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[vurlient]

Collapsing on the bed rn...

eepy as fuck

[bunnyinvanilla]

sugar daddy bar!owner john price x sugar baby!waitress series

🥀 |warnings: +18, laaargw age gap (reader is 21 and price is in his 40s), fem!reader, sugar daddy/baby relationship mentioned, not smut but suggestive.

price thought a doll like you deserved a grown, strong old man like him to treat you like a princess — spoil you rotten, wrap you up in bubble wrap and take care of you. You didn’t need to work, get your pretty hands sore and tired from pouring drinks all the time. he’d give you all the money you needed to pay off your college and to get all the pink, girly things you liked so much, ribbons and all. You just needed to sit cutely on his lap, to be his, and he’d give you the whole world. He was in his 40’s, you had only recently turned 21, a flower on the prime of her blossoming youth, who could give an old, worn out man like him some sugar.

that’s why he offered you to be his sugar baby. that offer, made you flush on the spot — he was so confident and composed, unfazed by his own words. The moment he saw redness spread over you cheeks, he knew he had you. His mustache twitched, his salt and pepper beard stretched as he wore an amused, lazy smile. you were always so obedient and compliant to him, always chirping a “yes sir” to anything he’d ask or tell you to do, a sweet, young, too young lil thing, eager to earn his praise, to feel those goosebumps trail down your skin when he muttered a gruff, deep “good girl”, you’d be the perfect submissive, you’d have it in you to be trained already, even in your innocence and inexperience..

..but, you’d initially declined his offer, because “I want to earn that money, sir, and I’d feel bad if you just..gave it to me like that”

oh, how honest, naive, innocent and pure you were. He admired that about you, but you could see it in his eyes, the way he cocked his thick, dark brown brow upward, that he didn’t believe you’d cling onto those words for long. He knew you were just too shy to accept, but you wanted to. You wanted to be his pretty, little girl. and he was right, as always. One particular night, you’d found a moment to lean your arms against the wooden counter and just breath. You’d been studying all morning, head buried in your notes, and when you got to the bar, you found dozens of soon to be drunk men ready to order alcohol and ask you to bring them ashtrays.

you wanted nothing more than go back home, snuggle in your pink, soft blankets and read your so loved books — it had just been a draining day, you enjoyed your job, but to be honest with yourself, the thing you liked the most was feeling john’s attention and eyes on you during your whole shift and maybe you could finally have someone provide for you.

so, that’s how you found yourself in front of his office door, hesitating lightly while millions of tiny butterflies flew around in your chest, your cheeks as red and warm as ripe strawberries under the summer sun.

knock, knock.

he’d recognized that knock. A feeble, light thud against wood. That couldn’t possibly have been Simon, whose hand could make the whole door shatter down with a single knock, nor Soap’s — bloody hell, that man never bothered to knock at all, he’d just break in.

so he wasn’t surprised to see you, standing meekly in front of his large, wooden desk, the hem of your skirt hugging your milky, bare thighs, your fingers fidgeting together and your eyes looking down at his sitting stance, shy and timid.

“what is it, doll? need ol’ price?” his voice was so rough, so husky, you wondered how it would sound from between your thighs, or from behind you, while his large palm pulled your hair to make you arch against him.

you blinked once, gathering courage to ask for what you’d secretly been daydreaming about, your boss, old enough to be your father, aging like the finest wine, showing you things you’d never ever experienced.

“about your offer, sir” your cheeks were burning, flaming up, “if I accept, can I still come here and help you around?”

“if you accepted,” he almost didn’t even let you finish, eyes already darkening at the thought, a wave of desire rushing through his weary, battle scattered heart, “you could do whatever you wanted, angel, you’d just have to say please”

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Mojito: bottomless brunch and bottomless life

Word Count: 3.0k Contents: angst, cursing, some dark themes, threat of violence, not proofread

Still no message from Gojo. 

You don’t expect him to reach out. He hates you. And it’s not as if he’s going to say congratulations for your engagement to the Zenin, if only because it won’t be announced until months later, when the forced engagement allegations with the Gojos die down, or so your mother says. 

Knowing the probabilities, you still can’t help but check your phone every minute or so. 

It had only been hours after your mother had so graciously broken the news to you and despite that, you’ve found yourself at yet another family dinner discussing wedding preparations. It’s some sort of cosmic mockery, you think. This time, however, you’re at the world’s most frigid hellhole. 

The Zenin Manor is as repulsive as ever — the decor is gaudy and hideous, with bright red carpeting, random displays of medieval armour and taxidermies ranging from great bears to little rabbits. In every room, and there are many, they’ve hung up chandeliers made of, what you can only guess to be Swarovksy crystals, and even the hand soaps in the bathrooms are Chanel. If you steal one, you could probably fund someone else’s tuition for a year or two and they wouldn’t notice. You’re tempted to try.

And then, there’s the actual inhabitants. 

The way they laugh haughtily, flaunt their perfectly aged wine, and look at you with those stone-cold beady eyes all Zenins seem to be born with. It’s all so plastic. A polystyrene bonanza. Women of your age snickered behind manicured hands and French tips, men of all ages leered with sickly sweet gazes, and even the children looked down on you. A baby scoffed at your dress. A fucking baby. 

You hated it here when you were a little girl, and when you were a teenage, and you hate it now as a woman about to marry into the damn family. 

With the way your life is going, you feel inclined to agree with Nietzsche; God might just be dead. 

Or, at the very least, mean.

“You take philosophy, no?” A lady around your mother’s age asks, cutting through the conversations at the long dining table. 

Gulping down bitter-tasting wine, you force a smile, your mother’s nails digging into your thigh. Somewhat flustered by the way she seemed to have read your mind, you answer, with a jovial tone, “That’s right. It’s been an interest of—“

“Oh, goodness. Philosophy is such a dreadful subject. All that talk about nihilism and whatnot to no end. Life is so amazing, why ruin it with miserable ideas against capitalism? Capitalism built this country!”

Someone else says, “It’s an awfully useless subject too. As I’ve been discussing with the Ryomens, we should do away with these Mickey Mouse degrees. All these arts and crafts and ridiculous gender studies rubbish! The children need to learn about the economy and maths and science! How else will they ever contribute to our society?”

A round of hums of agreement resound. 

You don’t say a thing the rest of dinner. And no one asks you for anything either.

The wedding has been planned without a single input from you, from the peonies that will litter the aisle to the peach bridesmaids dresses on the Zenin girls you don’t even know to the fact that you’ll be dropping out of Eden University to begin your stay-at-home life immediately. 

You listen to all that they have to say, static playing in your head, nodding as if on autopilot until you’re guided to your room by a maid. And in there, huddled against the door, you cry.

Within five years, you had lost everything. First your family’s fortune, then your best friend, and now your freedom. You should have taken the engagement With Gojo more seriously, should have tried harder to make him like you, because even if he couldn’t grow to love you, you’re at least confident enough to say he’d never steal your future from you. If anything, it was you stealing his from him.��

There’s no one you can talk to. Your only real friend is in a coma, your father is always too drunk to know what’s going on, and your mother?

Not a single memory of a heart-to-heart can be found when you think hard about the last time she was willing to hear you out. In fact, on the car ride over from the hospital to the manor, she only rattled off all the conditions the Zenins had made, the rules and expectations they had.

You have a curfew at six in the evening, you cannot bring friends over (which is fine since you have none you’d want to show this side of your life to), you cannot ever, under any circumstances, be seen with Gojo (also fine since you’ll probably never see him again anyways), and worse of all, your wardrobe will be managed by a family-approved stylist to ‘ensure you don’t tarnish the picture-perfect image they’ve cultivated over centuries.’

This whole thing is fucked. 

And you hate that you’re crying over it but nothing can be done, you supposed. At least this way, your family will be taken care of. Your father might just get the help he needs and the stick up your mother’s ass will be taken out and burnt…hopefully. 

Not to mention, it’ll be much easier to pay for Asahi’s hospital bills this way.

Right, so it’s okay. It’ll all be okay. 

You’re going to be just fine. 

No matter how your life is turning out, you’ll find a way to thrive, just as you have done before and you will again. The Zenins will leave you alone as long as you comply — wear their stupid clothes, attend their stupid events, smile like a stupid wife, bear some stupid Zenin babies, and you’ll be fine. 

Oh fuck. 

You’ve forgotten all about the actual man you’re marrying: Naoya. 

There’s no telling what that man is thinking. Maybe he has just as much interest in this marriage as you do, maybe you’ll rarely ever see him, and maybe the rumours are wrong. 

Is this all just wishful thinking?

Maybe you need to consider backup plans. But where could you go? Who can you turn to?

You sigh, head thudding back against the door. 

This room they shoved you in is just as ugly as the rest of the manor. Everything is so over-the-top and stereotypically feminine you can almost taste the artificiality of it all. There’s a pink lace canopy over some grandmother-like bedsheets, everything’s in pastel, and there are mirrors on every wall as if that’s all a girl could ever want or need. This prison tastes like strawberry-flavoured children’s medicine. And you think you might just throw up the dinner you’ve just eaten. 

You need to get out of here. 

Sneaking away is a lot easier than you thought it would be. The hallways are empty, and downstairs, past the foyer, you can hear the chattering in the dining room as they plot how to ruin your life and the high-pitched, pretentious laughter is fuelling your escape. There’s no life in this place, like the limp wick of a candle, only being lit to perform, and then blown out again when the watchful eyes are gone. 

That will indubitably drive you insane when you’re permanently trapped there. You’ll be brought out like fine china for charity events, to rub elbows and kiss ass, the winding key at your back turned and turned, tightening the spring inside until your smile is pulled higher up your cheeks and you dance like a circus monkey, all cute and whimsical with the threat of a whip always in the shadows, beyond the tent. 

Could you last ten years living like that? Even five? One?

You ponder all those questions on your way to the hospital, grateful that your dress, or what remains of it, provides a camouflage in the darkness of the night. 

