#draw you a bath every night

[softquietsteadylove]

Would you continue the president au one? Something sweet maybe?

"The President's day is bifurcated between the office and time for herself in privacy," Gilgamesh told the reporters eagerly trying to worm their way inside. "There is no security surveillance, no wire tapping. The home of Madam President must remain unpolitical so as to separate the person from the job and her obligation to the people. This is all public record."

"But sir, the people have questions!" the reporter wailed at him as security started pushing the crowd back. "The last president had an unprecedented amount of 'private time' and it turned out he was-"

"A mistake," Gil cut in harshly, effectively stopping that train of thought. "And one we won't make again. Now, I am going to briefing, Chief of Communications Sersi is going to be here to address the day's business shortly--excuse me."

Gil pressed his back to the doors as soon as he was inside. They always 'tipped off' the press when he was going to be entering the household, so no one could become too suspicious of it. It was true that the actual residence in the house and office was completely off limits to foreign clearance, press, they didn't have security cameras in it, nothing.

But damn, he was just trying to see his own girlfriend.

Gil unbuttoned his coat and walked into the home part of the house. He was well familiar with it, even with how careful they were not to betray the nature of their relationship. "Thena?"

She was in the kitchen.

"Hey," she greeted him with a smile, putting together a sandwich for herself. She was rid of her pantsuit and even had her hair down.

"Hey," he whispered, kissing her with a hand in her silken blonde hair. He pressed his nose to her cheek, "gonna cut that in half for me, or what?"

"I could say no, but you cooked everything else in that fridge," she snorted. There was another fridge for the food prepared for her by the house chef, of course, but this one was her personal one, for her personal use, in her personal kitchen.

Effectively Gil's kitchen, since she couldn't be trusted to make a grilled cheese without security thinking there was a threat in the residence.

"How was it out there?" she asked as she held up half the sandwich for him, trading kisses between bites.

"Media's a little worked up because of your week off, which we knew they would be," he shrugged, undoing his tie as well. Thena took the liberty of undoing his first few shirt buttons. "Sersi and Kingo will handle it."

"Okay," Thena murmured, unable to do much else in the moment. She leaned against him.

"Hey," he chuckled, rubbing her back while she was wearing his Secret Service hoodie from his time in security. "You have a week off. It's for your mental health--to not be worried, okay?"

"Do I seem capable of relaxing?"

Gil kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then tilted her chin so he could get her lips, "I think I know how to relax you."

"Oh you do, do you?" she smiled into the kiss, happily letting him lead her into the small frenzy of affection. She sighed, "I miss you."

"I'm right here," he whispered.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," he nodded before taking another bite of sandwich, "and I'm still here anyway."

Thena accepted another bite too.

"We're here, we're okay," he assured her as best he could while they stole their time together.

It was only recently they were able to start bringing him into the residence without suspicion from the inside forces, let alone the media and public. Even as her assistant, there was only so much time he could spend in her home before it became questionable.

"Some anniversary," she whispered, tucking her head under his chin. "I'm sorry, Gil."

"None of that," he rubbed her arm, resting his cheek against her hair, "You know I'm happy so long as I'm with you. And we knew this would come--that it wouldn't be easy."

"Still," she sighed a little more impatiently. "I'm supposedly the most powerful person in the country and I can't even get you a damn present without half the world knowing?"

"What would you get me?" he raised an eyebrow, finishing off the last tiny bite of the sandwich and licking his fingers. "I have everything I need right here."

Thena rolled her eyes as he kissed her cheek, "I'm serious, Gil."

"So am I."

She patted his chest, "well, it seems negligent to not get you anything at all."

"Well," he shrugged, "what if I didn't get you anything either?"

Thena shook her head though, giving his side a pinch before seating herself at the table. "I know for a fact that you did. And even if you hadn't, you got me this week off. That's...more than I can fathom."

Gil smiled at her though, also sitting at the table across from her, like they could be a normal couple in a normal house. "Sweetheart, I don't need anything from you because the fact that I can still be with you even after everything that happened last year?--that's my gift. And I don't want to take that for granted."

She gave him that soft, glassy eyed look that meant that she was wallowing in her guilt.

He reached over for her hands, "do you remember what we were doing this time last year?"

She rolled her eyes ever so fondly at him as she let him give each and every one of her fingers an affectionate little squeeze. "I was still vice at the time, you were my dedicated SS. I could still go home at the end of the day and you could sneak in dressed as a delivery guy."

He grinned at her, "and I did deliver every time, didn't I?"

She rolled her eyes at him for real this time, "Gilgamesh."

"And?" he prompted her.

She sighed, looking down at their hands, "and you told me that the dates in my living room with pizza and wings and cheap wine were dates--real dates."

"Because?"

She pursed her lips at him, not thrilled at being led like a fawn. She huffed, "because it was a date and it was with me and that was all you wanted."

Gil beamed at her with a laugh. "God, I'm such a good boyfriend."

"Stop it," she groaned, trying to lean away and pull her hands back to her.

He held on though, determined to keep her with him in the moment. He tilted his head to look at her, "that's still true, Thena. I don't care if I'm sneaking a burger and fries into your room between press briefings or we're at a diplomatic dinner. I wanna be with you. That's all."

Thena sighed, blinking in such a way that he knew she was trying not to cry. She shook her head, "you are a good boyfriend, much to my dismay."

He grinned; that was her way of saying that she loved him. He chuckled, "I love you, too, sweetie."

She let him stand and kiss her hair on the way to the fridge.

"So," he said more loudly and upbeat, "what to have for a real anniversary meal?"

Thena turned in her seat to look at him. On the one hand, he wanted to make their meals for the two of them. And on the other hand, she also couldn't ask the resident chef to make two servings of a gorgeous meal for her alone.

Well, she could, and no official questions would be asked. Risky, though.

"What do you feel like?" he asked as he rolled up his sleeves. He could change into something more comfortable after he was done with their dinner.

Thena smiled at him, hair over her shoulder, curled up in her chair in a ball. She looked sweet. "Pasta?"

He had onions, carrots, celery, herbs, leeks, tomatoes... "I think I can pull that off."

She stood from the chair and came over to him, sliding her lithe little arms around him from behind and pressing her face to his shoulder, "thank you, Gil."

He looked down and craned his neck to try and kiss her hands on his chest.

She laughed into his shirt before rising on her toes to kiss the back of his neck. "I'll pour some wine, you focus on the food."

Gil let her slide away from him, although the ache that could resonate in his chest when they were at work didn't follow. In here, they could be themselves, and he could be as perfect a boyfriend as he wanted.

[tarrynightss]

Thinking about being Sukuna’s favorite concubine…

He gives you special treatment, being far more lenient with you than the others. You want a luxury bath? You’ll get it. Want to have a night to yourself? He’ll consider it if you’re extra good to him today. He’ll even forgive that smart mouth of yours for speaking out of turn.

He’ll shower you in finery; clothes, hairpins, exotic fruits. He likes rewarding you with something that makes your eyes go wide and gleam with interest like you’re a little crow. It’s also to show off that you’re his favorite, everything on you marking his possession over you.

He’ll keep you on his lap as he sits on his throne, one arm always snuggly wound around your waist. It’s all about showing off his power and fertility to whoever visits him of course, but you get to be the one he does it with. You are the one to be shown off, to be remembered by whoever makes it out of a visit with Sukuna alive.

He normally doesn’t allow his concubines to sleep next to him, it being far more of a hassle than he usually finds it worth it, but he makes an exception for you. It’s not always, of course, but most nights after he calls on you (which is a lot) he’ll draw you against his body and hold you for his own comfort.

He’s more tender with you. Like mentioned before wrapping you in his arms to sleep, or letting you press a gentle kiss to his mouth. Not every touch you share with him is dirty, which is quite unique with Sukuna.

He’ll overwork you. You are his favorite, his most desired one, so be prepared to get fucked till your holes feel raw and your walk is messed up. He just wants you all of the time, making sure you are always bare under your kimono so he can flip it up and take you whenever he pleases. Perhaps if you beg him very, very sweetly not to use one of your sore holes, he’ll agree to use another, just because it’s you, because he’s such a kind master.

He’ll cum inside you. It’s not a privilege exclusively reserved for you per se, but he tries to avoid it with the others. He has had no interest in having children, so it’s a real hassle when one of his women falls pregnant. The fallout is never pleasant, to say the least. But you… well, clearly you have something special to have captured his interest. Maybe it’s your beauty, or your intelligence, or maybe you carry some tremendous cursed energy. Something made him like you best, and that something makes him wonder that maybe, if he is to create a legacy for himself, then you should be the one to help him with that. The change is not spoken about, you quickly enough finding out that Sukuna never pulls out of you anymore, keeping his cock inside you afterwards and fucking his cum even deeper. It’s only when you’re clearly sick with worry about him ditching you (of worse) if you get pregnant that he tells you his thoughts. You happily accept your role of course, just as he knew you would.

His favorite, his precious little jewel

Find part 2 here

[whateveriwant]

might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;

Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader

Price

Three words: full body massage

That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)

He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his

He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin

Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted

Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)

By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut

Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone

Ghost

We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in

…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is

Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)

You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work

He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home

He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name

I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses

Gaz

He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening

First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining

Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off

The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes

When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet

He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it

Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion

Soap

‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck

However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up

He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you

Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)

He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting

And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there

By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…

[augustinewrites]

nanami finally getting the club fic he deserves cw: suggestive

whenever gojo drags nanami out to the club, it’s not unusual for him to slip into a secluded corner. after a long week of work, the last place he wants to be is on a loud dance floor or sitting at a crowded bar. he’d only agreed to come because gojo was picking up the tab for tonight. 

it’s during his third drink of the night that he watches gojo and his fiancée on the dance floor, hands all over each other as they sway to the dirty rhythm of the club. 

it’s when he’s waiting for the bartender to pour him his fourth drink that he sees you slide up to the other end of the bar. 

the loud bass is suddenly replaced with the drum of his heartbeat. 

the black silk of your dress shimmers. not in an overly gaudy way, but in a way that was utterly tantalizing, drawing his attention to every shift of your hips and turn of your torso. 

he’s not aware that he’s staring. not until you turn to meet his gaze.

you quickly down the contents of your glass before raising it in his direction. it’s a sight that’ll surely be burned into the back of his mind; an alluring smile on lips painted deep red. 

you’re hypnotizing in every sense of the word. he watches, utterly unashamed as you slink back onto the dancefloor. you glance over your shoulder at him, a question shining in your eyes. 

are you coming? 

nanami quickly finishes his drink and follows you without a second thought.

bodies pressed around him, some lost in the unadulterated pleasure of the night, some clearly trying to gain his attention. they’re all easy to ignore, because his sights are set solely on you. 

soon (but not soon enough), he’s standing in front of you. close enough for you to grab him by the tie, pulling him in. close enough for him to let his hands wander to your hips, sliding over the silk of the dress that’d caught his eye. close enough that he could feel your warm breaths on the shell of his ear as you told him your name.

he’s about to tell you his name when someone tells it behind him.

“nanami!” gojo shouts, unsurprisingly loud enough to be heard over the music. you draw back, about to see who’s calling for him.

without thinking, his hand catches your jaw, forcing you to keep your gaze on him.

the look on your face is priceless. 

“ignore him,” he murmurs. his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, smearing red lipstick across your mouth. 

you draw a sharp inhale as he releases your jaw. nanami is unable to keep from smirking as his knuckles brush down the shameless plunge of your neckline, causing you to shudder.

“come home with me,” you breathe. 

even in the dark of the club, nanami sees the rest of his life in the glimmer of your eyes. 

gojo’s wolf whistles as he follows you out to hail a cab.

_____

you wake to an empty bed.

your heart sinks a little, but it’s not unexpected. a one night stand is exactly that— one night. you don’t do it often, but that man…

your face feels hot as you think back to last night. the way he’d kissed you, touched you, praised you…the space between your legs throbs with the mere memory.

when you sit up, you see a glass of water and a packet of aspirin sitting on your nightstand. as you’re about to reach for them, a noise from the kitchen catches your attention. 

you pull on a shirt (his shirt) sauntering out of your bedroom to see nanami in your kitchen. you lean in the doorway, admiring the way he looks bathed in the soft glow of sunrise. 

last night may have been great, but you have a feeling that wherever this relationship goes is going to be so much better.

[contact-guy]

lol THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG but it's such a cute story opening that I had to draw Watson roasting Holmes's messiness for the newspaper and Holmes skillfully maneuvering his way out of having to do chores. It's all canon, even the indoor sharpshooting, except for the bit about the cold bath.

canon text under the cut:

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter’s night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here’s the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this really is something a little recherchè.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children’s toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“These,” said he, “are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.”

I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. “I should be so glad,” said I, “if you would give me an account of it.”

“And leave the litter as it is?” he cried, mischievously. “Your tidiness won’t bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.

