#it's just me and him at their flat and that's been nice

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Pleeease can you write something where reader takes care of Alfie's psoriasis?? Like he's trying to act super macho about it, like it doesn't bother him but then gets super soft when she starts treating it 🥺

“Loving you”

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Alfie’s Masterlist

Summary: Alfie can’t help but let his guard down — and his softer side show — when you tend to the skin condition he usually keeps hidden.

WC: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk.

The cold air filtered through the open windows of the Solomons’ home. The moonlight painted the room in hues of pale blue, casting long shadows over the heavy wooden furniture and the worn rug underfoot.

Alfie trudged into the sitting room, his broad shoulders seemed to sag slightly, the day’s weight visible in the furrow of his brow. But you noticed something else too, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the subtle shift in his stance. He was uncomfortable, you could see it clear as the day, and you could also see the irritated skin on his neck, raw and red, flaking with scales that trailed down along his flesh.

“Let me guess,” you began, tilting your head to appraise him. “It’s acting up again.”

He stopped short, his face an unreadable mask. “Dunno what you’re on about, woman.” His voice was gruff and dismissive. “I’m bloody fine, ain’t I?”

“Alfred Solomons,” you said, standing to meet him, hands on your hips. “You’ve been scratching yourself like a dog with fleas for days. Let me see.”

“Look,” he began, throwing up his hands defensively, “this ain’t a bloody—what’s the word—interrogation, yeah? Just got home, haven’t I? Thought we’d sit down, have a nice supper, maybe a drop o’ rum after, yeah? Not get a bloody inquisition.”

“Come on, Alfie,” you said gently, breaking the silence. “Sit down.”

He turned to look at you, his brows furrowing. “I told ya, love, it’s nothin’. Just a bit o’ skin, right? Nothin’ to fuss over. I’ve lived with it this long, ain’t I?”

You sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “Yes, you have, and you’ve done a fine job of ignoring it, but it’s bothering you, I can see that. Now, sit down and let me help.”

Alfie’s lips pressed into a firm line, his pride warring with the truth of your words. You’d seen him win fights with men twice his size, talk his way out of impossible situations, but here he was, hesitating like a child caught misbehaving. It was almost endearing if you ignored the fact that he was internally suffering.

Alfie stared at you, his jaw twitching as he weighed his options, he could refuse—he was, after all, Alfie Solomons, a man who answered to no one— but there was only one person who always made Alfie give in, and that was you, his wife. With a grumble under his breath, he lowered himself onto the armchair, sprawling out like a man whose kingdom had just fallen.

“Woman, you’re bloody relentless,” he muttered under his breath, the way he said it lacked any real heat; it was more a gruff acknowledgment of defeat.

“Take off your shirt,” you said softly.

Alfie cocked his head, as a smirk began to slowly form on his lips.

“Right, well, love, if you fancied seein’ me bollock naked, yeah? You could’ve just said so, straight up. Saved us all the fuckin’ theatrics. I’d have you up against that fuckin’ wall by now, makin’ a goddamn mess of things.”

You didn’t even blink, you knew how Alfie’s defense mechanism had always been humor, he’d crack a joke to avoid taking things too seriously. But you knew that behind every laugh, every sarcastic remark, there was a man scared to take a hit to his pride by asking for help. After all, he was forced to carry every burden on his own all his life, that until he met you.

“I’m serious, Alfie.” Voice flat, no smile this time. “Take the shirt off.”

Alfie huffed, his fingers working at the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness. “You’d think I was some feeble old man the way you’re carryin’ on,” he grumbled. “I don’t need lookin’ after, love. I’m a bloody force of nature, yeah?”

“Yes, you’re a force of nature,” you agreed with a smile, “but even storms need a bit of care sometimes.”

His shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing, his shirt finally coming off and landing in a crumpled heap beside him. You bit your lip as your eyes roamed over his body, the patches of red, inflamed skin were stark against his otherwise light complexion. Some areas were cracked and dry, while others looked painfully raw.

“Alfie,” you murmured, your voice tinged with concern. “It’s worse than last time.”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, his tone rough. “Don’t you bloody start, right? I know what it looks like. Just a bit of dry skin, that’s all.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m not starting anything. I just want to help. Dry skin doesn’t look like this.”

He relaxed under your touch, though he still looked straight ahead, his jaw set stubbornly. “Fine, then. Do your worst.”

You knelt in front of him, settling between his legs as he sat back in the worn armchair, the lamplight cast a soft glow over his battered chest, the heat radiating from his skin palpable before you even touched him. He’d ignored it, neglected it for so long that it was the worst you’d ever seen it, and it must be hurting him so much, those angry red patches that bloomed across his torso and shoulders, the edges raw with peeling skin, irritated and roughened by days of stubbornness.

Your fingers moved carefully, barely grazing his side at first, his muscles tensed beneath the contact, a knee-jerk flinch more from instinct than actual pain, as if he was used to bracing for something harsher.

“Not so bad, you said?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He grunted. “I’ve had worse.”

“That why you haven’t even taken your shirt off when we fuck?” you asked, eyes locked on him. “’Cause you didn’t want me to see how bad it got?”

There was a pause, a flicker behind his eyes, something he tried to smother with a scoff. You knew you’d hit a sensitive topic by saying that.

“Well, aren’t you a fuckin’ detective now, eh? Bloody Sherlock Holmes,” he let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Didn’t think you needed to see it. S’not pretty. Nothin’ romantic about it.”

"You shouldn’t feel insecure about it," you said.

"Pfff, insecure? Bollocks, that is," he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Men like me—we don't do insecure, right? That's for… for poets and posh lads with too much time on their hands."

But you saw the truth behind his eyes, that split-second crack in the armor, Alfie would never admit to feeling insecure about the way he looked, not even to you, his biggest confidant. And so you decided not to push the subject, you knew better than to fight a war you couldn’t win with words, besides, you had better ways of proving how handsome he was to you, like worshipping him with your mouth, or cunt.

“It must be driving you mad.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a semblance of a smirk. “Got more important things to worry about than a bit o’ itching.”

But you weren’t fooled, beneath his bravado, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched as though resisting the urge to scratch.

“Stay still,” you instructed, scooping a dollop of ointment onto your fingers.

He flinched as you began to apply the salve, his usual boldness faltering. “Bloody cold, that is,” he muttered.

“It’s supposed to be soothing,” you said, your voice low, patient. You leaned in, working the ointment into his skin with slow, deliberate movements.

His skin was hot to the touch, the irritation beneath your fingertips angry and inflamed. You moved with care, smoothing the salve in small circles, avoiding the worst of the raw spots. Alfie exhaled through his nose, his body twitching beneath your hands before slowly relaxing, like he couldn’t help but lean into your touch once the sting eased, giving way to relief.

“That stuff smells awful,” he said, wrinkling his nose. There it was that stubbornness again, like accepting help, or letting you soothe the ache, meant weakness. You found it amusing, how in so many ways, this big and dangerous man reminded you of a little boy.

“Doesn’t matter how it smells. It’ll help,” you replied, working your way across his chest, thumbs grazing the curve of his collarbones, tracing along the tender edges with a gentleness that made his throat bob in a tight swallow.

“Still feels like I’m being fuckin’ punished,” he muttered, eyes flicking down to where your hands moved over his ribs.

“You’re not,” you murmured, catching his gaze briefly. “You’re being looked after. Big difference.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the crackling of the fire. Alfie’s eyes were fixed on a point just above your head, his jaw tight as though willing himself not to react. As you spread the ointment slowly over the worst of the irritation, you felt it happen, the first shift in his breathing, from shallow and tense to something deeper. The slow drop of his shoulders, no longer braced against the tenderness. The subtle release of his clenched fists, his fingers unfurling where they’d been pressed into his thighs.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Of course I do,” you replied without hesitation. “You’re my husband.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, well. Don’t reckon you signed up for all this, did you? A husband with bad skin and worse manners.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, smiling up at him. “But I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“You’re good at this,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

“Good at what?”

“Lookin’ after me. Puttin’ up with me. All of it, really.”

He was so stubborn sometimes, too caught up in his own worries to realize that you didn’t do this out of obligation, you did it because you loved him, because giving him this kind of comfort was something you’d gladly offer every single time he needed it.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you resumed. “It’s not putting up with you, Alfie. It’s loving you.”

He turned his head fully this time, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the vulnerability in his gaze took your breath away. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, woman,” he said quietly.

“And you’ve got a heart you try too hard to hide,” you replied, leaning forward to kiss his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch, letting out a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah? Got a reputation to maintain.”

“All your secrets are safe with me,” you promised with a smile.

For the next hour, you worked diligently, your fingers gentle as they massaged the ointment into his skin. Alfie, for his part, remained unusually quiet, his usual stream of sharp wit replaced by a rare, unguarded vulnerability.

When you were finished, you sat back on your heels, surveying your work, the redness had diminished slightly, the skin looking less angry.

“There,” you said, capping the tin. “That should help.”

He looked down at his chest, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“You’re a good woman,” he said gruffly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Don’t reckon I tell you that enough.”

“You don’t,” you agreed, leaning into his touch.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, eh?”

The tin of ointment clattered softly against the wood floor as Alfie pulled you up into his lap, the gruff tenderness in his hands making your breath hitch. He didn’t bother with words, not at first, he simply held you there, his rough palms trailing up and down your back, grounding you both in a moment of rare softness.

“Come here, pet,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a low rumble in the space between you.

You settled on top of him, your knees bracketing his thighs. His beard scratched softly against your cheek as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the faint lavender oil you always dabbed behind your ears before bed.

He buried his head against your chest, breathing deep like he needed to memorize the scent of you to survive. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a sigh and a purr, like a satisfied cat curling up in a patch of sunlight. There were only a handful of moments in his life where Alfie Solomons had let the world slip far enough to be this soft, and all of them had been with you, the only person he trusted enough to see this side of him.

“You smell good,” he said, the words muffled against your skin. Relaxing moments like this always softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look younger, almost boyish. You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his beard, and he sighed, the sound deep and contented.

He shifted beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips as though anchoring himself. “Dunno what I’ve done to deserve you,” he said, the words heavy with sincerity.

“I don’t like when you say that. You’re not bad, Alf” you replied with a small smile. “Under all that grumbling and growling, you’re a good man.”

It was the truth. Yes, maybe he’d done bad things, things he couldn’t forget, things that haunted him every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror. But you saw more, so much more. You saw a man who had raised himself from nothing, who’d survived when the world tried to break him, who’d watched his friends die in trenches and still found the strength to carry on. You saw a man who’d opened his heart to you, who’d bought you your dream house and treated you like a queen in her own palace. Who had only ever been gentle with you, patient, kind, giving, even when he didn’t know how to be those things with himself.

His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating. “Not sure half the blokes around here would agree with that one, love.”

“Don't care what they think, they're not my husband,” you said simply. “You are.”

That seemed to strike something deep in him. His eyes softened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I am, ain’t I?”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding at the same time. He kissed you like a man who knew how fleeting happiness and peace could be, who understood the weight of a moment like this.

