#red thread ON ITS WAY

[pastafossa]

I BOUGHT NEW FUCKING FOUNDATION AND SHIT BECAUSE I’M GOING TO THE CON TO SEE CHARLIE AND I REALIZED I LOST MY OLD FOUNDATION STUFF IN THE FIBERGLASS INCIDENT

NEW MAKEUP

NEW MAKEUP TO SEE CHARLIE

ALSO DID I MENTION I GOT RED LED LIGHTS FOR MY CROCHETED RED THREAD THAT I WANT HIM TO HOLD WITH ME, IT SHOULD MAKE THE THREAD FUCKING GLOW LIKE IN THE FIC YA’LL

[98chao]

truly i love all of you and i'm so grateful for all the support i get on my vanilla milkshake posts here because i've just seen the way people talk about vanilla milkshake and mysticao on twitter and its genuinely taken 50 years off my life. now i've been reminded as to why i should never join the crk fandom on twitter

[jennyfromthebes]

no okay so in Jenny From Thebes, the song Only One Way references Distant Stations off All Hail West Texas, which is a song about a person missing someone who was in a way a mentor figure to them and someone they loved in some way who symbolised safety, and we know that people who have needed help are the most likely to then later offer help to others; thus I believe that rather than Distant Stations being someone else talking about Jenny, it's Jenny talking about someone who was that for her, before she was the person we know and love in JfT. and in Cleaning Crew, Jenny references Portland as a place that's significant to her/that she has some tie to, maybe as a place that she used to live and/or where someone who's important to her lives? the album Transcendental Youth is also directly tied both to Portland and to Jenny, an album about people who "madly, stupidly, blessedly, won't stop surviving", an album that's very dark and depressing but bookended by songs about how you have to stay alive. the album opener, Amy aka Spent Gladiator 1, has the line "people might laugh at your tattoos/when they do, get new ones in completely garish hues" which can be seen as a parallel to Fresh Tattoo, and "make up magic spells/we wear them like protective shells" which can be seen as a parallel to Murder at the 18th Street Garage. I don't actually think that either of those (or really any of this) means anything but they're a fun connection. circling back to Portland, Jenny knows someone there, yeah? I think that the person she knows in Portland is the person who helped her when she needed it and that person is Amy. no wait why are you walking away I have more to say about this

[crystal-verse]

that promised guide on how i draw g'raha's face, feat. notes in the upper right corner and my own little specbio/au way of drawing him in the lower left

(shoutout to @fell-court for providing the reference screenshots!)

[orbiyoo]

i havent posted about it since halloween because i literally havent worked on it since halloween but the clown is going well ^_^

[disastersteps]

Do You Have Any Idea What I Have To Do? ...Go There And Do What Others Wouldn't Fucking Dare!

[vastiitas]

last ooc post of the night, but cole also used to carry a ojo de dios, or tsikuri, in his early years of travel. despite his dispossession to religion at this pt in time, it was a gift from another kid at the orphan homes before he leaves for good. he adds to the woven yarn over time after stealing his first horse, maintaining it now and then in the quiet hours. I think he still posseses it during his years in Deadlo.ck, yarn by then softened by wear and age.

[stewyhosseini-bf]

one thing I will say that I kind of miss about the previous seasons is how the episodes used to feel a bit more self-contained, like their own little movies, which I'm kind of missing a bit in s4. lucy prebble at one point in the succession podcast described it as them having a sitcom-like feel to them, because each episode is built around one specific event; and while that's definitely still there in season 4, the way each episode does truly pick up almost exactly where the previous one left off time-wise, and the way that Logan's death and the children's grief is the red-thread that closely connects the episodes, kind of makes it feel like one long movie rather then 10 separate episodes. which is interesting and makes sense considering the focus of the season is supposed to be the children dealing with logan's death and consequent absence, and it's puts a slight spin on the formula they've used for 3 seasons and I think they've done that really well - so it isn't even a critique on my part, but I personally still really loved and kinda miss the way the episodes each felt more like their own thing, previously, ig

[yuridovewing]

Imagine if in 2007 or so, some Pokemon Anime writer was answering a bunch of shotfire questions on twitter or facebook or whatever. And they get asked “Hey, who’s related to who in the Pokemon anime? Anyone we don’t know about yet?” And this writer has not revisited the original saga in years, they’re tired and do not care at all, and they just write “Eh Ash’s Mom and Misty’s Mom are sisters and everyone in the show knows this” on a whim. Completely ignoring how that makes absolutely no sense in the OS canon, Ash and Misty don’t know each other and the show actively shipped them, and this take is so stupid that the writer basically immediately takes it back and it’s never implied in any official source, nevermind the actual show, that they were related. But for some reason, the fandom COMPLETELY accepted this take as cold hard canon. A writer had said it, so now it’s gospel. People are arguing over the ship now. If you point out that this is complete and utter bullshit in the actual canon, you are now an incest apologist. Despite this having clearly been a mistake and subsequently ignored for years, everyone is adamant that this has to be the case. That would be stupid, right?

That’s what a lot of WC discourse feels like to me

[thedreadvampy]

goddddd the Kaatje plotline is so CRUNCHY I am OBSESSED and INTRIGUED

also. and this is a purely aesthetic observation. the artwork of the church is just. stunning. like the ATMOSPHERE that scenery produces. chef kiss. god. amazing.

(only played for 8 hours today I'm VERY RESPONSIBLE)

[skrillien]

listening to my middle school playlist to get inspiration vs getting fukcing hit with the hamilton beam

[paarksunghoon]

DEEP HONEY | SUNGHOON

SUMMARY: the last thing you want to do is interrupt sunghoon’s time with his friends, but your doting boyfriend has always said he’ll be there whenever you need him. when a shift at work leaves you hanging by a thread, he and his friends are there to patch your soul back up.