-The Memories of Sherlock Holmes: The Musgrave Ritual

[avrizl]

authors note - i legit have not written in a YEAR🫡 please excuse this bs i need to feed you guys.

bf!mike holding you as you cry into his arms, stroking the back of your head lovingly, “shhh.. it’s okay.. i’m right here..” he never fails to make you feel safe with his touch.

bf!mike cupping your face ever so gently as he kisses you softly and lovingly, as he pulls away to look at you he rubs a reassuring thumb over your cheek.

bf!mike peppering your face with kisses as he walks into the door after a long night shift at the pizzeria as he wraps around you tightly swinging back and forth because he truly believes he will die without being around you for longer than 6 hours.

bf!mike smiling with a glimmer in his eyes as he sees the lights on the christmas tree you guys put up together, he hasn’t seen one in full like this since he was 13.

bf!mike buying you flowers at literally every chance he gets, there isn’t a room without flowers in a vase and all of the past bouquets he’s gotten you have been dried and the petals are in a vase.

bf!mike who will literally do ANYTHING. for you and i mean anything this man worships the ground you walk on and literally is obsessed with you.

bf!mike who believes you look beautiful no matter what you’re wearing, or how your hair is, or if you have makeup on or not. no matter the situation he is going on and on about how beautiful you are and how you get more and more beautiful each day

bf!mike who feels incredibly guilty because he can never cook you a nice dinner (he burns it almost every single time) “i’m so sorry.. i just wanted to make you something nice” with the biggest puppy eyes ever he says this and your heart melts. (when you’re gone he lives off of lunchables).

bf!mike who runs you a bath when you don’t feel good like he goes all out like epson salt and ALL. and candles too and he brings you snacks. “ ‘m sorry you don’t feel good baby.. i wish i could make it all go away”

bf!mike who smiles at you lovingly when you play with abby, or draw with her, carry her around, and tuck her in bed. he sees you as a motherly figure to her, and he can tell that abby trusts you and loves you a lot.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 5) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

-

As it happens, the sun does rise the next day. 

You wake up gummy-mouthed, brow furrowing before your eyes even open. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, diaphanous and left open from the night before. Warmer than usual. It draws you back into its arms for a brief moment, ensconced in its warmth, bathed in the fuzzy in-between of wake and sleep. 

Memories trickle in slowly at first. It comes piecemeal; your first thoughts, a shallow pool that ripples when you dip your hands in, memories of the day previous scattering until you wait for them to come back together. You open your eyes to the window opposite you again. When you blink, it doesn’t fade like a dream. Your lips purse unconsciously because the truth is that you can’t recall ever sleeping in a room with a window. Or in a bed as comfortable as the one you’re in.

An arm around your waist pulls you in tight.

Your stomach swoops when you register the body behind you, a bracket of warmth at your back. Your immediate instinct is to kick away, go flailing off the edge of the bed and frantically search for the nearest object to brandish at the man in your bed. Then a hand runs up from your belly to cup your breast and your thoughts fizzle out again. His hand closes around the flesh and holds there, slotting your nipple between two thick fingers. Even with the fabric of your shift separating his hand from your skin, the feeling is electrifying. 

He grumbles against the back of your head and the sound reverberates through you. A full body shudder. Mildly peeved that your neck breaks out in a sweat. The sound is familiar though, as is the way he chuffs in his sleep, a brief expelling of air that glides over the naked skin of your neck. 

Something about his touch makes it click. You remember the glimmer of his badge and the rattle of the belt around his waist. The memory of his touch is bone deep; you’ve known John Price for less than two days, but you’ve felt almost every part of him by now. 

His legs tangle with yours under the sheets, a big thigh slotted through yours, giving you a perch to sit on. The two of you completely intertwined. You don’t remember falling asleep wrapped around him; maybe the slightest cuddle before rolling away to the edge of the bed.

When the hand on your breast squeezes, you inhale sharply. Loud. It echoes in the small room, the only sound apart from Price’s slow, even breaths. Part of you aches to move his hand. Again, he touches you where no one’s touched you before. You count your blessings that the sound of your gasp hardly makes him stir, sure that if Price were to wake up now, he’d never let you live down the way your nipples bead at his touch. 

As if your traitorous body answers to you these days. Your skin heats and sweats without your approval, heart always at a gallop when the man now known as your husband lingers close to you or sets a hand on your waist. Maybe in time it’ll become easier to withstand his touch, but the thought of lingering in his house even a week longer puts you on edge. 

It feels more like a curse than a blessing when his hand slowly draws back down the length of your chest. Panic sets in the moment his hand twitches, worried that Price might have woken up, but he breathes the same. Even, deep. He’s touchy in his sleep, always looking for some part of you to hold. You relax for a moment when his hand lingers on your belly. The weight is almost comforting, in a sense. Tender.

Then, it dips farther down. 

“John—John—” you whisper frantically, voice far too thin to pierce through the veil of sleep still shrouding him, trying to push his hand back up to no avail. He grunts in his sleep, curling around you. 

The hand on your belly sinks between your legs. It bunches up your shift, dragging the fabric of your nightdress between your legs. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

He cups your sex roughly, a firm hold that doesn’t budge when you try to squirm away. You’ve felt those fingers on your backside and curled around your wrist and threaded between your fingers, but between your thighs his palm feels wide. A man’s hand. The texture of his calloused fingers is dulled through the fabric of your shift, but you swear you can feel its heat.

He rocks the palm of his hand into your sex, the heel rubbing up into the apex of your thighs, making your whimpers go feathery and frail. You nearly bite clean through your bottom lip trying to stave off the moan crawling up your throat. His fingers rub at your hole through the gusset of your underwear and shift, the tip pushing just barely inside. 

A fevered, aching hotness spreads in your belly when his fingers sink in just the slightest bit. You can feel how sopping wet the fabric is, where he uses your own slickness to push inside. 

John practically growls when you finally cave and press your hand over his, tilting his hand just enough to grind the heel of his palm against your pearl. The shame is almost unbearable, so desperate for pleasure that you’d use a man in his sleep to reach your end. Hardly your heaviest sin, but it sinks into you anyway, another feather on the scale. Still, you choke back a suffering gasp and press down harder into his hand.

Pleasure suffuses through you when he grinds his palm just right. First, utter relief, the tension draining from between your shoulder blades and dripping onto the bed under you. Then, burning hotter than before, chewing your lip to keep quiet, terrified that you might wake John. Terrified that he might not, might keep you hovering over the edge with your feet kicking out. 

You’ve played at touching yourself before, but never with a firm, steady hand. Never without the aftertaste of guilt. It whispers in the back of your mind even now, a thorny prick, but then it whispers something else. It’s not sinful if he’s your husband, mumbled deliciously into the whorl of your ear, in John’s voice somehow. A husband doesn’t ask forgiveness for spreading his wife’s thighs open. He takes what’s his. 

John ruts against your bottom, huffing into your neck when you bite off a wail and breathe out heavier instead. The heavy shaft between his legs that you’d gotten a glimpse of the night before presses into the curve of your backside to nearly the small of your back. Thicker, hard as it is; you can only imagine how it’d feel to have that inside of you, to have him lay you flat on your back and bury his length into you. 

His hand tightens over your mound, gripping harder than before. Two fingers nudging at your entrance break you. It sends you down the side of a waterfall, frantically trying to swim your way back before plummeting down into the frothy depths, directionless in the water until you surface. 

John spills inside his trousers against your back. You feel it when he grunts and jerks against your backside one last time. 

You lie there, basking in the aftermath while the sun warms up the room. It’ll be at least an hour before the heat truly sets in. For now, it’s a gentle warmth. John’s hand is a loose hold between your legs now, petting your sex softly in his sleep. You feel your guilt just on the periphery, waiting with bated breath for you to come back down to earth. 

You feel John shift behind you and then a kiss is pressed into the crown of your head. Every inch of your body stills. 

“Morning, darlin’,” your husband croons, the smile thick in his voice. “That was a nice way to start the day.”

You’ve felt embarrassment before. You’ve felt shame, humiliation, horror, terror, guilt, and a medley of other sentiments that are part and parcel of living at the behest of others. So it’s not embarrassment that leaves you lying frozen in bed while John climbs out of the other side of the bed, but perhaps its cousin. 

It weighs on you so heavily that you can hardly even bring yourself to twist your head towards him. 

“You were—” your voice is brittle-thin when you speak “—awake?” 

He divests his nightwear with ease, pulling out a new day’s pants and shirt from the chest of drawers and then rounding the bed to take a knee by your side and cup your cheek. Not the same hand, you think wildly, staring at him wide eyed, still lying on your side. Frozen there. Tempted to say something else until he leans forward to press a firm kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m an early riser,” he says, a warm smile spreading across his face. He’s got a lovely smile, you think in a daze. 

He leaves you alone in the room, whistling on his way down the stairs. They creak one-by-one under his weight. When you finally sit up in the bed, you can vaguely hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. A pot clanging against a counter before the sound of the screen door shutting behind him. He must’ve gone to the well to fetch water. 

It takes an age for you to find the strength to get up out of bed. There’s still a wet spot on the front of your shift that makes you blink when it brushes against your legs. Then heat up like a roast duck. You’re tempted to change into your daywear and maybe bury the shift somewhere out back where you never have to acknowledge it ever again, but when you look over at the chest of drawers, all you can think of is John dropping trou just a moment ago. 

Your stomach aches all over again.

You limp hot-cheeked down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. The smell of fresh brewed coffee wafts from down the hall. You take a peek out the front window before joining him. Still hesitant, embarrassed like you’ve been caught. And you have been, you know. Caught and reeled in. Dragged to a courthouse and married to a man who hasn’t yet called you anything other than darling and honey. You wonder if he even remembers your name—or, your supposed name. 

Beyond the dirt trampled horse pen, a thick blanket of wild grass sways gently in the morning breeze, dotted with white wildflowers. Hardly a cloud in the sky today. Bluer than the bluest sea. This early, the sun only glints in the eye, a spectral everywhereness about it. In the noontime, it’ll hover overhead and glare down balefully, a sweltering curse. 

In the kitchen, John pours coffee into two cups. Rich stuff, not the bitter sludge served on the train or the watery cocoa that your aunt used to make to carry you through the brutal east coast winter months. You get a whiff of chicory. 

It must amuse him to hear you hovering in the doorway before creeping tentatively into the kitchen because he looks up with a little smile. You keep shame as a periapt around your neck these days, it seems; it must jingle when you walk. 

“Good morning,” John says. 

“You know—I didn’t know you were awake,” you blurt out, fists clenched at your sides. 

His eyes twinkle. “I caught on to that when you froze like a mouse.” 

The comparison makes your lips twitch. “You should’ve told me that you were awake.” You don’t have any right to scold him. Even as the words come out of your mouth, you know how foolish they sound and what they say about you. Little harlot that chases her pleasure with her sleeping husband’s hand. 

“Told you?”

“It’s only polite.”

“Polite.” There’s a teasing note in his voice that ruffles your feathers.

“It’s only right.” 

“Well then. Want me to wake you up the right way next time?” he asks instead, leaning back against the countertop. 

You frown. “The right way?”

He holds out a hand, beckoning you to him. You go, but with a stumbling step, nearly tripping into him when you take his hand. Without the barrier of your shift, you can feel the calluses on his hand when your fingers run over his palm. A shiver races down your spine. He reels you into his chest and holds you in place with a hand on your low back, pulling you so close to him that you’re practically leaning against him, as tangled as you were upstairs in the bed. 

John lets go of your hand to tip your chin up. “Barely got my hand wet, darling. Next time, I’m gonna pull that little shift up around your waist…wake you up nice and easy with my mouth. Drown out that voice in your head giving you a million and one reasons to leave. Yes, I can—” he huffs a laugh when you squirm in his arms, held steadfast to his chest “—I can tell you’re not yet settled. Maybe itching to run even, take the next train out. Go back to your old ways. But I said I’d make it good, darling, and I will. You just wait for tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. I’ll make it good enough to give you a reason to stay.”

Your mouth is dry when you rasp, “Your mouth?”

“Every morning,” he promises, sun-sweet. “I’ll make it so you don’t have a care in the world apart from when you’ll come next.”

Flustered doesn’t even begin to cover it. His words make your stomach pull in taut, leave you a threadbare, panting mess. Like a new language, spoken in stuttered breaks when you repeat it back in your head; the words somehow sutured together into a phrase that you know you’ve dreamt and forgotten. 

In the wispy daylight hours, it’s hard to see where the edges of you diverge from his. You’re still back in the bed upstairs with your legs tangled in his and his arms pulling you in close, the burr of his beard scratching the back of your neck. Touching the dark hair of his forearms, the groves of the muscles there, the softness of skin giving way to the hard musculature underneath. 

And then he dips his head for a morning kiss, his rough whiskers against your lips breaking the spell. 

“You haven’t brushed your teeth,” you complain, face puckered up at the stale taste of his mouth. When he smiles against your mouth, you can feel his beard drag up your skin the slightest bit. He draws back. 

“Well, guess I oughta wash up. Think you can start breakfast ‘till I get back?”

Cooking you can handle. You coat the pan with a lump of butter that melts over the iron. Two eggs cracked and sizzling in the butter. When he comes back, John cuts thick slices of bread that you heat in the pan with the eggs, the butter making the bread golden crisp. And it’s quiet. It’s quiet and there are birds twittering outside in the trees, chickadees and red-winged blackbirds. 

“Do you have any fruit?” you ask. More of a mumble. 

He hums. “Canned peaches in the pantry. Jam too.”

The pantry’s well stocked. Jams and jellies, cured and salted meats stored away in jars. Cornmeal and other grains. Pickled and canned vegetables. It’s the fruit you’re after though—the preserved peaches with the gingham fabric nestled under the sealed lid. Thick, juicy slices that come out of the jar coated in their own syrup that spreads out on the plate and touches the edge of your toast, softening the hard crust. 