At first, the hospital gave you reprieve every night, allowing you to distance yourself from your family and your own stuffy home, but then university started and you could only go a couple times a week, and then eventually only every Thursday, though here and there you’d visit more often, under the guise of going to the spa for part of your wedding preparation. There’ll be no more of that. 

It felt like betrayal to live the life he was supposed to, which is probably why the only friends you made are only good for getting high and accompanying you to raves. 

But still, you’re the only one who visits him, and now that you’re getting married to a Zenin, you wonder how often you’ll get to visit now. Once a month? Every year?

Breathing another heavy sigh, you walk through the familiar hallways, the ones that ironically feel much more alive than that god-forsaken place. The nurses smile at you, so do the patients through their open doors. You belong in here just as much as they all do. This is your true home. 

“What happened to your dress?”

You look to your left. 

A little girl is staring at you through the doorway of her own suite. You smile. 

“Hi, Noba. How are you?”

She kicks her little feet out, miles higher than the floor. Despite how late it is, she’s still awake, short hair bobbing with the tilt of her head. “Good. What happened to your dress?”

Stubborn as hell, you know she’ll follow you around and keep asking if you don’t surrender now, so you reply, “Got into a fight. It was terrible. I won, though.”

“Was it with that boy?” The look of confusion on your face makes her roll her eyes, tugging the line of IV with a wave of her arm. “Y’know, that snowman-looking boy. The really loud one. He was asking everyone about you. Even Shoko. She kept telling him to go away because she was helping me eat breakfast but he wouldn’t stop talking.”

Your heart clenches. 

“It wasn’t with him. But it’s okay. I’m fine.”

She isn’t convinced, you can see it in her doe eyes but she shrugs and shuffles on her bed. “My mummy says that all the time. I’m always in here but she says she doesn’t mind as long as she gets to be with me. Why do adults lie?”

You don’t have an answer and she doesn’t expect you to. Lying back on her bed, she stares at her pale hand, so small and fragile, and shakes it, entranced by the needle lodged inside. 

Your heart clenches again but for a different reason; Nobara’s been here longer than Asahi has. In fact, she hasn’t left since she was born, the nurses say. And yet her headstrong attitude has never wavered and she’s always a ball of light that cheers the other patients on. Sometimes you’d find her in your friend’s room organising the flowers, throwing out the wilted ones. You couldn’t imagine this place without her but more than anything, you really hope you can. 

“Are you going to see your friend?”

Nodding, you give her, what you hope is, an encouraging smile. That drops, though, when her head turns, arm dropping, and her eyes meet yours. You feel  spine-tingling dread crawl up your spine before she even opens her mouth. 

“He’s already got a visitor but I think he’ll be happy to know you came when it isn’t Thursday yet.”

Getting to his room is a blur, your body moved on muscle memory alone, and when you push the door open, the pounding of your heart thudthudthudding against your chest like a bomb ticking, all your worries come alive. 

Because, there, standing by an empty bed, is your future husband. 

His grin is twisted and shivers rapidly wrack your body, piercing your bones, hooking themselves in your flesh. He’s dressed in hunting clothes, a speckle of blood on his collar the only thing out of place. The bastard’s even brought the gun along, it’s leaning against the foot of the bed. 

And he doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see you here.

“Good evening, bride.”

Disgust crawls in your throat. His voice is indescribable but it’s just as plastic as anything else in his home. It’s the kind of voice that speaks nothing but high class politeness even though it’s riddled with thorns of venom. That’s a voice you’ll have to listen to for the rest of your life and it’s coming from a mouth you’ll have to kiss tomorrow.

Carefully, you take a step inside. “What’re you doing here?”

Fingers skimming the sheets on the bed, he lifts a shoulder in a shrug. He’s making it abundantly clear that he’s only answering what he wants to answer at his own pace, on his terms, and not yours. 

“I simply wanted to get to know my bride better. It’s been some time now since we last saw each other, no?”

Your hands ball up into fists, nails threatening to draw blood out of your palms. That pounding in your chest isn’t going away and sweat is dripping down your back. It feels as if you’ve wandered to the gates of hell, the threat of judging fire smouldering on your skin. 

“I must say,” he begins, eyes scouring your body in both repulsion and intrigue, “your personal style is not quite what I like, but on our wedding day all of that will be taken off, so I suppose it matters very little. They’ve told you your wardrobe will be managed by the estate, yes? You need not answer, I’m sure they have, and if they haven’t, well you know now.”

When you don’t say a thing in response, he continues. 

“You might feel like it’s all happening so fast but I must admit,” he muses, exploring fingers reaching the barrel of his gun now and you’re stuck in place when he lifts it up, aiming it at your head, “I’ve been planning this for a while now. I’ve had my eye on you since you were but a child clinging to your mother’s skirt even as she tries to shake you off. It was a curious sight. And when I found out about your engagement to that Gojo, I was livid. Of course, I knew all about your family’s misfortunes, try as your parents did to conceal it all, so I took no offence to the arrangement. No, what upset me most was that he was going to get first taste.”

Even with the distance between you, two metres or so, you can feel the phantom kiss of the cold metal against your forehead. You don’t need to wonder how he managed to bring a gun into a hospital; he’s a Zenin, they do as they please. But the knowledge that if you called out for help no one would come makes you gulp despite the dryness of your mouth.

You won’t humour him. You won’t listen to his spiel, won’t buy into the bullshit he’s spewing. Whether there’s any truth to his words or not doesn’t matter because the intention is all the same: he wants to rattle you. The rumours were true, just as you had suspected — he takes great pleasure in fucking women up, starting with their minds. 

Steeling yourself, you ask again, “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

His grin grows impossibly wider like he’s glad you caught up on your own. The Zenin watches your eyes scanning the bed and then the room and the bed again; he’s been waiting for you to walk into his trap, an unfortunate deer all vulnerable to his violent desires. That was the real trap. 

Carelessly, he throws the shotgun on the bed. It bounces only once, settling in quite comfortably. You grimace. It’s still pointing at you.

“You’ve been visiting another man for years now. That wouldn’t look good for me if my wife paid so much attention to someone else, would it? No, I didn’t think so.” 

He steps towards you, adjusting his collar so casually one would think he’s talking about the weather.

“Erasing your party-girl history is easy; most of those ingrates you associated with are too high to even remember their names. But your visits to the hospital? Well, I can’t kill every patient here, can I?”

The twinkle in his eyes tells you he has definitely thought about it and he’d be very eager to try. You know he isn’t bluffing. You’ve always known what men like him, apex predators with limitless money, can do and do do. It was something your father did all the time, until he messed with the wrong people and made the wrong call and then he lost all his influence. 

“So, I took matters into my own hands.”

Blood running cold, you ask tentatively, “What did you do?”

You already know the answer. Maybe you knew it before you even came in, before you left the manor, or as soon as you met him at some party and his cold, unfeeling eyes never left yours. r

Every step he takes towards you sends you reeling back until you’re pressed against the wall and goddamn it you hate hospitals. Or better yet, hospitals hate you. His body heat is suffocating, the musky cologne he wears is too strong and it makes your eyes water. Everything about him is wrong. His hair isn’t white, his laugh isn’t addictive, and the windows to the void inside aren’t pretty and blue. 

When a hand, baby smooth, brushes your cheek, all you feel are prickles scraping your skin, like the tongue of a cat. 

“It was bad enough I had to get a Gojo’s leftover. What I will not put up with is sharing my wife with some no-name dribbling vegetable.”

Leaning in close, you can do nothing but let his lips tease the shell of your ear. No one’s coming. No one will help. No one will see your descent into oblivion as the very last of your spirit is crushed under the weight of his madness. And certainly, no one will catch you.

“You tell me what you think I did.”

He said it like it was some joke. The world’s funniest joke. But you’re not laughing. In fact, when your eyes fall upon that empty bed again, you feel like screaming. 

And so you do. 

All the way to the altar. 

[mcumorningstar]

Prove It, Cowboy

pairing: dodge mason x reader

summary: after the player's ball, you find yourself without a bed for the night until dodge offers for you to stay at his, but when his mom and sister catch you sneaking in they get the wrong impression.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dry humping, protected sex (p in v), dodge’s mom and sister being kinda invasive about his sex life (?)

a/n: dodge and his mom being so open about her sex life was so funny to me. this is kinda the reverse of a canon conversation... kinda! also i had a dream i went to one of dodge’s rodeos but he was flirting with all the girls so he was my enemy for a few days <3

A midnight sky hung over Carp, Texas when you arrived at Dodge’s house. Dodge put a finger to his lips fruitlessly as the front gate creaked loudly. The curtains of the front room twitched.

A female voice came from inside the house, “Dodge’s brought a girl home!”

Shit.

“That’s Dana,” Dodge sighed, fiddling with his keys and rubbing his forehead with a tight smile. Before he turned the keys in the lock, he turned to you, “Sorry, in advance.”

Your brows screwed together as he guided you inside.

After the player’s ball, Heather disappeared and so you were left without a bed for the night. God forbid you sneak into your own house and face the wrath of your parents.

Dodge came to the rescue.

A sigh fell from his lips at the sight of his mom and sister waiting in the living room doorway with excited smiles and hooded eyes. They behaved more like sisters than mother and daughter. It was sweet.

A dim lamp on the entrance table and the bright colours of the TV cast shadows across the room.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” You smiled politely despite two pairs of unfamiliar eyes trained on you.

God they must think you’re here to sleep with him or something.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Jessica. You want something to drink?” Dodge’s mom raised her glass of red wine, “We’re watching Jeopardy.“

She was a very beautiful woman, cherub cheeks and bright green eyes. Dodge was all hard angles, he must take after his dad.

Dodge ducked into the sea-foam coloured kitchen to grab two waters from the refrigerator.

“I’m Dana!” His sister beamed. She shared an unspoken look with Dodge, who rolled his eyes. Before you could thank her, Dodge rejoined your side.

“She’s locked out and just wants somewhere to sleep,” He quelled their unspoken barrage of questions.

