#i feel soft in this chilis tonight

[lightningandfireinmybones]

Good morning beautiful 💕

I would like to request a drabble with drunk Valaena aka “would u still love me if i were a worm”🥹😅

lmfao pls never mind if it’s silly, hope you’re having a good day

GOOD MORNING TO THIS PROMPT AND THIS PROMPT ONLY

“Please get in bed,” Aemond sighs, pulling back the covers of the duvet for his tipsy wife. 

Valaena, wearing his biggest shirt and curled into a ball in the closet, pouts at him. He swears here and now that the next time Helaena and Valaena drink together, he’s getting rid of their peach schnapps. As adorable as this giggly drunk Valaena is, getting water into her, getting her up the stairs, face washed and teeth brushed, and into something that resembled pajamas had like trying to herd cats. She just wanted to giggle and admire the way the light reflected off his rings, braid little pieces of his hair and tell him he was pretty.

Which, altogether, he didn’t mind, but her motions were starting to slow, eyes blinking syrupy slow at him as she hid her knees under the hem of his shirt. The giggly portion of the intoxication was fading into sleepiness, and he wanted her safe and comfortable in bed when that transition was completed. 

“Carry me?” Valaena holds up her hands, still slurring slightly, scrunching her hands at him like a toddler asking to be picked up.

Fighting a smile and physically incapable of denying her anything when her eyes were that big and innocent, Aemond acquiesces, crouching down to carry pick her up. She clings to him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Aemond?” She mutters into his bare skin after she burrows her face past the collar of his shirt.

“Valaena?” Aemond mimics with affection.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” Her voice is muffled, but Aemond hears it clearly enough and has to swallow his laugh.

He tucks her into bed, following her down onto the mattress when she refuses to relinquish her hold on his neck. Rolling carefully, he tucks her into his chest, making sure she’s on her side. 

She’s pouting at him again, lower lip sticking out just the tiniest amount, eyes round and eyebrows raised. The lavender of her eyes is glazed over from the alcohol, but he can see the pleading in them, mirrored in the way her fingers curl into the front of his shirt, holding on in rapture for his answer. 

“I would build you the best worm terrarium in the world,” he indulges her, pressing a gentle kiss into the crown of her head.

The smile that breaks across her face is worth the absurdity of the thought. “And you’d carry me around in your pocket?”

He’s not sure how she got pocket travel from a world-class terrarium, but if that’s what she wants, that’s what he’ll give her.

“Can’t leave my worm wife behind, can I?” This time, some of the laughter bleeds into his voice, but she doesn’t seem to mind, sighing contentedly.

“I knew you loved me,” she murmurs triumphantly, even as her lids are flickering closed.

“Valaena, I would love you even if you were a worm or an amoeba or a fungi or whatever the fuck else you’re going to ask me about,” Aemond kisses her head again, but she’s already asleep, lips parted slightly, fingers still curled in his shirt as if to keep him there.

He hopes Rhaena is getting the exact same question from an equally giggly Helaena.

[manderleyfire]

BOYD CROWDER & AVA CROWDER in 'JUSTIFIED' (SEASON 2)

I lied for you taking that mining money. This is different, Ava. I guess me taking you in and building you up was a mistake. Just set you back to square one. That's not true. You took me in, and you healed me, Ava. You give me a reason to wake up in the morning. For that, I'll be eternally grateful.

[thisisagood-url]

it is absolutely fuckin criminal that my gf and i arent cuddling rn

[lunarpanda]

Choromatsu muffin top

[betweenheroesandvillains]

NONO HANG ON I AM CATCHING UP SAM KENDRICKS UP THERE FOLLOWING MONDO???

[fraugwinska]

Could you do a backstory to Hard Day? Like, how Al decided to give up control, and the first time it happened 🥺🙏

Ummm... well, I may have gotten myself a bit lost in this one :D Idk, It's gotten quite out of hand, 2,5 k words... but...um yeah :D Praying you like it :> Attention - we cook with Chili, not salt today! (MDNI)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The hardest Day

„That's so unrealistic! I mean, in what world would a lion eat bugs instead of the fucking fat juicy PIG?!“

„It's a kids movie, asshole, shut up!“

The gang was sprawled out in front of the TV, blankets and popcorn everywhere. Charlie got her hands on a rare copy of 'The Lion King', and invited everyone to a 'nice, unproblematic, quiet' movie night. She didn't account for Angel's constant commentary, Husk's annoyed retorts to him or Niffty's gleeful giggling at the most unfitting scenes. Vaggie, frustrated by them, started adding to the chaos, sending scolding remarks in intervals at either of them, while Charlie tried to mediate in between songs – which she always sang along with.

You, however, were highly entertained – even though you didn't catch anything from the movie, just watching them was amusing enough. The only one missing was Alastor, who had 'business to attend' and was gone since breakfast ended.

He would've hated it anyway, you knew he had no interest in movies, let alone modern ones, and group activities like these were often straining on his patience. Although getting in the hotel last, you were the one who grew the closest to him. Why? You couldn't say definitively. Maybe it was because you never took his veiled jabs by heart. Maybe because you didn't treat him the way the others wanted you to – with care, with ignorance, with suspicion; but instead with respect, an open mind and without judgment. Maybe it was because you could challenge him – discussions about books you both read could last hours, with points given to either side equally – no winner, no loser, both richer.

You liked Alastor. Really liked him. You also had a silly, little crush on him, for a while now, but you kept that to yourself, nothing going further than a few flirtatious moments 'in good fun', calling each other 'doe' and 'buck' with a laugh. A joke between friends. Friendship, you decided, was enough for you, if it was for him.

The entrance doors slammed suddenly, making you all jump in your seats. Alastor stood at the door, looking... different. Stressed? You cocked a brow when you saw his eye twitch, while he sauntered over to the group.

„Al, do you want to join us? We're watching a movie!“, Charlie said absent-mindedly, her eyes glued to the scene of 'Can you feel the love tonight'.

Alastor gave the TV set a judgmental smile and waved his hand. „Tempting, but it has been a rather hard day, I'll just take a drink and retreat to my room, dear.“ He left the group and went to the bar, your pair of eyes the only one following him. Something was NOT right. His smile was tight, his eyes wider than usual, his movements almost jagged instead of fluid. Niffty had jumped to the bar too, insisting on helping Alastor by retrieving a glass for his whiskey from one the higher shelves. In her eagerness to climb and get it, she didn't watch her steps careful enough, resulting in a few delicate wine glasses sliding from the shelfves and breaking into a hundred tiny pieces. Alastor's reaction was as unexpected as it was worrying – he always had a soft spot for Niffty, laughing over her antics and chaotic energy, often encouraging her even to produce more mayhem. This time, however, he started to scold the maid, who blinked at him with a big, guilty eye and trembling lips.

„Such indignation, really Niffty. Clean the shards at once, and try not to remain to be such a clumsy clot.“, he almost hissed, grabbing the bottle and a simple crystal glass before striding away hastily. Your eyes followed his figure until he turned the corner to the staircase, then you got up and comforted the little demon, helping her sweeping up the glass pieces while she sniffeled tears away.

You let your gaze swipe over the group, completely ignorant about what happened with Niffty, and Alastor. Ignorant of the blatantly obvious bad mood of the deer demon.

Turning to Charlie, you whispered to her that you had a headache and would be going to bed, to which she just nodded. No one acknowledged your leave, all eyes on the screen and still bickering noisily. A bunch of friends, you are, you thought annoyed with a shaking head.

Three flights of stairs later, you reached Alastor's room. You pressed your ear to the door, and heard dull bangs, like something was thrown, and a muffled voice. You knocked, and the room instantly stilled.

„Alastor, it's me.“, you said loudly, brows furrowed. „Are you okay?“

A few seconds of silence. „I'm just fine and dandy my dear.“

You put one hand on the door. He normally would open it, to speak with you directly, face uncomfortably close to face, just the way he liked it. But it stayed close.