You sit across from him to eat. Breakfast is a quiet affair interrupted only by your eyes flickering up to his face with each bite. Interrupted only by your skittering heartbeat. It’s hard not to be drawn to him, tempted to sneak a glance. Though dressed in his daywear, the edges of sleep still cling to him faintly, in the lines around his eyes and the folds of his forehead. You catch your eyes caressing those spots with a tenderness that makes your heart flare red for a moment, troubled. Like a red hot iron glowing at its hottest point. 

There’s no denying that you’d like to stay the course. Perhaps just out of curiosity. 

You’re ruled by your history though. Again, you look over at him, watching him silently and wondering what it must be like to live without that pressed upon you. To not be fixed like a violet between parchment paper. You’ll leave eventually, you know; when the moment presents itself. Even now, though he stares down at his plate, contemplating something that he doesn’t vocalize, you know that he’s aware of your every move. If you should so much as twitch, he’d know. 

A day or two won’t matter, you hope at least; there’s always a chance that your name might come across his desk, but there’s little chance at this moment that he’ll link it back to you, not thinking of you as his wife of another name that he refuses to say. It sits in his mouth like chaw. What you can’t wait out are the men surely following your scent, dogs with their noses to the dirt, sniffing you out. 

There will be a moment when his attention shifts. You just have to wait him out. 

The next train out, you think, scrapping butter onto your toast, picking at the crust with nervous fingers. You set a peach slice on top to make the perfect bite, bashfulness sinking back when you have to brush the crumbs from the corners of your mouth. Good etiquette finds you wanting here, sitting at the breakfast table in your thin shift with nipples pebbling in the cool air, crumbs all over your face. 

John reaches across to drag his thumb just under your bottom lip, wiping up a drop of syrup. “Messy girl.”

The hammer comes down on the iron again, liquid metal poured back into the crucible. Swallow with a dry mouth. You just have to wait him out. 

[sleepingelvhen]

Imagine Sunday basking in the attention you give him. He may not be so showy, but if you are, he will accept each touch with a little cat-like smile, his eyes lidded as he watches you. Almost like he's waiting for you to do something you're not supposed to. Like...say...touching his wings, for example.

And, of course, you'd touch those little wings. So small and fluffy like his hair, tucked snug behind his ears, occasionally fluttering from the way the breeze feels against them. And just as you would brush one thumb against them, your wrist would be in his hand, and he'd be looking down at you as if he were about to scold you.

You swore you'd never seen such darkness in his gaze. He'd probably chide you for even trying, kissing your wrist as his face relaxed. But those shadows were still there.

Just rile him up a little and see how that goes. Stroke his wings and watch as he presses you against a wall and growls in your ear. Watch that calm mask he wears fall right off, and how quickly your body becomes his playground.

Imagine how slow he'd be with you. Gentle kisses down the column of your throat, fingers gentle and yet demanding as they hold you still or move you around to his desire. He'd take his time, and no amount of whining or begging will change that. You tried to take control, tried to rile him up, and he was here to show you how wrong you were.

Sunday was always in control.

Now, if you want to really rile him up, really get under his skin, then getting him jealous would be the best way to do that. Even mentioning being alone with another or being flirted with will get him a little irritated. But insinuating more?

You'll be on your hands and knees, bruises decorating every inch of skin. He'd remind you who you belong to, and damn it will everyone else in Penacony know by the end of the night.

You were his and no one else's.

Don't expect him to let you out of his sight for a while. Now you're using his shampoo and conditioner, now you're required to wear his gifts everywhere. And now, any man who approaches you suddenly finds themselves unable to dream for a while. How strange.

This won't last forever. You'll have to face his punishment for manipulating him like that, and he will make you promise to never do it again lest the punishments get worse over time.

Imagine how Sunday is in bed aside from all that. He's normally gentle aside from the possessiveness in his touches and tone of voice. Though normally quiet, his moans are soft sighs, and sometimes, if you get to take control, you can get him to whimper.

Pull his hair, kiss his throat, tease him, and whisper words of pure affection and praise, and he's putty in your hand. Sunday lives for praise, and he gives it back ten-fold.

He loves seeing you on top, his hands on your hips, guiding you and watching you with a lazy smile on his face. The perfect position to touch every part of your body and watch your face as you get closer and closer.

If you want him to be rougher, all you have to do is ask. Or grab his wings as if they're handlebars. That's how you get him to growl, to moan obscenities into your ear, and fuck you desperately. Quick thrusts, rough as he pushes you into the bed, telling you how you belong to him. Reminding you of your position.

Sunday is the master of aftercare. No matter how stressed or tired he is, you will be cared for and cleaned. He will draw a bath, clean you, and brush your hair. Honestly, it becomes a bit of a spa day.

He becomes super affectionate and lovey-dovey afterward. Holding you close, breathing in your scent, whispering his love for you, all while caressing your body with gentle massages.

It's easy to fall asleep in his arms, then, and he will kiss you as you do.

[emchant3d]

They say Captain Munson has a gift. That he’s blessed by a god’s touch.

His ship has survived every battle. His crew flourishes with bounty, with health and good fortune. He steers them unerringly through every storm, sailing directly into the gargantuan waves, into the lightning and rain, and comes out the other side pristine while other vessels would have been sunk, snapped and splintered on the ocean floor, crew turned to ghosts to haunt the waters.

They say he made a deal, sold his soul, sold his crew’s souls, will find his reckoning one day at the end of a sword or drowned in the sea he loves so much. They say he’s a devil of his own, that his eyes glow red and black and his teeth are sharp and fanged, nails clawed, that he slaughters innocents and bathes in their blood.

But the truth is much simpler. Captain Munson is no devil, he did not sell any souls, and he certainly isn’t blessed by any god.

Captain Munson fell in love.

He didn’t mean to. When the fishing nets are reeled in that fateful day he expects nothing more than a few meals, a couple pounds to send to the kitchens for Benny to work his magic with. He isn’t even on deck when the catch is brought in.

It’s Gareth’s frantic voice that draws him upwards, his shouting and knocking on his cabin door that has him strapping a sword to his hip before taking the stairs two at a time to see the threat.

He’s expecting a King’s ship. Maybe another pirate. 

He isn’t expecting a mer.

Pale, unconscious, bleeding, sprawled on the deck, plush and soft and gorgeous, tan torso tapering down into a huge, shimmering tail. He’s breathing but it’s shallow, weak, a shell on a necklace moving faintly with each hitch of his chest.

And the crown. A simple circlet, golden and shining, tangled in his chestnut hair, gems glinting from the locks.

Mers are mythical, believed to be stories by some and history by others, but Eddie grew up hearing the tales of them every night from his mother, and the evidence is right in front of them - how can they do anything but believe?

It takes three of them to move him below deck. Eddie grips him under his arms, Gareth supports his hips, and Jeff wrangles his tail. They take him to Eddie’s quarters, the only bed big enough to fit him.

He wakes in stages, delirious from pain, snapping teeth and swinging claws when he has the strength for it and slurring rambling words when he doesn’t, head lolling on the pillow, eyes rolling back. 

His injuries are strange - a band of dark bruising around his pretty throat, his back shredded, bites taken out of the dips of his sides and the meat of his tail. There’s sickness in him, but Joyce is patient. She patches him up, soothes the mer’s fever and stitches the wounds she can, bandages what she can’t, keeps it all clean, keeps it wet because apparently that’s what he needs - salt water, which makes Eddie cringe in sympathy, but only seems to ease the mer’s pain, not make it worse.

It’s a week before those pretty eyes blink open with genuine awareness in them, sharp and wary. Eddie’s taken to sitting at the mer’s side, feels a strange responsibility to him that he doesn’t want to look too closely at, and he glances up from his journal to find the other’s gaze locked on him.

“Where am I?” he croaks out, and Eddie smiles, snapping the journal shut.

“You’re aboard the Hellfire, sweetheart. Captain Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows in his seat, and it goes over about as well as he thought it would.

There’s a lot of threats and snarling and cursing, but Eddie simply leans back, out of the mer’s reach as he crowds himself into the corner of the mattress, back pressed to the wall and sheets tangled around his tail.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tries to soothe, and the mer scoffs. Eddie can’t blame him for his caution, but he tells him the honest truth - where he was found, the state of him, how they’ve nursed him back to health.

The mer’s hand hovers over one of the nastier wounds at his side, covered in gauze, dampened with saltwater. When he cuts his eyes back to Eddie there’s a little less animosity in his gaze, and Eddie will take what he can get.

Eventually he pulls a name from that snarling mouth. Stephan. “Prince Stephan,” he begrudgingly admits once Eddie points out the crown that he’d gently worked free of his hair. 

And he’s a mer, but different.

“Siren, is what I believe your kind calls mine,” Stephan says, “half and half. Mer and human.” 

“Human,” Eddie muses, and Stephan confesses, warily, haltingly - he’s the King’s bastard son. Born to King Richard of the land and the Mer Queen of the sea.

“And how did the Prince of the Mer find his way into my net, hm?” Eddie asks, smiling, and Stephan rolls his eyes at him. 

He’s a runaway. King Richard had come looking for his son and with his mother’s blessing Stephan abandoned his title, his home, because the King would find him eventually if he stayed, and whatever dangers he might face in the open sea would be nothing compared to what the King might use his gifts for.

“Gifts?” Eddie asks, and Stephan smiles, his pointed teeth glinting.

It’s a clear day, not a cloud to be seen, no sign of rain or bad weather. And yet as Steve begins to hum softly, a shadow crosses overhead. 

It happens slowly. Stephan’s voice builds, a wordless little melody, something melancholy and soft, and the sky beyond the windows of the cabin darkens. Thunder rolls and in the distance, Eddie can see a crack of lightning.

The ship rocks as waves begin to form, the once-smooth water taking a turn. Eddie can hear the crew above deck begin to shout to one another, confusion building, growing more insistent as Stephan’s song grows, and Eddie’s stomach drops.

The siren’s voice is haunting, terrifying. Eddie’s frozen in place, meeting his eyes even as tears well in his own. He’s transfixed, can’t move, can’t speak, paralyzed with some ancient, instinctual knowing of danger, of death.

Eddie does not scare easy. But this is terror personified. This is the true threat that lives in the sea. Not the waves, not man, this. This creature who smiles at him with sharp teeth and a haunting voice, reaching towards Eddie with a clawed hand, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear in a touch that makes Eddie’s skin crawl and his heart skip and dread sink into his very bones.

He’s staring death in the face, and death is smiling.

Then Stephan quiets, and it’s over as quickly as it had begun. The sky clears in moments. The waters calm. The vessel’s heaving calms, and Eddie’s spine unlocks.

He stares at the being before him, amazed, before a slow, brilliant smile breaks over his face.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you, Prince Stephan?” he asks, and gets a smile in return.

“Call me Steve,” he tells him, and fondness begins to worm its way into Eddie’s chest.

“Then call me Eddie.” He sees Steve’s eyes flutter, and he tilts his head. “You’re tired,” he tells him, and gets a huff in response. “You’re safe here, Steve,” he tells him, and he knows he doesn’t trust him, not fully, not yet, but that’s okay. “Rest. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Steve watches him warily, but clearly the little display has worn him out. His hand finds that same wound on his side, cradling it carefully, back shifting like it hurts to sit up straight and stretch all that marred skin.

“Lay a hand on me, and I’ll eat you,” Steve warns, and Eddie snorts a laugh. 

“Whatever you say, highness,” and he tugs the sheets back into place over that large tail, and lets the mer get the rest he still clearly needs.

part 2 coming soon 💕 no tag lists, sorry!

[sapphire-writes]

My Dragon ~ Aemond x wife!Reader

warnings: mentions of Aemond's eye injury, some angst & fluff

word count: 1.0k

note: pure fluffy dad!Aemond goodness! was stuck on this idea for a while, hope you enjoy this little piece!

masterlist

You returned to your chambers after a long day, desperate for nothing more than a long, hot bath and the soft furs of the bed you shared with your husband. You had spent the day with your good sister Helaena. Though once only sisters through friendship, you were truly sisters now after the marriage to her younger brother. 

As you opened the doors to your chambers, it was unusually quiet. You closed the door behind you, listening to the crackling of the hearth. You spot the back of Aemond’s head, seated on the settee facing the dancing flames. His head is angled downwards; no doubt he has stayed up late with his nose in a book as you often find him. 

Though he never admits it after the fact, you’d caught him on more than one occasion fast asleep on the settee or in his chair, a book open-faced in his lap. 

You smile softly as you approach, careful not to startle him. 

“My love…” you call softly, to which Aemond turns his head. 

He purses his lips slightly, bringing a hand to his mouth shushing you. Your eyebrows concave together in confusion, which ebbs as you walk closer. Aemond has forgotten his usual book this evening; instead, your sleeping daughter rests her head on his lap, fast asleep, her small chest rising and falling with each breath. 

Her silver curls are splayed every which way, her nose whistling with every breath she exhales. 

“It is late my love,” you playfully tease, keeping your voice a low whisper so as not to wake her.

“I know,” Aemond says, his voice just as soft, “We lost track of time.”

You smile, walking behind him to place your hands on his shoulders. Though only in her fourth year of life, your little dragon has the Targaryen prince wrapped around her little finger. Aemond brings a hand to rest on top of yours, pulling it from his shoulder and pressing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. 

“Did you have a nice time?” he murmurs against the back of your hand, his breath causing gooseflesh to appear. 