His mom nodded along, as if he was lying, “Okay well there’s spare blankets in the laundry room, condoms in the bathroom...”

“Oh my god,” Dodge cursed under his breath, “We’re going now.”

Jessica and Dana giggled behind their glasses of wine, the right side of drunk, “The book, Dodge.”

She winked with exaggeration, her filter totally gone with the amount she’d drank but she was clearly having a fun night in.

Dodge shook his head with a flustered laugh.

With a hand on your back, Dodge guided you to his bedroom. Your face flushed at the unexpected attention and the suggestive situation.

The two laughed rather loudly, saying how pretty you are and how Dodge will fair with a girl spending the night, for the first time you assumed.

The sound of the women stifling laughter echoed around the house. Dodge closed his bedroom door with a sheepish and apologetic smile.

His room was pretty plain; grey bedsheets, grey walls, rodeo trophies and medals, a bookshelf with framed photos on. It smelt like laundry soap and his cologne.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” He offered, tossing his backpack onto the carpet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t bite,” You teased, as you looked at his collection of trophies and books, “Plus they already think we’re fucking.”

Dodge gave a quick laugh, watching you read the spines on the shelf.

“What book was your mom talking about?” You turned to him and his face flushed.

“You heard that, huh?” He mumbled, “It was a joke really. She thinks she’s funny.”

Even more intrigued by his avoidance, you sized him up with squinted eyes.

Dodge cleared his throat, tidying away a pile of laundry sitting on his bed, “They uh… god this is… They used to worry about me with- with girls. They thought I was a virgin because I never brought girls home to meet them or anything… and so for Secret Santa one year I got a book about… women… My mom insists it wasn’t her and that whoever it was was trying to be funny…”

There was a long pause. Dodge shied away from your eyes, his body turned away from you, despite the little air of embarrassed laughter.

Dodge cleared his throat again, “Super weird, I know. She had kids super young and didn’t want us to make the same mistake. Not that me and Dana are mistakes but it was hard for her. She’s cool about that sorta thing though. Dana’s ex-boyfriend used to stay over all the time and she didn’t care. So if you’re worried, she won’t say anything about you being here or anything.”

Another bout of silence fell between you as Dodge assessed your features, his lips pursed and shoulders tight.

“I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me,” You laughed and Dodge visibly relaxed.

“No, it’s cool. Not cool but, you know, I wish my family were cooler about sex. My dad saw your name in my phone and reached for his shotgun,” You laughed, “Anyway, a book is probably better than drunk hook ups at the lake.”

“Yeah probably,” Dodge nodded, leaning against the bookshelf, and there was a lull in the conversation.

“Oh… did you read it?” You giggled, a flush of red creeping up his neck and ears, “You did!”

“You can’t prove anything,” Dodge shook his head with a half-cocked smile.

“But you could,” You raised your eyebrows and he furrowed his. It was a joke, he knew that, but Dodge steeled his expression and licked his lips.

“Yeah?”

You kept your eyes on his for a long moment before smiling, “Yeah. Prove it.”

You reached out and rested a hand on his stomach. His abs were tight and lean under his button-up shirt.

One by one, you unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, running your hands along the sturdy plane of his stomach and chest.

Conflicting thoughts ran through your head. Heather was like your sister and Natalie had been planning to win Panic for years.

Would fucking Dodge Mason, their competition, be a good idea?

Your judgement was clouded by the heat radiating from his skin and the smattering of hair on his chest. His dual coloured eyes watched your face as you stood before him, admiring him.

“I saw you like this at the jump but not up close,” You rested your hands on his shoulders, biting your lip, “Thank you, saddle bronc.”

Dodge couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his cheeks, as a sputtered laugh escaped his lips.

In one movement, Dodge threw you over his shoulder and deposited you on his bed, kneeling over you.

A soft line of kisses traced along your arm to your shoulder. With every press of his lips, you itched to feel them against yours, whining at the wait.

Pink and plump, his lips pressed to the corner of your mouth before he pulled back to look down at you, stilling hovering over you.

Taking his head in your hands, you craned your neck to kiss him. Each press of his lips had you sighing contently and the swipe of his tongue had you moaning.

Dodge licked into your mouth with fervour, tongue and lips colliding with no precision, only desire.

You hooked your leg over his hips and rolled him onto his back beneath you, straddling his hips.

Dodge instinctively gripped your hips and watched with kiss-bitten lips and doe eyes as you discarded your dress onto his bedroom floor.

“You gonna give me some tips, cowboy?”

Dodge groaned, your hands pressing against his chest, as he slowly guided the rocking of your hips against his.

With every roll of your hips, your tits bounced in the lacy cups of your bra. His eyes flickered between your chest and your pink panties, rubbing against his bulge.

Dodge groaned, tightening his grip on your hips, “Lean forward.”

Following his instructions, a loud moan escaped you at the change in pressure against your clit.

“Good girl, you’re doing so good,” He rumbled, rutting his hips against yours in a perfect rhythm. Warmth bloomed in your chest at his praise.

Thank you, saddle bronc.

His muscles rippled and bulged underneath your hands as the slick between your legs dampened the skin of your inner thighs.

Cupping a hand at the nape of your neck, Dodge guided your mouth to his, kissing you with pinched brows and deep groans. Pulling away from the heated make out and pressing a deep kiss to his lips, you sat up and unbuttoned his jeans.

Dodge lay back, stroking your thighs and watching you with bated breath. Pulling him from his trance, you hooked a finger into the elastic waistband of his boxers, twanging the material against his alabaster skin.

A smile twitched at his lips as he slowly sat up and kissed you softly, rolling you onto your back. Dodge pushed his jeans off and lay between your legs, the hard length of his cock pressing into your inner thigh.

Settling your hands on each other's heated skin, Dodge kissed you deeply and nipped at your bottom lip playfully. His strong arms wrapped around you, his hand palming at the globe of your ass.

Warm and plump lips mouthed at your neck, teeth tugging the strap of your bra from your shoulder and kissing at the newly bare skin. He unhooked your bra, tossing it onto the floor and laving his tongue at your pebbled nipples.

"Please, need you," You whined, clawing at his shoulders. Dodge pressed a final kiss to your chest before sitting on his haunches and pulling your panties down your legs.

With firm hands on your inner thighs, Dodge parted your legs and bit his lip, staring at your dripping sex. You squirmed under his undivided attention, hooking your calf around his waist and pulling him on top of you.

Kissing him deeply, you pushed his boxer briefs down his hips, dragging your nails across his back once his erection sprung free. The wet tip smacked against your heated skin.

Dodge kicked his boxers off and reached into his nightstand, tearing the foil of a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolling the rubber onto his cock.

Caressing his biceps, you watched as he hovered over you and lined himself against your entrance. You hooked a leg around his hip, gasping into his open mouth as he slowly thrust into you.

Dodge's eyes fluttered shut as his hips pressed flush against yours. A ragged breath escaped his lips, tickling the skin of your neck. Dropping his head to your shoulder, Dodge sighed shakily.

"C'mon cowboy," You rolled your hips, "Buck."

Dodge let out a mix of a soft groan and a laugh into your neck, "You feel really good."

A small giggle fell from you, scratching your fingers through his hair. You bucked your hips again and Dodge clamped a hand on your hip, pulling back and rolling his hips against you.

Picking up the pace, Dodge fucked his thick cock against the sensitive spot deep within your cunt. Sloppy wet sounds echoed around the room with each buck of his hips.

Sweat beaded on your skin as the coil within the pit of your stomach tightened. Your nails clawed at the rippling muscles of Dodge's back, his skin slapping against yours.

Groans tumbled from his lips, pressing heated kisses to your skin, silencing your loud moans with his tongue in your mouth.

Digging your heels into his ass, you tightened your legs around his hips, letting him push one against your chest and his cock sinked deeper into you.

A broken gasp escaped you before his hand clamped over your mouth and his hips stopped, pressing his weight onto you.

The sound of footsteps outside his door and the subsequent flicking of light switches and closing doors alerted Dodge to the presence of his mom going to bed.

Dodge met your eyes, willing you to be quiet, as he continued to fuck you. Your brows pinched together as your interrupted pleasure began to build again, noises muffled by his strong hand.

Pressing his forehead to yours, Dodge slowed his pace and you took the opportunity to turn him onto his back, keeping his cock nestled in your cunt.

A surprised grunt tumbled from his chest and his hands groped at your body, holding you against him. You wasted no time before raising your hips and bouncing on his cock.

Dodge moaned and his eyes rolled back, covering his own mouth. A sheen of sweat on his skin glistened in the limited light. Leaning forward, your clit caught against his pubes, igniting a hotter flame within you.

"Good," Dodge praised, brushing your hair out of your face and watching your tits bounce in his face, "Such a good cowgirl."

He tipped his head back further into his plush pillow and his knees bent off the bed, fucking into you, his body pulling taut at the impending release.

"Gonna cum," Dodge rasped, panting and licking his dry lips.

You couldn't form words, only nodding, meeting his eyes and rocking your hips with the uncoordinated buck of his. The band within you was one thread away from snapping before Dodge gripped your jaw and pulled you into a heated kiss.

White hot bliss coursed through your body as you moaned into his mouth. Dodge mouthed at your unresponsive mouth, too preoccupied with moans of pleasure to reciprocate his kisses.

Dodge pulled back to watch your orgasm wash over you before he hit his peak, white ropes of cum filling the condom as he groaned deeply.

Sinking into the mattress, you lay on his sweaty chest, both trying to catch your breath. Dodge discarded the condom in the trash by his bed and pulled you into his side.

His cheeks and neck were rosy with exertion and he ran a hand up and down your back, "You should try saddle bronc."

Fucked out, you laughed into his sweaty chest, "You should keep that book."

Slowly you drifted into a blissful sleep, bodies entwined and satiated.

[sourvers]

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S BELOVED WIFE who exudes class and the fine mist of confidence through the click of your leather boots, the gentle swish of your trench coat and the glimmer in your earings. When you walk into base for the first time- delivering your husbands forgotten paperwork from your office- of course the boys can't help but soak up your velvety voice and candid laugh like the tint of red wine on your pretty lips. No wonder Price said, “My wife is beautiful.”