„You didn't look fine.“, you stated. You were ever so stubborn.

„Well, I am fine. Now shoo, darling, good night.“

You stood in front of the wooden divider, contemplating. You could just go. Leave him be, wait until tomorrow. See if he would talk to you then. But then, there was your gut. And it told you Alastor wasn't well. And that just didn't sit right with you.

„Alastor. Please, let me in.“

No response, just hint of the prickling feeling of static electricity on your skin.

„I know something is bothering you, and I'm worried.“

No response. You breathe in and out.

„I'm not going anywhere until you open the...“

The door flew open, a hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you into the room, violently. You stumbled and fell against a bookshelf, catching the fall with your hands to keep you upright. You heard a slam and a click – door closed, door locked. The static was everywhere now, flushing in waves over your body. You turned around -

Alastor was pacing like a wounded animal, he seemed fluffed up, as if every hair on his body had decided to stand up. His scleras were dark pits, blackest black, and in it his irises burned angrily in crimson flames, now focusing solely on you. The prey.

„So you came to test my patience too, dear?“, he snarled, his voice so distorted it ached in your ears. „It's not enough that that waste of cables destroyed two of my radio towers. Not enough that dozens of my most profitable souls have been rendered useless by an angelic bomb. Not enough that I not only had to put the disgraceful flat screened wretch back in his place, but also his vulgar boy toy and their brazen, attention-seeking brat.“

He grew in size as he ranted, you watched him reaching the ceiling, antlers scraping along the walls. „I manage my weakening territories, manage these imbeciles who think they can play overlords, I manage this sad excuse of a hotel, I manage the princess's unattainable ideas, and now, I also need to manage you, too, of all people? What a disappointm...“

„Stop.“

You held up a hand. Alastor growled, fluffing up even more, limbs cracking and static popping. „How dare y...“

„Stop.“, you said again. Your tone was calm, void of anger, or fear, neutral and steady. He stared at you, and you held his gaze. „Breathe, Alastor.“

You saw him fighting with himself. He fought against his instinct to oppose, to command, to put you into your place, to rip you apart. His elongated claws scraped over the floor, ripping deep ridges in the wood.

„Breathe.“, you repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, gradually, Alastor shrunk. Breathed. Crumbled. Until he was back to his usual size and form, only with an exhausted expression.

You studied him – you've never seen him like that. He never allowed anyone to see him as something other than 'the radio demon': Powerful, unshakeable, quick on his feet and always one step ahead. How exhausting it must be. To always have the control also meant to always carry responsibility, to always fear impending failure.

Your heart whispered to you, and you followed it's advice. It could be the most stupid thing you could do, but you decided to do it anyway.

„Come here, Alastor.“

He looked at you, unsure, suspicious. You sounded commanding, but not harsh. Inviting. Like a hand, reached out to someone trapped. For a moment, you almost thought you ruined everything – his eyes left yours, they fell to the ground as he shifted on his feet.

But then – steps. Coming closer. Stopping right in front of you. And suddenly..

His head on your shoulder. His breath on your neck. His voice in your ear.

„Sometimes I'm so sick of it all. Sick of maneuvering, sick of ruling, governing, planning...“

You touched his neck, he let you, caressing the soft skin, heated from his outburst, trembling slightly at the contact. It was intimate, baring this vulnerable part to you. You heart broke for him.

He pulled himself away from you, searching for your eyes. Finding them again, he took your hand, bringing it up to his face, guiding your fingers over his lips. He just said one word.

„Please.“

So much was said with this please. You heard every message. Giving up control, just for a bit, just with something he didn't care enough about to insist on ruling, could be a small bit of freedom. Letting himself be guided instead of leading.

“Kneel down, Alastor.”

His ears pressed flat against his head, but he did as he was told. He couldn't look you in the eyes. For once, you were the one towering over him. You took his face in your hands, pulling it so he looked up to you, seeing your warm smile before your lips met his.

His breath hitched, stuck somewhere in his throat.

You slid one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, the other caressing his cheek as you tilted your head and deepened the kiss. Slowly, the rigidity melted away, he started to shift, lips no longer stiff but soft and molding against your own.

He tried to stand up, but you pushed him down, gently, definitively.

“Trust me to guide you, buck.”

He breathed, one, two, three times, eyes closed, grin tight.

“Yes, doe.”

Your own excitement took a back seat. You were filled with pure energy at the thought of crossing the line with him, having Alastor in a way you only dreamed about, convinced your relationship would never come this far. But. But this was not about you, for now. Maybe, another time. If another time ever came.

You lowered yourself on him, straddling him, so you were still 'taller', and rejoined your lips. You took his hands and set them on your hips, let them rest there while you buried yours in his hair, tugging lightly to bend his head back. His initial resistance lessened, and he gave in, exposing his throat, gray skin peeking out of his high collar. You let your mouth travel to his jawline, down to the small patch of delicate, thin skin, right next to his jugular. You felt him tense, felt his rising urge to protect himself from your potential strike. You let out a soft hum as you started to lick it, sucking gently, just a bit, just to make him shiver at the sensation. And how he did.

A moan, low and sweet like the strumming of a cello, escaped him, his hands crushing your hips by the force of his grip. It hurt, but you decided to ignore it. Little steps.

“Can you take more, good boy?”

His eyes snapped open, burning furiously. You met them with calmness, with a soft matter-of-fact-ness. Not smug, not mocking. A question. Proceed or Stop?

Alastor swallowed hot saliva. You could see he was getting overwhelmed, overstimulated, and yet, he had such a longing in his eyes, such desperation.

“Yes.”

One simple word. One spark, setting your body on fire. You tried to force your trembling fingers to steady, lifting yourself slightly off him to open his trousers. With every button, his breaths grew heavier, his grip on your legs grew tighter, claws already digging in your skin and drawing blood.

“Careful, buck. I'll need these in a moment.”, you said, placing both hands on his chest, pushing him flat on his back on the ground. He let you go, arms falling useless next to him.

You leaned forward, thanking any deity that would listen you decided to wear a skirt today, and placed a hand on his growing bulge. He hissed at the touch, cracking the floor as his fingers clawed into the wood of the floor instead your fleshy legs.

Freed from it's cage, Alastor's dick was already dripping with beads of precum, a sight to behold. You wrapped your fingers around it, feeling the warmth and bloodflow, it twitched in your hand. You stroke him, eliciting the most sinful noises from the demon under you.

You took a deep breath. One more, one question more, to make sure that he wanted it.

“Look at me, Alastor.”

He sat up on his elbows, looking more helpless than you've ever imagined he could. Even his smile wavered, threatening to break. You were looking for any signs of hesitation, disgust, resistance, regret. You only found desire. A want, a need, almost pleading eyes.

Your free hand pushed your panty away, enough to expose your lips, and you lowered yourself onto him, his length slowly entering you. He was big, you were tight. A bittersweet combination. Sparks flew before your eyes as he stretched you, but you were hypnotized by his eyes.

They were blown wide, returned to black, but the irises now flickering into dials, turning, left to right as he groaned. You moved, guiding your hips up and down, feeling yourself molding to his shape in the most delectable way, and getting drunk off the look on his face.

You increased the pace on which you pushed yourself on him, adding a little tilt of your hips to take him even deeper. His voice was reduced to a static-y mess, hums and groans and moans bleeding into each other. You placed both of your hands on his chest for more support, inevitably pinning him down. His hands flew to yours, threatening to push them off him, but instead, he entwined his fingers with yours, panting heavily.

It didn't take long for him to feel the pressure, unbearable and urgent, his release approaching at godspeed.

“Doe, I can't...”

Panic in his tone. He tried to put his hands on your waist to pull you off. You understood immediately – an upbringing in conservative times, decades of living by the rules of a gentleman, he was resisting against the thought of cumming inside you. You pushed his hands away.