The kiss deepened, his hands moving with more urgency now as they traced over your body, making you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Christ, woman,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “You make me feel the same way you did all those years ago.”

You laughed softly, a low, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate right through your chest when he leaned to capture his lips into another kiss. It was still slow, languid, the kind of kiss that made time crawl, your tongues sliding together with unhurried precision. His hands kept wandering, greedy and possessive roaming all over your body, gripping the small of your waist to ground you, kneading the soft flesh of your ass, tracing the dip of your spine, splaying wide across your lower back as if trying to brand you to him.

The hard length of him beneath you was impossible to ignore, thick and insistent against the thin barrier of your underwear, and when you shifted again, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, dragging your cunt over him with maddening friction, he let out a raw, broken sound that made your core clench.

“Gonna ride you,” you murmured, voice thick with hunger. Alfie was a man who thrived on control, sure, but when it came to you, he had no problem handing over the reins now and then. In fact, he loved it. Watching his missus bounce on top of him, taking every bit of pleasure she deserved? That was a big, fat yes for Alfie.

You grinned at his reaction, emboldened by the crack in his usually composed demeanor, the way his eyes had gone half-lidded, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. You reached between your bodies to undo the fastening of his trousers, unable to wait one second more than necessary.

He chuckled low and hungry. “Yeah? Right, well—fuckin’ hell, woman—’course you wanna ride it.” He spread his hands, leaned back like he was bartering with God. “I’m all yours, ain’t I? Go on then, fuckin’ take what’s yours. Ruin me proper.”

He watched you, eyes locked on your hands, on how they were working his pants open, making his chest rise and fall with deep, shaky breaths. His hands didn’t stay behind, his rough fingers were roaming over your ribs, up your sides, then down again to knead your thighs, your ass, as if he truly didn’t know where to land next.

“You’re too bloody good at this,” he muttered, voice all hoarse and reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck, how he’d landed such a beautiful woman, convinced her to marry him, and now had her on top of him eager to please him.

"It's the experience, been riding you dumb for ten years," you said with a smirk.

"Mhm," he huffed. "And you get better every fuckin' time, pet."

He loved this, especially on those days when he was bone-tired, when his skin was on fire, his back ached, his knees throbbed, his hips screamed, or the days when he had to deal with “fucking cunts,” as he’d put it. Nothing would make him happier than leaning back, letting go, and having a damn good orgasm by doing absolutely nothing, just watching you take control and do all the work for him.

You’d barely gotten his trousers down before his cock sprang free, slapping against his belly, so thick, so heavy, flushed and glistening at the tip like he’d been waiting all fucking day for this moment. The second your fingers wrapped around him, firm and instinctive, he gasped and his hips jerked like he didn’t give a toss about dignity anymore.

“You’re too bloody impatient,” you shot back with a teasing smirk, stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist just enough to make him curse under his breath.

You shifted your weight, lining yourself up, your thighs bracketing his hips as you positioned yourself over him. His hands flew to your hips, holding you steady, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, as the head of his cock brushed against your slick heat. Your breath hitched at the contact, at how easily your soaked folds parted to welcome him, at how swollen and desperate you already were.

“Impatient?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Love, you’ve been teasin’ me for the past ten minutes. If anyone’s impatient, it’s you.”

You rocked your hips just enough to let his head catch at your entrance, not yet taking him, not fully, just dragging your wetness over him, back and forth, until he growled.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman,” he snapped, his hips jerking up, desperate for more friction, to be buried inside you. “You tryin’ to kill me? Playin' this bloody games with your poor 'ol husband? My fuckin' heart can't take this teasin', It's delicate, It is.”

“But it's too fun to tease you,” you whispered, lowering yourself an inch more. The stretch made you gasp, thick and delicious as always, and you swore you could feel every ridge and every vein of him.

He was watching your face now, intently, like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen, but you could see how hard he was fighting the urge to slam up into you. “Don’t fuckin’ tease,” he growled. “Be a good girl and sit on it proper.”

You obliged, how could you not when he talked like that? You sank down in one slow, torturous motion, your walls clenching around him inch by inch. The sound he made was filthy, a half groan half praise, guttural and deep. His head fell back, teeth gritted, chest rising with labored breaths as you took every last inch of him, seated fully, snug and wet around him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped. “That’s it. That’s my pet. Perfect fuckin' cunt, still as tight as the day I first filled her up, yeah?"

You moaned, rolling your hips in a slow circle, grinding down with a filthy little twist at the end that made his cock drive right up into that sweet, aching spot inside you. Your breath caught sharp in your throat, eyes going hazy, Alfie groaned low like the wind had been knocked clean out of him, his hands clutched at your hips, guiding you with a kind of reverence, like you were something holy and he was the lucky bastard who got to worship at the altar.

He was trying hard to let you do your thing, let you take your time and move at your own pace, riding him how you wanted, but God, you were squeezing him so tight and dripping all over his cock, that it was almost imppossible to stop himself from thrusting up into you like a beast.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice frayed and reverent. “Ridin’ me like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

“Maybe I was,” you shot back, voice breathless, your lips brushing his ear as you leaned in.

Alfie met your movements with thrusts of his own, rolling his hips up hard, deep, making you bounce in his lap with every needy grind. His hands gripped your hips, firm but never too harsh, thumbs pressing into your flesh like he needed to memorize every curve, every quake of your body under his. The coarse trail of hair beneath his navel rubbed right up against your clit with every thrust, each drag of his body with that maddening friction made you jolt and shudder.

"Ohh, Alfie... feels so good," you moaned gasping into his mouth, clawing at his shoulders like you couldn’t get close enough. "Please don't stop, don't stop fucking me like that."

“Not stoppin'. Can’t stop when you’re so bloody perfect,” he rasped, his eyes dropping to where your soaked cunt was swallowing him again and again, wet sounds filling the air with each slap of skin against skin. “Perfect cunt. Perfect tits. Perfect wife.”

His head snapped forward so he could bite at your throat, not hard, just enough to make you whimper. His hands slid up your sides, pushing your slip up with urgency, bunching it around your waist until the fabric was out of his way and he could have a better view of everything, from your body glistening with sweat, your thighs shaking, to the way your soaked pussy kept taking his cock like you needed it.

That was the thing with Alfie, he never knew where the fuck to look, it was all too good. Your supple breasts, so soft and perfect, jiggling with every thrust, just begging to be grabbed. Your face, fuck, your face was so hot, those little pouts you made, the way your eyes fluttered shut when he hit a good spot deep inside you. And the way his thick cock slid in your cunt, coming out so wet and slick, your juices coating his navel and trickling down to coat his balls.

“Jesus Christ, love,” he rasped, voice thick. “You’re grippin’ me so tight—fuckin’ hell…”

You leaned forward, your hands braced against his chest, hair falling around your face as you found the perfect rhythm, grinding down in slow, greedy strokes that made both of you moan. His cock filled you perfectly, thick and hot and stretching you with every thrust of his hips.

Alfie’s attention was drifting, his eyes moved from the place where you two were connected, to the soft bounce of your breasts with every motion, your nipples peeking through the thin, rumpled slip. He licked his lips, rough hands sliding up your waist, over your ribs, until they cupped your breasts and gave them a slow squeeze.

“Look at these fuckin’ things,” he muttered. “Drivin’ me mad, the way they bounce when you ride me like that…”

Then he surged forward, mouth latching onto one of your nipples through the damp fabric, the hot drag of his tongue and the sudden suck of his mouth made you cry out, your hips stuttering as the pleasure hit you like a jolt.

“Alfie—” you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he pulled the slip down, baring your chest fully. He didn’t hesitate, he wrapped his mouth around your nipple and sucked hard, filthy sounds filling the air as he groaned against your skin. His tongue flicked over the stiff peak, then he moved to the other breast, biting down just enough to make your back arch.

"I'd kill a man for your left tit," he mumbled, voice muffled, barely undertandable with his mouth still sucking around your nipple. "And then I'd kill another for the right one. Fuckin' perfect things."

“Shit—Alfie—Feels... so good… so full.” you moaned, grinding harder now, the added stimulation on your nipples sending you spiraling, and if that wasn’t good enough, you felt your clit catching on his pelvis with every thrust down, making your walls clench even tighter around him.

“Fuckin’ ride it—show me how needy you are. You like me suckin’ on your tits while you fuck yourself on my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, you were so drunk in the pleasure he was giving you that it was impossible to articulate words, you just let that intense pleasure ripple through you.

“You are mine. Mine, yeah? All fuckin’ mine.”

“Yours,” you choked out, your voice breaking on a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you so perfectly that your body jolted, eyes fluttering shut, vision blurring with pleasure.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s my good wife. So sweet and tight for me, drippin’ on me lap.”

The praise hit you like a shockwave, heat coiling in your gut, your body was desperately trying to chase your high. Just like as if he’d read your mind, sensing what you needed, his hands gripped your hips with force, lifting you up and slamming you down on his cock over and over again at the same time he thrusted up to meet you with rough, almost desperate violence. You weren't riding him anymore, he was fucking you through it.

“That’s it, love,” he muttered, his voice rough and unraveling. “Take it, my filthy little missus. Show me how good I make you feel. Ride it like you mean it.”

You cried out, the pleasure now becoming unbearable, forcing your body to clench hard around him, making your thighs tremble, the slick sound of your cunt milking him was louder now, filthier, wetter with every thrust. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and hot and perfectly angled to build your orgasm.

“Cum for your husband. Let me know I’m the only bastard who can make you feel like this. Just me. Just your fuckin' man.”

You snapped. Your head fell back, your mouth dropped open in a cry of pure ecstasy as you came hard. Your cunt spasmed around him, soaking him in a rush that made him curse and grip you tighter.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s it, pet,” he groaned, voice strangled. “Milk it. Milk my cock just like that. Gonna leave that pretty cunt drippin’ my cum for for weeks. Fuckin’ ruined.”

Alfie followed you just a couple of thrusts later, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. He came with a low, shuddering groan, his cock pulsing inside you, flooding you with his cum as he clutched you tight, holding you in place like he couldn’t bear the thought of you ever pulling away.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat and sex, his release leaking out of you slowly as his softening cock stayed inside. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, while his lips pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Ahhh—fuckin’ hell, yeah—that’s what a man needs, innit?” he groaned, voice thick and slurred like he was drunk on you. “To come home after a long day of dealin’ with cunts and madness, yeah, and have his sweet little wife sittin' pretty on his cock—riding him like it’s her god-given job.”

"Glad to hear I'm good at my job," you teased, voice raspy, still trying to catch your breath.

"Ohhh, you're the fuckin' best, pet. Not one fuckin' soul like you," he muttered, still breathless. "God broke the mould when he made you, thank fuckin' Christ he did."

His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slowing little by little as his breathing evened out. For a long moment, there was just the sound of your shared breaths, the creak of the armchair as he adjusted to hold you closer, with his nose buried in your hair.

Then, softly, quieter than you were used to hearing him, he spoke.

“Thanks for takin' care of me,” he said, a little raw. “Proper, like no one ever has. Not just the shaggin’, love, though—don’t get me wrong, yeah, that’s… exceptional.” He smirked faintly, and you laughed. “But it’s the other things. All the little things you do for me.”