NOTES: felt some type of way and naturally i need a hug from sunghoon. best i can do is write about it.

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.6K

WARNINGS: angst, typical rough day stuff and typos, probably.

MASTERLIST

***

Your car comes to a complete halt when you situate yourself on the curb of Lee Heeseung’s apartment. The rumble of the pavement beneath your tires ceases to amplify the slight movement that naturally shakes your car seats and you sit in the driver’s side like you’re a zombie.

The muggy atmosphere from the heat attempting to displace the freezing air makes your skin feel sticky and gross as you turn your engine off. The overhead lights temporarily blind you as you stare ahead into the dark night and feel the tension building up in your body.

Your jaw clenches and your cheeks become warm with the sheer amount of frustration seeping into your bones. The cold sweat you harbor makes you feel hot and freezing at the same time. The coolness of your glass window does nothing to quell your body’s temperature.

The familiar two-story house beside you is where Heeseung lives. He rents the bottom property and has lived with Park Jongseong ever since you all collectively started the last year of university.

You don’t necessarily want to be here. Coming to Heeseung’s apartment because you feel like you might combust at any minute seems like an invasion of privacy. Your boyfriend Sunghoon had let you know that he was sleeping over at his friends’ apartment tonight and you had no qualms with the proposition. He deserved to have his time with his friends too. Although it seems that your mind has its own agenda and you find yourself in front of Heeseung’s place in no time.

You step out of the car and lock it. Your feet carry you around the hood and you step onto the hard sidewalk with a slight wobble. The air is chilling, throwing a stark shiver down your spine as you huddle in your arms for warmth. The jacket you have sprawled on the backseat looks at you with concern.

You’re a step away from ringing the doorbell but your finger hovers the white button as tears well up in your eyes. The feeling of desperation and burden weigh on your chest as you listen to the muffled laughter that comes from Heeseung’s living room. Sunghoon hadn’t seen his friends in a few weeks between classes, work, and you. The last thing you want to do is impede on his time with his friends when you’ve spent the better half of this month glued to his side.

But you can’t help it. Your nose feels like it could be burning from the cold and the weather forces you to ring Heeseung’s doorbell when it ripples through your shirt. You hear him padding to the front door and can make out his figure from the bottom, his shadow blocking the light from inside.

Heeseung opens it just slightly ajar to assess who’s standing outside his apartment at this late hour. When he opens it, seeing you standing in the cold with red eyes and no jacket makes him panic.

“Y/N?” he asks. “What are you doing here?”

You think he might close the door with the look of confusion on his face but he opens it wider to allow you into his apartment. He shuts it quickly behind him and notices your chattering teeth, eyes softening at the sound when you look up at him. Heeseung watches your eyes begin to water and puts a hand on your upper back to soothe your emotions, but it makes you spill a few tears.

“I-I’m sorry for coming here,” you hiccup. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. You can always come over if you need something.”

You speak faster than you can think. “Today was so awful.”

Heeseung purses his lips and tells you to stay put. You watch him retreat into the living room and stare at the wall clock in front of you until you hear Heeseung say, “Hoon, your girl’s here.”

Sunghoon hears the worry in his friend’s voice because he stands up from the couch like he’s on a mission. With his eyebrows furrowed and heart beating in his chest, Sunghoon follows Heeseung to the front door and is immediately presented with you.

You look nothing like the happy-go-lucky girlfriend he said goodbye to before heading over to Heeseung’s. This morning, you’d woken up next to Sunghoon and he’d given you a tender kiss before heading to spend the day with his friends. Now, your eyes are swollen and your cheeks are stained with salty tears.

His heart plummets when he sees you standing in Heeseung’s doorway with no jacket on. You look helpless in a way he doesn’t see very often. Your knees buckle in your pants and the goosebumps on your arms are prominent to his eye.

Sunghoon wastes no time and envelopes you in a hug, pulling you into his chest until your face is situated in his neck.

“Baby?” he asks, feeling your hot breaths against his skin. “Talk to me. What happened? You’re so cold. Where’s your jacket? Did you bring one?”

His deep, honey-like voice that utter sweet concern only makes you cry harder. You try to keep your chokes and sobs as quiet as possible but the hiccups emitting from your throat make it impossible. You try to ignore the fact that Sunghoon’s friends can likely hear you weeping, instead focusing on your boyfriend’s warmth.

His arms encircle your body, one hand protectively around your waist and the other secured behind you. Sunghoon’s hands cup the back of your head and he strokes his fingers through your head lovingly.

“I had a bad day.” Your broken whispers makes Sunghoon’s heart sink even further. He pushes your hair out of the way and kisses your temple with plump lips.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rethinking the events that led to your arrival at Heeseung’s place only fuels your tears and you shut your eyes, burying yourself further into your boyfriend’s neck.

Heeseung, helplessly standing around the corner, walks closer to tell him the two of you could use his bedroom. Sunghoon rubs the small of your back and slowly walks towards the room, guiding you inside without so much as a word spoken. Heeseung closes the door behind you two and Sunghoon immediately perches the two of you on the edge of his bed.

“My baby.” Sunghoon lifts your head and pushes the tears underneath your eyes away with the pads of his thumbs. “What’s got you upset, hm? Are you hurt?”

“No,” you choke. “I’m not hurt.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Sunghoon pulls you into his chest and further onto Heeseung’s bed when you give into him. He lets you cry against him, not caring that his shirt is becoming damp as the seconds pass by. His palm soothes the entirety of your back and he kisses the crown of your head, periodically squeezing you tighter when his heart breaks at the sound of your sobs.

“Life is so hard,” you say into his chest. “I feel overwhelmed and scared.”

“Scared of what, baby?”