You hum in response. “I did. You know how I enjoy spending time with Helaena. Though I must admit, my legs do ache.”

You had spent most of the day walking through the gardens with the princess, helping her add to her collection of curious creatures and oddities. You loved Helaena’s hobbies and were more than happy to indulge her. But the day was long under the hot summer sun, and it left you eager for bed. 

“Shall I call for someone to draw you a bath?” Aemond asks as you lean to rest your chin on his shoulder.

“It tis alright,” you assure him, “Do not trouble yourself.”

“It is no trouble, you know this,” he insists, glancing at you sideways. You made sure to rest upon the shoulder where he can see you with his functioning eye. 

You remove your hand from him, caressing the leather eyepatch he wears. 

“You must be uncomfortable,” you tell him softly, stroking the worn leather. It begins to irritate him on days such as this one when the heat causes the leather to chafe the skin of his cheek. 

The weather is strange these days, getting so hot during the day and then dropping significantly during the night. Aemond’s violet eye flickers down at your sleeping child. How perfect she looks, the perfect combination of both of you. A miracle made of your love. You sense his hesitation.

“She shall not be afraid, my love,” you assure him.

“How can you know?” he says, looking down away from your comforting gaze. 

Aemond had always been fearful of how others reacted to his injury. You remembered in your youth before he had begun courting you, how you’d learned of why he wore the patch. It was Helaena who informed you that Aemond wished to not frighten the ladies of the court.

“Prince Aemond should not wish for a weak stomached woman anyhow,” you had snapped, as other ladies had snickered at his injury. “Women say they wish to marry a warrior, then faint at the scars from battle. How distasteful.” 

Helaena had told Aemond how you’d come to his defense. You’d been the apple of the Prince’s eye ever since. Well, until the birth of your little one. Two women now completely owned the dragon prince’s heart. 

“A mother’s intuition,” you assure him, moving to remove the patch. Aemond freezes for a moment but relaxes into your touch as you place the eyepatch on the table, revealing his magnificent sapphire. 

You stroke your finger along the scar, admiring how the sapphire reflects the light from the hearth. 

“My dragon,” you murmur, cupping his sharp chin in your hand, and pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred tissue. 

Aemond sighs, his chest rumbling. You can see a flicker of desire in his violet eye at your praise. Your daughter stirs then, perfect face scrunching as her pale lashes flutter open. She looks up at you with wide violet eyes before throwing her small arms around your neck.

“Muña!” she says sleepily, arms heavy around your neck. 

“Hello my love,” you softly croon, pulling her completely into your arms, “How was your day?”

She buries her face into the crook of your neck and you inhale the lilac scent of her hair. How you enjoy the moments with your companions, but oh how you miss your daughter by the end.

“We went exploring all day! And we went flying on Vhagar,” she chatters away, “Sunfyre even joined us! Kepus flew right next to us!”

“Did he now?” you ask with a chuckle. Aegon was a surprisingly delightful uncle. 

Aemond stands then, still facing slightly away. You reach for his hand, pulling him closer. Your daughter looks at him, the smile never leaving her face. Aemond turns his head slowly, revealing the scarred tissue and brilliant sapphire. You hold your breath, waiting for your little girl’s reaction. 

She stares, unblinking, before reaching out to touch his face. 

“Blue is my favorite color,” she informs, turning back to you, “Did you know Sunfyre likes to sing? I don’t think Vhagar enjoys singing, her songs are rather deep. It shakes the windows of the Keep! Muñāzma was quite cross with her!”

You glance at your husband, watching his cheeks turn red. You smile so brightly that your cheeks begin to ache. There was never anything for him to fear. She adores him all the same.

As do you.

[voidpetrova]

watch your back — carl gallagher x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, drunk sex, body worship, vouyerism, masturbation, squirting, dirty talk, lip is a perv, all the characters in the fic are over the legal age of consent

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: one of the gallagher brothers is having their way with you, while one of the others can only stand by and wish it were them

✧.*

the neon lights of the alibi room flickered behind you as you stumbled down the dimly lit sidewalk, carl's arm draped over your shoulders for balance. laughter bubbled up from both of you as the alcohol in your systems worked its magic, making every step an adventure in itself. the night air was cool, a welcome relief from the warmth of the bar.

“did you see the look on kev's face when he dropped that tray?” carl slurred, his words tinged with amusement.

you stiffled your laughter, a giggle escaping your lips. “and how v nearly tackled him for it? classic.”

carl's grin widened as he gazed down at you, his eyes slightly glazed but filled with affection. “you're fucking amazing, you know that?” you leaned into him, playfully nudging his side. “only when i'm three shots and a cocktail in.”

as you reached the front door of the gallagher household, carl fumbled with the keys for a moment before finally managing to unlock it. the door swung open, revealing the familiar chaos of the home. you both stumbled inside, laughter echoing through the hallway.

“home sweet home,” carl declared, his arm still draped over your shoulders as he led you further into the house.

you both swayed slightly as you made your way to the kitchen, the room bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light. the scent of leftover takeout and a hint of spilled beer lingered in the air.

“can you get me a beer?” you slurred as you dropped down to the kitchen floor, legs spread in a manner you would have thought twice about if you were sober. carl shot you a smile, already two steps ahead of you as he waved the bottle that was already in his hand before throwing it at you. “you know me so well.”

he cackled at the way you nearly dropped the bottle, shaking his head. “dude, you're fucking wasted.” With a playful roll of your eyes, you managed to pop the cap off the beer and take a long swig, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “i'm living my best life right now.”

while your laughter grew louder, lip gallagher felt himself stirring from his sleep in the room upstairs, his curiosity piqued by the commotion. your whispers and laughter, though still playful, became a bit too raucous, the noise gradually seeping into lip's consciousness. he groaned, rubbing his eyes as he got up from the makeshift bed he'd crashed on earlier in the night. groggily, he shuffled into the kitchen, his disheveled appearance drawing no attention from you two. you hadn't even notice him there. he wanted to say something, but he froze in his tracks when he saw you with his brother.

“this is the last time i let you go out like this,” carl slurred, referring to what you were wearing. it was nothing too scandalous, but he knew he couldn't look away when your breasts were pushed up together, spilling out of your dress, the fabric outlining your ass and waist in the worst way possible. “had the nerve to beat up about 12 different guys tonight.””

your laughter bubbled up again as you playfully nudged carl, the flirtatious energy between you two palpable as you climbed into his lap, snaking your arms around his neck. “you really are my hero.” carl smirked, his fingers grazing the exposed skin of your thigh. “damn right.”

lip, still standing unnoticed in the doorway, a mixture of amusement and disbelief settling over him. the sight before him was unexpected, to say the least. he had no idea things had progressed this far between you and carl. he knew he needed to look away, but all he could do was stand there and watch. he watched the way your bare thighs hung out exposed, tits poking out from the side, your ass pressed against his brother's jeans. he swallowed his nervousness, ignoring the way his jeans tightened at the sight of you.

as the flirtatious banter and playful teasing continued to fill the air, the magnetic pull between you and carl seemed to intensify. his fingers gently traced the curve of your jaw, his touch sending shivers down your spine. you felt your breath hitch as his gaze locked onto yours, the world around you narrowing to focus solely on each other.

without a word, his lips descended towards yours, his movements slow and deliberate. the anticipation was almost unbearable, your heart pounding in your chest as your lips grew tantalizingly close. the soft warmth of his breath danced across your skin, and then, finally, his lips met yours in a gentle, lingering kiss.

the sensation was electric, a rush of warmth flooding your senses as your lips moved against his. the kiss started tenderly, as if testing the waters, but the desire between you both quickly overtook any hesitation. his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you in closer, and your arms wound around his neck, drawing him impossibly near.

his lips were soft yet demanding, a perfect balance between urgency and gentleness. each press of his mouth against yours sent waves of heat through your body, the chemistry between you igniting like a wildfire. your lips moved in sync, a rhythm born from unspoken longing and shared attraction.

carl's kiss deepened, his tongue gently seeking entrance, and you parted your lips with a soft sigh. the taste of him was intoxicating, the mingling of desire and the faintest hint of alcohol creating a heady concoction. your tongues danced together in a sensuous exploration, a dance that felt both familiar and new.

time seemed to slow as the kiss deepened further, the world outside the kitchen fading into obscurity. the room was filled with the sounds of heavy breaths and the wet, delicious sounds of your mouths moving against each other. every touch, every sensation, seemed to reverberate through your entire being.

your fingers traced the contours of his strong jaw, the heat of his skin searing into your memory. his grip on you tightened, his hand moving from your hair to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer as he began to lift your dress. the intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, a combination of pent-up desire and the freedom that came with the intoxicating mix of alcohol and desire. lip was still watching from the sidelines—of course, he wasn't watching his brother. he was watching you, the tightness in his boxers waking him up fully.

“take it off, princess,” carl snarled into your mouth, slurring his words ever so slightly. “take the dress off for daddy.” lip mentally cursed himself as he watched, only able to beg the man above to bring this to a halt. he wished that you wouldn't comply, so that he could look away and retreat back to his room, but when he heard you giggle, he knew there was no going back.

you pulled the dress off your head, discarding it onto the floor, leaving you in nothing but a bra and thong. carl groaned at the sight of you, feeling the way his jeans only grew tighter and tighter, but he wasn't the only one losing his cool.

from the sidelines, lip whispered a quiet “fuck,” under his breath as he admired your curves, all of you. you were the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen, and he couldn't do much about it. the only thing he could do was quietly pull his pajama bottoms down, along with his boxers. he quietly hissed at the cool air caressing his bare cock, but he couldn't resist himself. he needed you to take care of his urges.

“all mine,” carl groaned as he pulled you in for another aggressive kiss. he groped your tits with a force that was bound to bruise you, exploring your mouth with his tongue. your bra came off in an instant, bare tits now free to hang right under his chin. he switched positions, with him now practically on top of you, but your back pressed to the kitchen drawers. “need you so fucking bad.”

lip watched you from an amazing angle, his spit-slicked hand stroking his cock in slow, agonizing motions. he watched you from the side, admiring the way moans passed your lips, tits bouncing with every move. he licked his lips, stiffling grunts as he jerked himself off.

carl's hands roamed your body, groping everything he could touch. he left a trail of kisses down your stomach before sliding your panties down with his teeth. “jesus fucking christ,” he practically moaned as he admired your pussy. “dripping all over the fucking floor.” his words only fueled lip's experience, and he was right, you were gonna stain the tiles with your slick. you whined as his hot breath fanned your core, lips leaving faint kisses along your inner thighs before his tongue began prodding your clit. “can't help it, daddy,” your fingers tugged at his blond locks, pulling him in closer with a groan of delight. “need you to fuck me so bad.”

lip sighed as your voice filled his ears, spoiling himself by massaging his balls and taunting thebslit of his dick. all he could think about was you—on your knees, helping him out with the same generosity carl was used to.

“you want daddy to fuck you, huh?” you nodded eagerly, pressing one of your bare feet to his crotch and he quickly began undoing his belt. “so needy you can't wait five minutes, huh princess?” you shook your head, desperate sounds leaving you as you pressed your bare back against the cold wall.

“so needy, daddy, need you right now,” you moaned in response. carl grinned, sliding his bottoms off with no hesitation before crawling back towards you, his lips inches away from yours. he positioned the head of his dick right on top of your entrance, but didn't push in, staying right where he was. “gonna let daddy tear your pussy up, huh?” you nodded, smiling right back at him with nothing but a playful glint in your eyes. “i'm gonna let daddy use my pussy and fill me up,” you both smiled before he pressed his lips to yours, engaging in another passionate kiss.

lip couldn't believe the filth that was coming out of your mouth. it had exposed him to a side of you he never knew existed. the same girl who used to sing liam to sleep, was now fueling his need to cum. his hair stuck to his forehead as he pumped his dick, watching the way your legs were spread, wet pussy shimmering with carl's dick placed on your clit. he couldn't wait to see and hear you get fucked.

“gonna ruin you,” carl groaned as he grabbed his shaft. it only took a second for him to bury himself into the depths of your pussy, all the way from his tip to his balls. you let out a cry of ecstasy, holding onto his shoulders for support. he was now seated on the floor, his back against the counter with you in his lap. “bounce on daddy's dick now, okay?”

you leaned back, moans passing your lips as you arched your back, now bouncing up and down on his cock. you shuddered as you did so, the angle setting off fireworks in your stomach. you sped up the pace, carl grunting as he tilted his hips upward, now meeting your bounces with thrusts. you locked your fingers in his hair, pulling him into your tits. he didn't hesitate to suck on them, marking the fat and biting your hardened nipples. you couldn't help but squeal at the overwhelming feeling of your pussy sucking him in.