Your throat tightened as he continued, getting to hear this sweet side of him was something you’d never get used to, not because it was rare, he gave it to you more often than he probably even realized, but because it always felt like a little secret, meant only for you.

“I’m not easy, right? I know that. I’m rough and moody and loud as hell. And yet you—you’re always there. Calm. Warm. Always fuckin’ takin’ care of me.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “So I just wanted to say thank you. For stayin’ even after all these years. For seein’ the worst of me and lovin’ me anyway.”

You kissed him then, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words could ever manage, and when you pulled back, your voice was thick with emotion.

“You’re not the worst, Alf. You never were.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you tighter against him. Looking at you with eyes that said “I love you. I’d be lost without you by my side.” You felt it in your chest, in your bones. He made you feel like the most loved woman in the world.

“Well, I’ll tell you what you are,” he murmured. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

AN: Thank you so much for your request!! You gave me the perfect opportunity to write this cause I’ve actually been thinking for a while about a fic where the reader takes care of Alfie’s sciatica, but I absolutely loved your idea🩷🫶🏻

I hope that you and everyone else enjoyed this. Your support means the world to me!!

One more Alfie fic to go and then I’m officially done with requests heheh😮‍💨

@ficthots

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[francislangdon]

10, 29, or 31

10. things you said that made me feel like shit / 31. things you said right before goodbye

Mel doesn’t mean to— she doesn’t want to— she’s not this type of person, usually— But right now…

She’s just so horribly envious.

She has learned, in twenty eight years, that most of her desires are out of her reach. Usurious things that need to be tamped down, deep, before they impede her ability to function. If she had to bear the weight of everything she wants and can not, can not, have— It would be crushing. She would fold underneath it all.

Frank Langdon fits right into that box. He’s the latest in a line of things that are decidedly not Mel’s. She can work with him, and stare, and pine, but there’s— distance.

They’re friends, she would say. Good friends, even. Close enough that they’re out for lunch on a day off. You’ll like this place, he’d said, when he brought it up at work. He likes forcing her to do things she wouldn’t normally, like karaoke with their coworkers, or impromptu mini golfing on a weekend, or taking her to hole in the wall restaurants because They have the best street tacos, Mel.

Frank moves like a whirlwind, picking her up and leaving her unsteady and untethered, floating in the air until he decides to bring her back down. It’s unfair, sometimes. He slots so nicely into her empty spaces, all warmth and understanding, the type of connection she’s always yearned for and never quite been able to grasp. She still can’t grasp him.

Frank slips right out of her hands at all the wrong times.

He’s here with her, eating too many of her tortilla chips, probably because she always lets him, leaning into her personal space like he wants— wants it too, like they’re on the same page— and then he’s, all of a sudden, very far away from Mel.

His phone rings and Frank’s attention snaps like a rubber band, harsh against her wrist, a welt in its wake. He answers immediately, and Mel doesn’t have to wonder who it is. She can tell from the soft tone in his voice.

“Hi, baby, what’s up?”

Mel bites hard on the inside of her cheek, expression neutral. Or maybe he’ll mistake her grimace for concern.

“Oh fuck, are you okay? Are the kids— Okay, okay, calm down, Abs, tell me where you are…Alright, I’ll be there, okay, love you too. I’ll be right there, baby.”

Mel sucks in a breath when he hangs up the phone. “Is…is everything okay?”

He flicks his eyes towards her, a little vacant, like he’d forgotten she was there. He shakes his head, “Abby was gonna take the kids to the mall, but they got a flat tire on the freeway. I’ve gotta go change it for her.”

“Oh,” Mel says, carefully. “Of course. I’m glad she’s alright.”

“Yeah, she’s close by at least. Last year she was taking a trip to see her sister in New York. On the way back her engine stalled right outside of Shippensburg and I had to drive, like, three hours in the middle of the night to pick her up,” he says this half laughing, fond in retrospect.

Mel’s going to be sick with jealousy. The last time she had car major problems, she was moving across the country with Becca. Her father had just died, and Mel had to take care of the dregs of his estate. It was going to take a full two days to drive all the way from Lansing back to Seattle, where she was going to school. They broke down somewhere halfway through. Becca had a melt down, crying and screaming at Mel while she desperately tried to figure out what was wrong with the car, smoke coiling out of the hood. Mel had nearly broke down herself, hot tears slipping down her cheeks, with no one to call.

The thought of Frank, willing and capable, a phone call away—

Not for the first time, Mel thinks of Abby Langdon and resentment brews in her stomach, all the way up her chest until she’s sure it must be all over her face.

Frank pulls away from their table, patting down his pockets for his wallet and keys, absently tossing a twenty down for their meal. Mel wants, avariciously, to tell him not to leave. It’s ridiculous.

“Hey,” he says, catching her eye, like he sees all the way through her, “You good?”

That’s the worst part, the one that really leaves her self piteous, riddled with greed. Frank is a perfect friend, really, but— for all that she wants him— is not hers.

“Yes,” Mel murmurs, “Just… worried for Abby. Let me know how it goes.”

He smiles at her, “I’ll tell her you were worried. Sorry we had to cut this short, by the way. Rain check?”

“For sure.”

“You’re the best, Mel. I’ll see you.”

She waits until he turns out of the building to press her head pathetically against the sticky table.

Wanting is a horrible thing. Mel would cut it out of herself, surgically, if it meant she didn’t have to feel like shit every time Frank says goodbye.

[ysaefinn]

Knight!Suguru x bratty!royal!reader

Okay then, I hear you loud and clear.

Sit with me and think of a royal reader that is the middle ground. Scheming but there's definitely a generous amount of attitude for spice. A brat.

But oh does it work wonders for you, most times. Leaning on a hip, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like whatever outrageous demands you've just made were your god given right, yours just as the crown. The harsh flashing light reflecting off your jewels works like a brain-melting hypnosis. "Yes, your highness!" "But of course, your highness!" "As you please your highness!" Ah- Music to your ears. The world at the palm of your hand.

Hmmm but only most times. Your knight seems to be immune to your spell.

Suguru has made it crystal clear the very first time you tried pulling one of your trusty reliable tricks.

Hands on your hips, rolling your eyes, and teasing him about being 'Oh so cruel' and 'not knowing how to have fun' when he stood between you and the kitchen window you tried sneaking out of in the middle of the night. Unmoving like a brick wall with a polite little smile that could melt gold on his undeniably handsome features– one you wouldn't say you could confidently read. The moonlight contouring his beastly build.

He looks like a big bad hound watching over the gates, his no was as polite as can be, but it was absolute. –Alright then change of strategy–

Batting your eyelashes. One delicate finger slowly creeps up his chest. His breath visibly hitches and he looks almost enamored, clearly lost in the attention. Great! Time to go for the kill! You get on your tippy toes, faces mere inches away from each other. And with the sweetest tone you could muster, you begin "Won't you let me get my way just this once?" A second, another, Suguru is heavily breathing then he... smiles-! Wider than he usually would before placing a big arm over the small of your back. Perfect! He's definitely in your pocket no–OhHuh?! With a swift move, he throws you over his shoulder and starts making his way to your sleeping chambers. "Nice try, but I'm afraid I can't overlook this in particular. Their majesties' orders, I'm very sorry Your Highness. It's quite late after all, we wouldn't want you to miss out on any sleep, now would we?"

Un-be-lievable. Absolutely outrageous. But you swear the heat and redness of your face were results of being caught off guard, nothing much!

It's quite frustrating really. Seems you've met your match. But if anything, it just clears your doubts. From the moment you shook hands with your newly appointed guard do– body guard –ever so thoughtfully appointed by the Monarch–You figured that he won't be so willing to join your endless collection of marionettes. It makes your eye twitch really. You've always been the child who threw tantrums when your noble playmates wouldn't hand over their toys despite having mountains of trinkets already. He is an exception, the enemy of absolute control. A threat, but one that you can't deny is very very enticing.

He wouldn't flat out tell you to act right of course! Perish the thought, he was but a servant! You hold the cards! You are the hand that swings the sword! But he'll find ways. He's very indulging and sweet –it honestly feels sincere– but his messages are received nonetheless.

A sweet gentle smile always present as he tuts and politely reminds you to cut your lady in waiting some slack. To go easy on your maids for misplacing one of your countless rings. To turn a blind eye on the very miniscule alteration made to your breakfast. Maybe he oversteps every now and then. A weird look; a raised eyebrow; a little snicker. The most he has ever gone was playfully threatening to 'tell your father how bad you were being if you kept acting up' not like the king isn't at the palm of your hand as well. But still.

Audacious.

It's like his heart is armored as well!! Why doesn't he listen? Why doesn't anything work? Everyone else is mindlessly dancing to your tune so you know for a fact you haven't lost your magic just yet. What's so different about this man? How does he not only manage to stay untouched but also leave a clear mark on you back?

You almost want to obey, to be good, maybe you'll even get a reward if you let yourself fall into his arms. What if he lets you run your hands over his strong arms and feel up his firm body you've always been so curious about? What if you get the chance to touch his long gorgeous inky hair? What if he lets you doze off on his soft ches-

...

This cannot be happening.

Seems it can though. It didn't take you too long to recognize the longing look in his eyes, clear boundaries were never set, blurred lines were his gateway, and you knew love when you saw it. Before you know it you were inviting him to spend the night with you almost on the daily, kissing him on empty halls, pressing your entire body against him while holding his bicepts during your walks in the garden, he'd hold you in his lap under the shade of tree deep in the woods away from prying eyes, pluck fresh fruit off the trees and hand freed them to you slice by dutiful slice, he replaces your heavy crowns with lighter softer alternatives made with flowers.

He even promised to marry you.

Lovers or not, he will always be your knight. And you were his to serve, his to protect.

And his to correct, on occasion.

It was his fault really. This was bound to happen eventually. Nothing is set in stone and the crown heir must prove themselves worthy –Something you excelled at. It was something he admired you for, truly! You're clever, very aware of your strengths and use them to your advantage, the perfect leader, he loved you for it...just not now.

A shiny carriage from the west arrives early in the morning. Out emerges a new shiny toy, a prince gift wrapped in silks and gold –you always loved shiny. The royal foreigner makes his way not to your father, not your mother, but directly to you. And Suguru might be a brute good-for-nothing soldier, but it doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together, this is the suitor your parents have chosen for you. The firstborn prince of esteemed royal birth, from a country that is nothing to scoff at, of course, this is happening. A marriage of convenience to strengthen the bonds between the nations someting something the fishing industry isn't what it used to–Oh piss off.

Suguru is right at your side when the obnoxiously sparkling man finally comes to a stop before you, he is right there beside you when he holds your gloved hand and places a kiss at your knuckles, and he is right there when you –without missing a beat– giggle at the gesture and bat your lashes right back at him.

Suguru's body freezes, then his jaw clenches and snaps back to place and he can't help but snarl.

Guard dog. One in dire need of a leash.