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S BLUNT WIFE who wants nothing more but to ensure a breathing Price walks through you're house doors. Which means you want the 'boys' to be safe too! You chide them firmly, crossing your arms over your chest, your voice that of a captain giving orders or a mother you can't refuse. Price can't help but stifle a laugh; attempting to nod his head while you point your fingers at towering men who could crush you with a flick of their finger. Yet, the three of them remain paralyzed. You shoot a glare at Price. Best not anger the missus...

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S HARD WORKING WIFE who stands firm in your opinions and speaks cut, clear and concise. When the boys find out you're a university professor: an academic of considerable standard, their not entirely shaken. They learn how hard you fucking worked for your position. While their out in the fields, you're teaching the next generation; plunging yourself into the heart of ignorance and rooting it out, lifting it up to the heat of the sun, watching it melt in palm of your tender hands. Price says its a relief you're so strong, just in case things go south.

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S KINDHEARTED WIFE who has the imagination of child and the freedom of a bird. You lift kids up in the air, make snow angels, bake cookies at 12 in the morning and laugh until the rest of the world can hear you. While your face may be riddled with acute angles and sharp turns- the curve of your smile shines like a star. You invited them over to your place for a night, cooking Price's favourite for all to share. That was when they saw you, really saw how much love was swelling in your big heart as you danced and sang with no care; pressing a kiss on Price’s cheek with each new song.

WHEN YOU'RE PRICE'S SECRETLY SAD WIFE who wishes life didn't have to be this way. Who wishes you didn't have to be so 'strong' all the time. Who questions if you were even strong from the start. Who desperately desires a stable life as the years go by— maybe your own kids in your arms and not your coworkers. You didn't think Soap would hear you that night in the backyard, crouched down drying your tears while muttering words he couldn't understand except the single phrase, “I wish my husband wasn’t a fucking captain.”

WHEN YOU’RE PRICE’S LONELY WIFE who thinks it’s best if you stopped visiting him at work— “I think I’m distracting you love.” Inviting the boys for dinner— “I’m afraid I’m busy as of late.” Or even talking to Laswell— “Best not disturb her!” Because the void of your home feels even deeper now despite all the years.

YOU’RE PRICE’S WIFE. You wake up and trace girlish hearts over your husband’s face— muscle memory. He pretends to sleep. You giggle. He brings you closer to his chest. You close your eyes and burry yourself in the tenderness of his heart: fighting the dread at the back of your mind. He whispers to you through a smile, “I can’t believe you’re my wife you know?”

Your lips form a tight smile, “Me too.”

cod masterlist. / similar posts

⤷ it honestly wasn’t meant to be this angsty. oh well. reblog and comments are highly appreciated!

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 1

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, mild smut (at the end), threesome 

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: ~1.9K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“God my head fucking hurts,” you whine, sitting up to rub your eyes. “That wine really hit out of nowhere.” Your head pounds, it has to be part of a hangover. The last thing you remember before drinking yourself to sleep was getting fired. Your boss hadn’t even had the decency to let you know face to face. An HR representative and your manager requested a zoom call at the end of the day and politely told you to ‘clean your desk.’

After nearly three years of work with the same accounting firm, it was weird to not wake up early and head into the office. The worst part really was that your performance was still stellar, the firm was just hemorrhaging money after several questionable expansions. 

Despite the pounding headache and sensitivity to light, you force yourself to open your eyes. “What the fuck?!” Glancing around the room frantically, you panic as you realize you weren’t waking up in the comfort of your room. You had to be the subject of some prank reality tv show because the decor was undoubtedly some renaissance festival shit. The walls were brick with large tapestries decorating the stone. You were laid in the center of a giant four poster bed, black and red canopies flowing.

Slipping from the tangle of sheets and blankets, you pad towards the door. “Okay,” you call out, “you got me. Very funny.” 

Silence. 

“This is so weird” you murmur, pushing the door open as gently as possible to peak out. A woman rushes by you, dressed in some kind of drab linen and an apron. “Excuse me!” you shout, attempting to get her attention. 

The short woman slowed down, stopping to curtsy quickly at the sight of you. “My lady, forgive me. I didn’t you see you there!”

“My lady?” You asked. “What are you talking about? This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, my lady,” she replied quietly. “Please don’t tell your wife I was making jokes! I swear I meant no harm-”

“My wife?!” Everyone has officially gone off the deep end. First this medieval times shit, now apparently you have a wife.

The woman’s eyes go wide, “Your wife, Queen Rhaenyra. My lady, are you unwell?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I have no idea what’s going on. I lost my job. I don’t know where I am or apparently who I am. I just want-” You choke off into sobs.

“Let me help you back to your room,” she offered, taking your elbow. “I’ll let the Queen know you’re unwell.”

You nodded, letting her lead you back into the room. The woman helped you into a steaming bath and left you to soak while she fetched your wife. “Can’t believe someone made an honest woman of me,” you laugh.

At some point, the entire situation stopped feeling like a prank. Maybe it was watching the maid fill the tub painstakingly bucket by bucket, or the significant lack of electricity. Either way, your situation was beginning to feel more and more real. You grab the bar of soap and lather up a cloth, scrubbing furiously at your skin. 

“That’s weird,” you murmur as you notice that your skin seems far too perfect. You usually had a couple scars littering your arms and legs, leftovers from frequently crashing your bike as a kid and general clumsiness. They all seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but perfectly smooth, supple skin behind. “Okay, I’m officially going crazy.”

You see a small mirror on the ledge next to the tub, and reach out with shaky hands. You sigh in relief as you glance into the mirror and see that you look the same. At least you have something familiar here.

“Admiring the view? I know I am.” A deep voice purred from behind you.

Tossing the mirror back, you swiftly cover your chest and pray that the water obscurs the rest of you. “What the fuck?!” You yell, turning to confront whatever pervert decided to interrupt your bath. A tall man towered over the tub, his white hair practically glowing as the candlelight reflected off of it.

“I’m trying to have an existential crisis in here,” you hiss. “Can you come back later or something?”

He snorted a laugh, stalking forward to grab a brush from the side table and sit behind you. “And miss this opportunity? I should think not, my love.” He gently began detangling your hair and brushing it out. 

“My love? You do know I’m a married woman?” You retort.

“You never let me forget,” he replied, kissing the top of your hair. 

“I mean I have a wife, asshole!” You twist around to snatch the brush from his hands, but he lifts it out of your reach.

“What a coincidence,” he purrs, blatantly staring at your breasts. “I do too. Two, if I’m not mistaken.” His eyes dart down to your left hand, as if he knows something you don’t.

You glance at the ring that’s been there since you woke up. The black metal has a dragon insignia that looks awfully similar to the embroidery on this man’s shirt. “Fuck.” 

The man’s brows furrow, “what’s wrong?” He sets the brush down, grabbing a sheet and pulling you from the bath. He wraps you up and sits you in his lap. The warmth seeping into your skin feels so familiar and you feel yourself begin to break. Tears stream down your cheeks, and you burrow your face into his neck to hide them. 

Warm hands rub up and down your back soothingly. “My love, I cannot fix whatever is wrong if you don’t tell me.” He hums. “You don’t even have to tell me. Just give Rhaenyra a name and I will ensure whoever made you cry will never breathe again.”

You laugh at the irony. “I don’t know who Rhaenyra is. I’m not sure I even know who I am.” 

Before he can respond, a door slams. “Daemon, thank Gods you’re here. The maid said y/n was acting ill and didn’t rememb-” 

Your head peaks up over the man–Daemon’s shoulder to see the woman who ran in. Her hair is just as white as Daemon’s and her clothing adorned with the same dragon insignia. This must be Queen Rhaenyra.

“Y/n?!” Rhaenyra rushes over, kissing your cheek before she hugs you tightly. 

“My queen,” Daemon greets, leaning in for a kiss. You find yourself pressed between the two, and as much as you don’t want to admit it….the warmth and pressure feels comforting…like home. 

“I hate to break this up,” you say, wiping the last of your tears away. “But can someone tell me what is going on. The last thing I remember was being fired, getting wine drunk, and going to bed early.”

“Fired?” Rhaenyra looked confused and immediately started inspecting every exposed inch of your skin. “Did you try to feed Caraxes again? He’s a temperamental old man, just like his rider.”

“Who is Caraxes? Do ya’ll have a dog or something?”

“Dog?!” Daemon sounded almost offended. “A dog?! Rhaenyra we should fetch a maester. Our little dragon is either begging for a punishment or in need of a healer.”

Rhaenyra attempts to cover her laugh. “Caraxes, Daemon’s dragon? You insist on telling him a goodnight story at least once a week.”

“He’s a dragon of war for fucks sake,” Daemon mutters. “You’ve been making him soft.”

“Dragon?!” Your eyes go wide. “You’re joking. You’ve gotta be fucking me right now.”

“We are most definitely no-”

“We certainly could be-”

Daemon and Rhaenyra spoke at the same time. You would have laughed, but the implications of Daemon’s words were starting to settle in.

“Wait,” you being. “So if Queen Rhaenyra is my wife….and Daemon has two wives…and you two seem to be close…that means-”

“That you both are all mine,” Daemon purrs.

“Daemon, we must call for the maester. This seems serious, she doesn’t even remember us.”

“What year is this?” You ask, not sure if you want the answer.

“125 AC.” Rhaenyra responds.

“And where are we?”

“The red keep.”

“What, is that like England or something?”

“We are in Westeros.” Rhaenyra feels your forehead. “Daemon, put y/n to bed while I have the maids summon the maester.”

You yelp in surprise and Daemon stands up, holding you close to his chest. He carries you to a vanity, setting you gently on the bench before rummaging through some drawers. “Arms up, love.” He says, pulling a white shift over your head. You stare of into space as Daemon gently braids your hair. 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” You ask as he ties a ribbon at the ends of the braid.