“Yes, you can.”, you stated, smiling at him, a hint of wickedness in your eyes. “And you will.”

Your skilled movements and dedicated demeanor sent him over the edge immediately. Protests were futile as he came in you forcefully, you felt his cock pumping his seed deep into you, hot and thick as you rocked him through his orgasm. Your own high wasn't worth chasing, too far away to matter. You didn't even think about it – nothing could feel better than this.

Alastor ran his hands over his forehead, sweeping away beads of sweat as his breath calmed down.

His hand shot out to grab you, and, still impaled by him, he pulled you into his chest, invading your mouth with his tongue to kiss you possessively. As if to transfer the command, the control he had given up, back to him. Taking it from you.

For a moment you were scared. The positions had reset to their default. Would that mean he'd push you off? Say goodnight and never talk about this night again? Returning to the Status Quo. Friends, the end.

Alastor pulled your chin up to look at you. His thumb ran over your cheek, tenderly and full of care. His eyes answered every question in your mind. You weren't scared anymore.

[luveline]

jade my heart I’m really feeling Peter parker tonight in this chilis. maybe just Pete listening to r go on about something she likes? Like a book or a tv show and he’s just listening but also so obsessed with her and thinks she’s adorable? I love u! 🫶🏻

ily ty for requesting <3 fem

“It’s a prequel, you know?” 

Peter feels fondness for you pretty much every second of the day, but the way you’re asking without looking at him, and the way you’re laying across his lap so unbothered, he finds himself grinning like a mad man. “I did not know that,” he says. 

You nod up and down with a severe sort of look about you, as though this is of the utmost importance. If Peter doesn’t get on the same page as you soon, he’s not gonna make it. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen the first trilogy. Like, I like you so much, but where the hell have you been?” 

“Where have I been?” he wonders. 

“Anyways, that’s not the point, sorry. They’re complicated movies. You’d like them, though. Next time I’ll bring my DVD’s and we can watch them, if you want to, you’ll really like them, or you’ll really like Natalie Portman, at least. She’s beautiful. And her character is so… complicated, I guess, she’s doomed from the beginning of the narrative and she’s the catalyst for so much but she’s also just… sorry, I’m being totally boring.” 

“Says who?” 

Doesn’t take much more than that to get you rolling again, you want to tell him that badly, “I don’t wanna spoil it anymore because I really think you’ll love them if you watch them, but you’re gonna need to watch the first trilogy to get the emotional impact, and you’ll love them, don’t worry.” 

“I’ll love them,” he agrees, attempting to lean down for a kiss. 

“Wait, is this a shut me up kiss?” you whisper. 

Peter shakes his head as he kisses you, serving for a wobbly but soft press of your lips to his. “Never. Tell me everything about it.” 

You talk until you’re hoarse, literally hoarse, and Peter has to make you a cup of water. His cheeks are hurting from smiling at you. You’ve never looked this cute, not once, not even when he took you to Coney Island and you screamed the house down on all the rides. 

“I think we better go and get those DVDs,” he says. 

“It’s dark out,” you say. 

“We’ll swing.” 

“Isn’t that against your code of ethics?” You sip your drink, pointing at him. “We’ll hear someone who needs help on the way and you’ll drop my extended editions to save them.” 

“I won’t drop anything,” he says. “Come on! Come on, if you’re this excited just talking about it I wanna see how pretty you are when we’re actually watching the movies.” 

You press your smile into a line. “You’re not just humouring me?” 

“I could listen to you talk for hours, baby, but you sound like you did the second time we got off of The Cyclone.” 

You do a spinning, meandering dance into his arms. “If you insist.” 

Your feigned reluctance is adorable. He grabs you in both hands for another misaligned kiss.

[wardenparker]

Hurry Home

Frankie Morales x female reader x Santiago Garcia

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: Reader is described as wearing feminine clothing and having hair long enough to run fingers through. Fluff. Domesticity. Food/alcohol. Oral sex (m receiving), mention of shower sex. Summary: A small snapshot of an established poly relationship. Notes: There is no world in which I do not want to be in a poly marriage with Frankie and Pope. End of story. I hope you enjoy!

The light in the living room is still on when you come through the door; the smell of long-cooked chili wafting from the kitchen where unwashed dishes sit waiting for the morning. You drop your purse in its traditional place on the little table by the door and immediately reach down to pry the high heels off your aching feet. Too many damned meetings have fried your brain and left you craving a hot dinner and sweet cuddles. Thankfully, that delicious smell from the kitchen and the sound of Yellowstone on the television in the living room mean that Santiago is home. Alas, the gentle snoring means he has fallen asleep on the sofa.

Intent on not waking him up, you decide not to turn on the light and move soundlessly around the kitchen in your stockings and dress, glad to have rejected your heels at the door. Santi’s chili is your favourite comfort food. It’s spicy enough to clean out your sinuses but so complexly flavored that he completely betrays his years of culinary school every time he makes it. And he never minds that you scoop it up in half a bag’s worth of convenience store tortilla chips every time you need that next level comfort. Tonight, you pour absurd amounts of cheap tequila and margarita mix into a novelty pint glass and tap the microwave button to stop the heating cycle before it beeps too loudly across the apartment.

You reach blindly over to grab a spoon out of the drawer and have one plopped into your hand instead. “Jesus Christ!” You hiss, snatching your hand away and just barely managing not to drop the flatware.

The snickering giggle from your right isn’t Santi’s.

“Frankie!” You almost shriek, face splitting into an immediate smile and throwing your arms around his neck without a second lost.

 “Shh! Shhhh, love.” Frankie wraps his arms tight around your waist, breathing in the faded strains of your expensive perfume. “Santi’s sleeping.”

“I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow?” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin. He’s already stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers from whatever he’d put on that morning and he looks good enough to eat. Damn the chili, Frankie is a whole three course meal in his own right.

“I rescheduled for an earlier flight.” It sounds almost confessional, the way he quietly whispers in your ear. “I missed you.”

“Mmm,” The hum comes up from the back of your throat. “We missed you, too.”

“Is that why you have the world’s largest and saddest margarita in that glass?” Frankie smirks, raising one eyebrow at the glass on the counter next to your bowl. That awful sugary bottled cocktail mix only sneaks its way into your home when Frankie is away. As a former bartender he finds it fully offensive, but he knows you like sticky sweet drinks.

“Give me a break,” you beg, pouting fiercely. This is why you were having such a big drink tonight – not only because of the day you’d had at work but to empty the bottle before his return. “I had four meetings today, I earned this sugary tequila.”

Frankie knows how hard you work, constantly proving yourself day-in and day-out in an office full of men where you are the best educated in the room but always last to get a new client. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m only teasing.” He plies you with a soft kiss, letting it deepen when you sigh to let him in. Your reunions are like this more often than not now, after almost a decade together. In the beginning you would be fucking against a wall within minutes of the door closing, so desperate to feel each other’s touch again after a business trip or other time away that you had ruined a fair few pieces of clothing in moments of enthusiasm.

Now you linger together and let yourselves melt into each other, usually ending up going to bed early with a bottle of wine. When Santi had become a part of your romantic lives, you had become oddly more domestic, but you all quietly agreed that that was due to age and not a loss of passion. In fact, the only odd thing about it was that it had taken so long. For as close as Frankie and Santi had always been, it had taken the three of you going camping for a long weekend for something to finally happen.

Soft became sensual becomes hungry, and proof of that passion shows itself in you shoving Frankie’s hips against the kitchen counter so you can drop to your knees in front of him in synchrony with his boxers hitting the tiled floor.

“Goddamn.” Frankie’s long, thick fingers flex insistently against the base of your skull, not scratching or pulling, but encouraging as he drinks in the sight of you in the glowing shadow of the flickering living room television.