He knows you have no choice but to play along, he knows that you marrying another man is the most likely outcome. But he is selfish enough not to care, he wants to pull you close by the waist, tuck you underneath his chin and send the envoy back to wherever he came from. He is your knight, and you are just as much his. It wouldn't have been a problem if this were only one of your many masterful performances, he wouldn't have minded much. What you have with Suguru was real, not a business move, not a transaction.

But it still itches at his core.

No matter how many times you reassure him that it was all fake, no matter how many times he pins you the walls of your room and makes you repeat declarations of love, no matter how much you promise that you'll get rid of the foreign prince, that you'll get in your father's head, that you'll do something, anything. Suguru is still very much bothered.

It's never enough, nothing puts him at ease. Every time you finish a conversation with a kiss to his forehead and walk away to be with that other man, it feels as if Suguru's wounds were stitched without taking away all of the cancer. It never mattered whether it was real or not. Suguru is a selfish man, and a greedier lover.

And you came to find this out after an incredibly inappropriate night of wine and poetry with your supposed future husband.

Come on. You were pushing it at this point. How could you think he wouldn't be feining to claw into your newest toy by now?

But poor you. Couldn't have been caught at a worse time. Frustrated from having to shush an aggressive snarling attack dog on an almost daily basis and being a little tipsy from the alcohol, clearly having forgotten your manners near the empty bottles of wine before coming back to your real man, you waste no time tearing into him about how whiny and needy he has been, how he has no basis to any of these accusations he's throwing around so carelessly, how it shouldn't even bother him this much anyway as he is nothing but a servant to you, and that he should to act like one.

His to protect. His to serve. His to correct.

So...act like a servant? Your word is law, Your Highness!

You don't know how or when exactly you found yourself pinned to the wall with your wrists tightly held together and dwarfed by one big hand, while the other tightly grips your tummy keeping you frozen in place.

"W-what do you think you're doing-?!" "Act like one, huh?" He moves to kiss you all messy and rough, for the first time in weeks, undoing all the progress that pest may think he had made.

He pulls away leaving you warm and needy.

"S-Suguru I'm–"

"Be quiet" he snaps, yet he doesn't raise his voice, he sounds calm and controlled, but Oh so betrayed. You've possibly done irreversible damage to the man who adores you most."You've said enough, listen to me very closely" his glaring hurts so good this is a new side of him you aren't too guilty you lured out of the shadows. "Whether or not you'd like to admit it. I am your man." It sounds more like a judge's verdict than a knight's oath.

"I'm not one of your little toys. I'm your husband" and it sounds so right, you didn't know how much you needed to hear it.

"But sure. I'll indulge you, Your Highness." but this felt like a slap to the face in all honesty, you worked really hard to get him to use your name, the title was only a little bit between the two of you at this point, but he has never said it with more venom than now.

"I'll act like your knight once more, and teach you some manners."

[andy-15-07]

heyyy! can you do a jealous!reader for danny :) maybe reader gets jealous after Danny gets hit on?

Mine, Not Yours

PAIRING: Danny Ramirez x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1048✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

You hadn’t planned on feeling jealous tonight. In fact, when Danny invited you to his friend's rooftop party in West Hollywood, you were just excited to wear that sundress he liked and spend the night at his side, maybe with a tequila soda in one hand and his fingers tangled in the other.

That plan, however, went to hell the second she showed up.

Blonde. Tall. Model-y. And very clearly not concerned about the fact that Danny was very much not single.

“Oh my God,” she cooed, her manicured hand lightly grazing Danny’s arm. “You’re so much hotter in real life. Like, I didn’t think that was possible.”

Danny laughed,laughed,with that damn crinkle around his eyes you loved, then scratched the back of his neck the way he always did when someone complimented him.

“Thanks,” he said, shooting you a brief glance over her shoulder. “Appreciate that.”

You were standing right there. Holding his drink.

And yet she kept going.

“Seriously. You were amazing in Top Gun. I didn’t even know I was into pilots until you.”

You took a slow sip of your drink and narrowed your eyes.

Danny, ever the charming diplomat, chuckled again and tried to inch subtly closer to you. “Appreciate that. My girlfriend actually dragged me to the audition, so I owe her.”

The girl’s smile faltered, but not by much. “Oh. Cute,” she said, as if it physically hurt to acknowledge your existence.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hi,” you said, stepping forward with a tight smile. “I’m the girlfriend. The dragger of auditions. The reason he’s standing here and not bartending in Miami.”

Danny let out a cough-laugh and tried to cover his mouth, clearly enjoying this too much.

The blonde blinked. “Oh. Right. Of course.” She looked you up and down,not subtle. “Nice dress.”

You smiled sweetly. “Thanks. He bought it.”

Danny reached for your hand with a grin. “Babe,”

You didn’t let him finish. “Hey, do you wanna get another drink? You look thirsty.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “I’m good, actually.”

“Great. Bye,” you said, tugging Danny by the arm and walking him away.

Once you were safely tucked behind a group of strangers near the snack table, you dropped his hand and gave him a look.

“She seriously didn’t see me standing there?”

Danny smirked. “Jealous?”

“Obviously,” you huffed, folding your arms. “She practically licked your face in front of me.”

He leaned in. “Would’ve stopped her. You know my face is reserved for you.”

You snorted, but your arms stayed crossed.

“Don’t laugh. I saw you doing the neck scratch. That’s your I’m flattered but too nice to say go away move.”

“Wow,” he said. “You’ve been studying me.”

“I’ve been dating you for a year, Ramirez. I have a PhD in your mannerisms.”

Danny laughed, grabbing a mini cupcake from the table and offering it to you. “Okay, but like, you know you’re the only one I’m bringing home tonight, right?”

You took the cupcake, but didn’t bite it. “Still. You let her flirt with you for like ten minutes.”

“She was drunk and starstruck,” he said gently. “I didn’t want to be rude. I was trying to give her a soft letdown.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Soft letdowns don’t involve eye crinkles and chuckles.”

He groaned dramatically and cupped your cheeks with both hands. “You’re the only girl I want flirting with me. Ever. Even if your flirting involves passive-aggressively suggesting people are dehydrated.”

“That was direct,” you said proudly. “Polite, but direct.”

Danny grinned. “It was sexy.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now, a little less icy. He leaned in, brushing your lips lightly with his before pulling back just enough to whisper, “You jealous, baby?”

You gave him a flat look. “No. I just don’t like when people pretend I’m not standing two feet away from my boyfriend while they try to get his number.”

Danny wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you close. “Mhm. I like jealous you. She’s feisty.”

“I’m not,”

He cut you off with another kiss, deeper this time. The kind that made your knees weak and your brain fuzzy.

When he pulled away, your cheeks were flushed and your hands were fisted in the front of his shirt.

“Still mad?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

You sighed. “A little.”

“Good,” he said smugly, then leaned close to your ear. “Means you still care.”

You shoved him gently. “I swear, your ego is so,”

“I love you.”

You blinked.

His smile softened. “Seriously. And if you ever feel like someone’s stepping over the line, just say the word. I’ll shut it down fast.”

You exhaled slowly, some of the lingering tension melting away. “Okay.”

He kissed your forehead. “Promise.”

“Fine. But next time, I’m not saying anything. I’m just pouring a drink on her shoes.”

Danny burst out laughing. “You’re insane.”

“I’m protective. There’s a difference.”

He looped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you tight against him. “Well, your protective streak is kinda hot. Just saying.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean it. You in that dress, lowkey ready to throw hands? Sexy.”

You groaned, but you were smiling now. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am lucky,” he said earnestly, nuzzling your temple. “Like, unfairly lucky.”

You leaned into him, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “Next time someone hits on me, I expect a matching meltdown.”

Danny pulled back to look at you, mock-offended. “Someone hits on you, and I’m flipping tables. That’s not jealousy. That’s justice.”

You laughed, finally biting into the cupcake. “God, you’re dramatic.”

“Takes one to date one,” he said, kissing your cheek.

Later that night, curled up on the couch in his apartment, you found yourself half-asleep with your legs in his lap and a blanket draped over you both.

He was scrolling through his phone when he suddenly said, “So, how do we feel about me wearing a shirt that says ‘Property of Y/N’ at the next party?”

You opened one eye. “Danny,”

“I’ll do it. Don’t test me.”

You smiled sleepily. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, drifting off. “Mine. Not hers.”

Danny looked down at you, his whole expression soft. He brushed your hair off your forehead and kissed it gently.

“Always yours.”

[itneverendshere]

hey hun, idk if you taking any request but maybe you can make something about this. so you know sombr just released his song 'we never dated' and i was thinking if you can write something based on the song with rafe × reader, love you💖

a lil something i put together during my lunch break, enjoy 💘

he’s drunk again, the thinking-about-you kind.

his head tilts against the seat of the truck he hasn't driven in months, still parked in the beach house garage, waiting for something that’ll never come back.

rafe taps the red solo cup against his lip and closes his eyes.

it’s that song, the one wheezie showed him earlier, and he'd pretended to hate immediately.

"how come we never even dated but i still find myself thinking of you daily? why do you always leave me achin' when you were never mine for the takin'?"

rafe’s never wanted to punch a radio more.

it’s true, all of it. you never dated, but he loved you. that was the worst kind of heartbreak; he couldn't claim anything real, be angry or bitter or jealous. he couldn't point a finger in your direction and accuse you of breaking him because you never belonged to each other.

he never had the right.

you've always been too shiny for him. inherently good. more than a pretty face — though, yeah, you were that too and more.

rafe knew it before anyone else ever said it.

he knew you when you were still the skittish girl with lipgloss always smoothed over your mouth and that light blue cashmere sweater you wore every third thursday like clockwork.

you were sweet, but not naïve, you grew up learning how to smile through kook parents’ cocktail parties and could tell when a guy was trying to flirt or manipulate you in under three seconds.

rafe cameron wasn’t slick enough for you. he just happened to be there, at the right time, in the right places, saying the wrong things and hoping you'd want him anyway.

you did.

god, you did.

one summer, two friends who weren’t friends yet, thrown together because their parents played nice at yacht club dinners and pretended that the pogues didn’t matter as long as their kids stayed clean and polished.

you'd asked him once, on the beach at sunset, when everyone else was passed out or making out or passed out making out, why he always looked so angry.

rafe had blinked, caught off guard by your astuteness, replied with something stupid like, “m'not angry. don’t like people.”

you had smiled, close-lipped. “you seem to like me though.”

he hadn’t said anything, but you were right. he did, even when he shouldn’t have. especially when he shouldn’t have.

it got worse in senior year.

that was when he started noticing the finality of it. you were still walking around in ballet flats and sundresses and raising your hand first in ap lit — but it was all coming to an end, wasn't it? the idea of a you and him, the fantasy.

you were going places. real ones, far-far away, with brick libraries and stone archways and out-of-state dorms. you had a list, and rafe wasn’t on it.

he saw it coming the day you mentioned early decision.

“i’m thinking of brown,” you had confessed in a dreamy tone, chewing the end of your straw.

rafe had nodded, tossing a pebble across the dock water. “yeah?”

“you think I could get in?”

you could get into heaven if you asked nicely. instead, he shrugged again.

