#love letters💌

[eternalsunshinesss]

youre the embodiment of sunshine and a real life angel☀️😌

just say you're in love with me already and put me out of my misery!! 😩

[luvdisease]

alice: return to madness, uncharted & the binding of isaac? :O

HI !!!!! same deal as last one oc rp

Alice: Return to Madness - How do you and your f/o(s)' clothing styles vary? Do they steal your clothes? Do you steal theirs?

Richard prefers to wear medieval-esque clothes, Quite fancy and a bit of a pain to mend whenever he brings them in. I personally prefer anything thats comfortable and easy enough to work in.

I can't imagine he'd have a need to steal any of my clothes, if he enjoys something I have so bad i'm happy to create a duplicate for him.

Well, as for if i've stolen any of his, I do not think that question matters so much. We can move on.

Uncharted - What is you and your f/o(s) dream vacation?

Anywhere would be perfect! I'd just be happy to come with him. If I absolutely had to choose I think i'd just stay home where we can be safe forever with nobody else.

The Binding of Isaac - How do you and your f/o(s) feel about horror?

I do enjoy more mystery focused horror but I don't tend to get scared often so I don't quite get the thrill of horror. Richard says he doesn't get scared but seems to be quite jumpy at times, I've had to knock on walls to make sure I don't startle him as he says i walk quietly.

Maybe we could check out the halloween rides this year, not sure if he'll agree its worth a shot.

Ah apologies i've rambled quite a bit, I quite like to talk about my saviour, Thank you for your questions.

[allthebettertobiteyouwith]

so so so happy and owned < 3

— 🧟

Hiii puppy <333

So so so happy to be your owner💕

You were such a good boy for me but you better get some sleep soon!!

[weisse--lilie]

💌

I'm thinking of you laying there on the bed of a dimly lit room, in your flirty little skirt just waiting for someone to take you.

I start slowly getting closer to you starring you down, letting you know just how bad I want you. You start to feel the tension in the room escalating and I can hear your breathing pattern changing. I’m now just next to you, I start softly running my hand up the inside of your leg, inner thigh all the way to your stomach. I pause, take a glimpse at you, I want to see how you’re reacting to my touch. We briefly lock eyes and that’s my signal, your insistant lustful gaze has betrayed you. You haven’t uttered a single word but your body has now made it clear, you’re enjoying this moment and you sure as hell don’t want this to stop.

So I pick up where I left at, I start to run my hand on your body once more reaching for your hips, I lean my head closer to yours, gaze at your face for awhile. I slowly run my other hand trough your hair, down your neck and shoulder. Your skin feels so soft. I decide to play with the strap of your bra for a while, trying to figure out if I should take it off just now, as I push your strap to the side of your shoulder. And in that moment, as I begin to undress you, you start to feel particularly vulnerable, the intimacy of the moment is very shooting, isn’t it.

As I make my way up your upper back with my hand, you start to blush, your cheeks are turning red and you are submerged by a wave of burning desire, and you probably haven’t even noticed but your hips instinctively moved closer to me.

I have you stand up for me as I begin to wonder just how to dispose of you.

Should I start by making my way up, slowly grazing the exterior of your of thighs with the back of my hand ?

Or perhaps I should start by standing firmly in front of you, pinning you up against the wall, staring you right in the eyes.

Yeah.. I like the sound of that.

So I get real close to you, you start to take a step back. I keeptrying to get closer and you match my pace, for every step forward I take you take one backwards. Our eyes are locked and you start to grin because you know what’s coming next, it’s almost like we’re dancing really. But now I have you cornered, your back’s against the wall. So I lean in real close to you, guide your arms above your head, let out a couple of warm heavy breathes onto your neck.

You have me seduced, I can barely contain myself. Having you there hands up against the wall, it’s a bliss but you realize there's no going back. It's just you and me baby girl, in that moment you become entirely mine.

I have you spread your legs open for me, just a little bit.

I’m taking my time with you, contemplating that beautiful body of yours.

You're eye candy to me, and I'd make sure you know that by the way I looked at you. Let you know how every single one of your curves draws me just a little bit closer to the edge.

..I’m thinking about just how hard it is for me to contain myself, but you're worth it, I want to take all the time in the world for you.

I take your cheek in the palm of my hand and slowly move my lips closer to yours, only to deny you of that kiss at the last moment and get close to your ear.

Whisper something along the lines of

"you know.. I'm really enjoying this. Knowing that you're mine to take. Having your body under my control, all of you, at the mercy of my touch. Yeah that's right, I want you to surrender your body to me, surrender to my touch, precious. »

Of course I'd have started to run my fingers around the string of your panties, playing around with them, teasing you.

…Should I push them aside and reach for the promised land like your body is begging me to do ? Or should I continue to tease you and just pull your panties upward just a bit, have them spread your lips open for me..?

[mattslolita]

matt turning his stuffed animals away before he fucks you 🙈🙈🙈

he would sooooo do thus omfg....

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

your lips clashes with matt's messily, as you pulled him in by the collar of his shirt — his body was pressed solidly against yours, clothed erection subtly grinding against your clothed pussy causing you to whine from the tension.

"need you, matt," you breath as you pull away from him slightly, biting down on his bottom lip.

matt's gaze on you turns lustful as he stares down at you, a smirk gracing his features as he lifts your shirt over your head hurriedly — suddenly his movements halt, and you watch him curiously as he takes his stuffed pug and turns his face the opposite way on his beside desk before he hovers back over you with a smirk.

"matt, the thing isn't real," you giggle, as his hands grip your hips whilst he slides your shorts down your body.

"can't let him see me fuck you senseless, baby," matt breathes, ridding himself of his own pants showcasing his fully erect cock in his boxers.

[pricesprincess]

Can you do one with the reader ovulating, not wanting to get off John? I love your writings!

18+ explicit smut + reader is ovulating

Your body was changing and you caught the subtle shifts of it. Tender breasts, scents have changed, and slight cramping. Also, you wanted to fuck John from the time you woke up to the time you slept.

You knew what it meant.

Ovulation week.

