mother invited me to the capital,” you tell him, “I did not know you had no part in the invitation.”

“My mother?” Aemond said, shaking his head. Of course, his mother. The hopeless romantic who always wanted more for her children than the hand she had been dealt. You nod. 

“She wished to offer her condolences,” you continue, walking towards the fireplace. You reach for a grape that lays on a golden tray. Aemond’s brow furrows.

“Condolences?” he asks, watching you pop the grape into your mouth. You chuckle.

“Shall you speak in questions all evening, my prince?” you tease before answering his question.

“My late husband has passed,” you inform him. A moment of pause lingers between you. 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Aemond says, “I do hope your children are weathering alright?”

You meet his eye, a blush beginning to creep onto your cheeks. Aemond wishes he could place his hands upon your cheeks, to feel the burning that resides underneath your smooth flesh. 

“We were not blessed with children,” you tell him, “my lord husband was not well, for the majority of our marriage.”

“Did he treat you well?” Aemond asks, voice turning to a tone of concern.

“Oh yes,” you assure him, “yes, he was very kind to me. But-”

You find yourself struggling to speak, struggling to find the right words.

“He did not love me,” you decide, “he did not desire me. It was a quiet marriage.”

Aemond is watching you carefully. How foolish he had been to let you slip from his fingers. The gods are good, they must be repaying him for his suffering in some way by returning you to him. By offering him a second chance. 

“I would,” Aemond says softly.

He walks over to you until he stands directly before you. 

“I would love you, I would desire you,” he tells you, “I do, I always have.”

Your eyes fill with tears and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to say that-”

“I do, and I was a fool,” he continues, taking your hands in his, “I was a fool to let you leave when I loved you. I have loved you and continue to love you.”

The tears are freely flowing down your cheeks, dripping past your chin and onto the stone floor.

“There has not been a day that goes by where I do not think of you,” he continues, “there is not a corner of this world I could fly to where I did not see your face. In every passerby, in the light of the moon. You are everywhere. You are all-consuming.”

“Aemond,” you beg, not sure exactly if you wish him to stop or keep speaking. 

“I love you,” he insists, fingers digging into your waist. 

You bring your hands to his chest, pulling him towards you and connecting your mouths. The kiss is desperate and passionate, making up for the lost time. Aemond can feel the coolness from your tears caressing his face, and you start to laugh against his mouth. 

He kisses you again and again, swallowing the happy laughter that pours from your sweet lips. 

Queen Alicent stands outside the room, back pressed against the wood of the door, listening to your whispers, and laughter. She places a hand against her heart and closes her eyes, happy that her son has found the love he so longed for. 

note: hope you enjoyed I love me a good love confession, especially from our fave one-eyed prince 🥹

[southerngothicchic]

Do You Think I'm a Nasty Girl

Hi! So this is my attempt at getting back into the groove of writing again, and what better way than with a lovers to enemies to lovers again fic?

On a summer night in '84, while your parents are away, you decide to test out their new hot tub and wind up getting an unexpected visit from your annoyingly hot neighbor.

After setting up your radio with your favorite mix tape, you slip out of a dainty, pink kimono, revealing a low-cut black bathing suit. It's cut high, on the sides, showing off more skin than you would ever dare to at the local pool. It was your latest scandalous mall purchase, and you knew your parents would freak if they saw you wearing it. Luckily, you had the house and hot tub to yourself for the weekend and could wear or do whatever you wanted.

You press play, on the tape deck, before easing into the warm water. You wince a little, and check the temperature gage, on the side, worrying you had it set too high. It was previously set at 104 degrees and you immediately lower it to 100. You then sit on the edge of the tub, waiting for the water to cool slightly. Turning your head, your eyes scan the empty backyard as an odd feeling comes over you, making you wonder if you're truly alone.

Shaking your head, you tell yourself to stop being so paranoid before lowering yourself into the water.

The whirring of the jets almost drowns out your music, so you scramble over to the side and lean over to adjust the volume.

Laura Branigan's Self Control fills the night air as you settle back into your spot, nestling your head against the plush headrest behind you. A sigh of relaxation then leaves your lips as you close your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the swirling water.

You drift into a sort of meditative state, as all the sounds around you fade into a low hum. You're so completely absorbed in your own world that you're oblivious to the sound of someone entering your backyard.

The usually distinct creaking of the wooden gate doesn't reach your ears, as it's slowly opened then quickly shut.

Careful footfalls on the manicured grass also go unnoticed as the visitor walks up to the back patio. They stand, in front of you, smirk on their lips as they admire the serene state you're in. They debate whether or not they should disturb you but ultimately decide to make their presence known.

"And here I thought you were having a party and didn't invite me..." they say, causing your eyes to instantly open.

"What the fuck, Harrington?" You ask, with a glare, trying to keep your composure, as your heart feels like it's going to pound right out of your chest. "How'd you get back here?"

"The gate was unlocked," he casually replies, gesturing to it with his thumb. "And like I said, I thought there was a party, given the music and all."

Rolling your eyes, you sit up slightly and lean over to turn down the music.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just me," you remark, glancing up at him.

"Who said I was disappointed?" He smiles, his eyes meeting yours before traveling lower to your partially obscured cleavage.

"This song's a bit scandalous for you, don't you think?" He then asks, with one hand resting on his hip, while the other points to your radio.

You haven't been paying attention to the song that's playing, and when you realize it's Nasty Girl by Vanity 6, you sigh dramatically.

"Are you, of all people, offended by it?" You challenge, getting up to move closer to him.

He scoffs. "Of course not, but I didn't think you listened to stuff like this."

"Why? Because it's too risqué? Too obscene?"

You lean over the edge of the tub while he opens his mouth ready to respond. The sight of your glistening body causes him to freeze up.

"Kinda, yeah..." he mumbles, while you lean back into the water.

"I guess there's a lot you still don't know about me," you say with a smile.

He licks his lips before taking a step closer. "Why don't we fix that? Can I join you, or is this just a party for one?"

Deciding to up the brattiness, you roll your eyes and sigh.

"I guess you can, as long as you keep your opinions on my taste in music to yourself."

A grin spreads across his lips. "I can do that."

He then kicks off his Nikes before pulling his white t-shirt over his head. You watch a little too intently as he peels off his tight Levi's, leaving a pair of tiny green shorts underneath.

He sits on the edge of the tub before swinging his legs around and lowering himself into the water.

"Ooh, this is nice," he breathes, as he sits across from you. "I wish my parents would get one of these."

"You should tell Daddy you want one. I know the girls would love it," you snark as he shakes his head.

"Is that all you think of me?" He asks, defeatedly.

"You've never given me the opportunity to have a different perception of you," you explain, averting your eyes from his.

He sighs. "I know, but I'm not that guy anymore. At least, I'm trying not to be."

"And you expect me to just take that at face value?" You counter, unable to keep the hostility out of your voice.

"I guess not..." he begins, as he shifts in his seat.

Your eyes widen as he moves to sit next to you. He's suddenly so close, with his thigh pressing against yours as he reaches up to cup your cheek.

His gaze cuts through the steamy air as he leans in, so close the tip of his nose grazes yours as he finally continues, "I'll have to prove it to you, then."

You're struggling to speak, let alone breathe, as it's all too much. His thumb gently caresses your skin as he waits for some sarcastic retort that never comes.

Your mind's then flooded with memories of the first time he held you like this, the first time you felt his breath on your skin, of so many firsts, its overwhelming.

You manage to whisper his name, causing him to whisper yours in return.

"You can pretend to hate me all you want, but I know you missed this," he breathes, as he ghosts his lips over yours.

You resist the urge to lift your arms out of the water and wrap them around him.

"You're already off to a rough start, Harrington," you reply, relishing in his annoyance at your continued use of his last name.

"But am I wrong? Don't you miss me at least a little bit?" He asks, brushing his lips against yours, teasingly.

You sigh as you feel yourself weakening for him all over again. You wish more than anything that you could hate him, but no matter how much you want to, you just... can't. It's what lured you into his bed, his backseat, anywhere he could get his hands on you.

He made you feel so pretty and wanted and possibly loved... until someone else caught his eye. He'd then treat you as an afterthought, especially at school, practically staring you down as you walked by, with his arm around another girl.

That's the closest you got to hating him, and for the rest of the school year, you believed you did. You tried everything you could to make yourself forget the smug allure of Steve Harrington.

And it worked, until tonight.

Your hand grips the slippery bench underneath you, as he nuzzles his nose against yours, content with teasing you all night, if he has to, just to finally hear what he wants.

"Yes," you quietly reply, your voice barely audible over the sound of water swirling around your bodies. "I missed you."

He pulls away, only to look into your eyes, and smiles.

"I missed you, too, honey."

You immediately bristle at his pet name, as all your hurt feelings come rushing back.

"Don't..." you warn, raising your hand and pressing it against his chest, stopping him as he goes to lean in again. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"I do, though," he quickly defends, placing his hand over yours. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and how I'm so stupid to have lost what we had."

"Really?" You ask, allowing yourself to gaze into his eyes.

"Yeah," he nods. "You're the last person I ever wanted to hurt and I'm sorry for being such a dumbass."

His apology makes you crack a smile and he thinks you've never looked prettier.

"It was always you," he breathily continues as you cradle his face. "I'm just sorry it took me so long to realize it."

"I just... don't want you to ever hate me..." he quietly admits, as you slowly pull him towards you.

"I could never hate you," you softly reassure, right before your lips touch.

"Promise?" He whispers, almost muffled, against your lips.

"I promise."

You each then melt into an overdue kiss. His perfect nose presses against your cheek while your fingers curl in the ends of his damp hair.

"Fuck, honey, I've missed you so much," he breathes, between kisses.

You sigh his name, needing to feel more of him. You break the kiss, leaving him dazed and panting, while you carefully maneuver yourself onto his lap. Your knees press against the hard plastic of the bench underneath him, but you don't mind how it feels when Steve's hands are immediately on your hips, helping to guide your movements.

You lean in to kiss him again, and he's already moaning into your mouth with every grind of your hips. You smile, against his cheek, as you press kisses across it, kissing your way to his jawline.

You feel his wet fingertips glide up your back before his nails dig into your skin when he feels you lightly nibble on his neck.