“look at you, taking my dick so well,” he wasn't the only one looking at you. lip trembled as he continued to ferociously pump his cock, watching the way you kept bouncing. he watched the way your greedy cunt sucked up his brother's dick, the way your tits and ass bounced along with you, the wsy the counter shook from your brutal movements. he couldn't help himself—he would've given his liver to switch places with carl, for a chance to make you feel good. “you like the way daddy fucks you?”

you nodded feverishly, your bounces quickening in order to match his harsh thrusts. you spread your legs, giving your boyfriend and uninvited visitor a good look at the way your pussy took his dick—the way it disappeared inside you and came back for a split second, the way he was soaked in your juices. you began to whimper, a familiar sensation in your stomach forming. “i can't, i'm gonna cum,” you whined, holding onto carl's legs for support.

he had taken ahold of your hips, now thrusting inside you on his terms. he groaned loudly at the feeling of your pussy sucking him in, refusing to let go. “i'm gonna cum, too,” he announced, but he didn't stop. he didn't stop pounding into you, burying his thick cock until it was slamming into your cervix. he didn't stop until his brain went foggy and your cries were his only source of sense. “doing so good for me, baby, come on. cum on daddy's dick, baby. yeah,” he sputtered out words of encouragement until you were practically sobbing his name.

when you came, lip came, too. he stood in the doorway, his fist in the shape of a tight hole that was no match for you, draining the rest of the cum he had pent up inside him. he came with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, suppressing the sounds threatening to catch your attention. he milked his orgasm dry, getting every last drop that he had wasted on you. he came happily, knowing his last sight was a good one—with you drenching yourself in your own arousal.

[inknopewetrust]

𝔉𝔬𝔬𝔱𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔰

summary: in the blistering summer evening heat, you and felix play a little game. [felix x fem reader. WC: 2.6k]

warnings: smut. minors dni (18+ only). p in v, fingering (fem receiving), saltburn bathtub, slight voyeurism, dirty, dirty talk, some degrading language, not the dirtiest thing but still like… kinda hot?

Though the sun had set long before, the lingering scorch of the sun sat like a film on your skin. Its thin veil dry and aching to shrivel against the boiling water of the tub. You felt the sticky nature disappear under the trails of steam that painted the surface of the water.

A bead of sweat pebbled from your temple to cheek to chin to neck.

But you lit a cigarette anyway. And if you listened close enough, you could hear the crackle.

A blistering bud sizzles; the porcelain was drawing cool waves against the skin of your arms and for once, in the vast nothingness of the bathroom, the heat that rose from its surface made the ghosts vanish.

It made them disappear in house once home to Kings.

Now, as it boiled under the night sky, it was home to something other. It had bled itself into the walls and the ghosts wished to witness not the haggard scrounging of wealth that festered within.

But you imagined Henry the Eighth liked to stare as you bathed. They all did. Felix had told you that once a few summers ago.

How they all wanted to touch you in the ways that he did. How they wanted to whisper in your ear that they were better than him. No one truly was and it kept you crawling back with the poor souls who got sucked into a heated whirlpool of pity each and every summer.

Nevertheless, you envisioned Henry in the corner itching to touch.

They all trembled to flutter their hands onto your skin, onto your breasts, squeezing pieces of you dipped below the waterline.

If his ghost could smile, Henry’s ghastly teeth gleamed.

‘Fuck off, Henry,’ you saw the paunchy apparition lounging in the chair in the corner with a bead of sweat dribbling from his own temple.

Oh, envy, King Henry.

A bit of ash fell onto the tiles below.

“You’re making a mess of it.”

You tapped the cig on the side of the tub as another bit of ash wilted to the cold floor.

Felix hummed.

Stocky Henry vanished. If you gazed toward him, Felix’s eyes bore deep. Heavy and brooding, downcast at a peak of what existed beyond the bubbled suds.

Dinner had long passed. Everyone was supposed to be in bed.

He could feel you in inches. The soft skin of your back, the plush thighs that laid between his own. A hand of his traced over the skin of your collarbone gently as the ash continued to drift.

You were nearly on fire. In the swelter of the stone walls and the patterns of the paper before him, you glowed in a red sweat.

“You’re letting it die.”

“I was thinking,” you murmured.

“About what?”

“King Henry.”

“King Henry?” Felix’s voice peaked. His head leaned to rest on your shoulder, his smile leaving a trail as it grew. His nose drew a delicate line on your dampened skin.

You liked Felix in this way. So quiet and removed. But Saltburn always kept pace in the background.

“Yes, King Henry,” his hand glided along your own, gently taking hold of the cigarette and placing it between his lips.

The smoke of the puff rose high into the air beside you. It’s curls twisted like your insides aching for a touch too far but never too close.

“I like to imagine them sitting… staring at us now.”

“Now?” Felix questioned. “So erotic in an ugly tub. I can see him now,” he pointed to the corner of the room, “he just popped one. Can’t you see it? In his trousers there.”

You grinned. Your laugh filled his chest with a shuddering life. So fulfilled and free yet trapped in this same world as he.

And he was never far away. Here, in Saltburn, always waiting in the same shadows for the opportunity to strike while the others weren’t around. No sister or friends or parents or mewling poor fighting for his attention. They were retired for the evening; all snuggled in beds with curtains drawn and fantasy dancing in their heads.

“He isn’t the only one.”

You tipped your head to the side. The profile of your face meeting his forehead as he dipped his own downwards. The cigarette still burning from his fingertips. It was a mere bud now.

You could feel what waited for you on your lower back.

“I can feel that, you know?” You feigned an innocence he liked. Keen and blatant, but cunning with sin.

“Is it Henry that makes you feel that why?” You whispered, lips ghosting his chin.

Felix breathed in deeply. The same chest that shuddered with joy in anticipation.

Every summer.

The excitement would stir within his bones as the gates would open wide and beside his family would be the one steady thing he had everything to give.

“I hope,” Felix hushed, “for your own sake that’s not the fucking case.”

“So it’s me?”

Felix groaned as you pushed against him. The gentle pressure of your body arching into him without a touch, he begged to put his hands on you.

The cigarette fell to the floor in its end.

Felix took his hand and turned your head back to face him with a firm grip on your jaw. The water around you sloshed. It cleared the bubbles from your chest.

“I want to play a game,” he suggested in a dusty, breathless tone. “Want to play, darling?”

“Can I win?” You suggested. His hand loosened, letting the fingers dance along the column of your neck before beckoning up toward your mouth once more.

His index finger traced the outline of your lips. In a slow glide, Felix pulled your lower lip out slightly, gathering the wetness with his finger before inching it back to the space where your lips had parted.

You kissed his finger with your tongue as it found purchase in the suction of your mouth. The plushness of your tongue, the slight drag of your teeth as it emerged from between your lips.

“I don’t want to play if I can’t win, Felix,” you whispered.

His eyes now hooded with a thick want. He watched his finger redraw the lines of your lips again as you begged with doe eyes to win. A near child’s play of a woman’s ability to seduce.

“You can win,” Felix huffed as his other hand snaked itself from the edge of the tub to your torso under the water. “But I’ll need you to be quiet. We have guests and as much as I do love our dear, sweat guests, I can’t have them imagining the way I fuck you, can I?”

“No,” you relished in the way his hand returned to the base of your throat and squeezed with the slightest amusement. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Good,” Felix smiled at you. Your heart squeezed in the same way your cunt ached for his fingers to gather the strength to follow through.

“What do I win?”

“Whatever the fuck you want. You just have to be quiet.”

You smiled deviously that the thought.

“I can’t see how we’d be able to look a boy like Ollie in the eyes if he heard the sounds that come out of your mouth.”

His hand swooped past your center and to your leg, drawing one over his own which sat you straighter in his hold. You felt his cock jump at the pressure of you pushing on him. Felix flitted his finger tips from your knee to waist, switching hands to bring his wet palm to your breast while the other perched your opposite leg over his other.

The pebbled nipple was taut as he kneaded the skin in circles. He pressed down hard, pulling up on your nipple to elicit the sounds he wanted so badly to hear but knew you’d repress.

You were like him in many ways. He too wanted to win a game of control.

With you in his hands like a play of putty, he felt in control but with one hand on the wheel.

As he palmed your breast, his hand gripped your thigh. His mouth traced a pattern of hot breath along your neck as his tongue relished the salty sweat that had gathered at its leisure. The goosebumps that rose from your skin welcomed his breath kindly.

“I want this house to ourselves,” Felix moaned. “So we don’t have to be quiet.”

“Tell me what you’d do,” you asked him, placing your hand over his own and bringing his fingers to you. He cupped your heat as you groaned, guiding him back and forth to gather the wetness he could feel different from the water of the tub.

“Tell me what you’d do to me.” You spoke faintly. “Tell me and I’ll be quiet.”

You guided one of Felix’s fingers in you as he shushed the sounds that threatened to speak themselves into existence.

He put his lips on your ear as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you with a slow glide. So plush and tight, he thought to himself. It sucked him in and dared not to spit him out.

“I would fuck you on the floor,” he breathed out against your cheek. “I’d spread you wide and taste your sweet pussy as the sun bathes the floor. And when I’m done, we go to the pool-“

Felix pulled out his finger, tracking it along your folds before going in with two. You arched against his back, drawing up as he pulled you back down and rested his hand on your waist.

You curled the toes of your right foot down the edge of the tub.

“-we’d go to the pool and sit out in the sun. You’d give me head in one of the chairs and I’d paint your fucking face with my cum.”

You clenched around his fingers. His thumb pressed into your clit, another jolt aching to send you squirming but he held you down as he patterned circles on the gentle flesh.

“You like that, don’t you?” He breathed in the smell of you. “And maybe we’d go for a walk through the maze after dinner. I’d fuck you in the center and you could scream as loud as you fucking want. No one could get to us. No one would hear us.”

“F-F-“

“No, no, no, shh,” Felix shushed. “Good girls only win by being quiet, yeah?”

You nodded, clenching onto his fingers again as a strangled ‘fuck’ tumbled out of his lips. He could imagine the coil building. Felix wasn’t going to let you finish alone.

Felix pulled his fingers from you and felt the disappointment in the wither of your body.

“But I don’t want to imagine what’d I’d do if we were alone,” Felix blanked. “Turn around.”

As the water sloshed around you, you turned to wrap your arms around his neck. Like you, Felix had sweat beading from his jaw that glimmered in the red light of the bathroom. He looked intoxicated, entranced but in control of what he could.

“I want to see you ride me like the fucking whore you are.”

You weren’t a whore. But for Felix, you could be anything.

At the nape of his neck, you gripped the back of his hair and drew his head back as your other hand gripped him under the water.

Hard and lengthy, his cock was a welcome intrusion every time. You pumped him in your hand slowly. The sounds of water creating currents was soothing against the sounds of your battered breaths kissing his own. You lifted yourself on your knees, leaning against Felix as he squeezed your ass tightly, watching as you lowered yourself onto him under the water. Slender and veined, your cunt molded to him like art. You both would never tire of the feeling so profound.

It would never be like this with anyone else.

Loose pants left his lips as you sat completely full of him. A fit for a King in his own home, he supposed. Once you had settled with him inside, you moved above him.

The water moved languidly too. Meeting the fiery skin of two intoxicated minds too oblivious to see the peering eyes between the crack of a door.

“Right there, baby, right there,” Felix mumbled as you rose again and again, drawing him in and out as he stretched you with every swell and spur he could muster on his own.

“You’re such a good girl, darling. So good for me.”

You could peer down at him from above. Your breath fanning his face and lips but never seeking to truly kiss him as your hand tangled in his hair.

Bits of water spilled over the tub and splashed onto the floor. It soaked the ash tray and the speckles of ash and bud that littered the floor.

“Don’t stop baby. Don’t fucking stop,” Felix crooned in the room’s empty sounds. Only the pleasured sighs and gasping breaths filled the air.

You bounced on his cock with a measured pace. Each stroke of his manhood against your velvet walls lured him deeper into you, entangled with the missing links of a year gone by.

“Felix,” you broke the rules to whisper in his ear. He was taken away by the insatiable need of his rapture. He listened. He beckoned to your call.

“Tell me that you love me.”

From the shadows, Oliver Quick felt his blood run as hot as the sun. He loved Felix.

“I love you.”

Whom did not love him back.

“Tell me you need me.”

He was enamored by the idea of Felix.

“I need you.”

Who was enamored with the idea of Oliver.

“And what do you want from me?”

He was taken by the sight before him.

“I need you to cum, baby. I need you to fucking cum for me.”

Oliver was taken by the gleam of your skin. The way Felix’s throat bobbed as a strangled groan escaped his lips and the way your own melted onto his forehead in a silent struggle to come down from a high.

You placed both hands on his slender chest, careening like winged victory in a heated satisfaction.

Your fingers shook.

He had never seen a woman shake so elegantly before. The tremble of your lips as you breathed in shaking respite, the jolt of your shoulder blade as Felix ran a hand up your back.

Oliver licked his lips at the sight.

Felix lifted his head from its position against the tub. His eyes fluttered open as you pulled away in the slightest.

And Felix smiled.

You returned the grin with one of your own as his still sat erect inside of you. The bubbles of the tub had long ceased to exist and the water that was left was filled with the combined spent of you both.

“I don’t think I won that one,” you chuckled quietly, pushing hair out of Felix’s face before cupping his cheek in your hand.

“I’ll take pity on you, I guess.”

“The water’s gone cold.”

Felix kissed the inside of the palm of your hand. He cherished the high that lingered.

“The water’s gone cold,” he repeated. “But we could stay here forever.”

“Pruned and sweaty? Not a chance in fucking hell, Felix.” You laughed a bit too loudly. Oliver disappeared at the groan Felix let out as you pulled off of him.

You stood before him as the water dripped from every piece of you. Marbled and finite of the most precious carvings he only wished to hold forever.

As you exited the tub and the throb of him began to settle, you grabbed his linen shirt from the floor, draping it over you as it stuck to the wetness of your skin.

“The bed is just the slightest bit more comfortable.”