It was circled on the wall calendar that John walked by each morning and that man was a menace if anything who loved to tease his sweet little wife. So, that morning after a shared cup of coffee, he helped you dress, his fingers trailing up your arms with a deep chuckle.

"What are we doing, baby?" You asked with a slight pout as he kneeled in front of you to help slip your shoes on, his blue eyes locked onto your heated gaze with a lazy grin. John silently stood up and kissed you tenderly, but it had your pussy clenching around nothing.

Your husband was quiet as he guided you out of the house, his hand settled on your lower back, sometimes drifting down to your ass that he squeezed loving when you backed into his greedy palm.

John was a gentleman, always has been.

But during your Double O, which meant ovulation and orgasm week, as you call it, seeing John do the most mundane things had you sweating under your clothes like you spent all day in the sun.

His scent tripled when you got a whiff of it, and he was even more handsome, which seemed impossible but whenever you stared at him, all you could think about was drowning him in your cunt, letting him get you off until you couldn't speak or even think about anything.

He catered to you like he always did, and it made you all giggly, like a schoolgirl with her very first crush. You linked your arm with his when you both walked inside the mall. "Baby...are you getting a haircut?"

What an evil husband you have.

His hair was getting a bit shaggy and while you love it on him, you also love how short and cropped it usually is, but he made sure to make it long enough for you to pull on when he's eating you out.

John answered with a smile and nodded towards the hair salon right next to the nail salon next door. "I'm gettin' one and you can get your nails done all pretty so I can see them later wrapped around my cock." His vulgar whisper had your thighs clenched together.

He kissed your cheek and checked you into the salon, already having an appointment before he paid in advance with a tap before he left, kissing you again, which made your tummy flutter.

All the women in the shop gushed about your husband, but all you wanted was his dick however you could have it, inside your mouth, cunt. Hell, you wouldn't even care if he smacked you with it.

You settled in the chair and let your mind drift to what John would have planned tonight. He was a man who knew how to please a woman and you felt like the luckiest wife ever to have him as a husband. An ache bloomed in your gut as you wished they hurry.

As soon as your nails were done, you bid everyone a thank you and a smile with a wave before making a mad dash next door to run into John, your face pressed into his chest. "Watch where you're goin' darlin', could run into the big bad wolf." He chuckled, holding you.

You looked at him with a sultry smile. "Oh, sorry, sir! I didn't even see you there; I was thinking about my husband. You see, he is so sexy and good to me, I have trouble thinking about anything else." You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying.

"Oh? Well, you might need to tell me about your husband so I can replace him." John replied, making you laugh. He hooked his arm around your waist once you moved and guided you to his car.

Between his haircut and his scent, you found yourself in the backseat with your dress bunched around your hips as you sunk down on his fat cock, feeling him stretch your cunt to accommodate his girth.

John tucked his face in your tits, letting you use him as a human dildo. "Can't get enough of me, huh? S'okay darlin', use me." His words spurred you to create a nasty symphony of wet squelching and moans as he bared your breasts for him to play with.

You whined when he hit your sweet spot, turning your cunt into a dripping mess of slick and spit. Before you ended up in this predicament, you sucked him off while he fingered you.

It was only supposed to get you off until you made it home, but after the first orgasm, you wanted more of that and John.

With his cum smeared on your thighs and your panties tucked in his pocket, John drove him with your face in his lap, sucking off the mess you made, unable to get enough of him. When you got home, you pushed him on the couch and dry-humped him until you came.

That night during dinner, you sat perched in his lap, his cock nestled deep inside you as you both hand-fed each other dinner in the candlelit kitchen.

All the lights were off, bathing the house in darkness.

For dessert, John had you spread out on the table and his face between your legs, cleaning the mess this time.

In the morning, before he left, you woke him up with a blowjob that had his toes curling. During his shift, you would send him charged messages and pictures of the things you did around the house and you always made sure to give him a view of your naked body.

"What a bloody tease." John murmured, knowing his dick and fingers and mouth wouldn't get much of a break. But he didn't mind it one bit.

comments and reblogs are really appreciated. <3

[cookiekissers]

can we please get a buring spice x fragile reader, like they want to help and fight/hunt but physical can't because they are that fragile, simply bumbing into another cookie could cause them to crack!

Do Not Go Gently

[Burning Spice Cookie x Fragile Reader]

I was inspired and tried something a little different with this so I hope you like it! and Burning Spice redemption anyone? B)

The life of a Wild Spice was fraught with constant struggle and danger. If you were weak, you would be ground into dust, either by one of the other tribes or by the Great Destroyer himself. And you happened to be one of the weaker spices.

Delicate and fragile by nature, your main ingredient was parsley. The harsh desert winds of your homeland often left your leaves and dough brittle. The stronger Wild Spices almost always belittled you and your small tribe as you barely etched out an existence. You weren't tough and built with natural armour, like the Pepper Pangolins, or strong like the Saffron Buffaloes. But if there was one thing you were, it was tenacious.

When the Great Destroyer returned, you feared that your inherent frailness only spelled ruin for you and your tribe, soon to join the scattered remains of your ancestors. Despite the risks, you boldly joined the other Wild Spice leaders and offered your loyalty and service to Burning Spice Cookie.

He had looked over you and laughed, calling you weak and pathetic. As you knelt there, showing your sincere devotion, you thought it was all over for you. Still, Burning Spice miraculously passed over you and left you be. The Great Destroyer was not known to spare those he thought weak, so you could only imagine that he saw something in you that you hadn't. Since that moment, you were inspired by the Great Destroyer, not out of fear but admiration. You knew he didn't care for you. With a sweep of his hand, he could wipe your existence from this earth in seconds. But still, you fought hard and trained harder until your dough was cracked and crumbling to show that you had a right to continue living. Burning Spice Cookie had spared you. Your life had to mean something to him.

The little thing kneeling at his feet was pathetic. A Cookie so fragile that their dough cracked at the mildest of strikes was not worthy to be in his presence. And yet, instead of hiding from his inevitable fury, here you were. Burning Spice had to admit, you had guts. He didn't want to waste his time crumbling you himself when he knew you wouldn't put up a good fight. It would be far more entertaining to watch you struggle, only for you to fall to your unavoidable fate.