"Did you miss this too, Stevie?" You coo, glancing up at him.

He nods before his eyes roll back from another grind of your hips.

"No one else ever really took the time to find out what you liked, did they? So many selfish lovers... though I thought that's what you wanted?" You ask, your voice sickeningly sweet.

He groans when he feels your lips at his ear.

"Someone as selfish as you," you whisper, before softly biting his earlobe.

You feel him shudder underneath you, so painfully hard and desperate for either some friction or release.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" He then shakily asks, as you pull away to look into his eyes.

You shift slightly, freeing up both hands so you can place them on each side of his pretty face. You lean in again, lips just close enough to tease when you reply, "Nope."

"I'm sorry, honey, alright? I'll apologize all night if I have to..." he rasps, sounding as if he's on the verge of tears.

"I just might make you," you smile, enjoying your newfound power over Steve Harrington.

"Let me make it up to you," he pleads, lowering his hands back down to your hips. "I'll spend the night with you... the whole weekend if that's what it takes for you to forgive me."

"You really care about me that much?" You ask, combing your fingers through his hair.

He nods. "Let's go inside and I'll show you just how much."

You're both then scrambling into your house. Little droplets of water fall from your bodies as you hurry up the stairs. The towels around your shoulders doing little to prevent water from dripping everywhere.

The house is also quite chilly, as you had the A/C cranked up all day, so you're shivering as you enter your bedroom. You stand next to your bed, clutching your towel around you, while Steve stands in front of you. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

"Oh no, honey, are you cold?" He asks, cupping your cheek, with his other hand.

You nod, timidly, your earlier attitude seemingly nonexistent.

"I'll have to warm you up then," he replies, before pressing his lips to yours.

He pushes your towel from your shoulders, and it joins his on the floor. You whimper into the kiss when you feel his large palm flat against your back before his hand ventures lower. He gives your ass a good squeeze, earning another whimper from you.

You then feel him grinning as his hands continue to roam your body.

"You're so fuckin' sexy in this, it's driving me crazy," he breathes, after temporarily breaking the kiss. "I kinda want you to leave it on while I fuck you..."

You sigh his name before pulling him into another kiss. It's messy and desperate as you lay back on your bed, with him on top of you.

He nestles himself perfectly between your legs, and now it's his turn to tease you. He grinds himself against you, the thin material you're both wearing making it more tortuous until you feel him move the crotch of your bathing suit to the side.

You're already squirming under him as you raise your hips, chasing the movement of his fingers.

He's smiling again, unable to hide how smug he feels as he just glides his fingers over you.

"Not so tough now, are you?" He purrs, against your cheek, while your hands are already twisting in his hair.

You try to speak, but he stops you.

"Its okay. I deserved it, and like I said, I'm gonna spend all night making it up to you."

He presses a couple wet kisses to your cheek, before slipping two of his long fingers inside you. You're already moaning at the stretch and the way he's suckling on your neck.

"Shit, honey, you're tighter than I remember..." he pants, sounding as ragged as you feel. "Guess no one else fucked you like I did, huh?"

You shake your head. "N-No, just you, Steve..." Your voice trails off into a series of moans as he adds another finger.

"Didn't think so," he says, glancing up at you.

"Look at me, honey," he softly commands, and once you open your eyes you see how he's gazing at you with complete adoration.

"So fuckin' pretty," he breathes, before crashing his lips to yours.

Your nails claw at his biceps as he mouths at your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, then flicks his tongue over a newly formed hickie. He plans to leave several more all over your body, wanting to cover you in little reminders that you're his girl again, and always will be.

You moan his name, your hand gripping his wrist when you feel the familiar waves of pleasure building.

"This is all for you, honey, remember?" He reminds, breathless. "I have to earn your forgiveness, even if it takes all night..."

You throw your head back, against your pretty, pink pillow as the most intense orgasm you've ever had washes over you.

Steve's lips are at your ear, talking you through it, praising you for how good you are for him.

His words have you biting your lip and squirming all over again. You gaze at him dreamily as he places his fingers between his lips. A soft moan escapes him as he tastes you.

"Just as sweet as I remember," he grins, before you grab his smug face and pull him in for a kiss.

You're moaning for him all over again when you taste yourself on his tongue.

"So, how am I doing so far? Want me to still spend the night?" He quietly asks, still breathless.

"What do you think, Harrington?" You snarkily reply, running your fingers through his tousled hair, before pulling slightly.

With a groan, he kisses you again, knowing you're both in for a long night.

[northsoulss]

dating you III - alessia russo

(a/n : here’s less’s part of the dating you series! hope u enjoy xoxo)

stolen glances across the field, electrifying touches. love sick stares reserved only for you. sappy smiles and words only in the comfort of your own home, warm embraces that make you feel like you finally found your forever home.

i. surprise bouquets of flowers in a neat bundle on the dining table was alessia’s love languge.

you trudge home, having had a bad day at your office job with your colleagues incessantly nagging you at every turn. you’ve been texting alessia all day, her comforting you whenever she had a break from training. to your surprise, you see her duffle bag at home, not expecting her to be home before you. you look up after taking off your shoes to see a bouquet of flowers on the table, and you swore your heart melted right there. you picked up the bouquet of your favourite flowers, and in between the petals sat a note written in alessia’s handwriting.

“for you. xoxo.” times like these made you glad you are dating her, your mood instantly perking up.

ii. intimate touches that drive you insane are common occurrences whenever you come back home to one another.

“hope you didn’t wait too long my girl.” she comes up from behind you while you sat at the dining table. her hands settle around your shoulders, pressing delicate kisses behind your ears. she smiles against your skin when she feels your skin get hot, your hands tightening around her wrist.

“i will always wait for you lovely.” you reply, your lips reaching hers softly.

iii. being a woman is difficult, and when you were on your period, your emotions were all over the place. creaking open the door, alessia sees you in a lump on the bed with the covers over your head. she sighs, walking slowly towards you and sitting on the bed. your sniffles are now louder, your voice hoarse as you spoke. “what do you want.” alessia prays that you wouldn’t kill her for doing this, but she slowly pulls the covers off, and to her surprise you don’t resist.

your eyes were bloodshot, tear stains on your cheeks, face flushed. her heart breaks for you, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “should i do a quick run to the store to get chocolate for you?” she knew you loved chocolate, especially when you were sad. you think, and quickly nod, kissing alessia’s palm as thanks. she smiles and leaves the room, making sure to do a quick turn to look at you once more before leaving for the store.

when she got back, she saw you on the couch, hugging one of the pillows watching your favourite show. “here babe.” she passes you the chocolate and you light up, finally smiling after an entire day of being lumped in the bedroom. she smiles too, happy to see your grin once more.

iv. doing groceries together was always filled with chaos and laughter. attached to the hip with alessia pushing the trolley, she makes a sudden stop when she sees a food she hates with a burning passion. “who would buy that? its so gross.” she cringes as she picks up the can, looking at it in distaste.

“other people like it less.” you say, clearly amused.

“blah, blah, blah, other people like it less-“ she rolls her eyes and says, “yeah i know.” she pitches her voice higher and mocks you, causing you to laugh loudly in the midst of an aisle. you slap her arm and she giggles, placing back the can. you two continue to shop, stopping once to pull her away from the frozen food section when she saw two tubs of ice cream on sale even though you have three at home.

v. you always supported her at games, and being on different teams, you made sure to watch her play no matter what. you were always the loudest to shout in the stadium, wanting to make sure she knows that you’re there. “i love you alessia russo!” you scream, not caring that people were staring at you like you grew a third head. hearing this, alessia’s head snaps around to find your voice, finding you seated next to her mum wearing arsenal colours. her face flushes pink and her grin grows wider, sending a wink your way. she knows that you’re her lucky charm, always doing better when you’re watching.

vi. late night talks on the balcony was your favourite thing to come back to do with her. having similar schedules, she often came back minutes after you put down your things at home. you two would lounge on the balcony, sipping tea and talking about how each other’s days went. it was a simple routine, but it always felt right, basking in her presence in the cool nightly breeze.

vii. sharing music playlists was your love language. you always joke with her that you swore certain songs had to be written about her, only to have her blush and elbow you in the arm. its around mid day when she recieves a text from you. her face lights up when she sees that it’s a link to a playlist you made for her.

“hey baby, i was just thinking about you and these songs came to mind. love you.”

she smiles harder looking through the songs, one in particular catching her eye. “silk chiffon..” she plays it and boy does she fold. it made her feel unbelievably warm, thinking of your concentrated face adding all these songs to the playlist. songs that reminded you of her. she makes sure to get you a bouquet of flowers on the way home just to thank you.

©️northsoulss 2024, all rights reserved.

[twilghtkoo]

Can you do something where reader and haechan take a playful bubble bath and gossip together using prompts 93 and 88<33

love foolish

pairings. haechan x reader (f)

genre. pure fluff, established relationship

warnings. mostly reader talking and haechan just listening and being love, boobs, not proofread cus i’m lazy

notes. aww i love this request hehe reader and hyuck taking a bath together and just chatting >.< thank u anon for this req!

prompts. #93 “she looked at you like she wanted to jump you” and #88 “you’re driving me crazy here”

prompt list | series masterlist | taglist

—

“only a little bit of soap, haechan.” you remind him once again, with a stern voice. shouting from your closet as you go through haechan’s side for a t-shirt that you can put on after your bath.

you take both your change of clothes and walk back to the bathroom. haechan sits on the closed toilet seat, only left in his briefs, carefully watching the tub fill up with hot water as the bubbles from the soap slowly rise. you spot the colors green and blue paint the water.

haechan glances up at you, spotting your shadow from his peripheral. “i put a bath bomb in.” he answers your thoughts.

you hum approvingly, a small smiling turning the corner of your lips upwards when haechan smiled self-proudly.

soon the water is at a good level and haechan has already stripped naked and stepped into the water, waiting for you. you stand in front of the tub, taking haechan’s hand that’s stretched out for you to take as he safely guides you inside. he occupies the end of the tub, his back against the cool tile wall, legs spread for you to sit in-between.

“holy shit, this feels fucking amazing.” you moan once your body from the neck down is submerged in the hot water. haechan’s hands are quick to wrap around your bare waist under water, rubbing your sides soothingly. all previous stress and tension in your body has now left your body as you welcome in the therapeutic warmth.

he chuckles from behind, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

“that sounds familiar,” he thinks out loud, smirking.