And you disappeared behind his doorway with call for more as the walls of Saltburn added another sordid story to add to it woven trims.

But it was never just the walls of Saltburn watching.

A/N: as always, the best gift of reading is likes AND reblogs and why not, we love comments too. Thank you for reading and feel free to check out my other works on my masterlist here. xo

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ soft dom!bf!yunho x f!reader

synopsis ✭ nothing makes yunho feel better than knowing he can make his baby cum. nothing. of course, you can certainly cum more than once.

content/genre ✭ smut MDNI 18+, this just 2k words of pure smut 🙂

word count ✭ 2.1k

notes ✭ this was requested by 🪐🍄 anon and is the first time i’m publishing anything for one of my biases 💀. have fun!

warnings ✭ smut, unprotected sex, pet names (baby, angel), fingering, minor cockwarming, overstimulation (kinda), multiple orgasms (f recieving), oral (f recieving)

✭✭✭✭

Few things in this world could compare to the pleasure that Yunho got from knowing he was making you feel good. He’d get so lost in the moment. So hyperaware of how your body reacted to his touch. It was euphoric for him. He got off on the knowledge that it was him making you feel good. No one else could do to you what he did, and that was a fact he took deep pride in.

Some nights, making you cum three times was enough to satiate him. He’d end the night by putting you in a warm bath while he cleaned the sheets. Cuddling you for the rest of the night. Fully satisfied with you in his arms.

There were other nights when he became so engulfed in his need to pleasure you that he completely lost count of how many times you’d cum. Those nights were your favorite nights. And, lucky for you, Yunho was in a giving mood tonight. Moreso than he had ever been.

“So…” Drawing out the word. “How are you feeling tonight?” He ran a finger under your jaw as he hovered over you.

You sighed at his touch, “Good.”

“Yeah?” You nodded, eyes fluttering as he played with your hair. “You think you can handle a long night.” 

When you nodded again, he smirked and kissed you softly. “Ok baby, you’ll tell me it’s too much, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reassured him.

Getting your assurance gave him more than enough confidence. Most nights he skipped the foreplay and build-up entirely, but tonight he wanted to make it last. He wanted to see his baby come undone slowly. He wanted to watch you lose your ability think about anything but how good you felt. And he wanted to make sure he was thorough.

He kissed you again, but this time much deeper than before. His lips engulfed your own, sucking the breath out of your lungs. When his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, you whined. Yunho could feel himself harden at the sound. He fully sunk his teeth into your lip, hoping to draw the same sound out of you. And he did, but this time it was much needier. It was a melody he could listen to on repeat for hours.

His fingers played with the hem of your shirt as he kissed your jaw, periodically pulling back to see the little marks he had left behind with his teeth. The warmth of his palms on your stomach, as they pushed under your shirt, made you mentally sink further and further into him. Letting him give you the pleasure you so desperately desired.

When he pulled your shirt over your head, your heart fluttered and the way he looked at your body. Like he needed to explore every single inch of your skin. And he for sure did. Kissing from your neck to your collarbone. Massaging your breasts with his hands. Losing it every time you sighed and moaned when his fingers pulled at your nipples.

His hands eventually made it to the waistline of your panties, and you lifted your hips to help him pull them down your legs. His head was between your thighs in an instant, kissing and biting at the skin. He brought his fingers between your legs and spread your folds. Admiring how you glistened for him.

“Oh, my pretty baby,” he kissed your clit, barely brushing his lips over it, “You’re so beauitful. You know that, right?”

You moaned out his name when he pressed his tongue to your entrance.

“You like that?” he teased, chuckling when you tangled a hand in his hair and tried to push him back down. “Be patient, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

When you rolled your hips, he tightened his grip on them, but he complied with your silent request. With a thumb playing with your clit, he ate you out like his life depended on it. He knew your body so well. He knew exactly how you liked his fingers on your clit. He knew how much you loved when he fucked you with his tongue. He could absolutely tell when you were about to come. 

Your thighs shook around his head, “Yu! Oh god–” He could feel your cunt tighten against his tongue. Your orgasm washed over you. Giving you pure pleasure from head to toe. 

He leaned back and let you catch your breath. Kissing and massaging your thighs. He knew the only way you could go as long as he wanted was if he gave you breaks. But he didn’t mind them, because that gave him time to admire how more and more messy you became every time he made you cum.

It was a sight he was sure he’d never get tired of. Your scattered hair. Your heaving chest. Your blown-out eyes. He bathed in every single detail. 

He was back to drowning himself in your pussy in no time. Starting with just two fingers inside you, he sucked on your clit, which was puffy and sensitive from the previous orgasm. The feeling of his lips around it made you jolt. He grinned, “Is that good, baby?”

“Yes!” you moaned, gripping his hair, letting him pull another orgasm out of you. Your whole body shook as he fucked you with his finger while his tongue played with your clit.

You could feel yourself losing all control of your body as you came for the second time. This time all over his fingers. He crawled over you and admired your sweaty face and droopy eyes. He brought his hand, the one soaked in you cum, to your lips, and you happily obliged. Sucking on his fingers, reveling in the taste of yourself on them.

While he hovered over you, he brought a thigh between your legs, pressing it up against your incredibly sensitive pussy. You pouted, and he laughed at you. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, catching the trail of saliva that dripped down your chin with his thumb.

“Why are you pouting baby?” he smirked, knowing the answer.

“Because!” you wiggled your hips.

“Oh baby…” he fake pouted, mocking you, “I can’t give you everything for free. You’re gonna have to work for it.”

You rolled your eyes. He wanted you to get yourself on his thigh. He did this almost every time when you started to get tired. Right before he knew that you would hardly be able to move of your own accord. 

In desperation to reach another climax, though, you always obliged. Grinding yourself continuously to reach your high. Feeling how he’d periodically flex his thigh to mess with you. This was his favorite part of the night because he loved to watch you cum all on your own. You lost all sense of awareness concerning what he wanted and focused only on how to make yourself cum all over his thigh. 

He was obsessed with how selfish you became when you fucked yourself on his thigh. And he could tell when you were about to cum too by the way your jaw dropped open and your eyes fluttered. When he asked if you were close, you just nodded dumbly and moaned loudly as you climaxed once again. 

You whined and reached for him when he left the bed, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head and slipped his boxers off. He loved watching you as you drooled over him. Already high in post-orgasm bliss. 

When he climbed back over you, you immediately reached down and grabbed at his length. He hummed lowly at your touch, “Oh baby, you're so greedy.”

“Please Yu…” you breathed out.

“Of course, angel. I would never leave you hanging. You know that.”

He kept his focus on your face as he slid himself between your folds. Watching how you jaw went slack and your eyes rolled back in your head. Admiring the wonderful flush of your cheeks and the shine of the sweat on your forehead. He felt his pride bubble over knowing that he was the one who made you feel this way.

Seeing you made him lose himself a little, too. Yunho could tell he was in his last moments of full clarity. He knew that if he didn’t fuck you soon he might fully disappear. 

“Baby,” his voice was hoarse in your ear, “do you want a condom?” You shook your head, “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you rolled your hips because he had stopped moving, hoping you could get some form of friction, “Please, Yu. I need you.”

“Ok, angel,” he intertwined one of his hands with yours, pinning it above your head. He grabbed your other wrist and placed your other hand in his hair, “Hold on.”

He started slow. Sinking into you feeling every inch of your walls tightening around him. You were so warm and welcoming for him. He groaned at the feeling of your nails scratching his scalp as you adjusted to him.

This was the part that Yunho loved the most. His stamina was astronomical. He could make you cum three times on his cock before he finished with you on the fourth. That meant he could watch you come completely undone under him.

“Oh my god,” you moaned softly as he bottomed out inside you.

He didn’t move, in fact, he knew he didn’t need to. Not yet anyway. Playing with your clit was enough, especially when you were stuffed full. It was euphoric the feeling of your walls contracting and closing around him as you got closer and closer. Your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him inside you as he circled your clit with his thumb over and over and over again. Until you dropped your legs as they shook violently and came around him. Hard. 

It was blissful. Everything was so hot. Your ears burned, and your stomach fluttered as your brain clouded over. 

He didn’t pull out of you though. At least not completely. He pulled back slightly and thrust his hips back against yours. It started steady. Calculated even. With even thrusts and steady pacing. But with every pathetic noise that came out of your mouth, Yunho lost control of himself. He thrust into you over and over. Feeling you tighten around him with every passing second.

You whimpered and whined, begging him to keep going. Holding on for dear life. He was so engrossed with everything that he lost track of where you were. You came two more times, and he didn’t even notice. You hung on to him so tight, muttering not a single coherent word. All that came out of your mouth was the pathetic sounds that drove Yunho absolutely insane. 

He felt himself getting closer and closer with every single movement the both of you made. “Shit, shit, shit, baby.” He groaned in your ear, “Fuck…hold on. I’m so close.” His eyes screwed shut when he felt himself cum. A full load. One that filled you nearly to the brim. 

He pulled out of you and ran a hand through your hair. Pushing it out of your face. Admiring your fucked out expression. He ran his fingers along your jaw. Over your lips. Down your neck. “You're so pretty. You know that right, baby? So fucking beautiful.”

You nodded weakly. Barely comprehending what he said. He massaged your thighs and stomach as he waited for you to fully come back to him. Admiring how you tried to catch your breath.

He knew you were starting to come down from your high when you found his eyes with your own. He smiled down at you, and you couldn’t help but grin back up at him.

“You’re so perfect,” he praised. Kissing your forehead.

You hummed, “So are you.”

Shifting around on the bed, he leaned his back against the headboard, sitting up next to you, and you were quick to rearrange yourself to snuggle up with him. Legs thrown over his lap, with your head rested on his shoulder.

“So…” he began, “How many times did you come?”

“Oh god, I don’t know,” you tried to think back, “Maybe six.”

“Hmm, I think I can do better than that.” You laughed. “Do you think that was your limit?”

You shrugged, “I don’t think I have a limit.”

“Baby, everyone, has a limit. I just have to get you there.”

“Maybe if you let yourself cum more than once we could go even longer.” He scoffed, “I don’t know, angel, you seemed pretty lost in there,” he poked your forehead, “any more and you might be lost to the orgasm gods forever.”

“You’re such a fucking dork.”

Laughing, he kissed the top of your head, “But you love it.”

You smiled. Yeah, yeah you did.

✭✭✭✭

note ✭ yay!! i wrote something 😐

lol anyway thank you for reading! if you like it, i absolutely LOVE to hear feedback. my inbox is always open and comments and reblogs are appreciated.

also, this was a request! if you would like to request something, read my guidelines then head over to my ask box. i'd love to hear from you 💗

[seokjinsonlyone]

this how i think bts would be if they was your husband

namjoon:

you’d have your own rooftop garden together; like he’d get someone to get it setup architecturally the way he has it envisioned in his head and to give like advice on the types of plants that are good for this set up but y’all would do all the seeding and watering and weed pulling yourselves

evening walks together around sunset through the park or around the river hand in hand where you just soak up nature and talk about any and everything

you both like the idea of having a pet but know that you're too busy to keep one regularly so you end up getting fish; he gets a cute little 20 gallon tank and like five fish but he actually does a lot of research on which fish live the best together, which food and treats they like best, the best plants and knick knacks to put inside, how to clean it, etc.; all in all takes the whole situation way more seriously than you'd thought he would; it was supposed to be sumn light for the summer time but you'd think he's filming an episode of tanked for all the time and effort he pours into it

sits side by side with you rubbing circles into your lower back whenever you need to rant about something

loves it when you get desperate for him so sometimes around the time you're ovulating he teases you; will walk around the house in nothing but his briefs with his glasses on talking in his deep voice; will invade your space like if you're in the kitchen making food or something he's gonna come up behind you and wrap that strong arm around your middle kissing up on you asking meaningless questions about what you're doing until you finally snap and drag him to the bedroom

consistently opens every door for you and pulls out your chair at restaurants even if it's five, ten years down the line

the type to never know where anything is; it's not even that you switch things up a lot it's just that he never forgot the muscle memory of where things were when he lived alone; so he's constantly calling out to you asking where something is; half the time what he looking for be in very obvious locations but his mind is just so all over the place that he overlooks it

uses you as his sounding board when he has a situation he needs handled; will just sit there and think out loud to you for minutes and hours; you don't even be saying that much really like occasionally he'll ask what you think but he appreciates having a listening ear more than anything and you're happy to be there for him even if his incessant rambling makes you wanna strangle yourself sometimes

would learn to help you take out your box braids; it makes you nervous when he first offers to help because he can be a bit rough sometimes but he's oddly gentle and diligent with the task; once he's gotten good with that you convince him to wash your hair too; and take down/wash day is less dreadful because of it

you two become a package deal; like it could be a boys night or a girl's night and you're always gonna try to bring the other with and most of the time y'alls friends don't mind like you're one of the boys and he's one of the girls so it's fine; even if he like invites some friends over the house and you stay in the room to give them some space at some point he's gonna go and check up on you; you'll just be laying in bed on your laptop or phone, watching tv or something and he's gonna lay beside you and ask what you doing make sure you're okay next thing you know 30 minutes gon go by and you'll have to remind him that he has guests over; then he's gonna convince you to come out with him and stay tucked up under his arm until his friends leave or pass out

seokjin:

draws you a bath when he knows you’ve had a long day; it’d be really nice too; he'd light your favorite candle and set it on the counter; add a fragrant moisturizing bath bomb and sprinkle in some flower petals; once you settle in he'll put down one of them over the tub trays and hand you a glass of wine and your laptop so you can watch whatever you want or stream music while you’re in the tub

loves referring to you as 'his wife'; like y'all will be with a group of your friends that knew you from the get go and they'll ask him where he got his jacket from and he'll be like "oh my wife bought it for me" and they'll be like "🥴 boi we knew her long before she was ever worried about you just say her name" aksksksk

every couple months y’all will go on cooking dates with his celebrity chef friends and their wives; which is basically them in the kitchen being loud cooking a meal he specifically chose for you and you and the wife not too far away watching them while being wined and dined

not particularly handy but he feels like as a man there’s just certain things he should be able to do; so if your sink is leaking or there’s a problem with your car battery or something he’s gonna hop on youtube and figure out how to solve it first; calls an actual repairman to deal with it if he can’t fix it without being moderately inconvenienced

insists on getting a pool installed even tho you tell him you would barely use it bc you hate having to redo your hair more than you like to swim; you actually do end up using it all the time bc he orders one of those giant canopy floats and y'all just lay up there and take naps or talk; the whole outdoor area is actually bomb tbh like there's an entire sheltered outdoor kitchen and grill patio area with fans on the ceiling for when it gets hot and a fully loaded bar; y'all honestly spend more time outside during the summer than inside and get scolded for not entertaining people more often

if you reeeaaalllyyy want him to go shopping with you he will but he’d rather just give you his card and you gather up some of your girls and y’all can go nuts together

tries to butter you up when he knows he's in trouble but it's never with anything good like he'll stop at the convenience store on the way home and pick up some things to try to sway you; he get home and you're waiting for him slightly ticked off and he's like "i know you're mad but look at what i got you and it's a cosmic brownie, sour gummy worms (his favorite candy mind you), some wet wipes, and an arizona tea

official driver of the relationship; lets you be the passenger princess of your dreams like whenever you need to get from point a to point b he’s getting you there all you gotta do is sit down and look pretty (and play decent music while he’s driving)

even if you’re not a certified Gamer Girl™️ when there’s like a new mario game or something along those lines that doesn’t require a ton of skill and know how to play you’ll no life it together; like will straight up play for like 16 hours a day until you beat it; you still force him to eat and shower however but you’re not allowed to touch the controller until he returns bc he’d be afraid you’ll lose all your lives

the type to get super close with your family; like you look over one day and see yo mama calling him and you listen to him and they're literally just catching up???; he goes out on bros days with your dad and brothers; all your cousins follow him on instagram and be sending him memes; and you just sit there tryna figure out how he singlehandedly replaced you in your family bc they be treating him better than they treat you

yoongi:

after hearing you talk about wanting a detached claw foot jacuzzi tub for the 1000th time he decides to just go ahead and get your dream house built from the ground up; gives his input in every step of the process since he has so many opinions on architecture, furniture, finishes, and overall aesthetics; sometimes there’s little disagreements when your design styles clash but in the end he makes sure that you definitely get everything you’ve ever wanted included

warms your car up for you in the morning during winter months; unimportant but i just know he would go out in a sweatshirt and some slides like barefoot toes out in 20° weather shuffling out to make sure your car is nice and cozy and the frost is off the windshield

every now and again you’ll just be chilling at home and then he’ll be like “yah go get dressed we’re going out” and then he’ll genuinely take you on one of the best dates ever; it may not be over the top every time but somehow it’s always exactly what you needed; acts nonchalant about it when you’re gushing over how great of a time you’re having; “ah it’s nothing” but he’s secretly super self satisfied bc he knows he’s killing it

sometimes he’ll be sprawled out on the couch watching basketball and you’ll be tryna tell him something but he’s so engrossed that he won’t hear a word you say so you gotta throw a pillow at him to get his attention

untangles your necklaces for you; sweeps the hair from the back of your neck and clasps it together once he's got it free

likes leaning on your shoulder when you’re in bed on the computer; not really nosy about what it is that you’re doing whether it’s work or whatever but just likes to listen to the sound of your typing as his own personal asmr; also loves it when you get your nails done like will happily pay for a new set every other week because of the tippity tapping that accompanies everything you do

sets up a joint bank account for you two like immediately bc he doesn't have anything to hide and what's his is yours; but also sets you up a separate savings account that he funnels money into biweekly bc he wants you to be okay always even if one day it has to be without him

if you're both up late and you're feeling peckish he'll whip up a quick late night snack for y'all to munch on

never really comments when your hormones throw your body system out of wack; like if you randomly had night sweats for a couple days and sweat through your clothes and blanket he'd just nudge you awake so you can dry off and turn the ac on

is extra physically affectionate whenever you start getting irritated even if he’s the source of your irritation; will grab your hand and pull you into him planting kisses on top of your head and rubbing up and down your back until you’re sufficiently pacified

hoseok:

all his numeric passcodes are related to you; like it’s either your birthday or your anniversary, the day y’all met, first date, etc.

sometimes he likes to sit on the toilet when you're in the shower and talk to you; will periodically poke his head in to check your progress depending on how long you're in there; ooos and aahs and waggles his eyebrows every time he does so

some people think you’re some kind of dictator bc his response to every proposal he receives is “let me check with my wife first”; you’re not tho he just likes running things by you bc he’s only ever okay if y’all are on the same page; sometimes you really are his scapegoat if he doesn’t wanna do something tho and you’re fine with being his excuse! you love spending time with your man!!

y’all draw lots over who has to kill the bugs in the house; he tries his best to overcome his fear for you he really does but sometimes he look at the bug and the bug look at him and his heart can’t take it; generally tho there’s less fear of y’all conquer it together

at least once a month he books a couples spa day appointment for you two; deep tissue massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, the works like you just get absolutely spoiled; his motto is that if you feel good and look good then you can be good and be good to each other; unrelated but he get a kick out of eating the cucumbers that are supposed to help soothe around your eyes

you get so used to the sound effects he makes all the time that when he’s not around you have to have some kind of background sounds whether it’s music or white noise just something to fill the air.

you both like plushies, funko pops, action figures and all that so there's a dedicated toy room in your home; all the toys that you actually care about are placed higher up and in cases to keep in good condition but things that you don't mind having some use are accessible; the whole room is carpeted and there are some fluffy rugs too; there's a 65 inch tv on one wall and a computer area for gaming as well; the whole room is illuminated via led lights; needless to say all the kids you know love when y'all babysit them; they stay in that one room the entire time except when they want a snack bc there's no eating in the toy room; jungkook also loves to randomly come and hangout in the toy room by himself

wouldn't tolerate any kind of disrespect toward you; say you went out to a restaurant and the server was being rude to you, he'd clock it so fast he'd be talking to a manager having your server swapped out and dessert on the house before you even realized what they said

y'all try new hobbies together; it's never anything you have experience or are good at which makes it even more fun as you're doing it; like you'll get one of those woobles crochet kits and spend like a month trying to figure it out in your free time and make whatever little creature you bought

never actually stops dating you; will still have an active folder with activities and restaurants he wants the both of you to go to; even if you both lack the time and energy to actually go out on a date he's lighting a candle and pulling out the fine china for you it doesn't matter that you're wearing loungewear and sitting on the floor in front of the tv; he wants you to feel special always

jimin:

intimacy between you two go crazy; you’re as close as close can be like if there were such a thing as soulmates you two would be it; you’re consistently trapped within your own bubble and even if you’re out and about it’s still almost as if no one else existed; like say y’all went out to a club music is thumping people are everywhere it’s a generally Loud environment if you softly called his name from beside him he would turn to you immediately; or someone could brush past him and it’d be whatever but if you ghosted your hand up his arm he would get goosebumps; you’re just insanely in tuned to each other

would love if you had a softer build bc he likes the way you feel like heaven when he lays on you; also he just likes squeezing at your squishy bits; he finds it equal parts amusing and satisfying; like he'll squeeze at your boob when you're half asleep in bed just to annoy you; you'll be turned on your side and his arm will be slung across your waist and he'll just inch his hand up until he reaches your boob and squeezes; giggles evilly every time you smack his hand away and won't stop until you're whining and kicking at him to leave you alone and let you sleep

sometimes you’ll build a giant fort in the living room when he’s getting overwhelmed by life complete with fairy lights strung up overhead and pillows and more blankets covering the floor to make it extra comfy; you spend all day together in there playing games and talking nonsense and eating snacks and end the night cuddled up his arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head tucked into his neck watching movies until you’re sure his head is free from all his worries

loves to be fed, literally; like when dinner time comes he will make one big plate and pull up with a fork and a knife and a waiting attitude; if you don't play along immediately he's gonna put his hands over yours and make you feed him bites until you take over; likes to feed you as well; just always sharing his food with you and expects you to do the same

he gets obsessive when you don't answer his calls; like if he knows you're not busy and he calls you and you don't answer it drives him up a wall and he will spam you with texts and at least a dozen more calls until you pick up; not even because he has anything urgent to tell you he just always craves your attention; bonus: ends every conversation by saying i love you like you could be on the phone for 15 seconds just confirming something really quickly and he's gonna make sure he's told you he loves you before you click end call

doesn’t say anything when he finds you crying just pulls you into him and lets you get it all out; once you start calming down a bit he’ll pull back slightly, gently cupping your face in his hands and swipe away all your tears; only when he’s sure the tears have come to a complete stop does he softly ask “what’s going on?”

still gets shy and flustered around you; it doesn’t stop him from being himself around you whatsoever but it’s very obvious when you have the upper hand in a situation

you can't just tell him you need an item from the store bc half the time he'll go and come back with the wrong thing; you gotta send him a picture of it and that don't even work all the time; most of his solo ventures to the store at your request end in him facetimeing you bc he swears up and down they don't have what you asked for but then you end up finding it for him and you not even there

knows you admire his art skills so he leaves little doodles on post it notes around the house; is really proud when you display the ones you find really cute in your phone case

the type to put his life in your hands; when y'all go out to eat he tells you to order for him bc "you know what i like"; will let you dress him/style his hair however bc "you know what looks good on me"; he just literally trusts and defers to your judgement as much as possible

taehyung:

the type to tighten all the jars when you’re upset with him so you’re forced to ask him for help and talk to him anyway

would try to set up a really romantic dinner for you complete with rose petals and candles and champagne on ice but he'd be so focused on creating the right ambience that he forgets to order the food and one thing bout tae is he ain't a chef and even if he was he wouldn't have enough time before you showed up so you'd end up having a pb&j and cup noodles

sometimes if he has a lot of energy but you’re asleep he’ll poke at you until you’re awake and then he’ll ask if you’re asleep and when you say yes he’ll keep messing with you until he’s able to drag you out to play with him

knows how to tie a tie but claims it looks better when you tie it so whenever he wears a suit he gets you to finish off his look; really he just likes to be manhandled by you and the grip you have around his neck does something for him

if you get him riled up in the morning he just lives there all day; partially aware of what's going on around him but undoubtedly distracted, thinking about you, wanting you; hands and eyes are glued to the phone at all times hoping you'll message him or something even if it is just you teasing him some more; he's putty in your hands and he knows it but when the day is over and y'all are both home you're his

you have to come to major compromises when it comes to decorations; like you let him have his accent wall that he puts his paintings of his basquiat-esque faces but the weird cyber bug and person shark statues and the butt chair have to go

you do majority of the cooking so he takes dish duty very seriously; will swat you away if you try to help most times; however there’s a special place in his heart for the times you ignore him and help anyway by drying the dishes and it’s you him and some music playing and you’re singing and dancing around the kitchen together

there's a legitimate argument about your use of a body pillow; he genuinely gets offended bc is he not enough for you? why can't you just cuddle him? why would you go and put the great wall of china in between you two? what's with the distance? was he too much for you? like the situation blows completely out of proportion for no reason skslklsks the argument ends when you force him to cuddle it and he instantly understands the hype behind it; that doesn't curb his jealousy towards the object however and you're only allowed to use it when he's not in bed with you

a whiny baby when he's sick; you'd think he had tuberculosis in the 12th century instead of a common cold the way he be acting; a piece of tissue stuck in his nose, piled under three blankets, shivering every five minutes on cue; you give him a good day of dealing with the dramatics after that you leave him in the room with a bottle of dayquil and a packet of vitamin c until he decides to get on with his life like a normal human being

loves planning weekend getaways for the two of you; like every other month you guys are out of town for like 3-4 days in the spirit of “rekindling”; he always rents a really nice and cozy cabin type joint and most of the trips are spent just enjoying each others company and the scenery, walking around the town latched onto his arm and eating good food; you come back from each outing refreshed and more in love than you already were

jungkook:

every sunday he checks your car to make sure it has a full tank and if it doesn’t he fills it up for you

you two have separate rooms bc you both like to have space to just exist as an individual from time to time (also it’s really nice to have a place to storm away to when you’re in a fight) but you end up cuddled up next to each other every night anyway

has a very strict laundry schedule and routine; gets annoyed if you don't do it how he likes when he's unable to

watches you while you’re getting ready; he’ll be sitting at the edge of the bed while you walk around from your closet to the dressers circling the room trying to find something to wear; you’ll be having a conversation with him the whole time and after you walk past him for the 4th time his clinginess gets the best of him and he catches you by the waist before you can fully bypass him; he pulls you in between his legs and just hugs you to him for a few moments while you run your hands through his hair

follows you around the house with his mic serenading you like three times a week

comes behind you when you’re cooking or washing dishes or something and just pats at your butt for a while and by a while i mean he won’t stop until you elbow him and threaten to cut his hands off; he just laughs and gets one more grope in before backing off

traces the contours of your face and murmurs all kinds of cute and lovely and cheesy stuff about you when you’re both in bed and he thinks you’re sleep

if you made him a good meal you’d hear about it constantly for the next week; like every other sentence is a “seriously, it was so good” and he won’t stop until you make it again; sometimes he’ll try making it himself to see if he could do better but it always tastes best coming from you

an absolute menace in the grocery store; will spend the first 15-20 minutes behaving as he grabs whatever he needs personally and once that's done he's acting a fool; doing that thing that kids do when they use the cart as a skateboard like push off on it and then hop on to ride out the wave; grabbing all kinds of junk that neither of you need; touching everything even when he has no intention of buying it; you have to grab his ear and threaten him with celibacy to get him to calm down

whenever you’re sitting next to each other could be on the couch out at dinner in bed etc he likes to play with your hand and fiddle with your ring; will often slide it off and try to fit the ring on his fingers; then he’ll put it back on and kiss your fingertips for safekeeping

a/n: i worked on this for months and months and now it’s finally here lemme know what u thought 😩🙏

[alyssa-the-witch]

Offerings and their Removal

Disclosure, this may not apply to everyone! Cherry pick it if that works for you, or take none at all. Just no hate or arguments in the comments!