And yet...

That moment never came. Regardless of how grievous your wounds or the crumbling of your dough, you threw yourself back into battle again and again. Unafraid of the death that awaited you. Burning Spice Cookie found himself almost... fascinated by you.

You were so fragile, doomed to fail. And yet... you fought to cling a little longer to your short, pathetic life.

It reminded him of a time long past.

One day, after Burning Spice had enough of the annoying thoughts of you buzzing around his head, he decided to pay your tribe a visit. All the inhabitants of your tribe weren't as tough as you, which was somewhat of a disappointment. They scurried into their homes, terrified of him, or fell to their knees, grovelling at his feet for mercy. But you... you remained standing, like a resolute warrior, poised as if death were coming to claim you. You were unafraid. You had accepted it, but that did not mean you would go without a grand fight.

He approached you, ignoring the rest of your tribe, and you bowed your head in respect to the Great Destroyer. You didn't bow as deeply as you used to, but Burning Spice let it slide.

You had changed. Your eyes held a solemn understanding, and your dough was now riddled with scars, honourable rewards of fighting to see another day.

Burning Spice Cookie watched you, realizing he had no words. Why had curiosity brought him here to see you? He couldn't come up with an answer. His previous excuse of being amused by your antics had faded into something... else.

You broke the silence and invited Burning Spice Cookie into your humble home, and he accepted. Your tribe was astonished at their leader, who stood fearlessly in front of the Great Destroyer, and he had not razed their village to the ground in retaliation.

"Well, this is a surprise." Burning Spice Cookie mused. It was still surprising to him. Destruction was the end of all things, whether by his hand or not. But you stood in the face of it and fought it. Refusing to meet it on its terms.

"That I'm still here?" You replied bluntly, an amused smile on your face. Burning Spice Cookie would usually have felt excitement upon discovering a Cookie like you - someone who could ignite his passion and provide a worthy challenge now that you had grown stronger against all odds. However, that’s not how he felt at this moment. It wasn't even boredom. Instead, he felt the same solemness reflected in your eyes.

Burning Spice Cookie asked you to be his right hand. The request came so suddenly that it left you momentarily stunned. All the strife and gruelling work you had endured had finally paid off in a way you never could have imagined.

"Yes, I would be honored, my lord. Thank you." You said, quickly bowing your head deeply in gratitude.

Burning Spice Cookie knew that your luck was going to eventually run out and your fragile dough would crumble, slipping through his fingers like the sands of time. Like with all things, it was inevitable, regardless of how hard you fought to cling to your pitiful life.

But he would be there when it happened, he would watch you. He would burn your rage into his mind as you descended into the endless night, fighting and spitting for just one more day.

Once you joined your ancestors, he would remember you. Always.

[arabaka-archived]

SSTROKING LAIO’S HAIR WHILE HE SUCKS YOUR TITS?????? oh im barking

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸ nsfw. laios touden x afab! reader. tit sucking. breastfeeding (it's laios. what did you expect.)

YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS YOU HEARD ME!!!

His head on your lap, he has the perfect view. It doesn't matter if you're small breasted or big, he'll think you're the perfect size. He can lose himself in you every which way but there's something especially fulfilling about touching, massaging, sucking your tits.

You eyelashes flutter as his big hands grope and knead your flesh, flexing the skin towards his mouth until your nipple's but a breath away. He purses his lips gently around your sensitive button and you watch his worries just drift away, his eyelids lowering and throat rumbling with a groan of contentment.

"You're really good at this." You manage between whispered moans, not wanting to wake the others nearby. Your fingers twitch as your toes curl and you look to him for an anchor; you weave a tender touch through his blond locks as Laios thirstily circles your nipple with wet kisses.

As he sucks on your tit, Laios' mind wanders... Thinking about how soft your skin is... How sweet you are on his tongue... It's only natural he starts to wonder how your breastmilk would taste. This makes his cock shoot straight up, relief thwarted by his pajama pants so all you see at first is the thick bulge as it throbs painfully hard.

Knowing your lover like the back of your hand, you hum, "Only one way to find out what my milk would taste like..."

[stalkeddd]

Stalking? That's one way to word it, but I prefer calling it attentive. Like a good partner, I'm simply learning everything about you, my dear.

[immoral-stranger]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 // 𝐌𝐕𝟏

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒. 🪐 “I like to stick to walls. Observing conversations, lifting them when they fall.” – Foster the People, Fire Escape.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: There's a dinner party and reader is a chef, so a lot of talk about food. Reader is also very self-deprecating. Allusions to issues regarding mental health and self-worth, but it's not really the main story. It makes sense, I promise, I just don't know how to warn about it.

A/N: My sister requested this after we watched the movie Sommartider (very swedish), so there's a similar scene in that. I personally find this one very cute. ♡

The apartment smelled of butter and garlic, the scent clinging to the sun-warm kitchen, filled with light that spilled through the sheer linen curtains. It was small but charming, a snug little nest tucked into the hills of the French Riviera, not too far from Nice. You stood at the counter, hands damp from having peeled potatoes, a half-prepared gratin tray in front of you. It had been a gift from your parents, a fittingly named Marseille bleu Le Creuset roasting pan. You would’ve never bought it for yourself—too expensive—but as a gift, you’d been thankful to receive it. 

“Did you decant the wine like I told you?” Imogen’s voice drifted from the other room, where she was preening in front of the gilded mirror you’d picked up at a flea market. It wasn’t her style—too rustic, too worn—but she’d said it added “charm” to your place, always opting for a backhanded compliment instead of the truth. She hated your style because it was the opposite of hers. 

You didn’t look up from your work. “No, uhm—”

“Kinda busy,” she interrupted, breezing in. Imogen always moved like she was on a runway, even barefoot in her sister’s modest kitchen. Her hair was swept into a sleek bun, and she wore a silk blouse that you suspected cost more than your entire apartment deposit. Sponsored, most definitely. She paused to eye the tray in front of you. “What even is that?”

“The base to dauphinoise potatoes,” you said, flicking a glance at her. She didn’t care about the answer; she never did. Imogen asked questions to fill the air, not to gather information. You also suspected that she loved the sound of her own voice so much that she never felt the need to shut the fuck up. 