“what do you mean?”

“pretty sure you said those exact same words when you rode me for the first time.” he recalls.

your head drops down and you scoff. “oh my god, haechan.” pursing your lips to fight the laugh that almost came out. he sure knows how to ruin a moment.

“hehe, sorry.” he softly mumbles an apology.

you lean yourself up away from haechan’s chest, going to the other side of the tub so you and him are facing each other.

you grin to yourself, sitting on your legs and gathering a handful of the white bubbles that float atop.

he watches you with admiration and love, allowing you to put the mountain of bubbles on top of his dry head.

“how do i look?”

you blink, “beautiful.”

he scoffs, dropping his head as he cutely smiles.

“what should we eat for dinner?” you ask, your focus mostly on the tower of bubbles you’re building.

he hums, “we have those left overs from lunch. but if you don’t want that i can make you something else.” he suggests, he knows how you feel about leftovers and how you think the taste isn’t the same once it leaves the restaurant. which is why you always try to finish your food, but today, you just woke up not hungry.

“speaking of lunch earlier . . .”

haechan decided to join you and help you build your bubble tower, he hums in response, letting you know he’s listening. the top of his head is slightly damp from the bubbles.

“the girl who took our order and stuff . . . you know the waitress?” you trail off, glancing up at him to watch his facial expressions.

“uh huh,”

you slightly pout from the lack of responses.

your hands stop and now you’re just watching him.

“did you notice anything?” you ask cautiously.

his hands stop mid air, the slightly growing bubble tower has now reached the height to where your heads are.

he squints his eyes, his lips turned downwards, a habit you noticed when he’s thinking.

he shakes his head, “no, notice what?”

you let out a sigh as a response.

“vent to me baby,” he lightly chuckles, assuring you to speak what's on your mind.

you groan, face palming because if haechan didn’t even notice it then why is it bothering you so much. you decide to continue adding height to the silly tower to avoid from catching haechan’s reaction.

“when we went to lunch together, i think the waitress recognized you and she was definitely flirting with you. right in front of me!” you exclaim, scoffing at the memory again.

you and haechan went out to eat earlier today for lunch, choosing somewhere where we thought was pretty secluded, and it sort of was.

“i swear i saw her try to reach to touch your arm, and she was all heart eyes staring at you. i was almost about to throw up. not to mention, she wasn’t even looking at me when i was telling her my order. rude, right?”

he nods, “definitely.” he says firmly.

“thank you!” with big eyes and your hands thrown out in front of you as you rant, cutting your creation in half on accident as it slowly floats in the air to haechan’s side.

"she looked at you like she wanted to jump you!"

he can’t help but burst out laughing at your frustration about the situation. you can say he was pretty oblivious about the waitress flirting with him, because he was focused on you mostly. recalling how there was an eyelash sitting beneath your cheekbone while the lady was collecting your order. how your fingers were fidgeting with the corner of the menu that was already slightly peeling, the skin of your hand looking so smooth and soft under the natural light seeping through the window.

haechan leans back, taking his arms out from the water to relax on the edge of the tub. soap suds resting on his skin.

you’re still pouting, thinking about the situation and how the girl had the nerve to blatantly flirt with your boyfriend in front of you. in your head, you were saying things that your non-confrontational ass would never say to someone.

you stare at haechan, "you think she knew who you were?" you ask with slightly raised eyebrows.

he shakes his head. "i don't think so, don't worry." he assures you.

you jump in your spot which makes haechan flinch in surprise, eagerly leaning forward, your mouth forming an 'o' shape. "one of my classmates stole my pen today!" you gasped.

haechan covers his mouth with his hand, dramatically gasping, matching your energy. "no," he reacts.

you nod your head, "yes! i just remembered. that fucker." you mumble the last part to yourself.

he bites his lip to hold back his smile. "is it the gel pen with the 0.5 point?"

"yes, my favorite pen."

"don't you have a whole pack in your desk?" he harmlessly asks, just out of pure curiosity.

you cock an eyebrow, "who's side are you on?"

haechan stretches his hands towards you quickly. "yours, baby. yours. that fucker should've gave back your pen. doesn't he know we are in the middle of an inflation?" he scoffs.

"and like, yeah, i use my ipad to take notes but i use my pen for handwritten notes and my planner. i should've lied and said i didn't have a pen. ugh- this is what happens when i'm nice to people." you stress before shaking your head, scooting closer to your boyfriend.

“you do have nice pens,” he says absent mindedly. “i probably would’ve kept it too.”

your face is deadpan as you stare at haechan, then you let out a deep sigh. “i love you, haechan.”

he smiles back, “i love you too.”

shaking your head. "we’re never going to that restaurant again and from now on i don’t have pens. let me wash your hair?" you're already grabbing his shampoo and squirting some into your hand before he can answer.

he doesn't push you away, reveling in this moment and enjoying the way the pad of your fingers are massaging his scalp. how your sitting on your knees in between his open legs, your breasts are aligned with his vision and it's like he turned into a kid who was given an ipad.

his impulsive thoughts win and it's too late because his large hands are already kneading your chest. "they're so squishy." he blurts out, making you roll your eyes. you won't lie and say that the ministrations of his hands felt so good you felt like the soap suds that melt down your body.

"your hands feel nice." you admitted, reaching behind him to grab the shower head and turn on the water to wash the shampoo out.

his head snaps up to look at you. "really? feels nice?"

simply nodding your head, ignoring his eyes on you. his hand movements slow down, he starts to slowly palm your breasts.

"stop this is supposed to be just us taking bath." you whine, turning off the water.

he giggles, "it is."

"not when you're doing that on purpose." you accuse him, laughing along with him because you're familiar with his tricks and you already know where this is headed.

"what am i doing?" he asks with a playful innocent voice.

"you're driving me crazy here." you huff out.

-

taglist @neosdaisy @m_1kaellUh @n0hyuck @matchahyuck @haesqt @waitcries @ohmyhuenings pls send an ask or message to be removed or fill out the form to join! :D

[kechiwrites]

light of day toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader part 6/?

synopsis: trust is hard to build when the foundation is so shaky, and while you and simon certainly aren’t on the same page, at least you can stand to be in the same bookstore.

wc: 2.5k

cw: afab!reader, some fluff and domesticity, very light angst, hurt and comfort, language, you and simon sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, heavy petting, trust issues, tommy being the light of both your lives, no gendered language. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: long time no see! this is a direct continuation to white flag. I strongly recommend you read it first, hell you may wanna reread it, it has been a while. thank you all sm for your love and patience, it means a lot that you're still interested in this lil 'verse.

new to baby blue? start here.

Navigating around Ghost in the morning is bizarre. A new reality you aren’t quite sure you’re ready for. Your son, to his credit, takes it in stride, opening your bedroom door and beaming at the sight of his father laying next to you.

It’s hard to stave off more tears when Ghost doesn’t miss a beat, sliding out of your sheets and whisking Tommy up into his arms, while the little boy lets him know that Sundays are always for pancakes, and how you make the best ones, and how he’s just so happy “dad will get to try them!”

They leave the bedroom door wide open, allowing you to hear the rumble of Ghost’s answer, but not necessarily the words. Tommy’s laugh chimes in afterward, like tinkling glass and carefree joy.

You’re uncharacteristically slow to rise. You blame it on having someone else to divert Thomas’ attention so early in the morning. Someone to listen to his early morning babble and chime in with appropriately timed ‘hmm’s and ‘is that so’s. It’s nice. Paralyzingly nice. Fills your chest with this balmy, uncertain kind of calm, one you haven’t felt…maybe ever, Certainly not since you’ve had Tommy. 

When you do finally get up, Tommy is already directing his dad on what to take out of the fridge, boasting about how helpful he is when it was just you and him. 

“Best sous chef within a hundred miles!” You scoop up your son, nuzzling your face into his neck while he screams between peals of laughter, wiggling in your hold. You catch Ghost staring at you, the both of you, with the weird look on his face, it's inscrutable, like he wants to smile but doesn't think he should? Maybe he can’t? It wouldn’t surprise you. Either way, you ignore it, spinning Tommy in a circle before you approach his father. You extend your baby as best you can towards him (he's way too big for you to be holding him like an infant, but old habits die really, really hard). Ghost holds his arms out to receive him, handling Tommy's weight better than you do, shifting the boy under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Father and son leave the kitchen to you, opting to sit in the living room and entertain each other (meaning Tommy will likely do whatever he wants, and Ghost will pretend he has the will to stop him). Immediately, the four year old digs in the toy box you keep near the sofa, his body half inside the plastic tub. You start mixing the components into pancake batter while Tommy tells Ghost the names of his toys, a seminar during which Ghost nods seriously, affirming he's listening when Tommy inquires after his attention. 

“What do you want in your pancakes?” You ask, leaning over the kitchen island to peer at the blond, who has Tommy strewn across his legs, smashing plastic dinosaurs together. His confusion, his wariness is a picture, honestly, you could almost laugh.

“Plain’s fine.” He responds, and Tommy unhelpfully shouts; “Ew dad! Plain’s gross!” before he brings a plesiosaur up to his father’s face, making the toy reptile kiss his dad’s cheeks. 

Your expression is a mirror of your son’s when you grimace at the soldier. 

“Plain is gross.” You keep eye contact with him as you toss a heavy handful of chocolate chips into the batter. 

He shrugs, standing and letting Tommy hang on to his bicep, his little feet dangling and kicking in the air, an impressive move that has the boy squealing with laughter. 

The batter sizzles in your frypan, a warped, scratched, old thing that’s definitely seen better days. The non-stick has worn off from years of use, but you manage to scrape the pancakes off the surface and flip them back down. 

The vintage radio on your coffee table sputters out a scratchy, slightly distorted version of an upbeat pop song, surprising you. It’d been mostly decorative, a cute little brown and white centerpiece for your, frankly, feeble living room set up. Tommy croons out of tune over the music, and you can’t stave off the smile while you plate more breakfast.

Simon must’ve been fiddling with it.