You have only gotten more gorgeous as you’ve gotten older, growing from an adorable little imp to an elegant and confident woman who owns her curves instead of hiding them. He’s always loved your body in every form, but he loves even more the way you’ve come to love yourself. With that confidence in yourself had come even more confidence as a lover – and he is more than okay with that. He simply wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t show you the vocal appreciation he has for your skills with your tongue. “Fuck, baby girl,” he moans, humming so deeply that he practically purrs.

“You know he’s just going to keep taking more out of town jobs if this is how he gets greeted at home.” Santi’s sleep-thick voice joins the rather obscene sound of your mouth leaving Frankie’s cock and your eyes flick up to Santi with an amused glint.

“Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t give him the same hello?” You tease. These men always make you smile. And moan. They always make you moan.

“Of course not.” Santi’s hand goes to his chest in mock affront before he leans down to nip at your bottom lip. “I gave him a good fuck in the shower. Obviously.”

“And I’m the one who’s spoiling him?” On your knees with Frankie’s length in one hand, you reach for the waistband of Santi’s joggers with the other and feel your smile go lopsided as your eyes grow darker. “I’ll spoil both of you, then.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you up.” Frankie apologizes by pulling Santi in close, untangling one of his hands from your hair only to catch it up in the other man’s equally thick locks as they come together in a kiss. You’ll lavish them with attention here and then they will bring you to bed where they have space to work over every inch of you – the three of you falling asleep in a sweaty pile of satisfied partners.

When Santi had joined your family, you and Frankie had become a little more domestic. You had found the piece of your marriage that you hadn’t known was missing in a clever, loving third partner, and now you can’t imagine your lives without him.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[avatar-anna]

Sugar & Spice

What if y/n was Harry's tour chef and harry has a huge ass crush on her so he would be like the first one seated for y/ns food and he would always compliment her

i was wondering if you could do one where the reader asked him to come over for comfort (maybe her bf cheated idk) and after she stops feeling so bad they have a moment and end up kissing and then their feelings get all confused??

"Make something that would make someone fall in love with you."

Your heart still thundered at the words, the soft request that felt like a demand caressing your thoughts and sending chills down your spine. Pastel anticipation stirred within your belly as you kept an eye on the saucepan in front of you.

The apartment was rich with the smell of spices. Harry had asked for a dish, but you were about to serve him a full-course meal, all teeming with flavor and color, the smell of everything fusing together in your kitchen and leaking throughout the rest of the apartment in a cuisine symphony. Even the pan full of molten chocolate permeated the room, the hint of chili you added to it cutting through the richness.

An arm snaked around your waist, the other reaching to sneak a taste of the chocolate sauce in front of you, a searing kiss to the back of your neck trying to act as a distraction. But when you were in the kitchen, you had laser-sharp focus. You smacked the hand away playfully, but not without intention.

"How much longer?" Harry asked, nipping at your jaw.

The breath on your neck, the lips on your skin, the hand on your waist sent you leaning into him, but not without the aftershock of surprise.

You were his tour caterer, his employee, and while the two of you had grown quite close since Live on Tour began, you were just friends. Harry was always first in line when dinner was being served and sometimes helped clean up when he could. He joined you on small excursions to farmer's markets to buy fresh ingredients and listened to you go on and on about the value of farm-fresh, locally sourced produce.

Food, cooking, creating, they were all things that cultivated your passion, one you could talk about for ages, if given the chance. Not many did, even your boyfriend's eyes glazed over if you talked about a new way to prepare cauliflower for too long. But Harry was always willing to listen and even peppered you with questions that you were more than happy to answer.

You became fast friends. You cooked for him during the day and talked and laughed over a bottle of wine and bread and cheese at night after his shows, riding out his adrenaline until he eventually walked you back to your hotel room or tour bus, depending on where you were traveling. Harry was a good friend, a great one even, one you knew you would cherish far beyond this tour.

Until tonight, where the jury was still out on the status of said friendship.

Because tonight something...changed.

Harry's show was in your hometown, and as such, you invited your boyfriend to come to the show. Being on the road for long months on end didn't make maintaining a relationship easy, and things had become strained, but tonight was meant to be an olive branch. You were excited to see your boyfriend after being away from him for so long, had gushed to Harry about how you were going to make his favorite meal and sleep soundly in your bed instead of a hotel room or bus bunk.

But before any of that could happen, your boyfriend admitted to having cheated on you while you were gone.

You were a wreck. You knew things between you and your boyfriend weren't great, but you never imagined that he would cheat. His confession swept the ground out from beneath you, blindsiding you in a way that manifested in calm confusion as you told him things were over between the two of you. But when he left and you were alone in the tour venue's kitchen, you could feel the breakdown coming. So instead of going to Harry's show, as you normally did, you went straight to the apartment you hadn't seen in months. Harry came shortly after the concert was over.

Having been in a relationship, and never considering yourself the cheating type, you never saw Harry as anything more than a friend. He was lovely, and oh so sweet, and very, very handsome. He was interested in your work and made you laugh and enjoyed talking to you as much as you liked talking to him. But he was your boss, and a celebrity, and you had a boyfriend. It was pretty cut and dry.

When he arrived on your doorstep, you were wrapped in a blanket, only the center of your face poking out of it. Harry cuddled up next to you on the couch and let you cry and rant and cry some more. He kissed the top of your head and wiped your nose with the sleeve of his tour sweatshirt. And despite your red, puffy eyes, despite the tears hanging off the tips of your lashes, Harry leaned in, nudged his nose against yours in a way that had you leaning in too, and you let him kiss you.

It was startling. Not that Harry was a good kisser, that seemed like a given. No, what was startling was how much you enjoyed it, how tender the slide of his mouth against yours was. He was gentle, like he was trying to be respectful of the fact that you'd broken up with your boyfriend mere hours ago. But the flash of your boyfriend's face behind your eyelids had you pulling away from him in an instant.

You were single technically, but it still didn't feel right; no matter how much you might've liked the kiss, no matter how much Harry seemed to enjoy it as well. You hid from Harry in your room. Not because you were hung up on your boyfriend, but because it felt so right to kiss Harry. And that thought filled you with panic and guilt.

Harry was still there when you eventually stepped out of your room, willing to listen as he always was, but you didn't say anything, just walked over to the kitchen and asked if he was hungry.

There were words left unsaid between the two of you, but both of you seemed content to ignore them for now, though when Harry murmured, "Make a dish that you would use to seduce someone. Make them fall in love with you," it was clear how he felt. He put himself out there, waiting to see if you would accept the advances or reject them.

And now he was wrapped around you, kissing you like he'd been doing it for years.

"Mmm. The peach and burrata salad is done, the fried duck wings just need a glaze, the rice should be done any minute now, the chocolate needs just a little more—"

"Okay, so you need more time. Can I help you set the table, at least?" he said, huffing out a laugh.

You could only manage a nod and a quick murmur of where he could find what he needed. Your eyes stayed on the food cooking in front of you, but you heard every noise Harry made as he moved through your kitchen.

*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.**.*.*.

Somehow you ended up on Harry's lap, a homemade churro doused in cinnamon and sugar and dipped in chocolate poised toward his mouth. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he took a bite, the crunch a harsh sound as he closed his eyes and moaned at the taste.

The sound had you blushing. You knew it was because of the food, and if you looked past the bashfulness, you would be proud that your cooking skills elicited such a reaction.

You could've made something fancy, something that would've shown off your culinary skills in a way that catering to everyone on tour didn't give you the opportunity to do. But when you began rooting around the kitchen, your hands automatically went for the rice cooker, and things just kind of went from there.

The appetizers were unique, you supposed. Fried duck wings with a lemon glaze and a mixed green salad with burrata cheese, peach slices, and a number of other colorful things that brought it to life. But the main course was fairly simple, still full of flavor, but simple. Chicken and rice and beans, almost the exact same recipe you'd grown up with. Harry asked for something that would make someone fall in love with you, and you figured there was no better way to do that than the root, the catalyst, for your love of the kitchen.