She wrinkled her nose, but it was half-hearted, like a habit she wasn’t willing to break. “I still can’t believe you do this out of pure enjoyment.”

You shrugged, lifting a knife to thinly slice another potato. “Everyone needs to eat, Imogen.”

“Yeah, that’s what Uber Eats is for,” she said breezily, perching on one of your barstools. “No need to go to culinary school.”

You turned to give her a pointed look, hand on your hip. “And who do you think works in the kitchens at the restaurants you order from?”

Imogen made a face, part exasperated and part amused, and waved you off. “You do not always have to poke holes in other people’s logic. It’s an unattractive trait.”

Before you could respond, the sharp trill of the doorbell cut through the room. Imogen’s eyes widened, and she hopped off the stool in a single fluid motion. “Oh god, that’s them—” She smoothed her blouse and gave herself a quick glance in the reflection of a hanging copper pot. “Do I look good?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but your voice softened in spite of yourself. “You always do. It’s your job.” 

As Imogen floated toward the door, a knot of tension twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t jealousy—it never had been. It was more complicated than that: a mix of frustration and yearning that you didn’t want to untangle. Imogen walked through life as though she owned the air around her, while you had spent most of yours holding your breath. 

She pulled the door open with a practiced flourish, stepping aside to let Daniel stroll in first. His confidence and laughter preceded him, a quick kiss placed on Imogen’s cheek, and she giggled in a way that made you want to hurl. 

Daniel moved with the kind of ease that made it impossible to tell if he was posing or simply existing. Former Formula 1 driver, now Imogen’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, who appeared far more interested in globetrotting and sponsorships than in anything truly meaningful with her. With a bit of self-distance, you actually really enjoyed Daniel’s presence. He was funny and kind, even though you had nothing in common. 

“Danny, always good to see you,” you said, managing a polite smile as he stepped into the kitchen, lifting your attention from the food preparations. 

“Whatever it is you’re cooking smells wonderful,” he replied, inhaling deeply. “This is Max,” Danny added, stepping aside to reveal the man behind him. 

Through a gap, you could spot Imogen in the entryway, observing your reaction and how you greeted the both of them. It was almost like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t embarrass yourself—or, worse—embarrass her. You, of course, knew who she had invited over for dinner. You’d had to sit through hours worth of gossip all the times you and Imogen caught up on each other’s lives. So, having two world-famous athletes stand in your kitchen wasn’t as surreal as it may sound. 

Max was taller than you’d expected, his broad shoulders and quiet presence making the doorway seem smaller. Clad in a simple black t-shirt, he seemed like any other guy your age. He looked relaxed but not indifferent, his gaze curious as he took in your modest apartment.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the rising amusement. “Danny, I don’t know if it’s funny or offensive that you think I don’t know who he is.” 

They both chuckled slightly at your words, and it was like you could see how tension released from Imogen’s shoulders, instantly becoming a couple centimeters shorter. 

“I would shake your hand, Max, but I have oil all over mine,” you said, holding up your slick fingers as evidence, before returning to the food, dealing with a marinated cut of meat. 

“Right,” Danny said, clapping Max on the shoulder and steering him further into the room. “She’s got this whole culinary genius thing going on, doesn’t she? Always smells like a five-star restaurant in here.”

“Not exactly,” you said, though the compliment made your cheeks feel warm. You glanced up at Max, who was still watching you, his smile small but genuine.

“Well, don’t let us interrupt your masterpiece,” Imogen said airily. “We’ll stay out of your way. You’ve got this under control, right?”

You only nodded, turning back to the food. It wasn’t until you heard Imogen’s laughter trailing into the living room that you allowed yourself to relax. There was a faint comfort in being in your element, even if you weren’t entirely alone.

In the background, you heard them talk as Imogen poured up glasses of wine for everyone. The wine she had forgotten to decant—that you knew needed air to taste decent. You heard her talk about the wine like it was something special. You, however, knew that she had stolen all of her knowledge from when she shot an ad for a winery somewhere in South Africa, and it didn’t particularly look like either Max or Danny cared that much. Ironic, for someone who had their own wine company, but you also got tired of hearing Imogen talk about things she didn’t really care enough about to research but talked about anyway to seem interesting. 

As she poured the fourth and final glass, you saw Max pick up two of them in your periphery. You tried to not visibly tense up as you heard his steps approach across your creaking wooden floors. He set both the glasses down on your kitchen island with a careful clink. 

With a wordless nod, you thanked him, picking one of the glasses up and swiveling the red liquid around to aerate it. 

Max lingered near the counter, his hands tucked into his pockets as he studied the array of ingredients you had spread out around you. “Is that you?” he asked, nodding toward a framed photo on the wall. 

It was one of the few remnants of your short-lived modeling career—an editorial shot of you, disturbingly close up, showing skin texture and flyaway hairs, vivid watercolour-like makeup in patches around your face and neck. You didn’t even look like yourself in it, which maybe was why it was the only photo of yourself you could bear seeing every day as you spent time in your kitchen. 

“Totally narcissistic, I know,” you snorted, keeping your eyes on the frying pan sizzling on the stove. 

“No, uhm, I didn’t mean it like that.” Max’s tone softened. “I think it looks cool. You must model too then?” 

“Nope.” You shook your head, glancing up at him, surprised by his sincerity. “I mean, I tried to, but I quit a while ago and went to culinary school.”

“That explains all this.” Max said, gesturing to the kitchen.

“I may have gone overboard,” you admitted, laughing softly. 

Imogen, perched on the edge of the sofa like a cat surveying her domain, twirled a lock of her hair idly before cutting in smoothly. “Is she boring you with her food talk, Max?” Her voice had that lilting quality you recognized well—equal parts teasing and dismissive, designed to simultaneously charm and belittle.

You stiffened instinctively, your movements freezing, spatula scraping the bottom of the pan. 

Max, however, straightened slightly, his casual stance shifting. “Not at all,” he replied, his tone easy but resolute, as if dismissing her suggestion entirely. Then he turned toward you. “Actually…” He hesitated, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I help with anything?”