-

You have to talk. You know you have to talk. About the night before. About the future, whatever that future even looks like. So when Tommy’s maple syrup sugar high succumbs to the inevitable crash, you tuck him in for a nap and return to sit next to Simon. Closer to him than usual. Close enough that he can cover your knee with his palm, and when he does, the calloused skin is so hot you worry he might have a fever, his body overheating in response to processing more emotion than he probably has in the last ten years. 

“I appreciate you…staying this morning.” You start, and when he turns to face you his eyes are fathomless, dark brown and so painfully familiar. Immediately, you bury the sentiment in safe territory under ten tonnes of dirt; “Tommy was happy to spend the morning with you. Doesn’t usually get that.” 

You feel like a coward, even though you have every right to be scared, to hide how you're feeling from your son’s father. 

Simon, to his credit, merely bobs his head and gruffs back to you; “Thanks for asking me to.” 

And you did ask him, didn’t you? You finally asked for something of him, and he’d given it so freely it had shocked you. Scared you so bad, you poured your heart out in response, finally laid it all on the table for him to gawk at, to poke at, to ‘hmm’ and ‘ahh’ over. 

And it had felt good, in the light of day.

You can’t stop staring at his hand on your knee, his skin overwritten with plenty of silverskin scars, crisscrossing over each other, puckered and healed. When you drag your fingers over them, you find two you don’t recognize, two injuries he must have gotten somewhere far from here, some place far away where problems like teething and daycare and tantrums must have seemed so small, so insubstantial.

You’re surprised you could identify them as new, and you follow the longer one up his arm, flipping his wrist over, pushing up his sleeve, and tracing it with your finger until it ends near the crook of his elbow, running parallel to a vein in his forearm. Simon’s exhale is shaky, rattling out of his chest, uneven and fast like he’s been holding his breath. You raise your head and just fucking stare. Catalogue the halted, cautious look in his eye, the way his mouth is downturned and tense. 

And then, all at once, you’re all over him. Grabbing at the collar of his shirt and pressing kisses to that uncertain mouth, plastering your chest to his and falling apart with wanting. 

You used to do it all the time. Sit on this same leather sofa and kiss him, half in and half out of his lap, with your arms wrapped around his neck, only breaking your hold to slap at his hands whenever he tried to escalate. And he always tried to escalate, because he “didn’t come over to make out like 13 year olds”. But you knew deep down he liked it. Like being pliable in your hands, letting his ever present guard down, liked when your lips skimmed his throat and when you bit down, sucking bruises into his pale skin.

“Do you ever get any sun?” You’d said, teasing, pulling away from his exposed jaw. You’re home, both of you, after he’d taken you out for the first time. To a pub. To meet his workmates. Not friends, he’d spoken vehemently, and you suspected from the way Johnny MacTavish (Soap, he’d wanted to be called) had stared at you, bug-eyed and disbelieving, Ghost didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Maybe not even you. Talk about a red fucking flag.

“Enough.” And whether he’d been answering your question or just voicing his frustration with the lack of action, you never found out, opting instead to submit to searching hands and the straining fly of his pants. You let him spread you out and take.

Now, Ghost doesn’t try anything. Now, with four years and endless bullshit between you, he lets you do what you want. You aren’t quite sure what he’s trying to prove, what all this; the pancakes, the sleeping over, the fucking book, means. You just know you don’t want to think too hard about it. Don’t want to ruin what could very well be a ceasefire during a war you were painfully ill-equipped for.

He stays still, lets you kiss him, lets you pull and touch and take. Lets you drag your tongue over the edge of his teeth. He’s hard, and under the hand you have on his chest his heart thumps erratically, hummingbird fast. With your other hand you take hold of one of his wrists, urging him to touch you, anywhere. He takes the gift, pressing his digits into your thigh and crowding in close. One of his hands finds your throat, settles at the base where it slopes into your shoulder. You aren’t quite sure who deepens the kiss, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter when Simon pulls you into his lap, biting at your bottom lip and chasing your tongue with his own. He groans his contentment into your mouth, letting his fingers slip into the waistband of your pants before they stall in a rare bout of hesitation.

He tries to pull away, probably means to say something, but you don’t give him the chance. Instead, you nod jerkily, pressing your face to his collarbone, using both hands to pull down the neck of his shirt so you can mark the expanse of scarred skin. You’re desperate, and it shows in your actions, how you sink your teeth into his skin, how you grind down against the hard column of his cock, straining against his fly. All of it speaks to just how bad you want this, want him. Just how badly you want to forget any of it ever happened in the first place.. 

All the crying and confessing, the slow, soft, silent domesticity of your morning together and the familiarity of making out on your worn, cream coloured couch, compound together. It has you crying out in defeat, in relief, in pleasure when Simon pushes his hand underneath your clothes, slides his fingers against your clit, rubbing slow sure circles that force gasps from between your lips. He murmurs into your throat, not really saying much of anything, just whispering your name, humming and sighing while he pushes your underwear to the side, dragging his fingertips over your entrance, tracing your hole until you shudder with need.

“C'mon, c’mon.” You urge quietly, shifting your hips so he has easier access. His fingers are deep within you and so goddamn thick. Blunt, calloused and moving so slowly, fucking into you and revelling in how you bear down, tightening like a fist around him. You can feel how soaked you’re making his hand, the slick noise fills the room around you, a perfect accompaniment to the heavy breathing between you. You shift so you’re able to unzip his pants and put your hand on his cock, the warm length searing the skin of your palm. His hips jerk up to meet you, fucking the soft circle formed by your fingers and his head falls back, allowing you to nip at his Adam’s apple. It must feel very good, because he forgets he’s in the middle of fingering you for a while. Just lies back and chases his peak, to which you think, fuck that. You stroke down to his groin, and linger there, squeezing at his base until he gets the idea. Soon both of you are moving in tandem, teasing each other under your clothes like teenagers. Like two people who like each other, who can’t keep their hands off each other long enough to undress. Like two people without trust issues, and arguments, and the looming fear of being abandoned. Your peak hits you fast, crashing down on you in waves, unrelenting, over and over. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, your mouth basically plastered to the skin there, using your lips to deduce just how fast his heart is beating, how close he is. 

Simon spills over your hand soon after, his cock twitching in satisfaction, his chest rising and falling in time with your own laboured breaths. The room is at a standstill, and the quiet sits between you, pleading with you to interrupt the slowing pattern of your breathing, nagging you to say something. Something that will fix everything. Because it has always been your job to fix the problems, to fix him.

You open your mouth, to joke, to sigh, to say or do something that’ll diffuse the tight, anxious, aching sensation in your chest but Simon beats you to it. 

“The book was good.” He mumbles, letting his head fall back, until it’s resting on the back of the couch, rather than remaining nested in the hollow of your throat. 

“You finished it?” It’s hard not to smile when he nods the affirmative, the bodice-ripper had to be at least 20 years old, maybe more; a relic you’d uncovered from the take-one-leave-one library at the local laundromat. The Rancher and the Runaway had a strapping blond cowboy and his brunette virgin charge on the cover, locked in a passionate embrace. It was smut, good smut, barely held together by family drama. 

And Simon had finished it. He’d liked it.

The very idea starts a fit of near hysterical laughter in you, so bad it jump-starts a bout of short-breathed hiccups. 

“Okay, okay wait.” You huff, clutching your stomach in-between cackles. “Which brother is your favourite?” You cover your mouth with the hand not covered in drying come when he glares at you, your shoulders shaking with glee. His dick is hanging out of his pants and your clothes are rumpled and half removed, the both of you smelling of sex and each other, but somehow, that just makes it funnier.

You bet it’s fucking Garth.

“Garth.” He rumbles, and you fucking howl. 

disclaimer: reader’s opinion on pancakes are not my own, i fuckin love plain pancakes. also the rancher and the runaway is a real romance novel, not technically a bodice ripper but i recommend it if you like harlequin romance and cowboys. If u read it come tell me. series masterlist here

support city girls, reblog what u like

[somnolentdipso]

Coax the Masses

Go on and allow me to be the reason for what you do?

Let my voice guide you and whisk your mind away to fulfill my wishes.

Should we allow our desires to influence us and awaken the untapped potential of our subconscious?

How about satisfying your hunger with some delicious food? You could grab a bag of mouth-watering burgers and crispy fries from a fast-food joint, dig into the scrumptious leftovers from yesterday's grand feast, or indulge in that tub of creamy ice cream you've been saving for a rainy day. It's time to treat yourself to some lip-smacking goodness. Whatever you have is going down your throat while I tell you what a greedy calorie hog you are being. Are you ready to eat? Good, you haven’t been getting enough praise for all your work growing so huge. Don’t speak. Just keep your food hole filled while I talk. That gut has gotten more prominent again. It doesn’t matter what the scale says. With one look

at you, anyone could tell you are much bigger than you should be. All that late-night snacking has been catching up with you. Now you are a soft jiggle ball of fat. You won’t be for long, though. I want you to keep eating until you feel like you will pop. I am not here to help you eat a small snack; I am much too mean for that. I am here corrupt and tease you while you gorge on food. Don’t forget to keep stuffing yourself, by the way. It would help if you didn’t slow down anytime soon. If you aren’t anywhere close to being done with eating for me. Keep those fat saggy arms moving, fatass.

If you sweat, it better be from being too full to get up without being a huffing mess. Keep eating all those extra calories to keep those pounds on. I want to hear your labored breath as you lick your hands clean of sauce or crumbs. Every bit of food is going down. Don’t even try to stop yourself. It feels too good to be told to eat like an overgrown piggy. You can’t fight the pleasure, and you know I don’t care how full you get. I only care about seeing your desperate struggle to fit into your clothes at the end of this. I hope you have something stretchy since your belly won’t fit into any button-downs you may have on. If they still do, you better be ready to get more food. For now, those grunt, groan, oink if you want to. There is only me, and you are here.

Be the nasty fatty you want to be. Consume without a care in the world. Who cares how messy you get if your belly is round and tight? The faster you eat, the fatter you get. Be careful not to choke, though. Drink lots of water to get everything down, or drink lots of sugar. I want you to be scared by how much you are eating. I will ensure you get a bit more in, however much you usually eat. Don’t stop eating. You can rub your aching belly if you need to. Maybe even get some burps out, but you will keep eating. If you are out of food, get more. I don’t care if you have to make more, order extra, or start eating spoonfuls of butter; I want your belly to ache. You know you want it too.