“You and Rhaenyra are quite the demanding duo when you want to be,” he snorts. “The staff might revolt and establish Rhaenyra’s cunt of a half-brother as king if I bothered them everytime you both needed your hair done.”

“Language,” you chide. Daemon rolls his eyes before he sweeps you back up into his arms. He carries you to the bed, depositing you in the center before he climbs in. Daemon sits up, back against the headboard as he pulls you in to lean against his chest. 

“Do you really not remember us?” He asks. 

“How long have we been married?” 

“Five years. We were married in the old ways. Your High Valyrian wasn’t as good back then though.” Daemon laughs. “But it was perfect, and I wouldn’t trade you both for anything.”

“So if Rhaenyra is queen, what does that make you?” You ask. He had to be King, right?

“A lucky man.”

You laugh, and lightly hit his chest. “No, really. I don’t remember anything. Help a girl out here.”

“Prince consort.” Daemon answers. You nod, so Rhaenyra must be in charge around here.

“So how’d I end up married to Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Daemon?” You ask in the poshest British accent you can muster.

“You threw yourself at my feet saying ‘Please Rhaenyra, I cannot live without you! You are the sun that brightens the sky and the stars that guide ships home!’” Rhaenyra teased. You sit up to see that Rhaenyra isn’t alone, she brought back some balding man with her. 

“I didn’t say that-” You protest.

“Really?” Daemon laughs. “My queen, it’s not proper to toy with someone who is ill.”

“You’re one to talk,” Rhaenyra says, raising a brow. “You seemed rather close when I came in earlier.”

You groan. How did you manage to survive these two for five years. 

!!SMUT BELOW!!

PREVIEW FOR PART TWO

“No,” Daemon scolds, clasping your hands together in his larger one and wrenching your body into his. “You’re not in charge here. You’re going to listen and obey like a good little girl.” You whine in response, nodding furiously in agreement. Suddenly, Rhaenyra’s warm body brushes up against your back. She nibbles lightly at your ear before kissing and licking her way down your neck.

“No need to be cruel,” Rhaenyra purrs. “Our little dragon is just begging for attention the only way she knows how.”

You whimper, canting your hips into Daemon’s. He slides a thigh between yours, pressing it up against your cunt. Your eyes roll back and you moan at the friction. “Please,” you breathe out, your teary eyes meeting his. 

NOTE: Hey all! I'm not dead, sorry for disappearing! Life happened (new job, had to travel home for a funeral). But, I got my shit back together after taking some time for myself and I'm ready to give y'all the stories I've been cooking up. I have some steamy and inspiring requests I'm working on for Feyd Rautha (so if you requested...they're coming). Glad to be back and BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR PART 2!!!! - Lacie <3

Want to be added to a taglist? Click HERE!

[yapuniversity]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Shy Neighbour Nanami wakes up at 6AM, his mind occupied by thoughts of you.

Shy Neighbour Nanami heads towards the shower, thinking about what you would be up to right now.

Shy Neighbour Nanami comes out of the shower smelling like clean soap, having his hands wrapped around his aching cock. He walks over to his bed and sits down, gently moving his fingers up and down his cock in mastered rhythm, trying to contain his arousal because the images of your perfect body with no clothes on crossed his mind.

Shy Neighbour Nanami sighs in frustration as he touches his tip, precum already forming on his head.

Shy Neighbour Nanami forces himself to get off his bed and puts his clothes on. His thick cock fighting back to be touched once again, but he has to get ready for work. When he puts his clothes on, he notices the visible bulge in his pants. He curses your name under his breath because he hates the effect you have on him.

Shy Neighbour Nanami makes breakfast as he daydreams about how pleasant it would be if he could make you breakfast. He sits down on his dining table and looks at the chair across him, imagining your presence. His cock reacts once again, bulging against his fabric, begging to be touched. He hisses in irritation and grabs his cock, rubbing his hand over the swollen area, trying to calm himself down.

Shy Neighbour Nanami waits at the window and watches you exit your house. He immediately rushes out of his house - making it seem like you both were leaving for work at the same time. Before even locking his door, he turns towards you and smiles at you and is caught off guard when he catches your gaze already on him. “What a coincidence, huh?” you comment, and a shy “y-yes,” escapes his lips. “Well, see you in the evening then,” you say and wait for his response. He simply nods, unable to speak because you're right in front of him. You smile and turn away, walking towards your car. He watches you walk away, hips swaying seductively at him, your curves inviting danger.

Shy Neighbour Nanami gathers himself together and clears his throat. He heads towards his car and drives for work. His cheeks turn a light shade of pink when he thinks about the short conversation he had with you.

Shy Neighbour Nanami spends his entire day at work, with recurring thoughts of you and your smile. He cannot wait to go home. To get a glance of you. To talk to you again.

Shy Neighbour Nanami reaches home at the same time as you. “Wanna come over to have a drink?” you ask him. He pretends to think about the offer, not wanting to sound desperate when the “yes” slips out of his lips. He watches as your face lights up, a small grin playing over your tempting mouth. “Perfect!” you exclaim.

Shy Neighbour Nanami enters your house and before he even knew it, he's sitting on your sofa, drinking a glass of wine. After an hour, he gets up to leave. Thanking you for the drink. “No problem,” you say, your cheeks red because you had a little too much to drink, and your mind was also filled with distracting thoughts. He finds your flushed expression adorable and fights the urge to kiss you on the cheek. He nods his head and turns to leave.

Shy Neighbour Nanami feels a hand pull the back of his shirt and is forced to suddenly turn around. Before he could even process what was happening, he feels your lips crashing into his. He stands still for a couple of seconds but immediately takes control of the situation and kisses you back. You wrap your arms around his shoulder and he encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. He lifts you up with ease and mumbles between kisses, “this is wrong”. You kiss him desperately and let out a disapproving moan, disagreeing with him. This, in fact, was good. This was what you wanted to do with him for a long time.

Shy Neighbour Nanami pushes you on the sofa, his kisses eager and deep. He sucks at the sensitive spots on your neck and nibbles playfully at your ear. You giggle under his touch and he pulls back to admire your beautiful face. “What?” you ask shyly, trying to cover your face with your hands.

Shy Neighbour Nanami reaches out and holds your hands, pinning them to your sides. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers so you realise that the words were only meant for you. Your face turns red in response and he chuckles at your expression.

Shy Neighbour Nanami leans forward, his breath warm against your ear, “I crave you, y/n”.

Little does he know you crave him too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

do not plagiarise, copy, translate or repost my works on any platform!!!

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

[mushies-stories]

Drinking- how TF141 handles a clingy drunk reader for the first time

PART ONE- Price and Soap

PART TWO- Ghost and Gaz

F!Reader

Warnings: drunk reader, little tiny bit suggestive... think that's it?

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle had gotten off work a bit early, the mission going faster than expected but just as tiring. The only thing on his mind was seeing you, he needed to feel your soft body against his.

He called you from his car, figuring it was early enough and you'd still be awake. He was correct, but when you answered the phone you didn't sound like your usual self. Your words are slow and a little slurred. “Baby, ya okay?” he asks.

You hum a response. “M’okay, just been drinking a little.” you tell him. 

“Sounds like it, you alone at home love?” he asks, a little nervous. It wasn't like you to get drunk by yourself, or really that often at all actually.

“Yeah… but could you come over, please.” your voice was a little shaky and it twisted something in Kyle's gut. 

“Of course lovie. Be there in just a bit, eh?” he tells you. His drive was faster than normal, you sounded off and it worried him. His only thought was to get to you and the elevator ride up to your flat seemed endless. 

When you entered he saw you sitting on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, glass of red wine and an almost empty bottle next to it. 

Your head turned when you heard his steps and the sound of his shoes being kicked off. “Kyle.” you say quietly. Standing you shed the blanket and take a few shaky steps towards him. 

He rushed to meet you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you against himself. Your own arms wrap around his middle, gripping the back of his shirt. “What's wrong love, why ya crying?” he asks, voice tender and soft. His warm eyes looking over your tear stained cheeks before wiping a tear away. 

You give him a small shrug. “I'm just so tired, and work was stressful. I just wanted to relax a little and I knew you are normally at the base late...” you admit. 

Kyle hums softly before kissing the top of your head. “Well, drinking is no way to feel better, right lovie?” he asks, making sure you look at him by guiding your face to look at his. “Next time, just let me know, be over as soon as i can.” he tells you. 

You give him a small smile. “I will, I'm sorry I know I was overreacting.”

“None of that love, let's just get ya to bed.” he says with a sweet smile. You lean into his touch and nod. 

He figured after such a stressful day you should take a hot bath. Topped with some essential oils he found it was ready. You both relax in the warm water. Kyle behind you so you can rest your head on his chest. 

“Thank you kyle.” you mumble. Eyes closed and soldering his arms around you, you sigh constantly. “I love you.” you add, a little slower and sleepier. 

Kyle smiles down at you. Perfectly content in his arms, just as he wanted. Here to keep you safe and happy. “Anything for your lovie, I love ya too.” he says. Just above a whisper, the last coherent words you heard before drifting off. 

When you had dozed off Kyle gathered your body in his arms and brought you to bed then wrapped you in a fluffy towel. The whole time you barely even stirred in your sleep. He crawled in next to you and wrapped you in his arms once again, this time pulling your head to his chest, arm holding you back so your firm against him. 

He kisses your nose. “Goodnight love.” he says. That night you both slept soundly. Kyle happily content with your bare body against his own.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Simon had called after getting back from a long mission, wanting to see you instead of going home alone. All he needed at the moment was your arms wrapped around him. 

To his delight you had picked up, even in the late hour. To his disappointment however, it sounded like you were out with friends.

That didn't seem to mean much to you. Judging by your excited time when you answered. “Si? You home already?” you ask, smile evident in your tone. 

He smiles to himself. “Yeah, sound busy though doll, see ya tomorrow?” he offers. 