“Oh, probably not,” you said, trying to recover from sounding too surprised. “Imogen always says that I’m like a dictator in the kitchen and that my recipes are unreadable.” 

Max stepped closer, peering down at your notebook with recipes, pages filled with messy handwriting, arrows, and scratchy diagrams. “No, I get it. It’s like a mind map. Makes it easier to see the process,” he said after a moment. “Even if I don’t know what half of these things mean. What even is… a wild turkey?” 

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised that he could make sense of your ramblings. Looking over, you saw his finger point to one ingredient. You let out an unguarded laugh, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. “It’s bourbon, for the marinade,” you explained. “Does this look like turkey meat to you?”

The meat sizzling in the frying pan was obviously some cut of beef, to judge by the colour. You didn’t need to be a culinary expert to know that. 

“No,” Max admitted with a grin. “And it would be weird to measure meat in tablespoons.” 

Your lips quirked upward, and you reached for a pear from the fruit bowl beside you, along with a cutting board and a little knife. You were hesitant to give him one of your good knives, worried he’d cut himself the first thing he did. It was quite common for people to do when they were unfamiliar with the sharpness a chef’s knife could have. 

“I guess you can chop that pear in little cubes, if you want to help.” 

Max took the pear from you, turning it over in his hands as if he were inspecting some foreign object. “A pear?” 

“It’s for the salad,” you explained, already turning back to your own task. 

“You can put pear in a salad?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve eaten a pear since I was about seven.” 

You arched a brow, glancing at him over your shoulder to see that he was fully sincere. With swift movements, you took the knife and cut a slice of the pear before dipping it into a vinaigrette you’d already prepared. 

“Try it, for science,” you said, holding it up for him to taste. 

Max hesitated before taking a small bite, his brow furrowing slightly as he chewed. Then he nodded, his expression lightening. “Huh, you know what you’re doing.” 

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you dismissed his comment, turning to look at the stove again. 

Max chuckled in response, shaking his head. He then stepped closer to the counter as he grabbed a knife. His movements were unpracticed but deliberate, the pear wobbling slightly as he began chopping it into uneven pieces. You felt the familiar itch of not being in control, almost taking over your own movements. But, you stopped thinking for a moment. Dinner wouldn’t be ruined just because the pear wasn’t in perfect cubes. And Max was actually putting in effort, biting down on his tongue, a line forming between his brows as he focused.

“Are you always this much of a perfectionist,” you asked, viewing his motions, “or are you just showing off in front of me?” 

“I’ve never put this much brain capacity into anything before,” Max joked, adding a laugh as he examined one of the misshapen pear cubes. 

For a moment, the kitchen fell into an easy rhythm. Imogen and Danny’s laughter floated in from the other room, a sharp contrast to the quiet concentration shared between you and Max. You didn’t usually let anyone help in the kitchen—it was your sanctuary, your domain—but for some reason, with Max fumbling his way through chopping fruit and throwing curious questions your way, it didn’t feel like an intrusion. 

When the food was done, the four of you gathered around your dining table, decorated with pottery and plates that you had collected throughout the years. Nothing matched, just like you preferred it. The golden hour crept through the windows as the room filled with light from the sun and flickering candles. 

And the dinner went fine, just like it always did, even though you couldn’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario of accidentally poisoning someone, or forgetting an allergy, maybe dropping the main dish right on the floor. Your sister and her company ate like they enjoyed it at least. The added blur of wine helping with the atmosphere. 

You were always the most quiet one in group settings, only speaking when spoken to, really. But you liked it that way. The stories Max and Daniel could tell from their lives were vastly more interesting than anything you had experienced anyway. Imogen too lived a more eventful life with fashion weeks and world travelling. Everyone seemed to like it that way too, the scrape of forks against plates punctuating Danny’s latest story. 

“…and when I finally got the bloody thing out of the house, the neighbour’s dog chased it straight back in,” Danny concluded, laughing as he leaned back in his chair. Imogen giggled, dabbing her lips with a napkin in that poised way of hers.

Max chuckled but shifted his gaze to you, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So, how did you end up going from modeling to cooking?” He asked, after Danny was done telling the detailed story about a snake entering his house back home in Australia. 

You didn’t realise for how long you’d been quiet until you were now forced to speak, your voice sounding foreign to even your own ears. Setting your fork down, you answered, “I gave myself one last runway season to see if I could support myself. I walked three shows, while Imogen walked like thirty.”

“Thirty-two,” Imogen corrected, not missing a beat. She reached for her wine glass, taking a delicate sip before adding, “I’ll always believe you could’ve done it if you didn’t give up so easily.” Her tone was light but pointed. 

Your lips tightened. “I didn’t give up, Imogen—I moved on.” 

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” she said with a faint shrug. “You never see yourself as anything special, always such a plain Jane.” 

The words settled heavily in the air, their weight pressing against your chest. For a brief moment, the table fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of cutlery against porcelain. You forced yourself to maintain an even expression as you reached for your glass of water. 

“It’s kind of hard to when you’re having dinner with three child prodigies,” you answered, letting out a pathetic laugh to conceal your emotions. 

For someone who was so afraid of you embarrassing her, Imogen really had no issue with her own words causing embarrassment for others. 

Max frowned slightly, his hands stilling as he turned toward you. “I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else—discomfort, perhaps.

“Yeah, right,” Danny said, nudging Max with an elbow. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, mate. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Max smiled faintly but didn’t reply. There was a softness in his expression that made your stomach twist, though you quickly moved your gaze to look at your plate; the uneven shapes of pear in the salad were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 

The conversation shifted, as it always did with Imogen, back to her. Something about a designer or a photographer saying she was the best model to work with. Something about a socialite event where ridiculous things had happened. Ridiculous meaning stupidly expensive or over the top. You wanted to laugh, knowing that they most likely didn’t use the real thing for the crazy champagne fountains she talked about, or that the sturgeon caviar they had served was a cheap knock-off, because no chef in their right mind would use the amount she mentioned. 

You zoned out as she talked, only starting to pay attention again when the conversation drifted towards what they were doing tonight and that they might need to call a cab soon. 

“Oh, where are you going?” you asked, unsure if you actually cared. 