“duh.”

you laughed, that hiccup laugh that always made his stomach drop to the pits of hell, and leaned into his side for a second, enough to make him want more. that was the problem.

he always wanted more. of your voice, your time, skin against his. more jokes, more silence, more anything you’d give him. you were meant to leave and he was stuck in this fucking awful place, barely making it out of high school.

people talked about you two, always did.

assumed you were together, and he pathetically let them think what they wanted because it was easier than the truth: he was a guy in love with a girl he never kissed, too scared to try and pull you down with him.

rafe watched you date other people. preppy kooks with clean sneakers and trust funds and internships. it didn’t matter, it made sense, even when he drove past your house a little slower after those dates.

he always looked at you longer the next morning when you sat across from him in the café. sometimes, he swore you looked back.

the party your parents decided to put together that fateful night for you was too loud, or rafe simply grew to resent the sound of other people being happy.

he stood by the railing on the second-floor landing, a typical red solo cup warm in his hand, watching the celebration spiral out under the candle lights below. your backyard had been transformed, long tables dressed in linen, picture boards of you growing up, a cake with congratulations, brown university! piped in frosted gold, and people everywhere, drunk off champagne and privilege.

he hated it.

he'd been gawking at you laughing under those lights. you wore white tonight, tailored pants and some shimmery top that sparkled when you moved. your hair was half up, the way he always liked it.

you were leaving in two days. earlier than expected. the early admission program at brown, your parents were ecstatic, toasting to the future with ros�� wine and proud tears.

rafe only found out three days ago, from wheezie, who overheard your mom on the phone ordering dorm essentials to be shipped ahead of time.

he didn’t possess the energy to be surprised.

that this was it, the last night. the last time he’d maybe ever see you outside of random instagram posts and christmas visits. the final hour of whatever not-thing they were.

you never promised him anything, and he had nothing to offer. only half-mumbled jokes and every piece of his heart that he tried not to hand over, one by one, every time you looked at him like he mattered.

he was drunk again.

he couldn’t say goodbye properly, or force himself to go down there and hug you like a normal person. couldn’t say, “i'm happy for you,” without gagging on the bitterness in his throat.

he did what he always did.

avoided the situation.

he was mad you were leaving, leaving earlier. you didn’t give him time to work up the courage to spit out the truth once and for all.

his legs carried him toward the kitchen, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched.

“rafe.”

you voice was always soft with him.

you stood there in the hallway. fuck, you looked so pretty, unfairly so.

summer and home and everything he didn’t get to keep.

“i was wondering if you were gonna hide all night."

"wasn’t hiding.”

you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “right.”

rafe looked away first, he always did with you. you made him stupidly nervous, still.

"you’re mad.”

“’m not.”

“you’re mad i’m leaving.”

he scoffed. “you were always gonna leave. what’s the point in being mad about it now?”

your expression faltered, rafe hated himself for it.

“i thought… you’d at least say goodbye,” you whispered.

"didn’t think you’d notice if I didn’t.”

“rafe.”

he took a step back. he had to, orr he’d grab your hand and beg you to stay and make a fucking fool of himself.

“i can’t do this tonight,” he mumbled. “go back to your party, yeah?ivy league’s waiting.”

“wait a minute—”

“have fun up there, alright?”

perhaps, if he hadn't been too tipsy, he would've spotted the same ache in your eyes that was bleeding through his.

your jaw clenched, that twitch he caught when you were trying not to cry. shit, that was gonna fuck him up later. that look.

“you’re being such an asshole,” you bit out, quietly.

he huffed a laugh that wasn’t amused. “yeah. guess ’m just playing my part, huh?”

you blinked. “what does that even mean?”

“you—” he started, then cut himself off. shook his head. “you’re actin’ like this is some big surprise. you were always gonna choose that life. brown. new friends. better everything. that was the plan, right?”

“i never said that,” you shot back, voice trembling now.

you were all dolled up in a way he hadn’t seen before, sparkly earrings catching the kitchen light. you didn’t look like the girl he used to skip class with and lie on the pier beside.

but you were.

“you made your choice, didn’t you?” he muttered. “early program. gone before the summer’s even over.”

“i earned it, rafe. because i worked for it—”

“and what about me?” he snapped, suddenly. voice louder than either of you expected. “i bust my ass tryin’ to graduate with you. and you couldn't tell me this? i did it—for what? so you could feel sorry for me on your way out?”

that was new low. he regretted it the second he said it.

“that’s not fair."

“yeah? neither is you leavin’ me here and expectin’ me to clap for you.”

“i never asked you to wait for me,” you were pleading now, not accusing. “i never asked you to do any of that.”

“i know, god, i know,” rafe snapped. “that’s the problem. you never looked back, did you? not once.”

“that’s not true.”

“isn’t it?”

your hands curled against your outfit, wrinkling the fabric.

“i care about you."

he let out a breath through his nose, humorless.

“yeah?” he muttered. “i love you.”

real. pathetic, even. the most honest thing he’s ever said in his life.

your lips parted but he intervined before you could salvage his reputation.

“still not enough reason for you to stay, is it?”

your breath hitched, your eyes went wide. you weren’t expecting him to say it. the possibility had lived in the space between you two for so long, you thought it'd stay silent forever.

he had too. now it was out there, and you didn’t say it back.

“that’s what I thought,” he said, voice flat now.

you looked like you were about to cry. rafe looked like he already had.

“why are you doing this now?” your voice trembled with confusion. “i’m not leaving forever!"

you meant it, you thought a couple thousand miles and a new life wouldn’t erase this not-thing, wouldn’t bury him beneath everything you’d go off and become.

rafe, despite his many flaws, wasn’t stupid. hope wasn't a luxury he could afford.

he laughed, more of a breath than anything real.

“you might as well be.”

your brows pulled together. “what—”

“i never want to see you again,” he ripped the bandage off, even though it hurt more. “okay? just—just go. go to your early program, to your dorm, to your perfect fucking life with your perfect fucking people, and let me get over you in peace.”

your face twisted, the pain blooming across.

“you don’t mean that.”

“don’t i?” he snapped, stepping backward before he got close again, and broke completely. “what’s left of this, huh?”

he could only hear your shaky breath and the sound of someone laughing downstairs.

"so yeah, do me a favor — don’t text me when you miss home. don’t check in. don’t come back here thinking everything’s the same.”

you blinked, tears building in your lashes.

“rafe…”

he looked away, couldn’t watch you cry and still walk out of his life.

you can’t miss someone you never had, right? the only thing he had were his regrets.

[r66dusthewriter]

The forbidden fruit

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I had to close my legs while writing this.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Little to no plot. Explicit sexual content (18+), voyeuristic themes, masked man, dry humping, (sort of?) paid sex, strip club setting.

Word count: 1.3k

You’d been a night dancer for four years, moving from uneasy to owning it, with a found family of women nearly as close as sisters. The job paid well, the security was tight and after a while, you realized you liked the power, the control of where eyes landed, who got close and when. With that power in mind, you chose to only dance and maybe talk. Ironically, that restraint, that refusal to be available on demand, only made you more desirable. 

For the last six months, everything about your nightly stage felt different because of him.

He always sat at the back and the same table. Massive, masked and imposing, the kind of man who drew stares even in a club built for spectacle. He never drank, never accepted a dance or even a chat then. 

But two months in, after seeing a creepy customer cross a line with you, he stepped in with just enough force to make the message clear. From that moment on, everyone started calling him “your guy” and he acted like it, tipping hundreds just to sit there two hours and say nothing at all to anyone but you.

“Y/n… your guy’s back,” Ani grinned as she strolled into the changing room, her voice sing-song with mischief. Around her, a chorus of teasing sighs and shoulder shimmies erupted from the other girls. You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“He’s not my guy.”

“Oh, but he is,” Ani shot back, stepping closer with a raised brow. “He doesn’t pay for a single service, won’t even take a drink! Just sits at your stage like some brooding statue. Won’t look at anyone, won’t talk to anyone except you.”

She leaned in, voice dropping playfully. “Right now, he’s out there looking like a lost puppy because you’re not on yet.”

Laughter rippled through the room as a few of the girls chimed in their agreement.

“That’s your guy,” Ani said, winking.

You shook your head, brushing the last bit of powder from your face and rising from the makeup chair. You couldn’t suppress the warmth curling in your chest, though you kept your tone neutral. 

“Same table?”

“Same table,” she confirmed, still smiling.

When you arrived, he offered quietly and for the first time ever, a seat beside him. His raspy voice and thick accent sent a shiver up your spine.

“Nice to see you again,” he simply said.

You flirted, you bantered and let the tease slip into your eyes but every time another customer tried to pull you away, you saw the way his gloved hands tensed on his thighs and how his shoulders squared. And when you stood up to go chat with another client, he dropped five grand onto the table, flat and easy. “What does that get me?”

You arched your brow, heat coiling in your belly. “What do you want?”

His eyes glittered behind the skull mask. “To talk.”

Except the game changed when you suggested the massage room. Inside, he stripped off his shirt and your breath caught. His body was scarred yet beautiful with tattooed muscle on pale skin even under harsh light. You took a deep breath and let your hands roam, learning every inch as you straddled his lap.

You massaged his chest with slow, lazy circles, feeling his heartbeat thumping strong under your palms. His gaze burned into you, unmoving.

“I don’t usually do this,” you whispered, voice shaky, suggesting to get one of your coworkers to give him a proper massage.

“It’s good,” he rumbled, voice thick with want.

You grew bolder then. His hands found your thighs, strong and warm on your skin, thumbs pressing just enough to make you gasp and accommodate over him. That’s when you felt his cock, hard and hot under you, causing a sharp ache to throb between your legs, making it hard to ignore how you’d been starved and untouched for so long it almost hurt.

His fingers tightened, pupils blown out as he met your eyes. “Want to get off?” he asked, low and serious.

You shook your head, breath trembling, but not with fear.

His gaze lowered to your parted lips, ears straining to hear how you softly sighed. “Or move?”

Your hips answered for you. Slowly at first, you rolled against him, feeling every contour of him through your thin panties and his jeans. Even like this you could tell his cock was hard, thick and impossibly big. The friction quickly sent a bolt of pleasure straight through you, causing you to tilt your head back and moan aloud.

He groaned at the sight, a raw and needy sound while his hands gripped your ass under your ridden up dress, guiding your movements. It was obscene, the slide of your slick center over his clothed cock, the drag of denim against silk and the unmoving eye contact, all while every grinding thrust sent waves of heat through you.

The air soon filled with desperate sounds, your soft whimpers and sighs mixed with his deep grunts and the harsh rasp of his breath behind the mask. You pressed closer, grinding down harder and his cock twitched against you, leaking through his jeans and making a delicious wet spot that matched your own. 

Your hands rested on his firm, toned abdomen, the heat of his skin grounding you as you moved. You took your time, savoring the moment, every rise and fall of your hips a slow climb, every subtle shift drawing you closer to the edge. His muscles tensed beneath your palms, each breath he took syncing with yours, heavy and hungry. You rocked against him with growing urgency, letting the minutes stretch, letting the pleasure build until your body trembled with the promise of release.