“I don’t know. Everything? I had the worst shift at work today. A customer ordered a hot coffee but I made it iced by accident and instead of letting me remake it for her, she involved my manager and was making a scene in front of everybody there.”

“I’m sorry.” Sunghoon whispers against your temple and kisses it again. “That’s frustrating.”

“My manager tried to get her to leave but she was pushy. Usually I could handle that but I’m overwhelmed with school and my senior project that I just broke down when the manager sent me home.”

“Your manager doesn’t think you’re at fault, right?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Nothing like that. He said I looked like I needed some rest and told me to take the rest of the night off.”

“Thank God.” He squeezes you tighter. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. You shouldn’t have to put up with mean people who get mad at you for making a small mistake.”

“Everybody is so fucking mean, Hoon.” You roughly push away the tears from your eyes with the heel of your palm. “I’m tired of everybody expecting so much from me. Between work, school, and my parents asking me what job I’ll have after graduating, it’s all too much.”

Sunghoon coos. “You’re so precious, you know that? You’re dealing with so much and you’re allowed to cry about it. I’m sorry everything is affecting you like this.”

“Sorry for ruining your boys night,” you sniffle. “I feel awful that I took you away from your friends.”

Your boyfriend shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I’d come to you in a heartbeat if you called.”

His words only make you cry harder. Sunghoon is the perfect boyfriend. He dotes on you like you’re the only woman he’s ever loved in his entire life and lets you know how beautiful you are any chance he gets. He gets along with your friends and family, welcomes you into his own life, and makes you feel like you can achieve anything whether he’s in the picture or not.

Being with him has made you feel safer than you have in a long time. His arms provide the kind of comfort you’ve always been seeking and despite the amount of frustration and sadness in your body, it seems to be melting away with every kiss Sunghoon puts on your forehead.

Heeseung knocks gently and opens the door just slightly. You feel silly being held like a baby in front of Sunghoon’s friends who you’ve met only once before. It was at Heeseung’s house that you first met the three guys Sunghoon is closest to after they made an effort to invite you over to a night at the local dive bar before coming back to watch a marathon of Marvel movies. Your love for Iron Man catapulted the start of your friendship with Heeseung in particular and Sunghoon was starting to love how well you fit into his life.

“It’s been a while and I wanted to check in. You doin’ okay?”

You sniffle and hold onto Sunghoon’s arm. “Bad day. Everybody sucks.”

Heeseung laughs. “Preaching to the choir.” You immediately realize you neglected to take your shoes off when entering the apartment and scold yourself for bringing dirt onto his hardwood floors.

“Shit,” you say, pulling your legs higher so they’re farther from the surface. “I’m so sorry Heeseung. I’m sorry for barging in.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Take them off, I’ll put them by the door.”

You oblige. Sunghoon holds you to balance your body as you hand each sneaker to Heeseung, who doesn’t look at you weirdly or scold you for interrupting his time with your boyfriend. Instead, he smiles at you and lets you know Jongseong and Sim Jaeyun, another one of Sunghoon’s friends that you met during the movie night, are outside and concerned for you.

“We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to,” Sunghoon tells you as Heeseung closes the door behind him for a second time. “But they really like you and I know they care about you.”

“I only met them once,” you hiccup, toying with the hem attached to the bottom of his shirt. “How could they possibly like me?”

Sunghoon laughs and kisses your cheek. “I talk about you all the time. I’m pretty sure they’re sick of hearing me talk about you and would rather hang out with you instead.”

“You do?”

He nods. “Mhm. I have the best girlfriend in the world, you know. They had a lot of fun getting to know you and were planning on inviting you to a barbecue Jongseong’s having next weekend.”

“Really?”

Your doe-like eyes makes Sunghoon’s heart melt. He nods and kisses your nose. “Yes, baby. They love you. Not as much as I do, but a close second.” Hearing you laugh makes him breathe easier.

“I still feel bad for ruining your guys’ night,” you say with a pout.

Sunghoon eases your mind and presses a tender kiss to your lips to displace said pout. “We’ve all been there. If you’re uncomfortable, we can go back to your place and sleep?”

You shake your head. “This is your night. I don’t want to interrupt and make things awkward.”

“Why don’t we at least get you some water. You don’t have to say anything but at least drink something so you’re not dehydrated.” You don’t want to get up and face the embarrassment of the other three boys seeing you cry, but you know Sunghoon is right. After all the crying you’ve done, you’re feeling parched.

You nod and stand from him, all while he still has one hand in yours. Moments like this make you appreciate Sunghoon even more than you already do. He’s willing to do anything for you at the drop of a hat and it gives you butterflies when you remember this handsome, generous man is your boyfriend.

Jongseong and Jaeyun look at you with concerned eyes when you meet them outside. You try to speak but your mouth keeps opening and closing as you find the words to say.

“I’m okay,” you tell them. “And I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

Jongseong hands you a glass of water. “Don’t sweat it, Y/N. Everyone has bad days.”

“Yeah, but you guys haven’t seen Hoon in forever and this was supposed to be your weekend.” Your sincere apology and the cracks in your voice make Jaeyun’s eyes water too.

“It’s alright,” he tells you sincerely. “We love hanging out with you. You should stay and we can watch movies. We were gonna do that anyway.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Jongseong and I want you to stay,” Heeseung says. The two of them nod. “You shouldn’t be alone when you feel like this.”

“Fuck,” you say, voice cracking to the point where it makes you laugh. The four boys laugh as well and feel the relief in the air around them. “You guys are too nice.”

“We were gonna order takeout too,” Jongseong says, pulling his phone out. “We were thinking maybe fried chicken but Hoon says you love Thai food. Why don’t we order stuff from the place around the block and eat it family style?”

“Oh, you don’t have to change it for me.”