When your belly hurts so good, you know you are getting fatter. You might even grow some stretch marks at this rate. Do you know how you can satisfy me? Finish whatever you are eating and take a nice long look at yourself. Look at how round you got for me. You are so fat, you know that, but you are a good piggy. You just kept gorging till I said so, didn’t you? It would help if you did this every day. Think about how sexy you would look with a belly too full to move. Think about being in a pile of thousands of calories, all meant to turn you into a whale. Keep eating till you think I am delighted. Here is a hint: I want you moaning uncontrollably. Keep being a fat fuck, you sexy glutton.

DMs open for thoughts n inspiration

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

"No one needs to sleep in a bathtub, that's ridiculous." for the only one bed prompt, do whoever you think would fit

"Fuck," Gerry whispered under his breath, standing in the middle of the room and staring at the bed in mild horror. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

He should have known that volunteering to go with Michael to some bullshit conference would be a bad idea. His interest towards Gertrude's assistant was already too much, he knew he shouldn't get too close. It was just that Michael was so...cute, and sweet, and Gerry just wanted to spend all of his time with him. More than all of his time. Like, an eternity. He was pretty sure that meant he had a crush on the Assistant, which was...new, for him. Gerry was pretty sure he'd never had a real crush before. Especially not with someone who he could, in theory, actually be close to. Physically.

Gerry swore again and rubbed at his blushing cheeks. He needed to stop thinking about that. He really needed to stop thinking about that. Michael barely knew him, and there was no fucking way anything would happen once Michael saw the real side of him. The reckless, hurt, ruined side of him, up to his eyeballs in supernatural shit, which Michael also didn't even know about, apparently. Which was something that needed to be remedied, as soon as Gerry could properly sit down and explain it all to him.

Michael interrupted his panicked thoughts by barging into their hotel room, a folder in his hands and a nametag around his neck. "Gerard, are you in here? I found the main conference room and all of my breakout classes," he announced happily, sidestepping around their luggage to stand next to him. "There's some openings in a few of them if you want to tag along- oh." He stopped when he saw what Gerry was staring at. "Oh. Oops. I, uh, I guess I forgot to ask them for a room change when you decided to come," he chuckled nervously.

"Yeah," Gerry could only mumble. The single bed in the room was decently sized, but it was only one bed, and there was two of them. The thought of actually sharing a bed with Michael was...was...it was turning his brain into jelly, and he wanted to crawl away from the entire possibility before it could become real. "I can sleep in the tub, it's fine," he muttered.

"No one needs to sleep in a bathtub, that's ridiculous," Michael blurted out. "We can, we can...share." His face turned more and more pink with every word. "I don't mind if we...share."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. "Sure," Gerry squeaked, feeling like his throat was closing in. Sharing a bed with Michael, beautiful, lovely Michael, who was grinning at him with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, might actually kill him. He would be going to his death when he went to bed that night, and there was no way he could say no.

"Okay," Michael breathed, ducking his head do his curls hid his cheeks. "Okay, great." He ducked to grab his luggage, dropping it on the bed with his folder. "Do you want to go out and explore the city a bit? We have time before the welcome speech."

"Yeah." Gerry cleared his throat, shoving down the feeling in his chest and clawing back his dignity with both hands. "Yeah, that sounds fun. Let's do that." Michael beamed at him, nearly floating with happiness, and fuck, maybe that was a bad idea too. A sort-of date with his sort-of coworker. Fuck.

It actually went better than he could ever expect. Michael bought them pastries and giggled when Gerry got flakes of icing down the front of his shirt, wiping them off for him with quick swipes of his hand. In turn, Gerry bought him a pair of sparkly earrings when he saw Michael's eyes lingering on them, despite his protests. It was fun, more fun than he could comprehend, just being out with someone he liked and seeing them smiling back at him. It filled his chest right back up with emotions that he could barely contain, almost suffocating but in a good way, stealing his breath with every giggle Michael made. Having a crush was a hazard to his health.

They were back in time for the conference to begin, which was much less fun than traipsing around town with Michael. Gerry held back most of his sarcastic snorts and sat through the entire initial lecture, if only so he could keep sitting next to Michael. The academic side of the supernatural always felt so artificial to him, distant and impersonal compared to what he'd actually seen and experienced. Michael kept sending him glances out of the corner of his eye, like he wanted to ask something, but kept quiet, even as his fingers fidgeted with his notebook. Gerry couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

Back in their room, Gerry threw himself on the bed with a harsh groan, feeling jittery and understimulated. He hated sitting around listening to pointless drivel. Behind him, he heard Michael digging in his duffle bag before he paused, and Gerry could feel his eyes on him.

"Gerard..." Michael paused, and when Gerry rolled over to look at him, he saw him biting his lip adorably. "You don't...you don't really believe in all of that, from the lecture, do you?" he asked uncertainly.

"That stuff, no, not really." Gerry sat up straight, holding Michael's gaze intently, uneasy hope filling his chest. "But there is stuff out there. Real things. Things that I've actually seen and experienced." Michael's eyes flicked to the scars peeking past the collar of his shirt, then back to his. "There's things out there that you can't imagine. Things that Gertrude won't tell you about, for some reason." Michael looked away, looking even more troubled, biting his lip in earnest. He had picked up on the secrets and lies, it seemed.

"I'll tell you," Gerry told him, leaning forward earnestly. "I will, I swear it. I'll tell you everything about them. If you really want to know."

"Yes," Michael agreed immediately. "I know...I want to know. I...I need to."

Of course he did. Gerry felt the tight anxious feeling in his chest relax, finally assured that Michael would no longer be walking around the world blind. "Not right now, though," he amended, falling back on the pillows. "Or else you won't sleep tonight."

"Probably won't anyway," Michael muttered under his breath, almost too quietly for him to catch. Before Gerry could ask, he blushed and yanked a set of clothes out of his bag, scurrying off to the loo and closing the door behind him.

Gerry took advantage of his absence and quickly changed into the clothes he brought for pajamas. Even without knowing they'd be sharing a bed, he'd been sure to bring a shirt and bottoms that covered his scars. He didn't want Michael to see those, not yet.

Not that Michael would want anything to do with him anyway, he reminded himself. Once he knew, once he really knew, he'd want nothing to do with Gerry. He had to accept that. He had to be ready to be disappointed.

When Michael emerged from the loo, his face was shiny with some sort of product, and his short curls were pulled back by a soft-looking headband. He was wearing only a loose tee and a pair of boxers, and it took all of Gerry's restraint not to stare at him, or tense up when Michael crawled onto the bed next to him. Fuck, fuck, he didn't know how he could possibly sleep next to Michael, he'd never shared a bed with anyone before, ever, especially not a guy who captivated him like Michael did. How could he sleep when this was exactly what he'd been dreaming of?

"Gerard?" Michael's hushed voice made him immediately roll over to face him. In the low light, Michael's eyes were huge, staring at him with incomprehensible emotion. "I...thank you for, for being here with me. I really liked spending time with you today. And..." he stopped to take a deep breath, as his cheeks turned pink again. "And for saying you'll tell me everything. I know Gertrude probably thinks I can't handle it, but you do, and I...just...thank you. Really."

"Gerry," Gerry whispered, lost in Michael's eyes.

"What?"

"Gerry. I want...you can call me Gerry. If you want." Gerry swallowed down the thickness that tried to creep up his throat, watching the realization on Michael's face grow and bloom into a wonderous grin. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Gerry," Michael whispered, and he imagined he could hear a thousand echoes of Michael's voice, saying his name again and again, in a thousand different ways. "Gerry. Of course I'll call you Gerry. Of course."

"Thank you," Gerry sighed, finally relaxing the terror in his chest. Michael had his true name now, and it felt like he'd given Michael his heart along with it, and it felt so right. "I'll tell you everything else tomorrow."

"Good." Michael reached behind himself to turn off the light, and in the darkness Gerry felt something brush his hand, soft fingertips slipping over his palm before pulling away. "Goodnight, Gerry.

"Goodnight, Michael."

[downbadfororcs]

Faltered Action

——————————————————————————

IM ALIVE thank you all so much for being so patient and so supportive 😭 I’m so so sorry it’s been so long. Thank you all for your comments and reblogs and likes it’s been so motivating and so nice to see i really hope this next next part lives up. Love y’all!!

Xoxo

Ps. Tw: nightmares, swearing, mentions of violence I think

<< Masterlist

——————————————————————————

As the orc turned to leave, something caught his eye. Kneeling down, Xürgarh picked up a small card with shining letters.

“East Docking Trading, Post, and Services”

He flipped the card over, never seeing anything like it, on the back was scribbled with ink:

“Ask for James”

The writing was in Old English, must be a human based port. Not uncommon but large groups of humans aren’t often found anymore, not since the great wars. Xürgarh turned over the card again before placing it in his pocket and swiftly leaving, not wanting to draw more attention than he already might’ve.

Xürgarh returned home, shuffling off his cloak and outside garb. He placed the card on the coffee table, occasionally looking it over once more before placing it down. He stared into the hearth, thinking, until his eyes grew heavy, falling asleep on the couch.

——————————————————————————

Pain. Pain and agony is all you feel, pounding and throbbing across your body as the scene you’re trapped in progresses. Familiar faces and events play over and over. A burning ship sticks out, the heat is unbearable, making everything feel as if it’s ablaze. The act itself is almost beautiful, as all of the souls it’s taken once before escape. Somethings wrong though. They aren’t sent above the clouds as they should be. They swirl and combine like a thundering storm, a violent one at that, so fast that the faces you one recognize are contorted beyond recognition. They begin to swarm around you, all the voices and screams, the searing hot pain of it all is overwhelming.

It suddenly stops. You feel cold. It’s so sudden it’s startling, compelling you to finally open your eyes.

Light floods the room, after a few blinks Marvin’s figure is more recognizable, as well as his worried gaze.

“Thank god you’re awake. That was a nasty nightmare that one, I was beginning to worry you wouldnt wake up”

As he walks off he carries a cloth with him, placing it back in a bucket and wringing it out before placing it back on your forehead

“You’re sweating through the sheets, I’ll have to change them while you’re in the bath. How do you feel?”