He tilted his hips up to meet your rhythm, his grip strong but worshipful. You could feel yourself getting wetter, soaking through your panties with every pass.

“Fuck—” he growled.

“Uhhh!—” You moaned, walls contracting around nothing. Being an absolute slut for vocal men didn’t help your case, you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sparks shot through your core, pleasure mounting higher and higher while your clit ground perfectly against the ridge of his cock. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Let go,” he ordered roughly. “Want to watch you come for me.”

Your orgasm hit hard, knees shaking and body shuddering while a strangled moan tore from your throat as you ground down and rode the wave out on his lap. You felt yourself gush even more, soaking him and your panties, the heat between your bodies almost unbearable.

He cursed again, grabbing your hips and rocking you harder against him, forcing you to match the pace burning in his blood. His cock throbbed against your soaked panties as he did, keeping a sinful rhythm until he went rigid under you. With a deep, muffled groan, he came hard. His body tensed beneath you, cock straining as his orgasm surged through him. The heat of it soaked his jeans, messy and uncontrolled but he didn’t care. His head fell back with a heavy exhale, fingers still gripping your hips like he couldn’t quite let go, like he didn’t want to.

You slumped down against his massive chest, catching your breath while his hands stayed on you, fingers denting your flesh.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breaths and the steady thump of his heart against your cheek. You’d never been this undone without a single piece of clothing truly removed, never felt so wanted or so fucking satisfied.

“Simon,” he panted, the name falling from his lips like a confession, knowing you’d never ask due to the rules of the club.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you murmured against his skin, voice threaded with something dangerously close to comfort.

“Likewise.”

If anyone had heard the sounds coming from behind that closed door, they’d know whose girl you really were now.

[520-elic]

I love your headcannons! what dates do you think the creepypasta would take the reader on?

The creeps (Ticci Toby, Jeff the Killer, Eyeless Jack, & BEN) date headcanons

Author notes ; the reader is gender neutral. And if I missed any of the creeps that you were hoping for me to write for, you could tell me who to write for next time! :) also I've been very busy sorry about that

Contains; fluff

Ticci Toby

He's such a lover boy. He would probably save up enough money to get you flowers or take you to the movie theaters

Prefers calmer places, so he would take you to eat take-out food with him at the park at night and call it a date, or will take you on top of the hills to stargaze with you

Showers you with affection during dates!!! He will hold your hand, kiss you almost every 5 minutes, run his hands over your body, etc.

He tries to bring you flowers that he hand-picks himself. Toby will also bring small trinkets that remind him of you!

He'll also most likely bring some type of taxidermy to you. Teeth, bones, one time Toby even got you a taxidermy rat in a little suit

The most hungry mf on a date. Remember how I said he'd take you out to fast food places as a date? That's 90% of the time

Yknow that one scene in Lady and the Tramp with the spaghetti? He tried that once with you, and it ended up with the noodle coming out of the gash of his cheek with tomato sauce coming out as well. He made a mental reminder to always wear a bandage over it even if he's home

When you suggested making cookies with him during a date, he took them out with his bare hands. Yeah..

"O-oh baby, I can't feel pain. Remember?" While you're putting cream onto his palms that now have 2nd degree burns.

The petnames that Toby will call you is; baby, sweetheart, my girl/boy

Jeff the Killer

Movie hop, driving around, and gas station dates.

He doesn't buy you much since he claims that "Since we're on a date, it should be enough" but he will get you a single rose or weed LMAO

Smoke sesh!!! Jeff loves making out with you in his room while you two are high out of your minds

Also, he's very clingy when you two are alone, it's very different to how he treats you in public. In public, the most he'd do it put a hand on your waist or an arm over the shoulders. But in private? His hands are all over you as if he's trying to memorize every patch of skin on your body

Once he gave you a glass vial of his own blood. Do not ask questions about it

Jeff prefers parallel play as a date, but he wouldn't want to be far too away from you. If you comment about him being clingy, he won't be around you for atleast a week

ALL OVER YOU. I have to say this again just to get my point across. And if you dress nice for the date? oh my god, you are not gonna get away from him

"Cmon babes, I'm tryin' to show you off over here! It's not like every day someone sees a handsome guy like me and a beautiful thing such as yourself."

The petnames that Jeff will call you is; sweetcheeks (jokingly), sexy, babes

Eyeless Jack

Jack also prefers quieter spaces for dates, such as late-night walks, aquariums, etc.

He talks a lot to you during dates since he can't get much visual input from them. If you insist on "watching" a movie with him, he'll take it as listening to a podcast

Please read or cook for him, he'll melt inside

Cook him kidneys, and he'll gobble it up in 0.2 seconds flat.

He wouldn't really show affection during dates, but more so subtly; his head on your shoulder/lap, his claws running uo and down your arm, etc. Just things to keep you on your toes

He'll do chores around the mansion with you as a date as well since it means you get to spend time with him while doing something productive

"Relax hon, just trying to get comfortable.."

The petnames that Jack will call you is; honey, dear, babe

BEN

ARCADES!!! He will rig every game for you to win a bunch of tokens/tickets to get as many prizes as you want

BEN has a big appetite since he can't really feel hunger, so once he gets a taste of some type of food, he's going at it. Yes, he'll go for a 4th plate of whatever it is. Which also means dinner dates! (It's just fast food lmao)

Cooking dates. Pls.

He'll let you upcycle some of his clothes and such with you, just so he can remember the moment and have a piece of you with him

Big on affection during his time with you. His hands? Somewhere uo your shirt to keep hold of you. His legs? Around yours, not wanting to get up and face responsibilities

Gaming dates, of course. You two in his room, shouting insults at each other like it's nothing while playing a round of COD. Playful pushes back and forth while yelling how one of you guys will be the winner

"You piece of crap, I'm about to win!" As he's cuddling right next to you on the floor.

The petnames that BEN will call you is; a shortened version of your name, babe, sweetums

[aheathen-conceivably]

And five six seven eight…

Violette lifted both of her arms above her head into a graceful oval. Timed with her next inhale, she arched her feet into carefully balanced points on the threadbare rug.

And five, six, seven, eight… 

One of her arms floated down from above her head, and then her left foot rose from the floor to meet the bend of her knee so that her entire body weight rested on only the tip of her big toe. She usually spent her Sundays this way, performing for an audience comprised of the ever-present ballerina in the box and a collection of dolls and Teddy Bears now beginning to collect dust in the corners of her room. They were her very own silent sentinels, keeping watch of her feet as they danced on the floor and helping her keep time with the count in her mind.

And five, six, seven… 

But wafting through the crack her mother made her keep in the door was the sound of humming. She hadn’t noticed it at first, drowned out as it was by the music in her mind; but as the lulling sound transformed into a melody with words, the rigid posture of her shoulders softened. Although quiet, the voice danced over the unintelligible lyrics with the perfect pitch and tenor, sung with a sort of wistful melancholy that made you long for something despite how sorrowful it was. 

She knew the voice, of course - from a thousand lullabies and absentminded chore-songs. Still, it never seemed to grow old, especially when it came to her mother unburdened and unselfconscious like it was now. One after the other, Violette let her feet go flat on the floor, listening to the quiet intricacies of the voice as she followed it the short distance down the hall.

She stopped in the doorway, twirling her fingers self-consciously as her mother looked into the mirror. She loved when she could catch her like this - getting ready for work with a sense of purpose that made her seem like a hummingbird in flight. She tilted her head sideways, looking at the neatly tied bow on her mother’s lapel and wondering if it was Monday after all.

Zelda seemed to notice her, and seamlessly transformed the hum already in her throat into spoken words. “Oh! Lottie! Perfect. I was just coming to find you. I have to run by the library to sign for a package. I should only be an hour. Maybe two. If you need anything just go by the cabin and tell Gio. Just - be nice to him, please?”

Violette watched her adjust her earring back again, admiring how the pearls always seemed to highlight her face. “It opens this week, right?”

Zelda stopped, leaving her hand curled beneath her ear as her eyes crept toward the figure in her doorway. “It does. Wednesday...”

“Do you - do you think I can go with you then? After school?”

A small smile played on Zelda’s face, twitching at the corner near where her hand was still suspended as if frozen in surprise. "Do you - would you like to come with me today? You can see it first. Before anyone else gets to..."

The front door of the library opened without a sound. The brass hinges had been shined and oiled only days before, simply waiting for the moment when someone would make use of them. From the newly organized entryway, the smell of old wood emanated out onto the porch. Only now it was accompanied by the scent of fresh paint and sawdust rather than the moldering dust and stagnant air that had lived alongside it before.

Violette took two steps inside, her wide eyes basking in every inch of the place. Zelda watched her, too happy to realize that she was doing exactly what she herself had done when Alexander had first taken her here months before. Careful not to ruin the spell, she silently angled the door closed, following Violette as her fascination took her into the adjacent solarium.

Surrounded by late afternoon sunshine, Violette spun in a circle, her gaze trailing all the way to the top of the two story bookshelves and then back down again. Every row was filled from one end to the other with books - dozens and dozens and dozens of them. She could feel tears forming in her eyes just imagining how many stories were up there. It seemed like nothing short of magic that they had been collected in one place just waiting for someone to walk through the freshly painted doors and discover them.

Awestruck beyond words she turned around again, facing the wall opposite the soaring windows where a half a dozen portraits and photographs were displayed. “Who are they?”

Zelda followed her eyes, looking sideways toward the patinated gazes lining the wall. “They used to live here. Well some of them - others are members of their family from before the house was built.” She stopped speaking, expecting Violette’s attention to have turned elsewhere, but instead her daughter turned toward her expectedly. An insuppressible smile pulled at both corners of Zelda's lips. 

“I’ve been researching them. For the plaques. It’s been difficult at points, especially without traveling to other archives. But - but the man all the way to the top, do you see him? He’s the oldest member of the family I could find. He came here from England over a hundred years ago, in 1820. I imagine there must be more records there but -”

“From England? The way you did?”

Zelda turned toward her, her mouth still open in speech but now suspended in suppressed surprise. “I - yes. I - suppose so.” 

Violette smiled at her before she turned back to the wall of portraits, her eyes moving down them like she was reading the lines of a story. As she reached the bottom, where the most recent pictures had been placed, she tilted her head sideways like she had understood something. Then she turned back to the windows over her shoulder, the light filtering through them with a peculiar magic of its own. She watched it dance, speaking toward the panes as she did so. “Did you really make all this happen?”

Her voice had been hushed - so full of awe and childish disbelief that it pulled at Zelda’s heart. “I - I like to think I helped.”

Although Zelda couldn’t see her face, a proud, emotional countenance overtook Violette. Zelda brought her hands together, trying to peek over her daughter’s shoulder as she addressed her. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

Violette turned around, directing her attention back to her mother as she finished the heavily impressed final words. 

“Would you like to see my office? It's just upstairs...”

A fervent nod and excited smile was all the answer that Zelda would have needed, but Violette skipped over to her, lacing her arm around hers as she pulled them forward as though she knew the way. “Can you tell me more about them? The family on the wall?”