You make a sound of displeasure. “But I gotta see you tonight Si, please? I'll get an uber right now!” Simon just chuckles and tells you to stay put, he will come and get you. 

Not even twenty minutes later and you're in his passenger seat with his hand on your bare thigh and a drunkenly sweet smile plastered across your face. You loved admiring Simon, even with most of his face concealed. Everything about him made you drawn to him. 

“See something ya like love?” Simon chuckles and glances over to you. His hand on your thigh squeezes the soft skin.

You nod and giggle. “Always see something I like around you, Si.” 

He snorts before paying attention to the road, eyes focus on getting home. You babbled about your night with your friends and he nodded along, humming in response when he needed to agree with you, all the while his hand rests on your warm plush thigh and a small smile plays at his lips. 

You were adorable. The way you stared at him the whole time like he was the moon, the way your hands laid atop his and gripped it when you talked. 

He loved the attention. From you, and only you that is. Loved that you just wanted to see him, needed too. 

When you got back to his place, he carried you in. insisting that the stairs were too much for you and it would be faster. “S’alright love, just let me bring you up. Be much faster.” he explained.

The whole way you kissed at his neck, making sure to lift his mask enough so you could pepper them to his jawline. “Lovie, none of tha. S’to late and you.” he glanced down at you and your blushing cheeks, warm from the alcohol. “Are much too hammered.” he chuckles, stepping into his flat before closing and locking the door. 

“But Si… I missed you so much, you were gone for a whole week.” you pout softly up at him after he set you down on his bed.

One of his hands comes out to cradle the side of your head, making you look up at him and hold his gaze. “Don't worry lovie, when your pretty little head is pounding tomorrow, I'll make sure to do everything I can to help you forget about it.” he promises. 

I shiver rolls down your back and you smile dumbly up at him, the thought of what to come already turning the little gears in your head. Simon however forces you to push the thoughts aside and get ready for bed instead.

With you in only his shirt, his mask set aside and his protective arm wrapped securely around your middle, you start to drift off. “Love you Simon, can't wait for tomorrow.” 

Simon kisses the side of your head. “Love you too doll, can't wait.”

[heartlilith]

WHAT THE VENUS SIGNS REMIND ME OF

🩷Oddly specific things I think about when I hear ______ venus

Aries Venus: Summer, rubies, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, rollercoasters, fast cars, the color red, vampire fangs, Saturday nights, liquor stores and gas stations, fireworks, sour candy, cool bic lighters, “you’re mine”, Mario Kart, boys who wear nail polish, fuck it energy, oversized sweatshirts, middle finger emoji, cherries

Taurus Venus: Satin pillowcases, white candles, pearls, mirrors, hand holding, walking someone home at night, vinyls, red lipstick, full lips, fancy dinner dates, the wine and dine, old romantic movies, wallets and purses, hotels, French manicures, old money, “I won’t get on my knees for no man”

Gemini Venus: Driving around at night listening to music, reading to someone, comedy shows, mimosas, Samantha from Sex and the City, libraries, nerd kink, hot teachers/student kink, emerald green, laughter, swing sets, looking out of the window and just watching, untied shoelaces, dogs and puppies, dad jokes

Cancer Venus: Soft feather pillows, a bowl of warm soup, a bubble bath, tears and running mascara, babies and how babies laugh, poetry, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be”, hot tubs, hot coffee, teddy bears, heartbeats, soft hands & skin, lotion, bagels and cream cheese, doodling in your journal

Leo Venus: Lip gloss, mojitos, getting drunk at brunch, diamond tennis bracelets, drunk texts you regret sending later, the block button, lonely nights, shooting stars, blowing bubbles, piggy back rides, art museums, glittery eyeshadow, jumparoos, birthday parties

Virgo Venus: Taking a shower, Dove soap, smooth skin, symmetry, butterflies, the smell of books, getting a facial or going to the spa, chicken caesar salads, the good tasting water, chunky headphones, acoustic guitar, running errands, getting your eyebrows done, neat handwriting, neutral colors, sushi

Libra Venus: Blush, dimples, Y2K fashion, Hello Kitty, makeup skills, those little hand mirrors, princes and princesses, cupcakes, pedicures, Margaritas, taking pictures, art, castles, Disney movies, daisies, spin the bottle, cartwheels, soft hair, bubblegum, skincare, watermelon and pineapple

Scorpio Venus: Psychology, neck tattoos, “until death do us part”, Kings & Queens, snakes, sacred sex, chess, secrets, hickeys, the feeling after you stay up all night, the feeling of being at a concert, roses, knives, tequila shots, legs intertwined, dirty martinis, sparklers, Avril Lavigne, fantasy books, true crime and dark history

Sagittarius Venus: Clouds, rock climbing, rappers, Hip Hop and R&B, going on vacation, açaí bowls and fresh fruit, sun kissed/radiant skin, the color yellow, retreats, history, yoga and Pilates, spicy food, “it is what it is”, curly hair, the smell of weed, casinos, the last day of school, Las Vegas

Capricorn Venus: Leather, red wine, the cow pattern, cowgirl boots, the color brown, espresso, dark chocolate, briefcase of money like in the movies, the movie Scarface, whiskey on the rocks, bosses, owls, turtle necks, caramel, wearing suits, lingerie, business, New York City

Aquarius Venus: Lightbulbs, telescopes and microscopes, LED lights, hamsters, college parties, glitter, peace signs, 70s concerts, food trucks, skipping school, “fuck it”, diving in the pool, the beach at night, disco balls, getting detentions in school

Pisces Venus: Mermaids, kittens, cartoons and Disney princesses, champagne, Webkinz, little kid stories like Goldilocks, 3 Little Pigs, Hansel and Gretel, clear glittery lip gloss, holographic, snowmen and icicles, swimming in the pool, flower gardens, glow sticks , picnics, bumblebees, sand castles, elementary art class, 3D movies

Book a Reading 🩷

Masterlist 🩷

[murmiss]

Neglected Beta!Y/N And the bad pack! 141

Part1.

(No user's names are mentioned, the user's description is as a female, angst,The changed nature of the characters, my vision on them,there may be mistakes in words -English is not my first language)

Omegas-gentle creatures with soft personalities, smells, and sincere purity-were what Pack 141 wanted, but their psychiatric records, their mental health records, unfortunately didn't allow the pack to have an omega. Eventually they'd either torture the poor thing or gnaw each other, so they were left to enjoy their rare encounters with girls.

Until at some point, in the midst of a conversation between old friends, Laswell did not offer Price an easier option - Take in the pack beta, to convince the commission distribution center that their pack is quite stable and able to live with omegas.

And it's got Price pretty damn hooked. Like be nice to the beta for a couple months and then they'll reward you with a full-fledged mate?

And they're going for it.

The whole pack was in awe of the idea, and even Ice Ghost couldn't help but grin when the beta contract was approved. Just a little bit more and they'd have a full-fledged member of the pack-a gentle and sweet omega...

When you arrived at the house, the Man with the Mohawk, Soap, that's what he called himself, kindly helped carry your suitcases to the door and your room, and the black-skinned guy with the charming smile kissed your hand upon meeting you, affectionately calling you "my lady."

Honestly, when you got the acceptance letter from the pack, fear and anxiety didn't leave you - usually all packs wanted omegas, but here, a pack that wanted a beta, who liked you and met you so kindly, couldn't have been more excited. Damn it, your legs were shaking before the meeting, because the fear of being unrecognized, unwanted in your own pack had been haunting you since your student days, when you found out that you were just an ordinary beta.

There were also advantages to the plan: no heat, no need to pretend to be nice, as omegas did, and complete freedom of action, that is, even on the street to walk is not so scary.

You spent the whole evening preparing for full acceptance into the pack, getting a tag was the most valuable and important thing for any omega and beta in the pack, as a sign of her need.

The dress was perfect, and the light makeup emphasized the natural beauty of your face while your hair framed everything in its softness. Well, the presence of a carefully chosen set of red lingerie added spice to it, making you smile to yourself and giggle quietly.

Hell, it's so long overdue that your legs buckle and get woozy and your palms sweat when you walk down to the living room and see the table where there were appetizers, five glasses, and a beer. Beer? Not exactly what you expected, but what if your alphas don't like fancy wine or champagne?

To hell with it.

You step closer and Price grins and picks up your shoulders, pulling you to the couch, letting you sit between him and Soap. Just the thought of their rough hands touching your body makes everything hotter, and you smile.

They laugh too, Soap takes you by the shoulders, chokes on your glass and gets carried away with the conversation again.

Glass after glass, you try to cut into the conversation but they just discuss their missions, hardships and training plans .You just keep quiet.

One last clink of glasses, and soon it's time to disperse: Ghost and Gaz are the first to leave, having gone upstairs, Price is yawning, and Soap is about to leave too, and shit, you feel the heat spill down your thighs at the thought of them waiting for you up there, and you stop Soap.

"John... Ahh.. What about the mark?" -you ask in a playful tone, to which the guy with the Mohawk smiles in surprise and says, "mark.., oh, yeah, right, honey."

You smile back, and he holds out the dirty plates to you with a satisfied grin.

"What's this?" - You mutter puzzledly.

"A little cleaning won't hurt, baby," he winks, and you, out of control, set off to wash the dishes with more enthusiasm than you've never washed them before.

Done. You go upstairs and adjust your dress before going to your room, but... it's empty. Puzzled, you look into Price's room - he's asleep, the soap is asleep, and you don't even bother to look in the ghost and gas room. Maybe they just drank too much and fell asleep.

That's what you were hoping.

But in the morning it was like no one remembered you, didn't say good morning or anything, and in the evening the gas just said he and the guys were going to the gym for a workout.

At seven o'clock at night? Must be some kind of evening membership. But no, and no again. At night, like a faithful dog in waiting, you're only greeted by awkward smiles, the smell of women's perfume mixed with omega pheromones, and it hurts.

"Where's my mark?" - You ask incredulously as Gaz giggles and Soap, the most talkative of them all, explains with a smile that it's still early. Early for what? Are they still looking at you? Is there something wrong with you?