Marvin assists as you fight to sit up, hissing with a flinch as your side radiates in agony

“Like shit”

He smiles at your answer

“Better than being dead no doubt, if you hadn’t been found I don’t wanna know what would’ve happened”

“But who found me?”

“You don’t remember, i was afraid you had a concussion, let me see your eyes-“

“No no no get away from me it hurts-“

“It’ll only be a second”

“I’ll bite you. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again”

“I know, I have the scar on my hand to prove it”

Marvin chuckles and sits down on the edge of the bed

“Alright alright I’ll leave you for now, maybe you’ll remember later. How does a bath sound”

“Gods yes. Do you have any more of that bath stuff?”

“You’re lucky I have any left, the ladies around town hound me for it whenever their monthly happens, apparently it’s the best pain solution around. Come on”

He gently lifts all the covers he trapped you under, removing the cloth from your head before picking you up. Marvin apologizes as he hears a multitude of pain sounds the whole way to the bathroom, after a few moments of water running you’re left in the massive tub.

The water has a purple tinge, with lavender and light floral scents filling your senses. Any agony and discomfort is washed away the longer it soaks in your skin. Leaning against the back of the tub, last nights events play over and over in your mind. Slowly, a face of an attacker and rescuer becomes more clear. Only one is missing a name, the other carries a title best forgotten.

After a while the water goes cold and you make your way out of the tub, draining the water before eventually getting dressed and dragging yourself downstairs to chat with Marvin before he opens up the pub for the day

He smiles as you still sit in the same spot, the only seat which the top is built to be human size.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah, loads, still tired though”

“I’d expect so, I’ll give you a little sleeping draught if you want so you won’t be woken up by all the noise-“

“I think I remember who saved me, but I don’t have his name”

“Xürgarh. He’s an orc”

“Figured with a pretty green face like that and being built like a tank, if he comes in tonight can you send him upstairs?”

Marvin stops, setting down the glasses he was cleaning

“Are you sure? You’re still very hurt even if you can’t feel it, I don’t want you to wear yourself out with too much excitement”

“A conversation is not too much excitement”

“No but I know he’s your type and I want to still have my bed intact when I finally go to sleep tonight, that thing was custom made you know”

You felt your face grow hot as you grab some nuts from the bowl Infront of you and throw them at him. Marvin laughs and throws up his hands in defence

“Have mercy! I’m being attacked by a human”

“Fuck off marvin, you haven’t even talked to that centaur you’ve been fawning over since we moved here”

“Hey you know disputes between our kinds just ended, I don’t know how he feels”

“Probably the same and it’s some will-they-won’t-they troupe”

“Oh hush, I’ll let Xürgarh know if he comes in today but I doubt it, usually he has to be dragged”

“Well where does he work?”

“He’s a blacksmith, his workshop is just a block or two from here i think. I’ve only been in once when that drunk elf tried to fight that hoard of halflings with my sword and broke it. You can hardly tell where it snapped unless you’re really looking for it”

“Hmm, you think he can fix the music box from auntie?”

“Oh I’d say so, I can’t believe you still have that since it was-“

Marvin stops as he sees you wince at the memory, placing his hand on yours for comfort. When you finally look up he offers a smile “it’s about time for me to open, you should probably wait upstairs. I’ll come check on you later and I’ll let you know if Xürgarh comes by, probably lead him up and everything”

“Thank you Marvin, I really appreciate it” you return the smile before slipping off the stool gently and making your way back upstairs.

[funnyexel]

imagine being on vacation with agent 47

The familiar click clack of the front door woke you from your tired state. A burst of energy shooting threw you as you peel yourself off the confines of the couch and shuffle to the quiet sound. You watch as he locks the door behind him, electricity flowing through you in pure excitement as you wait eagerly. Studying how precisely he took off his jacket, rolled off his gloves and loosened his tie with a small sigh. Opening his arms to you, you practically throw yourself at him. Burying your head in his chest and holding him tightly. His musky, powerful scent fills your nostrils as his arms travel around your waist and return the embrace. He got used to you waiting for him even though he repeatedly told you not to.

“You slept on the couch...” 

He utters, adjusting the bottom of your nightgown. In an attempt at shielding the soft flesh from the cold draft. His fingertips slyly dusting over your ass. 

Humming softly, you realize it doesn’t take a genius to see you’ve been camping out on the couch in anticipation for his arrival. Feeling his icy hands slide down the curve of your back, ass and stopping at the backs of your thighs. He grabs handfuls of your flesh and hoists your legs up to cross around his waist. A faint whine leaving your lips as your arms wrap loosely around his neck. Effortlessly holding your body around him as he swiftly moves across the living room to ascend the stairs.

Laying you down on the plush bedding, his fists are balled at each side of your head as he looks down to you. Looking up to him with eyes full of wonder and virtue, he uses his knuckle to delicately caress your cheek. As delicately as he can. Moving your head up, you eye his lips and kiss him, sucking on his bottom lip and he lies your head back down. Roughly holding your chin in his palm to keep you close. 

Kissing each other feverishly, your movements are rushed and hasty compared to his as you impatiently unfasten his belt. 

Your moans quickly fill the room as he drives his hips into you repeatedly. Fisting the back of your nightgown as he forcibly pulls you backwards to meet his ferocious thrusts. He may initially have more restraint than you but when he is nine inches deep in your wet pussy he can’t help but brainlessly abuse your cunt.

“m’wanna hear you...” 

You moan desperately, knowing he is suppressing his noises because of how jagged his breathing is. Arching your back so that your ass is right by his ‘V’ line, you wiggle your hips against him. Effectively earning a moan from him, albeit soft but vocal enough to satisfy you. Pushing your rogue hairs out your face, your toes curl at the excessive poking his tip is doing to your cervix. Shouts escaping your lips as his movements become more sloppy and brutal. 

Pounding you to the point where the dominating sound is the roaring sounds of your ass clapping against his pelvis.

Panting to catch your breath, you sneak your hand down to his stomach as you lay on his chest. Your head wrap fucked all the way up and dried up tear stains on the corners of your eye as you look up to him.

“I've been thinking....” 

You whisper to him, your voice threatening to break if you speak any louder. Gazing at you with neutral eyes, he nudges you slightly to hear you continue.

“we should get away... like a vacation.” You say in the sweetest voice you can manage. 

“A vacation?” 

You hum with a quick nod of your head. A small smile on your face, “everytime halloween comes around you get so paranoid. it's just a thought, you don’t have to agree.”

You’re shocked it was so easy. Usually he would need a whole lot more convincing but the next thing you know, you’re in Tahiti double fisting margaritas in a sexy swimsuit. All the while enjoying the sunset with your man in a hot tub. 

He can’t stop staring at your body as you straddled his lap. You can never get enough attention from him.

“I don’t think these drinks are strong enough.”

You exclaim to him as you finish your fourth margarita of the evening, knowing you’re at the point in your drinking where the cocktail is starting to taste more like juice. As you put the glass aside, your eyes widen as you feel his finger playing with your swimsuit bottom. Stretching and snapping the flexible fabric onto your skin.

Pulling your bottoms to the side, he easily slips his cock inside you, the bubbles  materializing in the hot tub covering up your indecent act.

“you’re wet.”

He states in your ear, loud enough for you alone to hear. Whining in his lap as he guides your hips to bounce on his dick. Holding his shoulders you move against him, sitting down on him and rotating your hips in a circular motion before moving up and down on his cock. Your cunt squeezing him so tightly. Letting your moans fly freely, you the slaps of your skin are suppressed by the splashing of water surrounding your bodies.

Luckily for the both of you, no one else would use that hot tub except for you but a good few happened to hear your moaning. Your loud, hot, horny and desperate moaning.

kinktober list

regular writing list

[nolita-fairytale]

don't want to walk alone | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: the honeymoon pt. 2

summary: you and carmy enjoy the last few days of your mini-moon.

warnings: light smut, husband!carmy who comes with a warning label of his own, swearing, lots of tooth rotting fluff, marriage, no use of y/n, second person pov, she/her pronouns

wc: 3.2k

listen to: the official don't want to walk alone playlist (mentioned song - lizzy mcalpine's 'dancing queen' cover)

a/n: hi cuties. here is part two of the honeymoon in chicago. i will be writing an epilogue to finish out this series, then my focus will be back on the world of 'burn your life down.' please enjoy all of this fluffy, lovey dovey content because these two deserve.

part four | masterlist | epilogue

This feels right, you think to yourself, stretching out in the abnormally large bath tub that overlooks the Chicago River. This being the bath, your honeymoon, the non-stop sex between you and your insatiable husband. 

You’re up to your shoulders in bubbles, the temperature of the water just the right amount of hot, and you’ve got to admit that you need a recovery bath from the last night or so. 

“You gonna join me in here or what?” you ask Carmy, a flirtatious smile on your face as you steal a glance his way. 

He sits facing you, a few inches away on the floor of the bathroom, the sketchbook that you got him as a wedding gift laying in his lap as he continues to make furious strokes with one of the wildly-expensive-yet-worth-it pens that you purchased in addition to the sketchbook. 

“Nah,” Carmy exhales, the corners of his lips curving up into a smile as he looks at you like you might disappear. “I just wanna look at you a little longer.”

“I know it’s kind of our thing now. But maybe tomorrow night?” he offers up, half apologetically. You shake your head, as if to let him know it’s no problem, and Carmy returns his attention over to what he’s sketching. 

“Watcha workin’ on over there?” you ask, curiously, in reference to the broad strokes of pen on paper that you can hear. 

“It’s a surprise,” he answers almost too quickly, his focus unbroken as he keeps his head down, buried in whatever it is he’s drawing. 

You inhale deeply, letting out your breath on an even deeper exhale and it feels as if you’re melting into the warm bubbles that surround you. 

“I’m just glad you’re drawing again. You always seem to light up when you do it,” you sigh, settling into the comfort of your bath, even though you now have to accept that Carmy won’t be joining you tonight. 

You close your eyes, listening to the sound of your bubble bath playlist that plays over the speakers of your phone – the easily recognizable voice of Leon Bridges filling your ears as your shoulders relax. 

“Why don’t you draw something? For our next tattoo,” you suggest, your eyes beginning to close. 

“God, I love you so much,” is Carmy’s reply, without missing a beat. 