Harry marveled at all of it, listening as he normally did when you talked about knife techniques, and cooking times, and flavor profiles. You talked, perhaps to cover up your nerves, as you plated and served everything, and when you went to sit across from him, Harry gently grabbed you by the waist, and now here you were.

Harry's fingers grazed your arm in lazy circles, over the tattoos inked on your skin. They were all over your arms and abdomen, a passion you had that was almost as strong as your love for cooking. It was the first commonality you shared with Harry when you said hello after serving him and the rest of the crew the first meal of the tour. Both of you were busy at the time and couldn't discuss tattoos at length the way both of you seemed to want to, but Harry stopped by during lunch the next day, and the two of you talked over shrimp fried rice you'd whipped up.

"This...This shouldn't be this good," Harry finally managed to say.

It took a moment to find your voice, Harry's voice low in a way that made you suppress a shiver. But you said despite your dry mouth, "I'm glad you like it."

"And—And is it spicy? The chocolate? It's subtle, but I swear it's there."

"Chili powder. Just a little," you said with a nod.

"Oh. Well, don't let me eat all of it. Here," he said, offering the dessert in his hand to you.

You eyed the plate on the table that had three more churros on it and a bowl filled nearly to the brim with chocolate sauce, then back to him with raised eyebrows. Harry had the decency to blush, but he didn't back away or lower his hand. So, with a confidence that you didn't know you had or knew where it came from, you took a bite, just like he had.

You could feel Harry's eyes on you, which was alarming seeing as there wasn't really a sexy way to eat something so messy. Not that you were trying to be sexy, but Harry's gaze practically lit you on fire. You didn't want to be unappealing in front of him. He didn't seem to notice or care, though, just kept his eyes on you.

"You have something on your—"

He finished his sentence by reaching up to brush something away from the corner of your mouth. At least that's what you thought he was trying to do. But when his thumb grazed your skin, something warm, warmer than the heat of his skin, smeared over your lips. Chocolate.

Eyes widened, you opened your mouth to ask what he was doing, but he spoke first.

"I'll get it."

But instead of using his hand, he slid his mouth over yours.

You became as molten as the chocolate you made to dip the churros in, the kiss heating you from the inside. The first kiss you shared earlier in the evening had been tentative, curious. This one was pure heat as Harry licked over your bottom lip, sweeping up the chocolate on it that he'd placed there, and when you opened up for him, it lingered on his tongue along with the wine you picked out to go with dinner.

Harry barely gave you any time to gasp. He kissed you like he was starved, his kiss bruising in a way that had you pulling him tighter rather than pulling back, taking those curls that were just as soft as you thought they would be and gripping them tight between your fingers. His hands were warm beneath the thin material of your t-shirt, tracing the tattoo just above your belly button that spanned across your abdomen with the pads of his fingers. Angel, it read in big, bold script. Some people found it appalling, others intriguing or striking. You never really cared what people thought of your tattoos. Until you felt Harry's stare burning into your stomach every time your shirt rode up tonight to reveal bits and pieces of it tonight, that is.

"What—What are we doing?" you managed to breathe.

One of his hands had grazed your neck, leaving a trail of chocolate sauce in their wake, and Harry was now doing his best to clean it with his tongue. His other hand rose dangerously close to just below your breast, the anticipation of his touch making you shudder, but it also made a seed of hesitation take root in your mind.

Harry paused and faced you again, though his nose nearly touched yours. "I...I don't know," he said, and while that only made the seed grow, you appreciated his honesty. "I like how I feel when I'm around you. And I know it's messy with the tour and your—with your ex-boyfriend and everything, but...I don't know. I don't like shying away from a good feeling."

That's exactly what it was. Messy. What happened if things progressed from here and didn't work out? You had a job to do, you worked for Harry. You might have been able to acknowledge that good feeling Harry was talking about—a complete understatement, "good" didn't seem to do whatever was forming between the two of you justice—but you weren't sure it was worth possibly losing your job or compromising your raw emotions over. He might've been able to chase his feelings, but you couldn't.

"I—I would never fire you, or anything like that," he said, seeming to read your thoughts as they flitted through your mind. "And I'll respect your decision, whatever it is. I won't even bring it up again if you don't want me to."

The sincerity in his voice told you that Harry was telling the truth, and you knew him well enough that you believed him. You didn't know if it was just the heat of the moment for him, or if he'd secretly been harboring feelings, or if it was something else, and you couldn't even begin to untangle everything getting jumbled up in your heart.

But you could see the promise in Harry's eyes, the green in them clear as you had this conversation. The promise that he would make it worth your while, should you decide to go through with...whatever it was he was proposing.

Your apartment was so quiet, you swore you could hear his heartbeat thumping in time with yours. With shallow breath and shaking hands, you cupped his cheek. Your hand was rough with calluses, cuts, and scars from your time as a chef. Knife technique that developed over time and oil that bubbled a little too excitedly in the fryer; some of the pads of your fingers were even a little numb from touching hot food with your bare hands.

Harry didn't shy away from the roughness, though. Not as you caressed his cheekbone with your thumb and stood up from where you'd been perched on his lap. For a moment, his eyes left yours to gaze downward at what he thought was rejection, but when he heard the soft thud of you clothes hitting the floor, he looked up, drinking in every inch of skin you offered to him.

In just a pair of plain cotton underwear—the thick sheaths of your hair covering your chest and revealing only tiny glimpses of your skin and the tattoos inked on it—you picked up the bowl of melted chocolate off the table. Your eyes never once left his as you backed away toward your bedroom, an invitation held in them.

From the look on his face as he took in your near-nakedness, you thought Harry might've crawled. But, almost as if in a trance, he stood from his seat and followed you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you for all you were worth as he shut the door to your room with a definitive slam.

[gothghostiie]

Feeling soft in this Chili’s tonight lads

Discuss: Simon never sleeps better than when he has you tucked up on his chest, head resting on his sternum, his arms wrapped around you holding you close. Nothing will take you from him. Not even the dreaded midnight piss. He will follow you into the bathroom like a groggy puppy and then drag you back into the designated snuggle position

I'm gonna SOB I need to cuddle his big ass

[lightningandfireinmybones]

joining the wholesome bandwagon <3 aemond would be such a girl!dad, coddling his lil bby and refusing to betroth her, but at the same time making sure she knows her worth and like 10 different ways to gut someone like a fckn fish

Oh you know that girl would be a menace,,, studying the sword history and philosophy,,, tea sessions with her scary ass father,,, holding the king in the palm of her hand

Aemond secretly excited when his girls have Valaena’s curly hair bc that means he can show off the special way he learned to care for it for Valaena

[mayisgoingnuts]

began stalking the hh tickle tag recently and all your stuff is such a treat like you have NO idea iafuafsgah neways coming from your tickle war post...

since you said that there'd be a truce whenever Niffty got to wrecking Alastor, i can only imagine how friggn cute his reaction would be once he realizes everyone is watching. his face is beet red, ears pinned back, and hes trying to squirm while unsuccessfully nudging niffty off of him bc shes just moving around too much (and absolutely DESTROYING him with a feather duster) for him to do anything and, idk ig im feeling soft in this chili's tonight, bc I'd like to imagine there's a brief moment where he realizes that he doesn't mind the others seeing him be vulnerable like this. even if them practically cooing at him is embarrassing

i KNOW you've said how he'd love the attention from his ler bc he's just Like That but im just very soft for the idea of him not stressing about the rest of the hazbins seeing him laugh like a maniac. and i also know you said that he wouldn't rlly interact w the war besides being an instigator but like.. hear me out, if its still goin on after he gets wrecked, the idea of him actually going out of his way to tickle the other residents if they happen to cross his path, even just briefly, makes me so 🥺🥺🥺 i so love this silly guy when hes soft his softness means sm to meee

YOU'RE MAKING ME SWITCH SIDESSSS (OR JUST LIKING BOTH)

Also everytime someone describes a cute Alastor being wrecked one demon gets redemption because IT MAKES ME MELT 😭😭💞💞💞

The hot ones LOVES a lee!Alastor heehehe✨️✨️✨️ /lh /nsx

[the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep]

Alchemy 410 Chapter 14. Methodology, or How to Do Things Properly

Summary: Gale is determined to court Illyth properly, but his plans are derailed in the best possible way.