Jongseong waves you off. “Nah. We all love Thai. Any excuse to eat it.”

“And don’t think about paying us back,” Jaeyun says with a genuine smile. “I’ll pay for it.”

“We’ll split it by four,” Heeseung adds.

Jongseong lets you put in your order and everybody else follows suit. Sunghoon has you tucked underneath his chin as the whole ordeal happens and kisses the side of your face every so often.

“Feel better?” He asks, mouth against your ear. His warm breath is comforting, as to remind you that he’ll always be there for you.

“Much better.” Your voice is no longer brittle from your cries. Sunghoon smiles.

“My sweet baby,” he coos. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

“What about when I’m not crying?”

“Still pretty.” He squishes your cheeks with his hands and pressed a kiss to your fattened lips. “Adorable, even.”

Jaeyun looks at the two of you and laughs. He can only hope that he’ll feel like that with someone someday. It compels him to say something.

“You guys are stupid cute.”

Sunghoon says nothing. He smiles at his friend and squeezes you tighter. Having him to lean back on makes you feel like you might be the luckiest girl in the world.

***

comments and reblogs would be appreciated! xx

[swordgrace]

& 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈’𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: you and your husband decide to take advantage of the quiet gardens near the red keep.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: drabble — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 4.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), porn with little plot, risk of getting caught, semi-public sex, gwayne is a switch, cunt-drunk gwayne, sex in the red keep gardens, teasing, hair-pulling kink, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, groping, making out, dirty talk, mild praise kink, p in v sex (unprotected), mild scratching, soft ending.

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am on the Gwayne train right now, I just adore writing for him. This is a smaller story, and I think writing some drabbles might do me a bit of good! I hope that you all enjoy! ❤️ Thanks so much for the love & support!

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚.

The smell was akin to a perfumed dowager, the air thick with roses and honey, petals drifting along in the evening breeze. It was a stark contrast to the pungent scent of the rest of the city — perhaps that is why you favored the gardens.

Orange tendrils of a waning sun spread across the leaves, verdant and bright, turning the gardens all sorts of colors — shades of emerald and gold, intermingling with the many flowers there.

Most souls that had occupied the gardens had made themselves scarce, turning it into a paradise that only you shared with another. You often admired the general splendor even when it was crowded, but now, it gave you a rather unobstructed view.

The various palette of the gardens, particularly any deeper shades of forest-green, matched that of your husband’s doublet, embroidered with golden thread. It was strange to see Gwayne removed from his armor, his silvery vassal that kept him well-protected.

In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, there were days spent in respite, much to your delight. Though, war would steal him away from you again — you intended on making the most out of each moment, beseeching him to remain by your side. He obliged you, fortunately, and you never objected to it.

A golden hour, brightest before dusk, painted you in shades that Gwayne had committed to memory, your features bathed in dying light. You were swathed in gowns of cerulean, a deeper shade of azure that had brought him to heel when you emerged with it on.

Merrily, he often touted that he had the most beautiful wife in all of the realm, and such a sentiment didn’t change nor waver. It was resolute, done with a fondness that made its way to you.

“Perhaps, once this conflict comes to a close, you and I shall return to Oldtown,” Gwayne’s gallant resonance cut through the contented silence, his timbre often filled with regality, the elegant poise of a well-learned Knight. “I’ve grown surfeited by this grisly place.”

If Gwayne had not been so proficient with a blade, you suspected that a quill and his sharp tongue would’ve done him a world of good in another lifetime. His flowery speech had charmed you time and time again, and you were left captivated.

Oldtown had become your home, a sanctuary of which you and Gwayne had built a peaceful life together. With Prince Daeron in your care, it was something of a family — one that you suspected would grow in the near future.

“As have I,” With a gentle sigh, your fingers danced along his velvet-clad forearm, your arm interlaced with his as he led you through the teeming labyrinth. At twilight, it had become wonderfully quiet, a place of solace away from the bustling hum of the Red Keep. “It is a dour place.”

Dour was a mere understatement — Gwayne knew what harm this city could do, crushed beneath the oppressive weight of the Red Keep. Even in its architectural splendor, it remained a shadow, haunting your every step as it loomed above the both of you.

Even in the sanctuary of the Gardens, one could not escape it. He did not envy his sister for being sequestered here for most of her lifetime — he imagined that it likely led to a path of misfortune and frustration. Being in Oldtown, he could afford many liberties, freedoms that weren’t permitted in King’s Landing.

As you continued on your path, a stone terrace opened before you, a comely overlook with a sizable gazebo, marked by dimly-lit torches. Save for the picturesque view of Blackwater Bay, it was surrounded by foliage and flora on all sides.

Gwayne felt your concern in waves, an unspoken sentiment, knowing that he would be called to leave again. Cole’s armies were rallying to march to Harrenhal, and he was summoned to ride alongside him, the second-in-command. You had made your disdain for this known, and Gwayne couldn’t fault you for it.

“I would sorely dislike it if our time together was to be spent in silence,” He watched you through cerulean hues as you rounded the gazebo, moving toward the overlook. Waves gently lapped at the outcropping of rock, breaking upon it, saltwater kisses peppering your cheeks. “I have a duty, dearest.”

A begrudging sigh tore past your lips, and you staved off the sudden onslaught of turmoil. You had come to-terms with the inevitability of his departure — you had dealt with it once before, but the sting never lessened. “I understand. I loathe you and love you for it.” You murmured, your smile threadbare.

Your answer retained a twinge of lightheartedness to it, in the face of a bleak future. Gwayne couldn’t help but scoff, visage dancing with amusement as he stepped toward one of the massive walls of gardenias. Plucking a pale blossom from its stem, he crossed the stone to you, a gesture of affection.