“A sponsored event on a yacht in the marina. You know the jewelry company I did an ad for?” she replied casually, her tone almost bored.

You nodded, though the familiar ache of exclusion began to settle in your chest. You knew the exact advert she was referring to, not because you cared, but because those freaking pictures of her were everywhere. In stores, on every social media app, on digital billboards across multiple cities of the French Riviera—hell, you’d even seen it at a bus stop. 

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to come,” she added. The statement wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same. “You never do.” 

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass as you gave a small nod, keeping your face neutral. “No, I guess you’re right.” 

Max hesitated, glancing between you and Imogen. “I mean, she could come if she wanted to, right?”

“Yeah,” Imogen said, tilting her head as though the idea had never occurred to her. “I guess I could make a call to get you on the list.” 

“Don’t bother, you know it’s not my scene anyway,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you intended.

Danny grinned, leaning back in his chair. “A wild night for her is solving a crossword puzzle with a pen you can’t erase.” 

“Or,” Imogen added with a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief, “when she’s brave enough, watching an episode of Criminal Minds instead of Friends like she usually does.”

Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls with the kind of ease you’d never quite mastered. It wasn’t malicious—at least not intentionally—but it still left a weight in your chest, heavy and familiar.

You kept your head down, pushing the last bit of salad around your plate, and told yourself you didn’t care. This was the dynamic, after all. Imogen had always been the star of the show, and Danny loved playing her supporting act. You had other friends who understood you better, who you had more in common with. Max, though—Max had been a surprise. And even now, as their laughter rang on, you caught him glancing at you from across the table, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

The dinner ended not long after. They had places to be, important people to talk to—while you had sitcoms to watch and dishes to take care of. You were happy to see Imogen every once in a while when she and Danny were both in Monaco, and you loved cooking for people, no matter who they were. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little happy knowing that Imogen was busy with work all throughout the upcoming month. 

As they filtered out, their voices trailing off into the warm Riviera night, the apartment felt suddenly too quiet. Locking the door after them, you slid down onto the floor, sitting with your knees tucked up towards your body, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hands, not caring if mascara crumbled all over your face. You felt empty, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The half-drunk bottle of wine on the kitchen counter looked temping as you considered finishing it yourself. 

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Max trailed behind Danny and Imogen as they strolled toward the cab waiting just down the street. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the sea, and the stars twinkled faintly above the rooftops.

Danny was cracking a joke, and Imogen’s laughter rang out like a bell, but Max barely registered it. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his mind somewhere else entirely—back upstairs, at the table, watching you push your food around with that faint, detached smile.

He slowed his steps, his feet dragging. The idea of the yacht party, the glitz and endless small talk, suddenly felt suffocating. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Max hated events like that. Everyone knew that. And while it was nice to catch up with Danny since they didn’t see much of each other nowadays, he found Imogen insufferable. He could play padel with Danny tomorrow if he wanted to talk more with him. Before he could think better of it, Max stopped altogether.

“Hey,” he called after them, making Danny and Imogen turn around.

“What’s up?” Danny asked, his brow furrowing.

Max hesitated, then gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I think I forgot my phone. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Imogen gave him a bemused smile, her head tilting slightly. “You sure? It’s not like we can wait forever.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, already stepping back. He waved them off. “Have fun.”

He turned before he could see their expressions and made his way back to the building.

The walk up the stairs felt oddly daunting now, each step heavier than the last, as though the weight of his own indecision was pulling him back. The soft hum of the building at night—the faint creak of pipes, the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors—seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. Max reached your door and hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly near the wood.

What was he even going to say? He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but this felt different. He didn’t want to overstep. What if you didn’t want company? The evening had already been a mixed bag of awkward moments, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse.

Max sighed, his arm lowering slightly, just about ready to turn back when he heard your voice from the other side of the door.

“I miss you too, like craaazy,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough through the door. Max froze, his curiosity getting the better of him. You sounded close, as though you were standing right by the door. Picking up the pieces, he figured you were talking to someone over the phone. 

“Imogen and Daniel came over for dinner earlier, and he brought a friend of his, and it was the most awkward thing ever,” you spoke again. 

Max frowned slightly. He was the friend, of course. While he’d sensed some discomfort during the evening, particularly whenever the conversation turned toward you, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Who would you be talking to like that anyway, debriefing something that had just happened? Did you have… a boyfriend? 

“Mum,” you added, your voice cutting through his doubt, “of course it was a boy.”

He relaxed a fraction, leaning slightly closer to the door without realizing it.

“A cute one, too,” you admitted. 

Max blinked, warmth creeping into his face. A cute boy. That was a twist he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t help but grin, his chest lifting slightly at the thought. And you definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.

“You don’t have to ask if I bottled it. You already know I did,” you said after a brief pause, your voice quieter now. “I’m not like Imogen. I don’t think I’ll ever learn to be that easygoing.” 

Max was back to frowning, this time for a different reason. He didn’t like the sound of that. He wanted to knock, to interrupt, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you,” you said, your tone softening into affection as you ended the call. “Tell Dad I said hi. Buh-bye.”

Max barely gave himself a moment to think before he raised his hand and knocked. There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if you’d heard, and then your voice came through the door. 

“Did you forget something?”

By the sound of your voice, he could tell that you were expecting it to be Imogen coming back for something. Not him. 

Max smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he said, the words coming out more confidently than he expected. “I think I did.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then he heard rustling from behind the door, almost as if you’d stumbled to reach it. The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing you with wide, startled eyes. You looked more tired than you had before, makeup and clothes a bit askew. He assumed Imogen had something to do with how polished you’d looked at the beginning of the evening. 

“Max?” you asked, your voice pitched slightly higher in surprise.

He cleared his throat, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was wondering…” he started, shifting his weight but keeping his tone light, “if maybe, I could stay here and be boring with you?” 

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, though the words sounded stupid the moment they left his lips. He half-expected you to laugh, but instead, you blinked at him, your surprise melting into something softer.

“Uhm, yeah,” you said, stepping back to let him in. “Sure.”