Rating: M

Pairing: Gale x F!OC

Word count: 2.5k

Chapters 1-13 are available on AO3!

Little in this world was perfect, but Gale Dekarios would be damned if he didn’t strike as close to the mark as he could. He took a step back from the mahogany dining table and stroked his beard thoughtfully, taking in each detail through the eyes of his guest; two silver wine goblets, two place settings with placemats made by his mother, an exclusive vintage from Neverwinter to pair with the quipper fish, and a vase of fresh lilies, kept alive eternally in enchanted water.

“Excellent,” he murmured with an approving nod. “That should do nicely.”

Gale wanted this to be done properly. Courtship was never an option before, neither with Mystra nor Tav. Now that circumstances were different, he could do for Illyth what he was previously unable to. Tav always told him that they loved him for who he was, not for his power or reputation. They didn’t expect perfection from him, nor did they want it. Still, he wanted to impress Illyth. In his eyes, she was a woman worthy of such effort.

What’s more, this was the first time he’d had a romantic interest in his tower. What he showed Tav was a highly realistic illusion, but he took care to omit the clutter and the tragic number of empty wine bottles scattered through the study. With Tara’s assistance and a few spells for cleaning and tidying, he managed to make his tower look quite presentable. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he missed something.

Illyth arrived at exactly eight-bells, carrying with her a bottle of wine. “As a host gift,” she said, thrusting the bottle into Gale’s hands as she entered his tower.

“I told you not to bring anything,” Gale chided as he closed the door behind her.

Illyth removed her azure winter cloak and hung it by the door. “I may have been raised in what is effectively the sewer beneath Waterdeep, but I know better than to show up empty handed.”

Gale snorted. Whenever Illyth referred to her home as ‘the Waterdeep Municipal Sewer’, or ‘the armpit of the Underdark’, he had to restrain himself from laughing too hard at the comparison. He drank in the sight of her with an appreciative smile. In a surprising deviation from her normal appearance, Illyth wore her hair down instead of in a loose bun. Her ruby red dress clung to her generous figure, highlighting each curve. Gale managed to maintain his composure. "You look lovely tonight, Illyth," he said softly as he took his hand in hers for a moment. Her hands were soft in contrast to his travel-worn, calloused palms.

Illyth tried and failed to stifle a shy smile that made her look more like a schoolgirl than a woman in her mid-thirties. "You clean up quite nicely, yourself."

Illyth looked around the main living area of the tower, which was decorated in a manner she expected of Gale; well-curated paintings, lush rugs overlaying ancient wooden floors, and heavy velvet upholstery. It was a far more comfortable living space than the single room she occupied in the professors’ dormitory at the academy. Even from the foyer, Illyth could smell hundur sauce; a sweet and sour condiment made with tamarind, clam sauce, and hot chili peppers. Naturally, this accompanied by the aroma of quipper fish, frying in oil and garlic.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Gale reassured her, planting a chaste kiss on her lips before disappearing into the kitchen to tend to the fish. Such kisses punctuated their days at work between classes and meetings. It was the danger of it that stoked the fires of their affections, yet this often led to “private research meetings” in Illyth’s office. At first, Illyth worried about being caught, but Gale always cast a spell of invisibility over them to conceal their activities from prying eyes.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Illyth called after Gale as she entered the kitchen. He was scurrying about like a madman, flipping the fish in the pan while a mage hand roasted potatoes and filled wine goblets with the wine Gale selected.

“You’re my guest, Illy,” Gale insisted, not looking up from the pan. “I wont hear of it.” The mage hand thrust a goblet into Illyth’s empty hands and floated off, returning to its cooking duties. Illyth watched in quiet amazement as Gale moved rapidly through the kitchen and into the dining room.

“Sit, sit!” he ordered, shooing her into the dining room. Illyth followed his orders and sauntered into the dining room, taking a seat at the neatly set place mat.

“You sound like my mother,” Illyth teased, sipping her wine. The wine was an excellent vintage, both balanced and full-bodied. Gale had boasted to her about his wine cellar in the past, but she didn't believe it until now.

“I sound like my mother,” Gale corrected, looking over his shoulder the woman sitting in his dining room. “I made the hundur sauce to her recipe. Packs quite the punch, much like her.”

“Who would win in a fist fight — her or an open hand monk?” Illyth asked with a playful chuckle.

“Mother,” Gale replied, almost a little too quickly. “Without question. My word, the monk wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Illyth snorted with amusement. “Hopefully, I’ll meet her someday.”

Gale opened his mouth to return the sentiment, but remembered that Illyth’s mother was long dead. He still felt compunction for having been so lost in his own world that he failed to see life outside of his tower; outside of Mystra. No sooner had Gale served dinner and settled in, a shrill voice blared out from the living room.

“Mister Dekarios! I’m off to see your mother!” Tara cried, trotting into the dining room. “Your mother —“

The tressym stopped short, seeing Illyth sitting at the table. “You have a guest,” she observed. The way she said ‘guest’ suggested equal measures of suspicion and intrigue.

“Ah, yes. Tara, this is Illyth. Illyth, this is Tara.” He gave Tara a pleading look, imploring her not to spoil the evening. “Give Mother my love.”

Tara’s tail swished back and forth as she took in the sight of the short, full-figured drow that sat at the table. “Illyth,” she repeated. “The same Illyth who had Mister Dekarios digging through a veritable mountain of letters until the wee hours of the morning?”

“I suppose so,” Illyth shrugged. “To be clear, he did that of his own accord.” Illyth felt Tara sizing her up through her cataract-clouded eyes.

“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, Illyth,” Tara replied with a warmth that suggested that Illyth had earned temporary approval from her, but that she still ought to be on her best behavior. “I shall see you later this evening, Mister Dekarios.” With that, Tara disappeared through a cat flap-sized portal, presumably off to see Gale's mother.

“So that’s your tressym,” Illyth said after Tara departed. She'd only seen a handful of tressyms in her time; they were the natural companion of wizards, to which Gale was no exception.

“Yes, and thank you for not calling her a cat,” Gale deadpanned. Were Tara in earshot, she would have verbally torn Illyth to shreds.

Illyth snickered as she took a bite of her fish, covered with a generous layer of hundur sauce. “Hells, this is fantastic,” she groaned.

The mere sound of Illyth groaning like that caused a pang of arousal to shoot through Gale’s abdomen. “Ah, yes, thank you,” he replied proudly. “It is a dish I have worked to refine. I had little else to do during my isolation. I suppose something positive was borne of such a time.”

Illyth nodded, pursing her lips. She said nothing more as the two ate in silence. There were plenty of more pleasant stories to be told.

✨✨✨✨

“So you mean to tell me that you found a *redcap* who fooled a group of kuo-toa into thinking it was a God? Am I hearing that correctly?” Illyth cackled.

Gale drained his wine goblet as he led Illyth up the stairs to his library. “You can’t make it up,” Gale chuckled. “Tav narrowly talked them out of sacrificing our friend, Lae’zel.”

“The githyanki warrior who rode off on a red dragon to destroy every single Vlaakith-aligned gith outpost?" Illyth asked. "I’m trying to keep this cast of characters straight."

“The very same. She’s quite the fearsome warrior. The best of the best, if I may be so bold.” Gale opened the heavy wooden door to the library. The ornately carved door creaked as it revealed Gale’s beloved collection of tomes, scrolls, relics, and oddities. In particular, the mantel was laden with souvenirs of Gale’s travels; a Lolth’s candle crystal, an amulet that emanated a soft blue light, and a book that appeared to have a gaping maw of human teeth on its cover.