Zelda nodded, her words hushed and excited as she began to tell Violette the stories that she had found in her research. As they left the room their voices echoed through the hallways. Their footsteps sounded alongside them, keeping time with one another with every step.

Previous / Next

[sydwritess]

Premier Night

Lewis hamilton x fem!reader

Summary: After the Canadian race, you and Lewis fly straight to his penthouse in NYC, spending some time together before the big f1 movie premier.

Second Person POV

Notes: requests are open!

You and Lewis had left his hotel in Montreal a couple of hours ago. You were waiting at the airport for Lewis's plane to arrive, he brought you to a hanger that was out in the airfield, both relaxing inside while you waited.

"You alright there?" Lewis said, putting his hand on your bouncing leg.

"Hm? Oh yeah. Just fine." You smile.

"You don't have to be nervous, this is normal." He smiled.

"Oh yeah... normal. Yeah I always hang out in private hanger's waiting for a private jet to come fly me anywhere. It's always fun." You say sarcastically.

"You know what I mean. It's just a plane." He said quietly, chuckling under his breath.

"With fancy leather seats and flat screen TV's?"

"No TV's just your phone." He said.

"Oh, well.... I guess that's okay then, right? Make's it more normal." You say.

"Relax. Charles is going to be with us. So it will be like a... slumber party." He said, raising his head at the thought.

"Right. Right." You laugh. The both of you wait longer, until you hear a plane fly in, slowly rolling up to the hanger.

"Ready?"

"Yeah." You say.

He gently grabs your hand, leading you to the staircase up to the plane. You walk up with him, the person standing at the top grabs your bags and follows you into the plane.

"See? Normal." He says.

"Normal." You repeat.

He slightly laughs and you two sit together at a small table. You sat in silence, when Charles suddenly appears on the plane.

"Hey mate." Lewis said, shaking Charles hand.

"Nice plane." Charles said, sitting across from you and Lewis.

"I know. Normal, right?" Lewis asked. You turn your head to him and teasingly roll your eyes.

"Y/n, you have any?" Charles asked.

"Oh yeah, a ton." You smirked.

"Really?" Lewis and Charles asked in unison.

"Yup. I got a blue one, a red one, a green one, and one that has my name on it, in big, bold letters." You say.

"Oh, so just lowkey." Charles joked.

"Exactly." You point. The three of you laugh.

When everything is situated, the plane takes off, flying down to New York.

It was a quick flight, only and hour to get there. When you finally landed, you got all of your bags, making your way slowly through security.

"This takes for ever. Why do we have to do this!" Charles whinned.

"What do you have something to hide?" Lewis teased.

It took another twenty minutes to get through security, and all of you went outside the airport. Personal security following the three of you out.

You got led to Charles got led to his car and you got led to Lewis's.

"Wow, you must really be special. You got a chauffer and everything." You say, getting in the back seat of the car with Lewis.

"Oh you know how it is." He laughs.

"I never knew you were that famous." You tease. He laughs and places his hand gently on your leg, sitting closer to you.

"Have you ever been to New York?" He asked.

"Jeez, you make it sound like I'm uncultured." You say, smiling.

"Oh really? What places do you know about then." He asked.

"Top of the rock, Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Manhattan, Empire State Building, Pier 17, Twin Tower memorial, Summit one Vanderbilt, Brooklyn Bridge, Public Library Flagship...." You pause, looking at Lewis as he just give you a wide grin.

"I can keep going." You smirk.

"You want to name the street address's to?" He said, you playfully smack him in the arm.

"Why? Are you mad because I know about New York?" You ask.

"Excuse me Miss. but I live there." He says.

"Don't you live in Monaco?"

"Yes... and here."

"Hmm. That screams rich people vibes."

"I am not rich."

"Mhm, okay." You say, smiling.

The drive to his house was around an hour long, you guys got to drive past some historic sight's, shops and different parts of the city before arriving to his house.

You both got out of the car, grabbed your bags and made your way up through the apartment building. Arriving at the top floor.

There were big, ceiling to floor windows in the living room and dinning room, having a full view of the city.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Lewis asks, walking into the kitchen.

"No I'm okay. Thank you." You say. You slowly walk over to the dinning table, sitting down at it while looking out the window.

You could see everything. The Empire State Building, all of the different buildings surrounding that. From afar you could see across the river to Jersey City.

And from the living room, if you looked out just right, you could see the Statue of Liberty far away.

Lewis came back, sitting next to you.

"Are you excited for the premier tonight?" You ask.

"Yeah, I think it will be cool. At night and all." He said.

"What are you wearing?"

"A pink suit top thing, with black pants." He smiled. You nod.

"What about you?"

"Me? I'm- I'm not going." You say slowly.

"Since when?"

"Since I'm not in the movie?" You question.

"Well you are going. You'll be my plus one." He smiles.

"No, I am just here to be here. It's your night." You say.

"And I want my night to be with you." He says, standing up.

He walks over to the door where the suitcases are, he grabs both and starts walking down the hallway to his room.

"Come on!" He shouts, you get up, walking behind him into his room.

He set's the suit cases up on his bed, opening them and standing in front of them. You sit on his bed, looking as he paws through the clothes.

He lays out his suit neatly on the bed, and then starts looking through your suit case.

He looks through all of the clothes, pulling out multiple dresses, laying them next to his suit.

"What exactly are you looking for?" You ask.

"The perfect dress for you." He says, smiling widely.

"Come here." He waves over. You walk over and stand next to him.

He gently turns you by your shoulders to a nearby full body mirror.

"How about this?" He asks, holding up a long black dress.

"I don't know. I don't even know what this is about!" You say, throwing your hands up in slight frustration.

"The f1 movie, duh."

"I know, but like what are other people wearing. Other girls." You say quietly.

"They are probably wearing something that screams 'I'm at a premier.'"

"You pick." You say, looking up at him.

"Okay, but I will make you look amazing." He says.

He starts holding up dresses slowly, one by one, aligning them with your body.

"This... this is perfect." He says, holding up a long, light pink dress.

It was thin strapped, slightly dragging on the floor, a slight corset look at the chest and waist area, and a low v-cut. Something casual but stunning.

"What- whatever you think." You say.

He smiles at you through the mirror and hands you the dress.

"You really want me to put this on now?"

"Yes, I want to see how it looks." He said, smirking. He slowly pushed you into the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

You quickly changed into the dress, taking one last look in the mirror before stepping out. Lewis was sitting on the bed but stood as soon as you walked out.

"So?" You question, looking down at the dress and then back up at him.

"You look beautiful." He says, smiling widely.

"Thank you." You say shyly. "You should try your suit on." You say, directing your hand to his outfit.

He quickly grabs his suit and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door.

You slowly walk over to the mirror in the bedroom, gliding your hands slowly down the dress, looking over it.

You look at the whole thing, attempting to fix your hair as well, but nothing really fits.

After about five minutes, you see Lewis walk back out, walking over to you at the mirror.

"So?" He repeats.

"Well, don't you look beautiful." You tease, he lots out a small laugh.

"You look handsome." You say seriously.

"Thanks. What are you doing with your hair?"

"I don't know. It looks... weird." You say, picking up pieces and letting them fall.

"You could let me do it." He suggests.

"You? Do my hair?"

"Yeah, why not? It could be fun." He smirks.

"Okay... why not." You smile.

"But on one condition." He says, holding up a finger. "You have to let me pick what to do."

"Okay now I'm scared." You joke.

"Don't be. It'll be the best hair treatment you'll ever have." He says, walking into the bathroom.

You giggle at him as you wall back into the main area, sitting back at the dining table where you were.

He quickly rushes out after you, grabbing supplies after supplies, going back and forth from the bathroom to the table, until he stops.

"What about your hair?" You ask.

"It's fine. Plus, I already have many of these events to go to between races." He says, shrugging it off.

"Yeah but still, it's important." You say.

"Don't worry about me. Let's just worry about you." He says lowly, and starts doing your hair.

"Last I checked, this wasn't about me." You laugh.

"Alright... but what would you even do with my hair?"

"I could..." You sat there thinking for a moment. "Put it up for you?"

"See, there's nothing that could be done." He said you could feel his smirk from behind you.

"Okay, well, it is already hard when your hair is twisted. If I wasn't, I could do a lot." You say.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, it is." You say, smiling.

He continues to do your hair, using multiple products, heat tools, everything. It was around 30 minutes when he finally started putting everything away.

You follow him back to the bedroom and look in the mirror. Your hair was in a tight slick back, a high ponytail at the top with curls.

"This looks really good." You say, looking at it closely.

"Thank you. I accept cash or card." He says sarcastically, holding out his hand. You laugh at him lightly.

He laughs as he goes into the bathroom to do his hair. He takes around five minutes before he comes back out.

The both of you walk out into the main area, getting your purse and your shoes on.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"Yeah, let's do this." You smile.

He leans down towards you, giving you a quick kiss before grabbing your hand and walking out together.

Hey loves! Sorry for the rushed ending, this was supposed to be done the night of the premier but look where that got me! Comment to be added to the F1 tag list! Requests are open for anyone!

Tag list:

@latay7 @mimisweetz

[mikkomacko]

moose feeling so betrayed after nico came home smelling like another dog (he went to check in on luke at the dog shelter and happened to pet a dog on his way out) so he refuses to wrestle with nico when he gets home

It’s even funnier because he goes to the dog shelter sometimes with you, especially when you’re first getting the contract done and Moose doesn’t react to you smelling like or petting the other dogs.

But one day when you’re not feeling good, you’re begging Nico to just go check on Luke please and to take him lunch so of course he goes. And of course him and Jack hang around, get the full tour from Luke on their little sticker/magnet shop and the website he set up for donations and all that good stuff. And then of course they have to meet the dogs because Luke is very excited about it.

Nico didn’t think about Moose at all because he knows his dog and his wife have been here before. It’s not a big deal that he plays fetch with a golden retriever for a minute or two. Except it is because as soon as he gets home, finds you and Moose cuddled into the couch, he’s trying to sit next to you and Moose won’t let him.

The dog pauses when he first sits down, ears flattened suspiciously as he sniffs at Nico’s jeans and hands. And then he shoots up, moving into your lap even though he’s far too big to be doing that.

“What’s up Müsli?” Nico asks curiously, trying to move after him but Moose keeps backing away from him until he’s practically sat on your head. “Why won’t he let me let him?”

Patting at Moose’s butt, you give Nico a flat look. “I don’t know. I’m more concerned with trying to breathe here.”

So Nico slips off the couch and into the floor, patting at the rug and reaching for a tennis ball to try and get Moose to come play. The dog moves, but only to curl back up by your feet. Then he just stares blankly at Nico.

“Baby,” he whines, “tell Moose to come play with me.”

You nudge Moose with your foot. “Go play with dad,” you say cheerily, and Nico squeezes one of his squeaky toys. Moose’s ears perk up, head tilting like maybe he’s going to go join Nico but then he sniffs the air and slumps back into your legs.

“Oh no,” you laugh, sitting up to pet Moose who is looking at Nico longingly.

“What? What happened?” Nico begs, squeezing the toy again.