Max stepped inside, and for the second time that night, he was struck by how inviting your apartment felt. The uneven warmth of the terracotta tiles beneath his feet, the mismatched chairs around the small dining table, and the array of plants lining the windowsill. It was nothing like he was used to, yet it felt like the picture-perfect definition of the word home.

Moving into the kitchen, his eyes landed on something on the counter—a tray of something, its surface dusted with cocoa powder.

“You made dessert?” he asked, tilting his head toward it.

“Yeah,” you said, shutting the door behind him, smoothing out your shirt with your hands. “I made tiramisu. Want some?”

Max didn’t hesitate. Moments later, he was seated on your sofa with a fork in hand, his first bite of the tiramisu silencing any lingering awkwardness. “Fuck me, this is like the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You laughed, a soft, almost shy sound that Max couldn’t help but find adorable. You really couldn’t handle compliments well, and Max was going to use that to his advantage to make you wonderfully uncomfortable. “And you were going to have all this dessert for yourself instead of going out with us?” he asked, setting his fork down briefly to give you a look of mock betrayal.

“Well,” you said with a small shrug, sitting down beside him with your own plate of dessert. “I wasn’t really invited in the first place.”

Max frowned. “That’s not fair. They should’ve—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s not my scene anyway.”

Max studied you for a moment, his fork hovering over the dish. You were the opposite of so many people that he knew. And so similar to himself that it was almost scary to him. 

Tucking up your legs under your body, you made yourself comfortable on the sofa before you continued talking. “I tend to stick to the walls in places like that anyway. Just observing conversations, trying but failing to lift them when they fall.” 

“Do you also feel like you’ve got a foot in your mouth whenever you open it?” he wondered honestly. 

“Exactly. Always putting my foot in my mouth,” you replied with a chuckle. 

“Sounds impressive to me,” he joked with a grin. “I’m not that agile.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You were the one to bring it up.” 

For a moment, the apartment settled into a quiet hum, the faint sounds of the outside world barely audible through the walls. Max leaned forward, setting his plate down on your coffee table. The TV was noticeably black in front of the two of you.

“So,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “what is it tonight? A crime show or… what was the other thing?”

“Friends,” you replied, reading in his reaction. “You’ve never seen Friends?”

Max’s brows lifted. “Not really. Maybe bits and pieces, but I couldn’t tell you much about it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, your tone equal parts horror and humor as your eyes widened dramatically. “You have a lot to learn.”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything I need to know.”

You smiled, a real one that softened your whole face. You picked up the remote, turning on the pilot episode. Max wasn’t really paying attention, but he liked how certain funny things made you audibly laugh. The more you watched and the more tiramisu you ate—the more the comfortable feeling spread like a fire through your living room, silently burning as he placed an arm around you and shared your blanket. 

This wasn’t where he’d thought he’d end up as he had entered your apartment the first time tonight, but now, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡

౨ৎ [ main masterlist . taglist . other love letters ]

Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send @freyathehuntress

[eternalsunshinesss]

Have you read the syndicater yet? Did you like it? I'm very conflicted about it tbh

Ooo hi! I actually got an arc of it, I wasn't a fan of it all in all. Spoilers in the undercut!

Okay now that it's just us! 😂 It has to be my least favorite book in the series and the dark verse is on of my favorite series of all time. I personally found a lot of issues with the book, like Tristan in the syndicater is not the same tristian from the other books!!! I refuse to believe it! Like morana was kidnapped and he was calm? Make it make sense. IT DOESNT.

I think it was just another dainn book and that's not a bad thing! (He's my #1 guy from the series). So like I didn't mind, but the other books lead up or build up to this big take down of the syndicate and we finally get the book and the only person who needed to be present was dainn? Not to mention NONE (except Dante) say I love you regularly! It's fucked! Like after everything morana and Tristan have dealt with, been through, this is what we got left with? NOT EVEN ON THEIR WEDDING DAY DID THAT MAN SAY I LOVE YOU!! it's sick behavior and that's not my Tristan Caine.

I know there's a lot of discourse when it comes to Runyx about the book and everything but I would like to just say that you can not like a book and give it an honest review without attacking the author or sending them shitty things because you didn't like a book, you know? They are still a human being and they deserve that respect that any one of us would expect if roles were reversed. I also don't believe it's as bad or horrible as some of the reviews say it is. Like was it great? No. But it wasn't horrific either. There were still parts of the book I enjoyed and I love the characters dearly so seeing any glimpse of them was such a treat. With that being said, I think Runyx mislead us into this book on multiple occasions, with saying it was their longest book, with posting snippets and scene teasers all for it to never be in the final copy of the book, it felt incredibly rushed and wasn't THAT long either. It felt like a different book and universe completely compared to the other books in the series so I didn't like it! I haven't even bought the physical copy yet because it just makes me angry to look at sksjsksk.

When you finished or decide how you feel please come back and tell me!✨

[luvdisease]

you are so hatsune miku “world is mine” coded to me . that’s all

-aya (softskiesahead)

IVE WON.

[allthebettertobiteyouwith]

God, scrolling through your blog before I have stuff to do was not a smart choice. Now i’m just too horny to function 😂

-🪐

Sorry for the hit to your productivity but hope you enjoy yourself later khfdkgk

Yea, blame my pup for all the new posts cause I've been going insane

[morriemonnie]

HELLOOOO SURPRISE !! i forgot to post this here but ... !! i'm working on a new fruitcake fic !! and i had already published chapter 1 yesterday ... so come take a look if you'd like :9 !