“Loathe me, is that it?” Gwayne wouldn’t have your last moments together spent in melancholy — and you seemed to be in agreement. He placed the blossom behind your ear, carefully tucking it into place. “Have I vexed you so easily?”

Planting a palm against his chest, you allowed your fingertips to trace across plated velvet, dancing toward the Hightower sigil, embroidered into the collar. He was resplendent in noblemen’s garb, painfully handsome and fresh-faced, save for the healing cut upon his lip and bruised brow.

A taut, muscled arm moved to snake around your waist, effortlessly caging you in against him. Your saccharine scent invaded his senses, swarming around his head like a thick haze, one that he delighted in. Beneath the evening sky, he made his ardor for you known, a real and living thing.

“You are swift to credit yourself, husband. I may resort to knocking you from your pedestal.” You teased, tender voice growing softer, a mere purr to his ears. Gods, you were wonderfully divine — Gwayne brazenly squeezed your hip through your gowns, auburn brows lifting in amusement.

Instead of puffing his chest with a playful retort, Gwayne could no longer resist the tempting curve of your lips, craning down to kiss you. It was a sweet mingling of mouths, slow and exploratory, happy to take their time with one another.

The first inklings of an amorous heat crackled between the both of you, a rapturous hunger that hadn’t been sated since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You simply could not get enough of your beloved husband, hands clamoring from his plush doublet to his mane of copper tresses, gripping them tightly.

Even with the thicker material of your dress, Gwayne greedily grasped at your curves, able to feel the pliant swell of your physique beneath. You had already seduced him with your steep necklace and ample bosom — sometimes, you were more of a salacious minx than you were a maiden. He enjoyed you both ways.

Your chambers in the Red Keep seemed so far away, and neediness began to take root, desire flourishing where propriety could not. As you insistently tugged upon his auburn locks, Gwayne felt his cock stir to life within his trousers, twitching as if to remind him of his carnal need for you.

“Incomparable, I must confess,” Gwayne exhaled, hot breath fluttering across your visage. Hints of wine retained their presence upon his tongue, skin smelling of woodland musk and fine soaps. “Not a single wandering eye to find us here.” His timbre dropped into a delectable purr, lips pressing themselves to the curve of your jaw.

Exhilaration struck at the pit of your stomach, coupled with the familiar wave of arousal, its inklings slick and warm between your legs. “What are you implying, husband?” You asked, breathy and wanton, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

A low, teasing hum slipped betwixt his lips, mouth molding to your flesh, gliding across the slender column of your throat. One hand dropped to cup your derrière through the thicker material of your dress, longing to see it around your feet, instead.

A sheepish moan tore past your mouth, unabashedly stoking the fire that simmered between the both of you. Gwayne greedily lapped at your sweet skin, like a thick honey upon his tongue. “It is just you and I, sweetling. Might you indulge me?” He hummed, desperate to have you now that desire had taken hold.

Gods, you wanted him terribly.

It was a fascinating twist, with Gwayne wanting to have you here, given the publicity of the locale. He was often a man to take you to your chambers in the name of chivalry, but this daring, yearning side to him — you quite enjoyed it, his change of heart.

“Gods, I love you.” You sighed, feeling him relocate the both of you towards one of the thick, stone columns that held the gazebo aloft. It was rough against your back, but you cared little for it, hastily unlacing the bodice of your dress. The silken smallclothes you wore beneath would suffice.

A low, stifled groan escaped Gwayne’s mouth, cerulean hues sharp and amatory, roving over you with a thinly-veiled desire. “Seven Hells, you drive me to the brink of madness, wife.” He murmured, swiftly relieving you of that mound of azure velvet.

The simple slip you wore beneath clung to your curves, accentuating your physique in pale shades of ivory, nipples peeking through the thin material. His hand slithered beneath, seeking to find the slick heat of your cunt, pushing your legs apart with his thigh.

Gathering your slip within your hands, you tugged the material up, until it pooled around the swell of your hips, giving him unhindered access. Gwayne careened forward, mouth colliding with yours, lips desperately craving every fiber of your being.

His other hand moved to cup your breast through your gown, thumb languidly swiping over your pebbled nipple, teasing the bud as he rolled it between his fingers. A sharp, noisy gasp escaped you, followed by the unrestrained sound of a moan.

Your hands clamored to perch atop his shoulders, sinking down into the velvet, longing to see him naked. If you closed your eyes, it was easy to imagine, but you desired the real thing. With haste, your digits slipped toward the line of golden clasps along the front, aiming to get it unbuttoned.

“You minx.” Gwayne panted into your mouth, digits beginning to stroke along your slit. Much to his delight, you were already warmed, wet and honey-thick upon his fingers. Lips twined in hot clashes, and he never allowed it to devolve into something sloppy. Each kiss possessed meaning, a fervent love for you.

As you unclasped his doublet, he moved his arms enough to relinquish the stuffy weight of the fabric, musculature lean and taut, his skin pale and glittering in the gentle twilight. It let you squeeze his shoulders, tracing over the freckles there, reveling in his bare flesh.

Gwayne released a few breathy ‘I love you’s’ into your lips, before he relocated to the sensitive column of your throat. He spoke with reverence, as if he had come to worship his goddess, lay himself down at your feet. Your fingers wove themselves against the nape of his neck, tugging on his copper locks.

Practiced, dexterous digits continued to caress along your cunt, before pushing past your folds. He grazed your clit, sending a rush of goosebumps cascading down the length of your spine. “Gwayne,” You moaned, the sweetest melody to his ears as you rocked forward, desperate for any shred of friction. “Please!”

His cock twitched again within his breeches, aching with something powerful, needing to be inside of you. Patience was his virtue and his agony — he still wanted to taste your first. He continued to knead into your breast, evoking another blissful whine from you.