Opening one eye, you sit up slightly to get a good look at Carmy, shooting a quizzical look his way. 

“Well, yeah. But are you referencing anything in particular this time?” you giggle, peering over the edge of the tub in hopes of getting a look at what he’s sketching. Carmy tuts, clutching the sketchbook close to his chest so that he’s sure you can’t see. 

The two of you exchange a look, then a laugh, before you resign yourself, sinking back into the tub. Carmy can’t take his eyes off of you, watching you close yours. He looks down at his sketchbook, the image of you in the bathtub, your hair tied up in a messy bun on top of your head beginning to take shape on the page. With deep blue eyes full of love, he finally answers your previous question with:

“You encourage me to dream, baby.” 

A beat. 

“It’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

You inhale again, peeking one eye open just for a moment as you grin.

“I love you too, Bear. So, so much.” 

You take another breath, and a beat, before reiterating, “And I meant what I said. You should draw something for our next tattoo.”

“You really want my scribbles on your body forever?” he asks, skeptically, completely discrediting the talent that you know he knows he has. 

“I married you, didn’t I?” you shoot back with a shrug. 

He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head incredulously. 

“Don’t know if that’s the same.”

“Seriously, Bear. I know we talked about maybe adding some ink to mark this chapter of our relationship… but I really want you to draw it. You don’t have to make up your mind now but, just think about it, okay?” you continue, this time opening both of your eyes to look at him – just so he knows that you mean it. 

“Sure,” he nods hesitantly. “Uh… yeah. I’ll think about it.”

You hum along to your playlist as the song changes, and Carmy returns his attention to his sketchbook, stealing glances your way as he continues to work on his drawing of you. You swear you’ve slipped into the kind of relaxed state that yogis traveling to an ashram for the first time can only dream of, as both you and Carmy settle into a comfortable and quiet rhythm. 

Carmy hasn’t felt this inspired in a long time – noting that he hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long time either – and he’s more than willing to admit that it’s all the love (and all the sex, because it’s certainly not hurting) that’s sparked this creative kick. He was nervous before, before checking into the hotel earlier today, that maybe he wouldn’t be able to relax – the idea of going to the spa with you tomorrow is still absolutely terrifying – but it’s moments like these that remind him that he may not be so bad at this whole relaxing thing after all. 

It could be minutes, hours, days when you decide to get out of the tub – having lost track of time entirely since you checked in at the Langham hotel. Without saying anything, you pull the plug on the bathtub, allowing it to drain as you stand up, grabbing for the fluffy, plush white hotel towel. 

And you know that you could put on a robe, just like Carmy, but you have a better idea. 

You’ve been saving the little white slip dress that Natalie bought you for just the right moment, and you think this might be it. You can feel Carmy’s eyes on you as you disappear from the bathroom, leaving him where he sits on the floor, and back into the bedroom in search of where you hung the slip dress earlier this evening. 

You wonder how long it will take – if he’ll follow you back into the bedroom – but he doesn’t, so you take your time drying off. The white slip dress slides off of its hanger easily. You pull it over your head, allowing it to settle gently over your frame, noticing just how softly it drapes over your figure. 

Nat really nailed it with this one, you think to yourself, the pads of your feet hitting the ground as you head back into the bathroom to hang up your robe. 

Carmy’s gotten up off the floor, having carefully set his sketchbook down on the long counter, confident in the way he stands, waiting for you. He watches you like a hawk as you begin hanging your robe on the back of the door, a smirk beginning to form on his face. 

“What?” you ask, because you know exactly what he’s thinking without even having to look at him. 

“Nothin,” he answers, cheekily.

As you turn around, Carmy’s taking a step towards you. You busy yourself with taking your hair back down, watching your reflection in the mirror as Carmy approaches, coming up behind you. You can feel his hands slide along your hips, pulling you towards him as he begins to leave soft kisses on the tops of your shoulders. 

“Jus’ wanted to let you know how beautiful you are,” he mumbles in between kisses, pressing his hips against your ass. “That’s all.” 

“That’s all? You’re insatiable, Carm. You know that?” you ask him with a giggle, watching him in the mirror this time. 

“Oh come on,” he counters you. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” You moan as soon as you feel one of his hands bunching up the material of your dress, his lips curving into a smile against your skin as he hears you. “Putting this on for me.” 

“Baby,” you sigh happily, beginning to understand just how fun a honeymoon is supposed to be. 

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he begins to tease you, moving your hair to one side of your neck.

“Remember when we snuck into a dressing room…” he continues you, his piercing blue eyes bearing into your soul through the mirror image – just like that night. “... during the James Beard Awards…” 

“How could I forget?” you gasp, his teeth nipping at the soft skin of your neck. “It was Syd’s first win and neither of us could wait till we got home.”

You remember it well, especially now, as Carmy begins to grind his hips into your ass, his eyes pleading with you in the reflection, begging you to let him fuck you. 

“Friday night and the lights are low…”

You smile, as soon as you recognize the lyrics to one of your favorite songs. Only this time, it’s nothing like the version you and your best friends sang at karaoke night, this version done as an intimate, acoustic singer-songwriter cover. Carmy’s hands are patient, slowly exploring your body as you turn around to face him, surprising him as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

He sends you a questioning look and you smile back as you lean in, placing your mouth over his in a messy kiss. 

“I love this song,” you whisper against his lips, pulling him in for another kiss as you press your body closer to his. “Dance with me, Carm.”

“Yeah?” he asks, with a single, amused raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” you answer with a smirk. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

Instead of answering (or protesting, considering he had his sights set on fucking you up against the bathroom counter), he just embraces you, holding you close to him as the two of you sway back and forth to the song, exchanging heated kisses. It’s here, in the midst of a push and pull of desire, dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe and the slip dress his sister bought you, that you and Carmy have your first dance as man and wife. 

It’s exchanged kisses, teasing remarks, and eager hands till the very end of the song, both of your feet coming to a halt, too consumed with the passionate makeout that Carmy’s engaged you in this time. Your hands travel to where his robe is tied closed, beginning to open it as your breathing picks up. 

“Think we can count that as a first dance?” Carmy asks, in between kisses, his lips moving at a feverish, more desperate pace this time. 

“Definitely,” you reply, the softness in his eyes matched so well with the softness of the music. It’s then that you kiss him again, your mouth beginning to trial south every time you return to him. 

“Baby,” he moans, as he watches you kiss lower and lower, anticipating what comes next. 

“Said I’d make it worth your while. And right now, I want to go down on my husband,” you rasp, your voice low and sultry as you drop to your knees. 

Carmy moans as soon as he feels your mouth on him, your tongue coming out just to taste the tip of him. His right hand tangles in your hair, beginning to grasp at the back of your head as he lets out a:

“Fuck.”

———————————

Your vintage lace slip dress, plucked from the ground where it was carelessly thrown the night before, and Carmy’s denim jacket draped over your shoulders. 

That’s what he wakes up to, Carmy, your husband, as you climb back onto the bed, having left your brown paper bag filled with all kinds of goodies on the nightstand next to him. 

It may seem silly, bringing his denim jacket considering you barely planned on leaving the room, but he brought it for moments like this, when he knew you’d inevitably want to wear something of his while heading down to explore the rest of the hotel. 

“Think you’ll even need that?” you’d asked as you watched him pack his bag for this weekend. 

“Gotta be prepared, babe. You’ve been stealing my clothes since day one,” he had pointed out, making it clear that he was only packing options at this point. You’d giggled, making a comment about how considerate your then-husband-to-be was and a declaration that you were nothing if not consistent. 

“Good morning, my love,” you say as you climb onto the bed, settling at the foot. 

Carmy just smiles dreamily, his curls a wild, beautiful mess, as he sits up, reaching for your hands so that he can pull you over him. You smile, leaving a quick good morning kiss on his lips as you mutter something about morning breath. 

“Fuck off. You love me,” he teases in response, laying back down. 

“Fuck off. I do,” you parrot him, nodding happily, as you settle over him, straddling his hips. 

With your hands still in his, Carmy brings your conjoined hands up to his lips, leaving a kiss to each knuckle, his eyes fixed to yours, his focus unbroken. He smirks, seeing you in his denim jacket, just like he predicted. It looks damn good on you and there’s something so primal about the way he feels when you wear his clothes – the fact that you’d showcase to the world that you’re his stirs something inside of him that feels intoxicating.

“I went downstairs to the hotel cafe. Got a few pastries and coffee for us,” you say, as you run your hands up and down his chest. 

“Thanks, baby. But I’m not hungry yet,” Carmy replies, something in his voice that tells you he’s got something else in mind. You quirk an eyebrow in his direction, letting out a loud laugh as he flips you over, rolling you onto your back. 

“Think we should work up an appetite first.” 

“Again?” you giggle, heat pooling between your legs as you think of how he fucked you up against the bathroom counter last night – after you went down on him. 

Instead of answering, he captures your mouth with his, groaning into the kiss as he lays his body over yours. You could care less about the morning breath as Carmy winds you up with the way he kisses you, the way he touches you, and you’re sighing out in pleasure as his hand slips between your legs. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, baby,” he spits through gritted teeth, as soon as he realizes that you’re not wearing any underwear. 

“You go down to the cafe like this?”

You smirk, letting out a devious chuckle at his discovery. 

Before you can properly answer, Carmy’s fingers are dancing over your wet heat, earning well deserved gasps from you as you buck your hips into his hand, a sudden possessiveness taking over. 

“Fuck, Carm,” you groan, knowing exactly how to wind him up. “Yeah. Might have to punish me for it.”

“Think so, sweet girl,” Carmy mutters, before his mouth is on yours again. 

———————————

It’s your last night at the Langham hotel and you and Carmy have barely left your room – save for the trip to the pool downstairs. You find yourself curled up with your husband, your head buried in the book you're halfway through in a cozy silk PJ set as Carmy works on something else, a few pages deep into his new sketchbook. 

“How’s your book?” he asks, his focus still on the page before him. 

“Good,” you answer quietly, looking for a good place to pause. You look over at him, smiling as you notice the very cute face he makes when he’s concentrating. 

“Watcha workin’ on?” 

A light blush runs across Carmy’s cheeks as he prepares to show you. 