Definition- Offering - Something given to an entity or deity to show appreciation. This can also be something done or said to show appreciation.

~~~~~Types of Offerings~~~~~

Food- In ancient tradition, specifically Greek, the first bites of food were thrown into the fire to be sent through the gods by smoke. However, this isn't an option for many people these days. Alternative methods are favored.

Fire - The old methods are still applicable if available. If one has a bon fire or fire-place/hearth, the first bite of food can still be "smoked" , per-say.

Prayer - A small prayer can be said over food before the first bite is taken. Just a simple "Entity/spirit, please accept this offering, Blessed Be" or something similar can suffice. This, for some deities like Hestia can be done at the end too. This is more convenient for a hidden practice and for those who can't afford to waste food.

Altar- If you have an altar, or ever a small bowl, they can place the first bite of food there for the deity entity too.

Objects and Trinkets- Just like us, deities/entities love little trinkets. Whether it be a few coins you find nice to a statue or an engraved candle. Whatever it my be, it can be given to an entity with a prayer and/or on an altar in their honor.

Removables - There are some things that can be placed on altar and taken off. I like to call them removables. When placed on an altar, one could say "Entity/Deity, bless this object, with your energy and blessings." let it sit for a moment or cleanse with incense. If a clothing item, accessory, or perfume, you can take it off and use/wear it. Just remember to put it back to refresh the energy and discuss before taking it off for the first time.

Actions - There are also things that one can do in offer of a deity or entity. They can be small things, like prayers, to full-on rituals.

Prayer- This is probably the easiest in my opinion. It can be a small "Hey entity/deity, I appreciate you." on the go, or reciting a hymn or a prayer by the altar. It's incredibly diverse and can meld to any practice.

Chores - This can apply more to some deities than others, but just Keeping your room and house tidy can be done in honor of a deity. Altars specifically can be cleaned or re-arranged as an offering

Art-In ancient times, arts of every kind were offered to deities ant spirits. And it can fit most anyone's style.

Music- written specifically or just a song you think reminds you of them. Drawings/Paintings- try thing that reminds you of the deity or how you see them can be drawn or painted. Others- Pottery, Dance, Crocheting or handy crafts, or even more. All can be done in offering to a deity. Specifics - If you have done research into who you're offering to, you can offer specific things. Sleep for Hypnos, Baking bread for Hestia, Rehearsing if in the arts for Dionysus, etc. Self Care- This not a lot of people think applies, however the gas most want you to be kind to your self. whether it be a bath with oils, flower petals, and all the works to just brushing your teeth at night. All would make the gods/entities very proud of you!!

~~~~~Disposal~~~~~

This is something a bit more difficult; You did the thing, you think it's time, now what do you do? A decent chunk of this section was taken from @khaire-traveler. Obviously, actions cannot be "removed" Once the action is complete, the offering is sent.

Food- khaire narrowed it into 4 options that I really like. Just remember, when on an alter, don't let it sit too long for health concerns (rotting, bugs, etc.)

Consume - After praying aver the food like I had mentioned before.

Bum - Also mentioned before, but can be done after sitting at an altar for awhile.

Bury- Food offerings. if safe for local wildlife, can be buried. "My logic in burying them (only if environmentally safe) is returning the offering to the earth in a sense." (khair-3) (Yes its MLA cited, AP capstone has rotted my brain) If that fits Your practice, it is a good option.

Dispose, - This, like everything else here, must be done with respect. Clarify with the entity/deity that you aren't doing so out of disrespect, rather because this is your preferred disposal style or your only option

Objects/Art Pieces- If you have this ability, talk to your entity/deity about it, clarify there is no disrespect in the removal, and give the deity some time to de-attach to it. Slowly, the energy will fade from the object when kept away from the altar. This doesn't need to a ritual, but can be if that's what you prefer

Thank you for reading! This is my first fore into the pagan-sphere, so if this is something a lot of people like, I'll continue! Blessed Be, Alyssa the Witch!

[another-lost-mc]

When MC is Quiet in Bed Headcanons | THE DEMON BROTHERS + THE DATEABLES/SIDE CHARACTERS 1.7k words | NSFW | gn!Reader | Smut & Fluff Content warnings: They're all so in love, its cavity-inducing. Suggestive and sexual content, some pet names, teasing/dirty talk, cursing, body worship.

THEY'RE DETERMINED TO DRAW MORE NOISES FROM YOU

LUCIFER, ASMODEUS, BELPHEGOR, DIAVOLO, SOLOMON, MEPHISTOPHELES

Lucifer appreciates you exactly for who you are, but he’s the Avatar of Pride for a reason. When he tries to draw more noises from your kiss-swollen lips, he wants to prove to you (and he wants anyone else who might be listening to know) that no one else can ever satisfy you the way he can. By the time he’s finished, all you’ll be able to whisper or moan or feel is him. He can’t be with you every night, but whenever he fucks his fist thinking of you, he comes to the memory of the night you finally cried out his name. 

Asmodeus won’t stop until he knows your body as intimately as his own. When he gives you a massage after a long day, he knows where and how to touch you to draw relieved sighs from you. He knows what temperature to run your bath so you hum with contentment. In the bedroom, your pleasure is his pleasure, and there’s nothing more gratifying than seeing your head thrown back in ecstasy when he finally pulls a sweet moan or whimper from you. Hearing you sing for him, your body and voice together in perfect harmony, makes him even more desperately in love with you.

Belphegor sees your quietness as a challenge. He wants your noises to fill the attic to hide his own desperate, needy sounds. If he notices that you’re trying to be quiet, it only makes him even more determined to see how loud you can be. He wants to hear you beg for him, just to prove that he always gets what he wants - and you’re happy to do that for him, aren’t you? He might tease you about it just to see how you respond—

You’re so desperate for my cock, do you even hear yourself? Fuck, let’s see if you can moan like that again—

But that’s because he wants you to feel as vulnerable as he does.

Diavolo wants to know how well he satisfies you. He wants to erase all your previous lovers and replace them with memories of him and him alone. He wants you to guide him and support him, and love him and accept him for who he is. In return, he’ll be a leader you can be proud of, and a demon you can love wholeheartedly, and the only lover you’ll want beside you or on top of you or inside you. He’s the future demon king that kneels at your feet and worships you with his hands and mouth and cock. The only thing he’ll ever ask is that you never hide how he makes you feel. 

Solomon wants to know you better than anyone else ever will. That means his touches are gentle and exploratory at first, and once he finds something that causes you to moan or whine for more, his smile turns sharp. He does it over and over and over again, so he can see how loud you can be, and how desperate your sounds are, and the types of words you use when you beg him so prettily to let you come. He rewards you for your patience and for being so good for him, and when he fucks you after, you’ll have your chance to learn the desperate noises you drag from him too.

Mephistopheles resisted you for so long, but as much as your human nature irritated him at first, now he’s enamored by it. There’s nothing he wants more than to prove to you that you won’t ever regret choosing him over any of those other demons who pursued you (especially that arrogant bastard Lucifer). Nothing makes him happier (or harder, or hornier) than hearing you whimper his name when you’re caged beneath his arms on his dark, silk sheets. He’ll do anything to hear you say his name like that again (and again and again).

THEY DON’T MIND IF YOU'RE QUIET or THEY’RE QUIET, JUST LIKE YOU

SATAN, BEELZEBUB, BARBATOS, RAPHAEL

If Satan is in one of his calm, happy moods, his lovemaking is sweet and quiet and unhurried. He takes his time exploring your body, mapping the smooth expanse of your skin with his hands and mouth. The soft shuffle of sheets and the creak of his bedframe, and perhaps the quietest of sighs, is more than enough to set his nerves alight.

If Satan is channeling his rage into a more pleasurable outlet, then he’s going to be noisier. You might be too, or you might not be - it doesn’t matter. He can tell by the way your thighs shake around his waist, or the way your fingernails scrape his scalp when you pull him down into a frenzied kiss, that he’s giving you something that no one else ever will.

Beelzebub doesn’t care how loud or quiet you are as long as he can have you as much as he wants. There’s an endless hunger for you that churns deep within him. When he covers your body with his and fucks you with slow but powerful movements, his own quiet noises in your ear are barely noticeable over the sound of the headboard banging against the wall or the mattress springs squeaking beneath you. He growls your name into the crook of your neck when he comes, and he’s more focused on the sound of your heartbeat close to his than anything else.

Barbatos is used to being a silent shadow for his young master, and your quiet manners in bed don't disappoint him or surprise him; he can be very much the same. He sighs at your first hesitant touch, and he murmurs loving praise into your ear when he coaxes both of you towards the precipice of pleasure. He appreciates the other ways you respond to his loving caresses. He places more value in your hot breath against his skin when you pant into his shoulder, or your hands scrambling for purchase along his back or in his hair. (Your soft noises also make it easier to get away with scandalous midday dalliances when he feels especially daring.)

Raphael is not loud or boisterous at the best of times, and when he’s making love to you, it’s no different. He drags his mouth along your skin while he moves inside you, and the quiet grunts or moans that slip past his otherwise occupied lips are muffled against you. He likes to feel the vibrations of your shaky breaths and erratic sighs when his body is pressed flush against your own. When he reaches between your bodies and touches you so you both come together, you can sometimes hear the softest whispers as he chants your name under his breath.

THEY'RE LOUD ENOUGH FOR BOTH OF YOU

MAMMON, LEVIATHAN, SIMEON, THIRTEEN

Mammon is greedy for you - all of you. Every breathy moan or broken cry, every whimper or groan you make. The way your body shakes or trembles or moves with him, or for him, he wants it all. It doesn’t matter how loud or quiet you are, because he knows everything you do in his bed (or in the shower, or in his car, or on any other flat surface) is all for him. It also doesn’t matter how loud or quiet you are because he is sinfully loud. The endless stream of sweet praise that he babbles into your skin or the honeyed filth he growls against your ear is enough to drown you out anyway. You quickly learn that all the noises you make are his, just as all the noises he makes are yours.

Leviathan sometimes wishes you were louder in bed because he gets embarrassed by his own needy, desperate noises. It bothers him at first, and his face is flushed red and he’s sweating and trembling beneath your hands, but eventually he's too overcome with desire to care anymore. When you’re in your room, or in his tub, or laid flat on his desk, he babbles about how good you feel and begs you to tell him how much you want him and he’s desperate for you to tell him you’re his and only his. When he’s close, or when he knows you’re close, his breath hitches and he whimpers and whines because you feel so good, it’s too good, please don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop—

Simeon isn’t necessarily loud, but he’s noisy. He whispers your name with such reverence that it takes your breath away, and he praises you so unabashedly that you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t too cock drunk to care. His sweet words are punctuated by the sounds he makes when you feel too good and he can’t form coherent thoughts anymore. He groans his pleasure into your skin and moans into your kisses, and his breath hitches when your hand or mouth or greedy walls clench around him just right. The noises your bodies make are a constant distraction too - the way his hands brush over your skin, the wet glide of his tongue and mouth against yours, and the soft slapping sounds as his hips move faster and with more desperation against your body. When you’re close, the bed creaks louder when your body moves in sync with his, and it spurs him on even more. He thinks all the noises of your lovemaking are just as lovely as the quiet words or gentle moans you do - or don't - make for him. 

Thirteen isn’t quiet. When she’s not cooing about how cute you are trying to fuck yourself on her fingers, or when she’s not murmuring how good you taste on her tongue, she’s constantly in awe of you. She explores your body so eagerly, and she’s always finding new things to love about it. When she does, she tells you with so much giddy excitement how she found another little secret of yours. She finds all your little birthmarks and moles and scars and everything else that makes you unique. She maps them with her hands and her tongue so she never forgets them, and so that you never forget how much she adores them. She finds the oddest ways to compliment you, usually when you’re half-delirious from pleasure. She grins down at you, or smirks up at you, and she says the sweetest things when she knows you’re too tongue-tied to argue with her about it.