Despite wearing his honor and chivalry like a coat of armor, he cared little for the consequences of potentially being caught. He would ravish his beloved wife here in these gardens — there was no sin in such an act. Kissing along your jugular, he felt you grip and pull on his hair, filling him with an excitable fire.

“Gods, I must taste you,” Gwayne groaned, voice tinged with an alluring husk, palm continuing to caress the plush swell of your breast. The thin, silken strap of your slip began to sag, and he did not fix it, exposed to the unblemished plane of your collarbone. “If you will permit me to do so.”

“You needn’t ask, husband,” A wanton whimper left you when Gwayne’s digits abandoned your cunt, though it would soon be replaced with the fine heat of his greedy tongue. Through a lovesick gaze, you observed in rapturous silence as Gwayne sank to his knees, as if he were preparing to pray. “I belong to you.”

Watching his auburn crown move towards the apex of your thighs was a most tantalizing sight, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Molten heat surged within your belly, churning with a violent anticipation as you braced one hand atop his shoulder.

A sight to die for, to kill for — Gwayne would’ve fought a thousand battles if it meant that you were the reward at the very end, a resplendent maiden in all of your glory. He would’ve endured torture unimaginable for you, razed down armies, destroyed cities all for you.

The first lap of his tongue caused your knees to buckle, raking hot embers across your cunt. He wedged his way in between your legs, shoulders keeping you apart just enough. Gwayne was quite candid about his enjoyment of tasting you — thoroughly cunt-struck.

A groan stirred within his chest as your fingers grazed through his copper tresses, finding their purchase near the base of his skull. He did not relent, tongue carefully splitting past your folds, greeted by the saccharine onslaught of your arousal.

“Gwayne.” A breathy sigh tore past your parted lips, lulled into subservience from the steady, exploratory laps of his tongue. He was sluggish, allowing the anticipation to mount, nose brushing along your mound.

Your taste was ambrosial, thick and heady, like a haze that he had no desire to escape from. There were many moments where he’d dreamed of this, on the march to Rook’s Rest, sprawled across his cot, fantasizing of you again and again.

He quite enjoyed the way in which you sighed his name, passion bubbling forth from your chest, head rolled back against the stone column. Careworn palms reached for your haunches, delighted to take their fill of you, caressing along the backs of your thighs.

“Exquisite,” Gwayne exhaled, catching his breath to press a string of kisses all along the inside of your thighs. “By the Seven, you taste divine.” He groaned, drunk and dizzy from your cunt. A soft moan escaped you as you coaxed him back, and he willingly obliged.

With another hot, eager lap of his tongue over your core, your knees rattled like leaves in the breeze, feeling his shoulders bully their way between your legs. A brusque, warm breeze fluttered throughout the gazebo, bathed in the waning light of the sunset. Stars began to glisten overhead, unhindered by the clouds.

Gwayne’s eagerness was palpable, able to be felt as he buried his face into your cunt, cerulean eyes fluttering shut in an expression of bliss. A groan stirred within his throat, fluttering throughout his chest as you fisted his auburn tresses, soft beneath your palms.

You could not get enough of him, keeping your hands on him in whatever way you could, chest heaving with wanton sighs. Carnality and desire permeated the air, the atmosphere thick with desperation. You always treated each moment as if it would be your last.

His mouth fervently worked against your slick cunt, sending pleasant shockwaves into the pit of your stomach. Goosebumps danced along your spine, followed by a shiver that made you moan. Your hips rolled forward, shamelessly grinding yourself into your husband’s waiting lips.

With a flick of his tongue, Gwayne sought the pearl of your cunt, lips eagerly kissing their way to your clit. He planted feather-light kisses around that sensitive clutch of nerves, causing you to tremble, digits tightening within his hair. Your grip was ironclad, but it was pleasurable for him, knowing you were enjoying yourself.

“Gods, Gwayne,” You whined, listening to the lewd noises of your chivalrous paramour suckling on your clit. Another onslaught of molten heat swirled within your stomach, seeping into your bones, manifesting as arousal between your thighs. “Do — Do not stop!” The urgency in your voice had increased exponentially.

If there were any evening stragglers in the Royal Gardens, you prayed to the Seven that they would not stumble upon the both of you.

The sight itself was inherently sinful, with you haplessly pressed against the stone column, gallant dress strewn across the ground, slip sagging along your physique. Gwayne’s emerald doublet had joined your garments below. You reveled in the sight of his head between your thighs, causing you to whimper.

Gwayne could detect when you were accelerating towards your release, able to feel the twitches and tremors in your thighs. He soothingly stroked along your silky flesh, interchanging between the greedy suckling of your clit, to long, broad strokes of his tongue.

His lips glistened with a sticky sheen of your nectar, of a finer stout than many, more delectable than any wine that had befallen his mouth. Gwayne worshiped you, kissed the ground you walked upon, and he did not feel an ounce of shame in it.

His cock throbbed with a desperate ache, precum slick around the head as it strained against his trousers. Your own satisfaction spurred him on, and your delightful noises only sent him spiraling into the depths of depravity. You hadn’t a clue of the things you did to him.

In a brazen maneuver, his tongue prodded against your entrance, gingerly thrusting inside of you. You gasped, biting at the inside of your cheek, digits raking through his auburn locks. You let your grip loosen, hips careening forward into his mouth again.

Gwayne ravished you, with the ravenous appetite of a starving dog. He moved back just enough to lap at your cunt, making a blazing trail from your entrance to your clit. “I’m close,” You huffed, issuing some warning to him before the dam had burst altogether. “Gwayne!”

It was the only word you knew in the present, his name — it rolled from your tongue in a delighted cry, laced with ardor and reverence. You reached your peak, shamelessly spilling yourself upon his tongue, and he was enamored with you.