🌻 link to chapter 1 | https://archiveofourown.org/works/65499649/chapters/168689377#workskin

[mead-iocre]

It has only just clocked in my brain that spoiled!reader would've been involved in all of the Champions league celebrations

She must have been crying her eyes out watching her girl accomplish her dream 🥹

yessss.

that girl would be sobbing in the stands-- no mascara running down her face because she obviously had her makeup professionally done. waterproof mascara and everything.

this would be like one of the few games where spoiled!reader was locked in from kick off to the final whistle. vogue magazine was shoved into the crevasse of her seat, crinkled and unread.

she'd have a 'williamson' home kit, custom embroidered with pink flowers because unfortunately there is no pink kit this year (boooo!) so she had to make do with some customisation

she and brat!reader probably texted each other before the game to wish each other 'good luck'. and she would send brat!reader and alexia a hugeee bouquet of flowers the morning after with a handwritten note.

she would post 3 posts of leah on her main ig-- lowkey ruining her cutesy, pink ig theme but she doesn't care. she has to celebrate her girl

during the afterparty she would lean towards leah and whisper "maybe they could do a rose gold trophy next time? so it could match our decor at home?" and leah would just smile and cuddle her closer. her girl in her lap, wearing her new medal around her neck.

and before anyone else asks-- yes, i WILL be writing something for both spoiled!reader and brat!reader during the champions league final. i just want it to be perfect so im taking my time with it. hope yall don't mind x

[mattslolita]

꒰ dealer!chris sturniolo ꒱ ⟡ headcanons !

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

꒰ SFW! ꒱

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ have met bambi at some house party — you was a friend of matt's, so he was only somewhat aware of your existence; real sweet and innocent, you don't know the first thing about any drugs. you're in the bathroom trying to escape the noisy atmosphere around yourself, when chris stumbles in on you, a joint hanging lazily at the edge of his lips.

"woah, can you knock next time?!"

"m'sorry didn't know anyone was in here...hey what you doin' in here, anyway? s'your friends at?"

"matt's downstairs talking to some girl, i don't know-"

"matt? you know my brother? wait, aht, i got it, know who you are, now...y'eyes, got like a uh, bambi thing goin' on, y'know? gonna call you bambi, yeah?"

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ never let bambi touch any drugs — he's dead set on making sure you prolong the innocence about you in that aspect.

"not even one hit? c'mon chris-"

"y'know the rules bambi, s'don't even try it. y'not takin' no hits of shit."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ chris keeps pink rolling papers, because bambi likes the color and it reminds him of your pink ribbons you wear in your ponytails.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ have a specific playlist for when he takes bambi on deals with him — he's got dominic fike and marina playing throughout the car as you hum contently.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ have a glove compartment full of lollies and other sweets for when you're on deals with him. the sight of bambi's lips carelessly wrapped around a cherry lolly has his mind whirling.

"got any suckers for me today?"

"y'know where to find em', doll."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ spoil bambi all the time — he's buying you clothes, perfumes, and any little thing that reminds him of you.

"this top is cute, but i don't-"

"yeah, put it in the basket."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ not have a label on your relationship — bambi's a little naive and thinks might call you his, but he's not trying to label what you have going on any time soon.

"yo, isn't she your girlfriend? she's always with you."

"girlfriend? s'not my girlfriend, nah...she's my girl though, y'get me? not datin' or no shit, jus' my girl..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ always have bambi sat on his lap at parties — his hand drums in the innermost flesh of your thigh as he massages you, whilst the other hand diligently distributes to the awaiting palms of people.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ mad dog the fuck out of anyone who looks at bambi the wrong way — especially when you takes you on deals, he's seething with anger when a customer gets particularly too close to you.

"nice to see you, sweetheart, hopin' i'll see you more-"

"get the fuck away from her man, or i'm knockin' ya ass out where you stand."

"chris, seriously?"

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ send bambi random fit checks + snaps to keep you updated when you aren't with each other. likewise, he makes you send the same back so he can keep track of where you are when he's not with you.

"new shirt, you like it?"

"it looks so good on you, baby!" ( he'd never admit baby drives him wild. )

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ be affectionate to bambi in the most random ways — he's either got his arm slung around her, massaging her shoulder or he's got your legs resting atop of his own, massaging those whilst you scroll on your phone.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ always be kissing on bambi — forehead, cheek, arms, legs, anywhere he sees fit, really.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ make bambi wear his clothes when you stay the night at his place — he'll never admit that he loves the idea of having you in them, yet he can't resist the urge to smile when you're giggling sweetly about wearing them.

"i love this jersey! can i keep it baby, please?"

"y'know what, go head' sweetheart. looks good on you..."

꒰ NSFW! ꒱

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ be extremely possessive in bed, especially if you're batting your eyelashes a little too much at a customer.

"he could never fuck you like this doll, could he?"

"f-fuck, no chris..."

"who's fuckin' pussy is this, huh? tell me who you fuckin' belong to."

"y-you, yours, fuck!"

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ love love love to give bambi backshots — you're at a party and he's horny? he's taking you upstairs to the bathroom, bending you over the sink.

"such a good fuckin' girl, takin' my cock like this..."

"look at yourself in the mirror while i fuck you, sweet girl..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ finger bambi in the passenger seat if you're getting too whiny and can't wait.

"please chris, need to feel you inside me..."

"so fuckin' impatient bambi, jus' can't wait? s'all you get, my fingers...make a mess on em' c'mon angel..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ definitely have a breeding kink — though, he knows damn well the idea of bambi getting pregnant scares him, so he keeps you with birth control.

"fuck, such a tight pussy...gon' make you a mama, yeah? wan' have my babies don't you, ma?"

"gonna look so pretty carryin' our fuckin' kids, fuck..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ love high sex with you — he's lazily thrusting up into you while you ride him, head thrown back in pure ecstasy, or

"ridin' me so well ma, look so pretty on top of me like this..."

✦ his lidded eyes watch in anticipation as you're down below on your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes while you suck him off.

"gah, shit mama, makin' me feel so good...keep fuckin' goin' thas my good girl..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ would love doggy — when you wear those short shorts around him, all he can think about is having your ass up in the air while he's pounding into you like there's no tomorrow.

✦ love missionary, too — it's a more intimate position, but he can't help wanting to see your fucked out expression while he's deep inside you, watching your ever changing expression while you feel him deep inside of you.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ be a little bad at aftercare at first, but he's slowly getting the hang of it the more time he spends with you — he's cleaning you up and massaging you after you guys finish, and ordering food for the both of you whilst he smokes a joint for himself.

( lilly's corner 💌 )

dealer!chris are my roots guys, i'm gonna start writing for him again. dealer!chris & bambi!reader are my literal babies & i hope you guys enjoy them! 💌

@muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @guccifrog @fawnchives @cottoncandyswisherz