“Uh… just been sketchin’ up some ideas… you know. Ever since you asked about, you know… the tattoo,” Carmy answers, suddenly feeling shy about showing you his work. 

“Yeah?” you ask, only to be met with a nod as Carmy hands you the sketchbook. 

You take it, your eyes eagerly scanning the page, considering it’s the first time since you gave him the gift that he’s let you see anything he’s been working on. You smile, a look of awe in your eyes as you take in all of the little food-related tattoos that he’s drawn up. 

“I like this one,” you say, pointing to the nest of spaghetti he’s drawn, clearly meant to be a single portion of carbonara. “I mean, I like all of them… but I like this one.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, only a little surprised that you like any of them really. 

“Yeah,” you nod in response. You look down at his work, then back up to Carmy before gesturing towards the page. “May I?”

“Uh… sure,” he answers anxiously, the sound of the page turning only magnifying his nerves. 

He’s so incredibly talented that it hurts, and it’s not till you get back to the very first page, the one where he's drawn you in the bathtub that your heart stops. 

“Carmy,” you gasp, looking down at the sketch. 

“You hate it,” he’s quick to say, offering up a way out, almost too eager to beat you to the punch if that is how you feel. 

“Baby, of course I don’t hate it. I-,” you shake your head, marveling at the drawings below as you trace your fingers over the broader strokes of the pen. “It’s just… no one’s ever drawn me before so. I’m kind of… in awe right now.”

Carmy inhales, then lets out the breath on a deep exhale, because he’s drawn you before – considering he’s barely made time for his art in the last five years anyways – and that they just aren’t things he’s shown you yet. 

“What do you think?” is all he asks, his eyes searching your face for a reaction. 

“I think,” you say, returning his gaze with yours. You can tell that he’s nervous, that this feels extremely vulnerable, and you know exactly how to pivot. “... that you’re incredibly talented… and it’s really, really not fair.” 

He laughs. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replies, brushing off the compliment. 

“No, I mean it, Bear,” you harp, making sure he hears you. 

“Okay,” he nods, and you know it’s the best you’re going to get when it comes to him accepting your compliment on the spot. 

You take a beat, before handing him his sketchbook back, returning your attention to your book as the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm of spending time with each other. This is exactly how you pictured this weekend going – spending time together, doing absolutely nothing, and fucking all day long. You’re not quite ready to go back to real life yet, but you also miss Aioli, and you know you and Carmy have another shot at this when you go on your real honeymoon in a few months. 

“Maybe I should bring this with me… you know… on our honeymoon part two,” Carmy says, gesturing towards his sketchbook. It warms your heart to see him so excited, so inspired and relaxed. 

“Definitely,” you reply with a smile. “Let’s do it all over again in a few months. When we go to Japan.”

“You wanna take a bath?” you ask, an implied, ‘you said you would join me’ in your voice as you ask the question. 

Carmy licks his lips, a small smile threatening the corners of his mouth as he answers, 

“Deal.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

New Romantics | Spencer Reid

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a bad breakup, Reader and her friends go out to party where she meets one young FBI agent. Suddenly, she'd forgotten her ex even existed and was more interested in getting to know the stranger.

Warnings: alcohol use, reader is drunk for half of this, mention of puking, not proofread, it's generally just not really good but it's the best I can do.

Words: 1.4K

It had been ninety-two days to be exact. Ninety-two days of crying into tubs of ice cream, not wanting to admit that it was over and partying non-stop. It was day twenty when her friends had had enough of her wallowing and forced her into a little black dress and heels, and took her out to party. 

Ever since that day, the partying hadn’t quite stopped. 

Her heart had been broken in a thousand pieces, smashed to a pulp and stepped on by one person alone. The one person she once loved but now absolutely loathed. Charlie Denisco. Now the most hated person in her friend group. 

The partying did help a lot with working through the heartbreak. She didn’t know if it was because she wasn’t holed up in her apartment underneath every possible blanket she had or because of the alcohol, but whatever it was; she felt herself slowly healing. 

“We should find you a new love interest,” Sasha, one of her best friends, stated as she hooked an arm of hers with y/n’s. 

Scoffing, y/n shook her head while Lila voiced her thoughts. “This isn’t a romantic comedy, Sash.”

“What if we made it to be?” Sasha shrugged, earning raised eyebrows and glares from her friends. “Come on! Think about it! We’re out, partying, looking hot as shit, most of us single as shit. What if we romanticized our life and pretend we’re in a rom-com? It could be so fun!”

“Okay,” Ella indulged. “If we do this, what’s gonna happen?” 

Sasha’s face lit up, glad her friends were indulging in her delusions. “Okay, so, we’d be The New Romantics, a group of fun-loving twenty-something teenagers who go out to party, on the road to ruin. We play dumb, but we know exactly what we’re doing.” Her friends chuckled. Sasha had clearly thought about this before. 

“Sounds good to me,” y/n mumbled with a shrug, watching as Sasha’s smile widened even more, taking over her entire face. 

“Should we have, like, our own personas?” Florence suggested with a mischievous smirk on her face. 

Her friends’ smiles mirrored hers, all four of them almost excitedly about the idea. On their way to the bar, the girls started thinking up their New Romantics personas. Flo started, seeing that she was the one who came up with the idea. 

“My name is… Paige Gallagher,” she started. “I’m twenty-nine and a kindergarten–no, primary school teacher. And I enjoy talking to men the way I talk to my students.” The girls all burst out laughing at Florence’s idea. 

“Okay, okay,” y/n then giggled. “My turn. I’m Astrid Wright. I’m twenty-eight and I’m a… coffee shop owner. I like to pick up men when they pick up their coffees.” 

And just like that, Paige Gallagher, Astrid Wright, Nadia Hernandez and Taylor Bates were born from the imaginative minds of four best friends who had dubbed themselves the New Romantics that night. It was a lot fun, at first, with each of them flirting with the men at the bar, getting free drinks from each of them. It was all fun and games until y/n found herself all alone with all three of her friends chatting up the people in the bar. 

Suddenly, her heart plummeted at the feeling of being completely left alone. The memories of her and Charlie flooded back in her mind, shattering every last piece of her heart she had so carefully glued together again. Feeling the tears prick her eyes and the ground behind her sink away, she stumbled outside the bar where she crashed onto the floor, sobbing. 

“Woah, hey,” she heard an unfamiliar voice. “Hey, are you okay?” 

She looked up through her tear-filled eyes. Her sight was blurry, but she could make out the outlines of his curls and sharp jawline. “They left me alone,” she cried. “They left me alone but I can’t be alone right now.” 

“Hey, hey, sssh,” he shushed her, hoping it would soothe her violents sobs before offering his lime soda. “Here, drink this,” he said. “We need to get you a little sobered up.” For a moment, he watched her as she gulped the drink, which stopped her crying. “I’m Spencer…” 

“I’m Astrid–” she stopped herself, then shook her head. “No, that’s not right. I’m y/n.” 

Even in her drunk state, she wasn’t going to lie to this guy who was helping her out. She’d been doing that to everyone in the bar, but she didn’t want to do it to him. He seemed genuinely nice. 

“Okay, y/n,” Spencer said and grabbed her upper arms cautiously. “Can you stand? We gotta get you inside. It’s way too cold out here.” The girl nodded her head and let him help her up to her feet. She stumbled ever so slightly in doing so, but Spencer quickly regained his grip and kept her steady.

She didn’t even know where they were going. All she could focus on was his face. From where she was staring up at him from underneath his arm, she had the perfect view of his sharp jawline and adorable nose. A hiccup escaped from her throat as he gently put her down in one of the booths in the back of the bar. 

“Stay here,” he ordered. “I’m gonna get you some water.” Nodding her head, y/n let herself fall back on the bench, much to Spencer’s dismay. Within a second, he was back by her side and helped her up again. “No. No, no. Sit back up, please,” he ordered and forced her to turn so she was sitting with her back against the back of the couch. 

“But I’m so tired,” she whined, but Spencer was already gone. 

It didn’t take Spencer too long to get the girl sober again. A good five glasses of water and some sobering questions did just the trick, something he had learned from taking care of his many drunk friends. But the more sober she became, the more embarrassed she became. 

“I’m so sorry,” she cried out, fresh tears running down her cheeks. 

Spencer reached over and clutched her hand in his. “Hey, no, you don’t have to apologize.” 

“Yes, I do,” she whimpered, her bottom lip quivering. “Because I’m a drunk, blubbering mess and you’re so nice and so pretty and I just– I’m not normally like this.” She hiccuped before taking another sip, missing a light pink dusting Spencer’s cheeks. 

He himself took a sip from his water, debating whether or not to say the next words brewing in his genius brain. “Okay,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Okay, then show me who you normally are. We’re gonna sit here, you’re gonna drink your water and we’re gonna talk until you’re sober enough to go home.” 

And so they did. For hours, the two sat in the booth, chatting about seemingly random stuff while drinking one water after the other. Spencer managed to keep the girl awake to the point where she really had to go to the bathroom, having drunk too much water. 

The bar was pretty much empty at this point. Even her friends had ditched her for the people they’d picked up that night with their ‘personas’. So much for the New Romantics, y/n thought. But she was grateful for Spencer that he wanted to take the time to sober her up and get to know her. 

And it had worked, too. The room wasn’t spinning when she sat on the toilet and she didn’t feel like puking anymore. All good signs that told her she was, in fact, sobering up. 

“I can’t believe my friends just ditched me,” she muttered as she slid back into the booth, rejoining Spencer. “We’d actually pretended to be other people all night long.” 

“Why’s that?” Spencer chuckled. 

“Well,” y/n scoffed and rolled her eyes at how ridiculous it all sounded now. “I’ve just come out of a pretty brutal breakup and they’ve been trying to cheer me up. When we came out tonight, we’d decided to use different personas to try and create some sort of mystique, I guess?” She took another gulp of water. “I don’t know, it sounds stupid.” 

“Did it help you get over your ex?” Spencer then asked, to which y/n nodded. “Then it’s not stupid.” 

As y/n looked into Spencer’s eyes, she noticed the golden specks in his irises and she realized she could see her whole world in them. With just one simple look, one simple smile, he had turned her life upside down. Charlie, who? She had forgotten all about them. That night had felt like a dream. 

“I’m not sure it was that, what made me forget my ex…” 

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