Or is it because you're not an omega?

But no, you dismiss those thoughts and start cutting up a piece of raw meat, trying to cook it to make it more flavorful, but it's not Well done and it never will be. What's the point of trying, what's the point of trying if you're never gonna make it?

You'll never be the right person.

It was Wednesday when you first caught Gaza in some girl's arms. "Colleague?" That's right. It's just a coworker, just another coworker, just.... Accept it so you don't feel your heart ache again.

The days go by the same, and it's very lonely here. No one hears or sees. Price and Ghost had a conscience and never brought anyone to your house. Is it yours? No.

"Just a little bit more, lads, and I can already see a delicate bird in a red apron circling our kitchen and cooking a delicious steak." says Soap with his trademark bright smile, reclining on the sofa.

"Better in red panties," Gas replies with a laugh, his eyes unconsciously rolling with satisfaction.

"better without"-Ghost's deep bass draws everyone's attention, and the rest of you let out an approving chuckle.

You're a good person, a really nice person, a great friend, and everyone knows it. But . You're a beta, and everyone realizes that.

If they told you at the distribution center that you were an omega, how much would things be different? How much brighter your life would be and how much more beloved you'd be by everyone around you?

"I need to go to the store," you interrupt in a surprisingly loud voice. You don't want to hear a word about it, you don't want to know, you want them to shut up. You don't want to endure this pain, this crushing feeling of your own worthlessness and inferiority.

Everyone visibly tenses, and Soap and Gaz look at each other - this evening, neither of them wanted to drive to the store, which is at least an hour away by car if you don't count traffic. They wanted to relax in a bar and maybe wake up in the arms of a charming lady, not in a damn store!

"Rock-paper-scissors!" - Soapy cheerfully suggests, and Ghost snorts in response, but agrees.

It's disgusting. It's disgusting to stand there and watch four big guys, alphas,who promised to protect you in the distribution center, swear to the administration that they're proud of this beta,That they love you,but competing to take you to the store because no one wanted to do it. No one.

It's not your fault you don't have a car. It's not your fault the rules are in place.

"Fuck! " John yells, and his face takes on an agonized expression, as if driving with you would be sheer hard labor, and desperation is written all over his face as he speaks, albeit with a smile: "Don't ride without me, boys! ".

It's a long drive to the store, but nevertheless, once you're in the supermarket, you start picking up your grocery list, walking through the departments with concentration, while MacTavish lazily walks along, looking at the grocery racks and sticking his hands in his pockets. You don't notice him walking away, noticing the cute girls with the sweetest scent of pheromone omegas.

That's a hell of a catch. The smile doesn't leave his face as he waltzes over to the liquor section, demonstratively grabs a bottle of expensive cognac, and winks at one of the girls, emitting more alpha pheromone.

"Who's the handsome one here?" says the boldest of the girls, attracting attention. They are all so beautiful, such bright and colorful girls in their beautiful dresses and heels, just fire stirring the alpha's senses.

"Looking for the company of sweet omegas"- he says with his trademark smile, and one of the girls, a blonde, giggles.

Damn it! When they're all over him, pressing their fragile bodies against his, hanging on his elbows, hugging, he's completely oblivious to everything,

He forgot about you.

Forgotten as he led the Omegas away from the store with the bags of liquor and snacks he'd grabbed at speed. He forgot when he put them in his car and drove away.

"More milk... Do we have coffee at home, John? " you say out loud, but get no answer and look up. There's no soap around. It's strange. You look around uncertainly, wondering if he went to get something on the list or to another department. You look around. You wander around the store in confusion until you decide to look out the window, thinking you'll see the soap there - maybe he decided to go outside the store for a smoke. You peek into the parking lot, but .... no car.

No car? Why? Did something happen? You carelessly pull it out of your pocket, dialing the maktavish's number. Nothing.

Shit. He had all money, and no soap, no price, no Gaz, not even a Ghost, no one picks up the phone. In desperation, you leave the cart almost in the middle of the store and hurry out, intending to find the soap, to try to call outside, hoping the whole problem is a bad connection.

It's dark outside, and there isn't a single car in the whole damn parking lot. Scary.

Your phone only has a couple percent charge, but you don't give up trying to call. Panicking at 1%, you only manage to send the phrase, "Please pick me up guys, I'm scared," before your phone goes off.

You sit down on the doorstep of the store and just stare at the road, hoping a car will stop and pick you up.

But it doesn't, and it's only the salesman who changes the store sign from "open" to "closed" as he walks away.

(I'm posting the second part right away. I don't understand why I'm drawn to the same topic, an incomprehensible melancholy)

[desertpersephone]

Omg I'm so glad you liked my fic!!! I had a wonderful time writing it. And as far as I'm aware I think I came up with fire hydrant?? Though I made have osmosis'ed it from someone else.

Anyway thank you for reading!!!

Just read a WLW / lesbian!Buddie fic... whoever fanonically came up with "fire hydrant" instead of "firehose" for girl!Buck ILY SO MUCH <33

(This is the fic btw mmmmm) @desertpersephone

[simonghostlovely]

Soaping Together

(18+)

Pairing: Husband!Simon Riley x Wife!Reader

Tags: NSFW, unprotected sex, p in v, slight spanking? slight edging? idk

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: you and your husband badly needed some quality time to relax and pamper each other when he came from deployment (you insisted to take care of him and he didn’t understand why this was a big deal but gave in when he saw how much efford you put into it)

You heard him walking through the door and you rushed your way to him leaving whatever you were doing in the living room. Giggling softly when he embraced you, feeling his big hands wrapped around your waist and lifted your feet off the ground. He had his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent he longed for.

You were the first to break the silence, "I missed you so much, Simon..."

"We missed you so much..."

"I missed my babies, too." he caressed your face and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked beaten and he could barely keep his eyes open while trying to smile but when you told him he can rest if he wanted to, he chose to spend some time with you and his boy first.

Holding him in his lap at the dinner table,

“Hello, stranger!” he said to his son who was back to acting like his dad was a stranger -since it has been a few weeks he last saw him and that's literally what babies are like- it didn't stop him feeling offended and missed out so he needed to remind himself by singing a lullaby he liked so much to break the ice.

The baby stared at him with wide eyes, frozen, with a teething toy in his hands. Holding on for dear life.

“Give him some time, Simon. He’s gonna get used to you in no time. Remember last time?” you said smiling to soothe him when you saw him frowning.

Later, he was shoving all his favorite food you prepared for him into his mouth. Then he joined the two of you while you were giving your baby a bath and started rolling his sleeves, you realised he was joining you.

Him taking a little amount of shampoo in his hands making little spikes of the baby's hair made you both laugh. Your baby was playing in the water and giggling too.

It was a sight for sore eyes and you couldn't be happier. Your sweet, sweet boys… how did you get so lucky?

When you were done washing him, he wrapped him in a towel and went to the nursery. You sneaked your way to the other bathroom where you had other plans for him. You heard the honeyed cooing of Simon's voice, drying your baby and getting him into new clothes when you were passing by.

Simon finally came to the bedroom after putting the baby to sleep,

"What is it?" he stared at you with curious eyes, examining you. You walked towards him reaching for his hand.

"Follow me."

Scowled, trying to accommodate his eyes to the dimmed light of the bathroom, "I'm sorry baby, but I'm so exhauste-"

His eyes went wide when he realised,

Bubble bath waiting for him, relaxing music coming from the speaker, candles and a bottle of red wine by the bathtub. You wrote 'I love you' in the mirror with lipstick??

Then he finally looked back at you, grinning at him with starry eyes.

In that moment he knew he fucked up... Sleep wise. not in any other way. just that. There was no way out now that he saw the little arrangement his wife made.

"C'mon, let me take care of you, I'll make it quick." Now you were closer to him, few inches away from his chin, looking up at him with doe eyes.

And who was he to deny his sweet girl?

You made Simon sit on a stool in the bathtub while you were washing all the dirt and sweat off of him. He was watcing you, only admiring your face intently, although you were completely naked in front of him and your boobs few inches away from his face.

Right until you squished him between your boobs while you were trying to lean and wash his back.

He groaned, making you feel the vibration, the tingles in your stomach.

He was holding your waist tightly enough to leave marks when he finally let you go.

"My little girl wanted to take care of her husband? all this fo' me? sweet girl? Mhm?"

You nodded, smiling, appearing a little shy now.

You took a step back to look at him and giggle with soapy hands until he took a hold on your waist again and pull you closer, a little bit harsher now.

Little gasp leaving your lips, "Oh baby...i think we can take a little break from washing you?" you said, lifting one leg to sit on Simon's lap slowly. Then the other.

"How about that?"

"Mhm mhm." he nodded aggressively.

He made you sit in a hasty way while you were just hovering over his lap. All hungry eyes and hands taking whatever he can.

He didn't know what he was thinking. This was definitely more important than sleep. More important than washing. More important than anything on earth. In this moment, Simon was exactly where he was meant to be.

Burning inside and feeling the hot on your cheeks, he rolled your hair in one hand in a swift move, making your neck arched and vulnerable. All hot and wanting.

Nibbling at your skin. You bit your lip, willingly opening yourself in any way possible for your husband.

All for him to consume.

Your mewling sounds made Simon chuckle softly.

Both your hands sat on his knees behind you, you were panting and not realising all the sounds that were coming from your mouth.

You bit your lip trying to be more quiet when you felt Simon right in front of your entrance. You were getting more desperate by the second.

He was moving painfully slowly at your entrance, up and down, but not penetrating.

"Ohhh! Simon, please!"

"Mmm...do you hear this? You're so wet, baby."

"Ol this for me. Let me enjoy you."

"Simon, please!" you plead, and that earned you a firm swat on your ass. You jumped, panting.

Is he edging me? you thought as more mewling and pathetic sounds left your lips.

Before he gently lowered you on his cock.

You opened your mouth all the way at the feeling, exhaling, still trying to not make any noise but the friction was too good to be true.