With careful, sluggish strokes of his tongue, he delicately cleaned the mess he made of you, allowing you to bring yourself down from your peak. Even if the intensity had made you burn at a fever pitch, you were far from finished, tugging on Gwayne’s tresses to get his attention.

“Take me, husband,” It wasn’t a request — it was a demand, a command made upon a yearning wife. Desire glistened like a thick sheen within his cerulean eyes, which happened to widen at the sight of you. “Please.” You didn’t have to beg — Gwayne wanted you just as terribly.

He swiftly rose from between your legs, pupils dilated with lust as he steered you toward the stone bannister of the overlook, wide enough to support you. You sat down, hastily fumbling with the leather ties of his trousers. Gwayne parted your legs again, bending over you as he sought your mouth.

The taste of arousal — yours — fell heavy upon your tongue, lips clashing together as you desperately sought to free his cock from its confines. “I need you,” Gwayne husked against your mouth, pearlescent teeth briefly snagging on your lower lip. “Gods, how I’ve missed this, missed you.”

“Gwayne,” A moan escaped you, intermingling with his husky pants and sonorous groans. His forehead nudged against yours, lips hot and needy, and you were more than happy to reciprocate. “I need you, I …” Your voice tapered off when his cock slid against your folds.

He kept you steady, hands caging you against the bannister, the stone biting into your back as he kept you at an angle. Silk gathered around your hips, friction wafting between the both of you as he thrust forward, cock sinking into you.

Hitching a leg around his waist as best as you could, your hands roamed to his chest, nails digging into his collarbone as he began to find an erratic pace. He was loving and passionate, even still, but there was something inherently quick about his rhythm.

Perspiration glittered along his brow from the warm evening, yet it did not stop him from pounding away at you. His cock filled you perfectly, providing a delectable stretch that made your toes curl. It wasn’t an intimidating thing, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him.

Through his clenched teeth, Gwayne sang your praises, savoring the way in which your cunt constricted around him, as if drawing him in. “Seven Hells, your cunt is perfection,” Such lewd, crass words sounded so eloquent coming from his lips, as debonair as a Prince. “I cannot get enough of you, sweet wife.” He groaned.

Despite his crudely-spoken compliment, you were lost within the throes of your own pleasure, body rocked into submission by each snap of his hips. His cock bottomed out within you, movements swift yet punctuated, as if every thrust possessed meaning.

You loved Gwayne unconditionally — perhaps too much, if such a thing were possible. Your chest heaved with sweet, passionate sighs and gentle moans, forehead occasionally brushing against his. His hands kept themselves firm along your waist, curling into the silk of your slip.

His cock battered away at your slick cunt, aided by your mounting arousal. Everything felt so feverishly warm, as if you had been set ablaze, nerves feeling like they were steeped in fire. “More,” You moaned, and it effectively caught Gwayne’s attention. “Gwayne, please.” He was weak to your soft pleas.

Your beloved husband lacked harshness when it came to intimacy, something you adored about him. Even when his thrusts became desperate and erratic, chasing after his release, he never resorted to using you. His lips sought the column of your throat, nose brushing along your jugular.

A string of kisses peppered themselves against your sweet flesh, with the occasional suckling of his lips to your neck. A myriad of throaty whines and whimpers continued to leave you in droves, cunt pathetically clenching around him.

Buckling forward, Gwayne planted one palm against the stone bannister, the other caging in around you as he continued to pound away into your needy cunt. He kissed you wherever he could, dwindling into desperation and the innate desire to taste your sweet flesh.

His lips parted slightly, a strained grunt escaping him as he thrust forward again, until there was nowhere left for him to go. Gwayne pulled back just enough, the head of his cock still inside of you before he moved forward again. The friction made you shiver, fingers grasping at the nape of his neck.

His name continued to slip from your mouth, over and over again, like a whispered prayer. Your nails left behind red crescents upon his skin, sharp brands of your lovemaking. Gwayne groaned against your throat, desiring to kiss you once more, lips laying claim to yours with a fervor.

With another snap of his hips, Gwayne shuddered, nearly collapsing into you as he reached his peak. Hot ropes of seed brazenly spilled inside of you, warming your insides as he attempted to catch his breath. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing with him, allowing your hands to slack.

Gwayne politely removed himself from you, mindful of your garments as he fixed your gown back into place. The slip itself was disheveled, but he ensured its tidiness before you got dressed again.

“How divine you are,” Gwayne hummed, planting gentle kisses along the side of your face before it ended at the curve of your jaw. “Beautiful beyond comprehension.” He murmured, using two digits to delicately place the strap of your slip back upon your shoulder.

“You flatter me, husband,” Your smile was warm and amiable, the brightness of springtime, bringing a rosy flush to his features. “I quite enjoyed your brazen streak.” Through a smitten confession, Gwayne kissed your brow, lips twitching into a debonair smirk.

“I am not ashamed of ravishing my wife, be it in our chambers or in the garden,” He replied, reaching for his velveteen doublet and your azure dress. It was easy for him to slip back into the stuffy material, and he was more than happy to assist you. “I cannot get enough of you.”

His words were tantalizing, as if intended to bring about another string of salacious thoughts. Gwayne stood behind you as you stepped back into your dress, helping to lace your bodice up again. He planted a kiss along your exposed shoulder, and then to the crook of your neck.

You reached for his hand, letting it drape across your shoulder as you pressed a delicate kiss against his bruised knuckles. “You shall have me, Gwayne — for as long as you desire me.” You sighed, feeling his nose brush along your cheek, the warmth of his body pressing in behind you.

With a kiss to your temple, one oozing with such fondness and ardor that you feared you might melt, Gwayne’s lips hovered near the shell of your ear. In the twinkling dusk, he held you close. “Forever, then.”