“This is my inner sanctum, the center of my universe,” Gale explained. His voice conveyed the sacredness of the space. It was a shrine to his thirst for knowledge and, once, his aspirations of considerable renown. “While this remains my retreat and sanctuary from the trials of academia, it is remarkable how things have changed.”

Gale’s expression grew thoughtful as he reflected on the events of the last year. Ambition once threatened to consume him, whether in the form of the Netherese orb or in the form of the Crown of Karsus. If not for Tav, such would have been his fate. His ambition wasn’t completely washed away, but he could at least channel it to be a better professor, which was arguably a more productive outlet. The world is bigger now, Gale thought to himself. He turned his attention back to Illyth, whose eyes were transfixed on the view from the balcony.

“This,” Gale began once more, “is my favorite place in the entire tower.” He took Illyth’s hand in his and led her onto the balcony. The cool evening air brushed over his and Illyth’s cheeks, causing them both to shudder in response. With a simple incantation, Gale summoned glowing yellow orb that settled in front of them. The orb radiated enough heat to counteract the chilly coastal breeze.

“Come here,” he murmured, nodding towards a wooden bench. Illyth sat alongside Gale and leaned against him affectionately. “For your steely disposition, I never would have taken you for someone who enjoys cuddling,” Gale teased, pulling Illyth close to him. He nuzzled against the crown of her head, taking in the scent of her soap — musk and orange peels.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Illyth hissed. “People can’t know that I’m softhearted.”

“Your secret is safe with me, I assure you,” Gale promised her, half-smirking. “I won’t hear of anyone else seeking such closeness from you.”

“You’re one of two people who can call me Illy without catching my ire, so it’s safe to say I’ve taken a shine to you.”

“Oh, my,” Gale replied with sarcastic amazement. “What an honor.”

Illyth groaned, leaning into Gale’s arms. Her eyes scanned over the balcony itself, taking note of the hanging plants that adorned the space. Suddenly, Illyth caught sight on a book on the table beside them. She narrowed her eyes as she began to recognize the cover which featured two lovers intertwined, surrounded by a decorative ring.

She sat up suddenly and reached for the book. “Is this —”

Fie, Gale thought irritably to himself. I forgot to put that blasted book away. That was what I was forgetting earlier. “Yes,” Gale admitted. His cheeks erupted in a rosy red blush as he looked away shyly.

“Gale,” Illyth began slowly. “Were you reading this in preparation for tonight?”

Gale sighed in embarrassment. “I… I suppose I was.” He readied himself for Illyth to depart, or at least mercilessly mock him until daybreak.

Illyth cocked an eyebrow and allowed a wry smile to play at her lips. “That’s quite thoughtful of you,” she said half-teasingly. “And mighty presumptuous.”

By this point, Gale was certain that he’d blown his chance at wooing Illyth properly. He had prepared for Illyth to depart abruptly, but instead found Illyth straddling his lap. Her eyes were level with his and he could smell the wine that lingered on her tongue. Gale’s lips parted subtly as he looked into Illyth’s deep burgundy eyes, which burned with desire. Her smoldering gaze did not stray from his as she reached to caress his bearded cheek. Illyth trailed her index finger along Gale’s jawline and eventually reached his lips, which she gently scraped her fingernail over.

“I think we can be more imaginative,” she purred, driving her hips forward towards his. “More creative.”

Gale felt his cock stiffen at her words. “Blimey, Illyth.” A pleasant heat pooled in his abdomen and his heart skipped a beat. She had him wrapped around her finger already.

“I think our tongues are likely quite… dextrous,” she murmured seductively. “I’d like to test that theory myself. Wouldn’t you?”

Gale inhaled sharply as he struggled to maintain a semblance of composure. Who knew how many languages Illyth spoke or the acrobatics required by her tongue for each language's unique phonology? Gods, he wanted to romance her properly, but she was making it so damn hard on him.

“Experimental validity requires the task to be repeated —”

“Thrice,” Illyth interrupted, keeping her voice low and sultry. He eyes still remained locked onto Gale’s. “And I think you and I can easily achieve that tonight. What do you say?”

Gale’s cock strained at his pants, causing him whimper. “Why stop at merely thrice?” he breathed as his expression darkened seductively.

"I like how you think, Dekarios."

[clonemando]

Mace Has a Tooka

(was feeling the love for Master Windu in the Chili's tonight and this fic just typed itself. Enjoy!)

Her name was Regal and it suited her as she sat primly on the arm of Mace's beat up old couch observing her domain with a calm disdain. Mace had been working on flimsy work so the pads still littered the table and several cushions of said couch and also the floor and Mace knew she hated messes. It was clear to him even without a Jedi's ability to connect to animals that she was judging him for leaving the mess so long.

"You don't get to judge me when you don't help with any of the chores." He said with a huff but started stacking the completed forms in a pile. She daintily licked one of her little claws and rubbed it over one of her brown speckled ear cones without looking at him.

"I should have told Depa to leave you in the trash." He grumbled and earned a deserved side eye from the creature for the comment.

Regal had been brought to his quarters when Depa was just a padawan and had found skinny matted tooka crawling through the garbage and had dragged it back to beg Mace to help it. She had promised that once the tooka was cleaned up and healthy she'd find it a home. He should have sensed the trap as it was laid.

He did realize his mistake the night he heard Depa talking to the creature and addressing it by name but by then it was too late. Thankfully Regal had a compatible personality to the Master of the Order. She preferred to share quiet company and a tidily kept space- despite or perhaps because of her previous life outside. She suffered no fools in her home and had once driven Qui-Gon Jinn up into a tree hissing and spitting at the man when he had barged into Mace's quarters during a bad migraine episode unknowingly. Mace appreciated her passion in either caring over him or annoying Jinn.

He had worried when she had disappeared from his quarters after the start of the Clone Wars thinking maybe she had finally come of an age for her species that he needed to accept she had gone to join the force in private to spare him pain.

Instead, Ponds had found her somehow in Mace's quarters on their ship with three kittens suckling at her stomach. Lightning had taken no time at all in sharing holos their new mascot and the kits to the entire GAR.

Depa had eagerly taken a little silver kit saying it was a sign from the force it belonged with Grey.

Plo had pretended to deliberate several days before agreeing to take the burgundy and silver spotted one but there were quickly posts of it cuddled with Wolffe both napping under Plo's cloak.

The last kit was white and red in a pattern that looked just slightly too close to the Coruscant Guard's armor that he couldn't help but enlist Hound's help in sneaking it into Fox's office.

Mace shouldn't have been surprised when Regal's offspring had apparently taken one look at Palpatine and went nuts tripping the Chancellor down a flight of stairs where, according to the unified accounts of the Guard, his lightsaber activated and he was unfortunately impaled upon it.

Mace didn't ask any further questions and accepted it despite the fact he had more than 18 stab wounds when the Jedi examined the corpse.

Running a hand over the soft fur, he took a moment to smile softly. Then he yelped as she bit his hand and flicked her ears toward the datapads he had gotten distracted from cleaning.

Yes, Regal lived up to her name.

[trashbag-baby666]

Apple of my Eye-(firehouse au)

Summary: John’s woken up by his and Gale’s youngest not feeling too good.

WC: 710

C/W: mentions of throwing up

MOTA Masterlist!

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"Papa?" The small voice whispered shaking

John's shoulder slightly, "Papa?"

His heavy eyelids unpeeled his eyes, focusing in the dark.

Flynn stood at the side of their bed, her short brown hair disheveled and he could begin to make out a stain on the front of her nightgown.

"What's up, Peanut? Everything okay?" He whispered carefully lifting the blankets as not to wake Gale and sitting at the edge of the bed.

"I threw up."

John sucked in a breath, "Okay. Did you throw up in your bed?"