Held his muscular shoulder, lowering your hand to his upper arm then his elbow while he was fucking into you torturously slowly.

Hands tight on your hips. Making you feel every inch and vein on his cock.

You decided to speed up the pace as much as you can in his firm grip.

He hissed at the attempt, making eye contact and you were scowling at him, biting your lower lip.

"So close... so close, Simon! Please!"

"I know, baby. Gripping me like a vice. C'mon you can do it, sweet girl."

"Just like that... do it how i taught you."

"come for me" he kissed your cheek and just like that, he made you loudest you've ever been.

As you throw your head back, all your wishes to not make a sound going out the window now you were crying and screaming because of your explosive orgasm.

Simon growled, coming inside of you.

You put your arms around his neck and he put his forehead on yours. Panting heavily. Trying to come down from your highs.

"Fuck! Simon..... what the hell? " then you both started laughing. You've done more dirtying than washing but at least now your husband can finally have his precious sleep his little coma as long as he likes.

[subrist]

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨 ── Bloody Soap

His care

The water quietly coated your body in a warm embrace, the sound of it fluttering and whispering comfort to your drained flesh. The pure drips shaded by your blood, furious red slipping into the poise bath like sour wine. With your eyelashes low, you gaped absently at the water with your mind numb and your senses tamed into an awake slumber. Your body was heavy and floated at the bottom of the bathtub’s curve as a gentle hand lifted your still arm over the edge. Frigid fingertips brushed over your skin in a breath of a touch as he slowly glided a soaked cloth over your wounds.

“You fought well.” his voice rolled in your ears as a soft lullaby, consoling yet unbelievable.

“Not well enough.” you whispered with your mouth too slothful to move, cuts stinging deep inside the sensitive flesh.

Silco’s brows pinched together as his gaze lifted upon your face, his gleaming eye breaking through the dim and stiff light.

“Pity won’t bring relief.” he nearly scolded, but his tone remained mild, quiet, only for you.

He continued cleaning your arm with careful gestures, blood smearing and staining your skin to then slowly fade into the cloth, absorbing your pain.

“I’m hideous now.” the words pushed past your teeth almost as a cry, the sight of your body clothed in wounds, bruises and blood repulsing you.

“You’re not.” he replied while his slim hands wandered to your face, fingers tilting your chin towards him as he slowly cleaned the path of blood sinking down from your temple. A wince tugged on your features when the cloth stung the vulnerable blotch, and he cooed through his lips in consolation.

“Scars never punish us.”

His eyes locked on yours with his face engraved by cruel blemishes.

You sighed and looked down while his hands slid to your bare back, slowly posing you up with a murmur of water swirling around you. He stared at your glistening skin drenched by drops and the dark shadows of your bruises, seeing the pain left in your body, his face tightened in loathing at the thought of someone harming you.

He smoothly led the cloth over your body, stroking your back up and down to the base of it underwater, letting his hand and the sleeve of his shirt get wet. His touch remained gentle, his hands almost hovering over you as he didn't want to hurt you. His touch felt caring, kind and healing as if he wanted to ensure that you knew nothing but love.

The cloth travelled to your shoulders, washing your flesh from the damage and marks left by filthy hands that didn't belong to him, that didn't touch you with the devotion you deserved. The sigh you let out, along with your body easing, let him understand that it was working. With a subtle curl of his thin lips, his gaze trailed over your naked form, appreciation and adoration waking on his face. The cloth he held rolled over the rest of your body, touching your neck, chest, thighs, arms, everything he could reach, enjoying the softness and tenderness of your flesh along with the quiet peals you let out under his touch, your breaths and the way your body curved into him.

He put the cloth away, his hands craving to feel you raw. His fingers cradled your cheeks with care that wouldn't belong to a man like him. Yet, it felt wrong to touch you in any other way. Your fatigued yet loving eyes settled on his face, making his heart tremble as he caught the lingering bruises visible. His sharp thumb brushed against your flush, innocent skin in a cautious caress. Your eyelashes fell closed, and you leaned more into his trace like the wounded pup you were.

“You’re beautiful.” he whispered into the silent air as his lips inched closer and bestowed yours a delicate kiss.

[charliemwrites]

Mafia au with Price perspective

Content: Implied Violence

John, for the life of him, can’t believe he ever ran SpecGru without you.

It’s a hit to his pride to admit it, certainly. That an outsider has discovered a small conspiracy within his own organization less than three months into employment. That, apart from even that, he’s never been less scattered, having someone right by his side remembering details, appointments, bits of information.

Morning smells like Earl Grey and your perfume now. Steam mixing with whatever you’ve spritzed for the day, his own little aroma therapy. Revitalizing after however late the previous night dragged him out.

In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of color and delicacy in his world of saturated shadows, blood and brutality.

Clean-cut dresses with patterned tights, soft-knit scarves. Lace accents and modest stilettos. Thin, sparkly jewelry and smart makeup. The scent of you drowns out the lingering burn of gunpowder; or maybe just transforms it into something heady.

John lingers on your hair. Smooth ponytails, tight coifs, intricate braids. Likes when it’s loose enough to brush you shoulders and neck, a little bounce to it as you toddle in and out of his office.

You’re gorgeous, he knows it like a gun in his hand or the stench of fear in the air. Has encountered (and indulged) in more than his share of stunning women. Women with beautiful smiles, and bright laughter, and sweet voices. Cunning women, too. Women who could outfox all but his best on any given day.

You have all of that in spades, though you’re not the first.

The difference, he thinks, is your sincerity. You’re never anything but honest with him. Even when you maybe shouldn’t be. Not that you share your opinion every time you have one, but if he asks for it, you’ll answer without pulling punches.

Respectful, always. Polite. But scalpels are elegant tools as dangerous as any dagger. You’re not cold by any means, but you’re made of steel. Precise and implacable in some ways. Have never hesitated too look him in the eye and cheerfully explain why he’s wrong.

That, he knows, is a rare commodity.

“I understand this is time sensitive Mister Graves, but raising your voice is not going to open Mister Price’s schedule.”

Your voice goes silky when you get like this. A finely draped, overly pleasant “no” in each word. A wall is still a wall no matter how finely it’s painted.

You’ve just gotten your nails done again, glossy wine red tap-tap-tapping over your customized keyboard. Whatever Philip is saying on the other end does not seem to be impressing you. Soap and Gaz are trying not to snicker. You shoot them an amused look.

“Well, he’s booked every morning for the next two weeks,” you continue.

John is not, in fact, booked every morning for the next two weeks. There are two mornings with two hours open and you’re serenely looking at them on your computer screen. He doesn’t correct you, interested to see how this plays out. You know he hates Philip and are gleefully taking advantage of that fact.

“Well, Mister Graves, a lot of people have time sensitive issues to bring to Mister Price,” you explain, a touch condescending now. “I’m afraid I can’t reschedule them just because you have… a trip to Glasgow, is it?”

You don’t sound impressed. Neither is John. You clear your throat, arch your eyebrows at him. Put up three fingers. He nods.

“I can schedule you in on the 3rd in the evening. Your assistant said you’ll be back by then.”

You blink, an almost smug curve to your lips at whatever is said. A pleasant shiver runs down John’s spine. Philip will just have gotten in then - a full day of travel after whatever business he’s been up to will put him at a disadvantage.

“Well, I’m afraid Mister Price’s next availability won’t be until the… 8th. So shall we schedule something for the 3rd? I can always call if he has a cancellation.”

A pause. Your eyes narrow into a mean little smile at nothing in particular. Practically glowing with satisfaction. Without your attention on him, he shifts a bit.

“Of course, Mister Graves,” you hum. “I can forward your people the details. Have a lovely day now.”

Soap and Gaz start laughing the moment you hand up. You huff at them in amusement, shaking your head, then turn to John.

“Was there anything you needed, sir?” You ask, syrupy sweet.

John snorts and finally approaches your desk, leaning his hip against the edge as he crosses his arms. You tilt your head to give him your full attention, a stray curl falling against your jaw.

“Since you seem to be on rampage,” he says, “I need you to get a reservation for Friday at Muse.”

You blink at him. “Muse? Sir, that’s… don’t they book that place out months in advance?”

He smirks. “Just use my name, luv. I’m sure you’ll have the rest under control.”

You don’t look convinced, but you slide your sticky pad over - light purple clouds, now. With a pink glitter pen.

“How many and what time, sir?”

“Six for eight o’clock.”

You hum as you scrawl it down, pretty round letters that shimmer under the office lights.

“Before you go,” you say as you set the sticky pad aside. “I have those inventory logs from the docks - as well as the incident report from security that evening.”

You pluck up a neat stack of papers, held together by a star-shaped paperclip. Already he can see pink highlighter on the first page, a little memo-note summarizing information for quick review at the top. Somewhere within, you’ve attached a pink tab to something.

“I’ve highlighted anything in the original shipment that wasn’t found in the inventory log,” you explain, tapping at one of them.

He hums, skims the summary, then starts rifling through the papers. Will never admit how much he appreciates the thoroughness, even if he’s comb through every detail himself just to be sure nothing has been missed.

“Oh, also,” you add, spinning the glitter pen between clever fingers, “I think we should maybe set up a camera near that back entrance to the warehouse.”

He pauses. The back entrance where they do the more gruesome aspects of “business.” Odd that you would suggest that.

“Why’s that?”

You hum. “Well, I’m no narc, but I heard from someone who works over there that one of the shipping guys smokes weed with his cousin in that area. Maybe someone saw them and realized that’s a good way in.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat again. The computer dings, calling your attention. John shoots Soap a glance, who nods and quietly steps out. You don’t seem to notice, clicking your tongue at whatever you see.

“Nicely done, luv,” he says, voice warm in his chest. You beam at him, pleased as always when he recognizes your hard work. “I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply.

Twenty minutes later, you tap lightly at the open door to his office.

“Got the reservation!” You announce, a funny little smile on your face. “They were so nice about it too. What are you, some kind of mafia boss?”

He chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

How did he ever manage all this without you?

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