[stervrucht]

“We need to defrost the freezer,” Steve tells Eddie when he walks out carrying a tub of ice cream.

Eddie sighs, head resting on his hands while he overlooks the empty shop. “I wish someone would defrost my will to live.”

Steve finds it funny. In a guilty snort sort of way, because Eddie’s jokes are kinda dark and he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh. But yeah, working at Scoops is a drag at times, and Steve understands it at some level.

It escalates from there. 

Steve will tell Eddie they’re out of hazelnut ice cream, and Eddie will get a look on his face that doesn’t promise anything good.

“I’ll hazel your nuts.” Eddie cocks his head, staring at him in that ridiculous sailor uniform with mischief painted on his face.

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

Steve tries to pretend he’s weirded out, but when Eddie laughs at him like that, Steve can’t help but crack up as well. 

But that’s the normal stuff — because sometimes Eddie’s comments are hard to play off, and Steve doesn’t really know whether he’s joking at all.

“Morrison really fucked us over with the new schedule.” Steve frowns at the paper on the wall because they got like four evening shifts that week, including Friday and Saturday, and it’s messing with his dating life — even though that’s barely hanging on by a thread right now.

“I wish you’d fuck me over,” Eddie says as he cleans the glass display window with lazy motions.

It makes Steve stop in his tracks; makes his mouth run dry and his heart rate pick up. But Eddie just stares at him, same smile as always, waiting for Steve to shoot something back.

“Maybe I should.” The words are out before he knows it and Steve feels a little mortified by how much he meant it. When he looks over at Eddie, his lips are slightly parted, cheeks a little red, and the hand cleaning the window has stopped in its tracks.

Steve thinks that maybe Eddie meant his words as well.

[cultofsappho]

^ Casey McQuiston author of Red White and Royal Blue via Threads

I've always seen comments about how a "woman" wrote a mlm novel, and since the movie is on its way, we'll probably see that more often. Just a reminder to not misgender Casey. They are non-binary and use they/them pronouns!

No matter your thoughts on them as a person or author its important to remember that gender identity is not a trophy to be earned!

[skyrigel]

Tell me again [ AB ]

Pairing ~ Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Plot ~ after a long day at work, Anthony tells you how much he missed his wife <3

Warning: pregnant!reader, little teasing, shy!reader

Words : 0.8k

My other fic

Anthony bridgerton angst

" I thought you would be asleep..." Anthony murmured, words soft as melody spelled in the dark, hands crossed around his chest, his cuffs rolled up like usual after every tired night in his office, he smiled at you, a glint in his eyes.

" Why would I ? " I would wait for you at the worlds end, You turned to look at your husband, after a hard day, his eyes looked so tired and yet, they were sparkling, always when it was you.

" Oh my dearest wife." He moaned as he crossed the distance in two long strides, wrapping his hands around your waist all the while dropping to his knees,

"I missed you so much baby." He said, kissing your baby bump gently as he looked up with stars in his eyes.

" You didn't miss me Anthony ?! " You fake gasped, watching the slow chuckle make its way through the rings of his cartilage as he plucked the book you were holding.

" Oh you have no idea ! " He growled, taking both your hands in his and guiding them to his face, his eyes shutting as your fingers traced the face you adored so much, he hummed in response, kissing the soft skin of your wrist as watched you, one knuckle at a time, eyes never leaving yours.

" you think I haven't missed you ? " His asked, almost blazing, " you? " He said again, " There wasn't a moment when my soul didn't want to crawl and come to you, not a moment when i wanted to be anywhere but in your arms love." He squeezed your hand gently as you smiled, because you knew, knew how much he loved you.

" Have i told you how much I love your hands ? " He traced the lightening like green nerves that made it ways across your skin, he loved every bit of you, body, soul, mind and heart.

" You haven't," you replied, feeling your breath knocked out, heart punching against your ribs.

Anthony's lip quirked at your dazed eyes, he loved every and each version of you but he so much adored when you made your needs known, how much Anthony loved giving you what you wanted, you just have to say it for me, my sweet love, he had told you.

" This," Anthony said, his lips grazing at the slight raise of vein of your wrist, following it upto the crook of your arm, smiling in triumph as a strangled noise made it's way out of your throat.

" You like it ? " He tilted his head, brows raised in question, " mmm" you hummed softly but being the Viscount and smug bastard lord bridgerton was, he smirked.

" Say it in words my lady." He gazed up, you gave him one eye roll but opened your mouth anyway, " I do." You said ans Anthony resumed his venturing.

" And I have told you how much I love your collarbones ? " He hummed, planting open mouthed kisses all way to to dip of your neck, his breath lingered like a tattooed kiss, you dropped your head back on the couch as Anthony nipped at the raw skin of your neck.

You felt his smile the way his teeth tore into your flesh, his hand soothing your belly in circular patterns, the other cupping your breast and kneading it with all the time in the world, " You aren't telling me." He complaint, mouth fixed several inches away from yours as he looked deeply into yours eyes, your breath were uneven as you whined at the lack of lips on you, he understood and caressed your cheeks, leaning until a thread of wind was between you, you waited for touch to burn you, waited for his lips to crash into yours but alas!

" An..thony " you whimpered and he shaked his head, mouthing a small, No.

" You haven't " you whispered, closing the inches as his mouth pressed against yours in warm fuzzy music, like everything the poets talked about, Anthony smiled as pulled for a second away, his eyes peicring yours, mischief dangling through the corners and oh, how much you loved this man.

" I think I have..." He trailed, nose nuzzling at the dark reds and blues of your neck, he loved his little vicious games, loved to tease you, loved to drive you crazy.

" You have." You told him, " Tell me again."

That was all Anthony needed to you tell you again, and again and again, how much he loved you.

Rigel's note🪩: This has been in my drafts for so long<3