Flynn nodded and pointed at the stain on the cat nightgown.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" John took Flynn's hand walking back to her bedroom with her.

He had gotten Flynn cleaned up and into new pajamas, her bedding and pajamas in the wash, and now he was carrying Flynn down the stairs. Chili in her arms the dog nodding in and out already. That dog slept more than everyone else in the house combined.

"Can we watch cartoons?"

"Just for a little bit, Peanut. But we gotta get you back to sleep." Anything his little girl wanted that might make her feel better. She definitely had caught something, he knew better than anyone that being sick in the summer sucked.

He set her down on the couch and went into the kitchen filling a cup with lukewarm water. He grabbed the infamous ice cream bucket out from under the sink. The one Gale kept for when the girls were throwing up sick and couldn't make it to the bathroom. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was clean up puke off of their couch.

Flynn sat with her legs crossed and the chihuahua in her lap asleep already. "Okay, you know the drill. Pales right here in case you need it, and sip on this." He set the bucket on the coffee table and pulled Flynn into his lap. He kissed her forehead to check for a template like Gale had taught him.

She felt a little warm but he definitely would have Gale check in the morning.

"Thank you papa." She took the cup from him, sipping out of it.

It's moments like these that John really thanked the universe for everything he had.

"Is your tummy feeling any better?" He clicked on the tv flicking through to the last episode of SpongeBob they had watched together. Although he swore up and down to Gale, no SpongeBob.

"Little," she held her small fingers up in a pinch leaving about an inch between them. John nodded and raked a hand through her brown curls that resembled his own. She truly was John's mini me.

"Hopefully you can sleep it off, Peanut." John laid back against the arm rest Flynn cuddled into his chest. He felt her small fingers begin to trace the flowers on John's arm.

"Someday I'm gonna have colors on my arms like you and uncle Curtie."

"Are ya now? What kind of pictures do you want?" He let a smile crack on his lips watching Flynn study the sleeve tattoo. His botanicals were her favorite on him, some days him and Curt would let her color in their tattoos with her markers.

"Maybe some pretty flowers and Chili, like Curt's animals." Her small sweet voice grounding John to the couch feeling his eyelids grow heavier by the moment.

"I'm sure Chili would be so honored to be on your arm." He eyed the brown chihuahua laying by his feet, he knew he'd have to sleep still. Chili had a temper with everyone except the girls, specially if you disturbed his slumber, "Why don't we try to go back to sleep? It'll help your tummy." He tried to think of the things Gale would say to convince the girls to do things. Sometimes it was just more believable coming out of Gale's mouth since he had a PhD in medicine.

"I love you, papa."

"I love you too, Flynni." He kissed the top of her head satisfied as she closed her big blue eyes.

It wasn't long before the living room was filled with the sound of John's soft snores and the grumbly ones from Chili. This is what made parenthood all the more worth it for John.

[love-kurdt]

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 24

word count: 1120

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

July 4, 1989

Dear Will,

We went to the 4th of July carnival tonight, and you seemed to be having a good time. Max and Lucas were off somewhere (making out behind the darts station or some shit), and you, Dustin, and El had gone to get snacks while I held our place in line for the ferris wheel.

I watched Dustin say something that caused both you and El to laugh, and it was like my eyes were glued to you; I couldn’t look away, and even if I could look away, I didn’t want to. Because you are gorgeous when you laugh. The sound of one of your uncontrollable, naturally loud laughs in combination with the crinkle in your eyes and your unfairly contagious smile make me love you even more than I could ever begin to fathom. I love seeing you so happy.

So to preface this next part, I’m gonna admit that your brother scares the hell out of me. He’s had it out for me since you gave me the painting in the van. I think it’s because he knew El had nothing to do with the artistic process and that I was oblivious to the subtext of your speech. But, like, it’s been three years at this point, and yet he’s still trying to murder me with his glare.

As I was watching you, I felt a shoulder nudge my upper arm, and I looked down to see Jonathan giving me that same look he’d given me through the rear view mirror in the van.

“So. Mike. How’s your night going?” he asked me, and I felt like I’d committed a fucking crime or something, judging by the inflections of his voice. 

“It’s going well,” I said, “How about you?”

Jonathan shook his head. “This isn’t about me, this is about you and the way you keep staring at Will.”

I was so confused. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Is it because he’s gay?” he shot back at me. Yeah. He went there.

“Wait, wait, what?” I sputtered out in shock. “How the hell could you think—”

“You haven’t taken your eyes off him once. Are you freaked out by him or something?” He could not have been more wrong.

“Hold up—”

“If you’re homophobic, just admit it.”

“I— what—”

“But I’ll tell you right now,” Jonathan said as he leaned further in with a hushed voice, “bigotry doesn’t look good on you.”

I’d had enough. “Jonathan, will you let me fucking talk? Jesus Christ.”

Jon took a step back. “Um, I… I got a little fired up,” he admitted. I narrowed my eyes.

“Yeah, no shit.”

He apologized.

“It’s fine,” I dismissed him. “But Jon, that’s not at all how I feel. And I find it kind of hurtful that you think that of me. Because I love him—”

Yes, you read that right. (You didn’t, actually, but I’ll chalk it up to technicalities). I told your brother that I love you. But I instantly regretted it, because the look on his face was suddenly turning soft and understanding, and I couldn’t handle the thought of having to come out to your brother before you. So I resorted to self-preservation.

“No matter what, I love him,” I said in an attempt to cover my own ass with platonicity. “He’ll always be my friend.”

Jonathan seemed to take a few seconds to process and backtrack. It kind of looked like he… pitied me for a minute. “Okay,” he eventually told me, nodding. “I’m choosing to believe you. But if you hurt him again, I swear to God, Wheeler—”

“Murder,” I replied. “Got it.”

“Good,” he said, and with that, he was off to join Nancy at the chili stand, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I hadn’t realized my staring was that obvious. I mean, it’s not news that you happen to be my favorite person on the planet or that you’re my best friend. I think it’s pretty normal for me to appreciate being in my best friend’s company and to enjoy looking at him. It’s a whole other thing entirely when it comes to the implications my staring could make with my sexuality brought into the equation. Essentially, I don’t want my own facial expressions to out me.

“Got the last candy apple,” I heard you say, and it was only then that I noticed that you’d meandered your way back to me while El and Dustin were sharing a funnel cake as they stood a few feet away. I looked down and chuckled when I saw you grinning back up at me with red-stained teeth from the coating on the apple.

“I see that,” I replied. You held up the apple to me, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Want a bite?” you asked me, and I felt myself blush. This was so romantic. I know you didn’t mean it like that, but damn, sparks were flying… in my head. My inner immature middle schooler was chanting indirect kiss, indirect kiss, indirect kiss, but I ignored the little shit’s voice and focused on the apple being held up to my face, trying to figure out how to even bite the apple. “I promise it isn’t poisonous,” you reassured me.

“Even if it were, I’d just need a true love’s kiss for the spell to be broken, right?” I teased, and watched your eyes go wide before taking your hand, which was holding the apple’s stick, into mine and taking a chomp out of the apple. I pulled back as I chewed, and licked my lips for added effect. You didn’t move your hand at all, or try to pull away from me or anything. You just stood and watched.

“… Right,” you breathed. “You would.”

And just as I was going to make my first official move on you, one that could signal, “Hey Will. I’m interested in you like that, as in romantically and sexually and everything in between because you’re the love of my life and I don’t think I’ll ever recover if you don’t feel the same, but please don’t be scared away by what I’m saying right now because I just thought you should know,” El and Dustin joined us back in the line, cutting our conversation short and shifting the topic to Dustin’s fear of heights and how he was facing his fear of the ferris wheel for El’s sake. I think they’d be kind of cute together, don’t you think? I can see it. Or maybe it’s my rose-colored lenses talking. But regardless, I’m going to try and be a bit more open with my flirting from now on. Just to see something.

Love,

Mike

-

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