“He’s mad at you,” you giggle, “watch give me the toy.”

Nico tosses it to you, scoffing in offense when you give it to Moose and he immediately latches his teeth around it, pulling and shaking his head with exaggerated growls.

“Moose?” Nico gasps, “Come on that’s mean! I want to play!” Then he looks to you, eyes all big and begging. “Why is he mad at me?”

You giggle again. “You smell like the shelter dogs. That’s why he ran when he sniffed you and again when I tried to push him down there.”

Nico’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “He doesn’t do that to you. You go to the shelter all the time.”

“Yeah but I’m not you. He’s not used to his dad being friendly, especially not with other dogs.”

Oh, Nico thinks a little happily. Moose is possessive over him. Sure Nico was the one to pick him up off his flight from Switzerland when he was just a puppy, and the shirt of yours he sent to Bern for Moose to be trained with probably smelled like him too, but he always thought you were Moose’s number one. After all, the dog was literally bred to be your best friend and protector.

But he’s jealous over Nico too and that’s- well it’s nice actually.

“I didn’t know,” Nico murmurs, scrambling to his feet. “I wouldn’t have touched those stupid dogs if I did.”

You laugh. “Hey they’re not stupid. Don’t be mean to the shelter dogs.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Really? They’re pretty stupid compared to him.” He motions to Moose.

“Well they didn’t go to two fancy doggie schools.”

Which no Nico guesses they didn’t. His dog is just better like that though. And he can happily brag about it now because you and Luke are trying to give the shelter dogs a similar life now.

“They just don’t have the Hischier genes,” he says, “we’re natural smarty pants.”

You laugh when he moves to pet Moose, the dog leaping away from him again and curling into your torso. “Go shower or something Schao. You’re freaking him out.”

Nico does, but not before leaning down to give you a kiss, even if it makes Moose leap across the couch again.

[eldritch-spouse]

Okay so I've fallen hard for your mushroom boys so i have a few questions about their species and them if that's alright!! Also sorry if this is a lot of questions haha,,

Species:

Okay so most of the mushroom monsters you've described have been pretty normal (well, not normal but like. In the shape of a average one lol) and im curious like, how would a mushroom monster that's a shelf mushroom monster look? After all, I dont think they have stems, they're just caps? Or maybe a puffball mushroom! Big ol boy!

If a mushroom monster was sick, how would that work? Would they start wilting? Do their caps get effected? For ones like Shags, does it effect their ink distribution?

Questions for morell!

How would he react to a piggy that can't taste? Maybe because their taste buds were burned, or their tongue was just gone entirely who knows.

How about a piggy whos SUPER allergic to certain foods? Or like that one girl who can only eat like, 14 types of foods and is allergic to pretty much everything else. Especially if piglet gets so annoyed because his food looks and smells so good!!! But will literally go into anaphalyctic shock if they eat it. (Does that stop them? ...no.)

I know he doesn't take pigs who are pregnant / kids due to the hunter law stuff, but how would he react if one was accidentally brought in? Like maybe a woman who wasn't physically showing yet or having a cryptic pregnancy (which are TERRIFYING i can't lie), or a kid accidentally got mixed in with the wrong place.

Would he ever take a mushroom monster or other monster partner or is he purely human lover? If so, are there certain monsters or behaviors he's enjoy from that?

Questions for Shags!

Same as the last question for Morell—would he like having a mushroom partner or another monster? If so, what would he like in them?

How would he react to an inkling who self-harms similar to him, not for depression or anything (maybe it started out that way), but because it looks good & feels nice?

I read that Shags has met Mothman and so: what if he had a moth partner? Silly guy (genderneu term for me) who sees Shags in a forest and goes "??? Lamp??? Where light????" Flying over, entirely oblivious that he is, in fact, a living person. Moth inkling who will now not leave him alone until they 'fix his light'.

How would Shags be as a father? What would his baby be like? Would his inkling struggle a lot like piglet because of the ink? Wait. Do. Do baby ink shrooms HAVE ink??? That sounds like hell to work with oh gosh.

[Some of these have already been answered. These are a lot of questions, so answers will be short.]

I kinda leave wiggle room for the looks. Mushroom monsters can have all kinds of cap shapes, be it bubbly and perky or saggy and droopy- Very voluminous and wet or flat and somewhat dry-ish.

What happens when a shroom gets sick?

Their caps will show it first, because that's the best way to read their overall health. A shroom's cap may:

Wilt around the edges;

Become unnaturally dry and flakey;

Loose shape;

Drastically change pigment;

Bloat and even explode (lethal);

Rot (deadly);

Cap auto-cannibalism (also deadly);

Etc...

For ink-producing shrooms, a variety of other symptoms may pop up, such as:

Complete dryness;

Overwhelming ink-production;

Foam-like consistency;

Overly thick ink;

Pigment in the ink;

Cap "clogging" (blockage, like having clogged nostrils but if it could kill you)

How does Morell deal with a Piglet who can't taste?

He's disappointed, obviously. But at the end of the day, it's more important to him that you're eating well, regardless of being able to taste things or not.

It is interesting to see you eat a dish most humans find the taste of repulsive though.

How does Morell deal with severe allergies?

Simple. He avoids them. Morell has no desire to trigger any severe shock or minor allergic reaction. He'll ask about your food allergies, and if you're difficult about it, he'll have Patches test you for a definitive list.

Even if your pool of safe food is extremely small, the chef will get crazy with dish presentation and other embezzlements in order to create artificial variety.

How does Morell deal with pregnant humans or kids?

They're returned to their estimated areas of extraction, with no memory of where they were prior.

Morell will never knowingly butcher a child or a pregnant woman. It's the job of suppliers to check before delivering anything to him. He can accidentally butcher a pregnant woman who isn't visibly gravid, which is upsetting to the chef. He'll discard the unexpected organic matter.

Would Morell or Shags take monster lovers?

Morell could try, it wouldn't work out. His fetish for humans is too tempting.

Shags would. However, he's still a humanfucker (as are all monsters here). He has no preference.

Shags with a inkling who self-harms for the same reasons?

It'll mostly spur his obsession further. There's some concern since you're unable to heal your body from scars and amputation the way he is.

He'd like to carve into you one day, make something beautiful on your body.

Shags with a moth partner

Possible. He does have an interest in all kinds of cryptids, and he is mildly lamp shaped.

Shags as a father

Soft-spoken. Has a tendency to be permissive and sometimes exposes his own child to things that are a little too macabre.

He wants to foment every creative impulse his own child has, and actually stops self-harming for the sake of not transmitting that to the kid.

He's extremely involved in his child's life, because his parents were emotionally absent from his.

The baby

Depends. Is he having a child with a human? With another monster?

They will certainly inherit dad's eccentric style. Maybe be a great artist or a critic. Maybe they'll speak quietly like him.

Baby shrooms and ink

Ink-producing shrooms typically start producing ink around early teenagehood, as a part of the puberty process- Where all kinds of changes take place. During this phase, they should be taught self-care regarding their ink, have some changes in wardrobe, and typically learn to study their own health through their ink.

[bewitchedarchive]

a little black cat.

sirius black x animal lover!reader, 736 wc

warnings: none!

a/n: i do think sirius would totally be willing to have a cat, but i thought this was a cute idea. also first time writing for sirius 😬 go easy on me

Sirius had only planned on a little nice quality time with you this evening. He had expected picking up a sweet treat with you from a patisserie around the corner from your flat, maybe fitting a little teasing and mischief in there, and then having a short stroll home. The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow across your path. A nice way to end his day. Peaceful. And most importantly, unaccompanied by any surprises. But of course, on the aforementioned walk, you had spotted a very small black kitten hidden in the bushes. And, just as expected, you had immediately halted the walk to try to adopt the poor thing.

You were already knelt down on the pavement, loving on it and murmuring compliments while simultaneously attempting to convince Sirius to take it home.

“C’mon, Sirius!” You pleaded with him. “He’s so cute.” You tugged slightly on his sleeve to get him to squat down next to you so he could get closer to the cat. It was a sad, almost pitiful-looking thing with its fur sticking out in wild directions and crumpled whiskers. Its ears and paws were too big for its minuscule body, and it was peering up at him with one of the best woebegone stare he had ever seen, second only to yours. After a few seconds, Sirius observed that it was surprisingly friendly, not really shying away from your light touches. Its tail was curling halfway around your wrist, showing you permission to continue petting.

Sirius let himself be yanked down by you until he was crouching right in front of the kitten. And, he couldn’t deny it was cute. But he couldn’t give in to you so easily. “I don’t know, darling…” He pulled his lips into a hesitant grimace. “Cats are terribly expensive.”

You turned to him with a horrified look on your face, gasping like he had just said the cruelest thing in the world. “But look! Isn’t that face worth it?!” Right on cue, the kitten head butted his knee, as if joining in with your plea. You widened your eyes meaningfully at him, encouraging him to indulge the poor animal. He tentatively lowered a hand to its head and started stroking it.

“Baby…” His tone was unsure.

“Sirius…” You mirrored him, giving him your best puppy- or, in this case, kitten- eyes, “We have to save him! It’s fate. We’ve been chosen,” you stressed the last word before continuing, “as cat parents,” Before he could interject you added, “Imagine having a little cat to take places and to dote on.” You arranged your lips in a pout.

“I dote on you plenty already, dove.” Sirius gently caressed your cheek with his thumb to prove his point. The gesture would’ve worked to melt your resolve in any other situation, he could have sworn, but you stayed resolute.

Though you leaned into the touch, you still rolled your eyes exasperatedly. “You realise you’re still petting him, right? He loves you.” In surprise, Sirius glanced back down the the kitten to find his hand had now begun to scratch its chin. “Plus, a little black cat would definitely go with your…” You opted not to finish your sentence and instead give Sirius a little wave at his all-black ensemble, complete with his ever-present leather jacket. You made a good point, he supposed.

He flicked his eyes back and forth between you and the cat before sighing, “Alright, darling. Let’s bring him home.” He quirked his mouth up, admiring you as you cheered. You immediately went back to cooing at the kitten, content in your success of your mission.

You swept it up in your arms and bundled it in tightly yet gently, making sure not to crush him with the force of your affection. You started excitedly chattering to your boyfriend about the future care of the animal. “We have to name him something really good. And tomorrow we need to get him a bed, and toys, and some cat food…” Sirius focused in on your face as you continued to talk. He studied the way the dappled evening light rested on the apple of your cheek as you smiled; you were glowing with more happiness than usual, giddy with the joy of the tiny creature you held. Yes, you had triumphed in convincing Sirius, but truth be told, he was never going to refuse you anyway.

[somethingsomethingcomic]

gay and stupid

[crossbackpoke-check]

the pics of morgan and joel are from travis sanheim's wedding this weekend!

^^^me experiencing the one-two knockout punch of “oh they WERE each other’s wedding date” followed by the realization that sanny finally got married 🥹😭 cheers indeed!!!

[exopelagic]

okay I severely misjudged spaghetti guy he’s actually just really cool

[moonsidesong]

fair ways into magical turnabout. hate nahyuta a lot more than i remembered