#and had a few ringlets framing my face as well

[mysticfemme]

also I bought some new faux ear cuffs today except they're GOLD so now I can live my true gold girly life, and I managed to swap out my new animal crossing fossil earrings for the comfier clip ons so I'm gonna be able to wear them soonnnnn 🥹

said animal crossing earrings before I fixed them to my other clip on converters:

PLUS I got a bag to match my phone case, although it's way bigger than I thought it was and I wish I had a smaller one with a zip that I could use as a day to day bag

[squinch-depraved]

schlatt x single mom!reader part 1 (aside from my post about how you met)

(this will be going up on my ao3 once it's ready, i'll probably edit it and format it differently and stuff so don't be surprised if it's a lil different but tumblr gets the first version)

(if anyone has an idea for a title for this series lmk pls eek)

even though daphne’s alarm clock went off at the same time every morning with the same exact song like, well… clockwork, it still infuriated you to no end. having to wake up to “crazy frog” every damn day since you made the mistake of showing it to her almost a year ago now was bad, but what was worse was how for the past few weeks, you would stub your toe or shin or whatever it may be on one of the dozens of packed up boxes strewn about the cramped studio apartment you shared with your daughter on your way to turning off the godforsaken hello kitty alarm clock. if it weren’t so special to the both of you, you would have chucked it out of one of the two tiny windows you had ages ago.

“up, daphydil. we gotta be at the cafe in 20, opening’s in 2 hours. now, c’mon girlie,” you gently coaxed her out of bed. she was small for a five-year-old, golden brown ringlets messily framing her face and hanging in front of her forever wild eyes. a soft smile played at your lips as you stroked her hair. “there’s my beautiful girl. alright, can you be ready in 10 minutes? i bet you can’t. i bet you can’t so much that if you are ready to go in 10 minutes, shoes and everything, i’ll let you ride on my back all the way to the store. does that sound good?” daphne grinned mischievously and nodded.

“can i have a muffin for breakfast at the store?” she asked.

must be a good day, you thought. she’s talking.

“of course, bear. i’ll make the blueberry ones like you like for both of us, how ‘bout that?”

“okay. stop taking up my 10 minutes, please.”

you laughed and rose off her bed. “that’s fair. the clock starts now, daph, gogogo!” you set a timer on your phone and chuckled to yourself again as she raced to her pile of boxes to pick out an outfit. she had the most eccentric taste for a kindergartener. well, she would be in kindergarten. you had yet to find a school that worked for her— sure, she had only tried preschools, but the amount of other kids there combined with the lack of your presence sent her into a shutdown for almost a week each time. so you decided to homeschool her. school didn’t start for another week, so you still had time to get things sorted. but it was going to be extremely challenging, running the cafe, teaching her, getting moved into the new apartment, and all the other stuff you had to attend to.

for a split second as you walked back over to your own pile of clothes, the man from yesterday flashed through your mind. you couldn’t stop yourself from going over his features while you changed into working clothes; something about him made you want to give him a chance. and so, before you knew it, you were responding to his “thanks again” text he had sent once you parted ways.

you: schlatt. if you’re free, meet us at this address for breakfast. would love to talk. if not, we’re there all day. thanks.

with that, you sent him the location of the store and chucked your phone onto the bed, hissing in regret and running a hand through your hair. the embarrassment was short lived, though, as almost immediately your phone dinged with a response.

jesus, eager much?

but being the hypocrite that you are, you dove for the phone, just as excited as he was.

schlatt: hey!! yeah, sure, i can be there in maybe an hour. see you then!

taking deep breaths, you slid your phone into your back pocket and strapped on your work boots, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“i’m ready.”

“fuck!! oh, jesus, daph, i’m sorry,” you panted. “you scared the shit out of me, girl, you walk too quiet. alright, let me grab a few last things and we’ll go.” she nodded, smiling, and stepped out of your way. after you had locked the door behind you both, she raised her arms as if asking to be picked up and made a grabbing motion. with a dramatic sigh and a roll of your eyes, you squatted down and helped daphne climb on top of your back. once she was settled, you began the trek down the street to the cafe.

you wished more than anything you could see the world through daphne’s eyes. to her, pigeons were fascinating creatures that she could spew off facts about for hours. she was so full of knowledge and so willing to share it; it was how she showed her love. to her, a piece of trash on the ground could be turned into an accessory for a hat, or a decoration, or whatever it may be. she was endlessly creative and resourceful (where she got that from, you had no idea). to her, her mother was a hero. and, god, how you envied her ability to see you that way.

“we’re here!” you announced as you turned the key in the lock and stepped into the dark building. flicking on the lights, you leaned down and let daphne hop off your shoulders. “smells like coffee.”

“i hate the smell of coffee,” daphne mumbled.

“me too, bear. now, c’mon, we gotta get going!! we’re opening soon!”

she began her routine of sweeping the dining area first, and then the kitchen, and then the bathrooms while you turned on all the machines and let a few employees in the back entrance to help start everything up. opening always goes quicker than closing, so it wasn’t long before you opened the doors and let the regulars in.

but among them was schlatt. somehow you had forgotten he was coming, and daphne lit up when she saw him walk in.

“funny man!” she yelled, dropping the tongs she was holding and sprinting around to meet his fistbump from her station at the muffin display.

“daph!! now i gotta wash those again,” you grumbled. “hey, schlatt.” you sheepishly finished wiping down the counter and scanned the store for any customers. luckily, it was saturday, so there were only a few people already seated and enjoying their food; you had some time to talk before the next rush came in.

“child labor, y/n?? really?” he joked, eyeing the menu above you.

“it’s not child labor if you went through labor to have the child,” daphne spoke, repeating a phrase you had said in passing once to a friend.

“oh my god!! daphy, please, can you go make sure the mug shelf is all straight?”

she nodded, glancing at schlatt one last time before she left. he was trying to hold in his laughter, but let out a sputtering chuckle once she walked away.

you closed your eyes and took a breath before speaking. “i’m so sorry. i swear i said that once. like, genuinely one time and she says that whenever someone comments on her working. she’s too smart for her own good, i don’t know what to do with her.”

“you know, you do an awful lot of apologizing when there’s nothing really to be sorry for. she’s hilarious, from what i’ve seen. why do you always try to defend her?”

your face went hot and you stammered a few times. “buy me a drink first, damn, dude…” with a huff, you went back to scrubbing the spotless counter.

“i- fuck. i’m sorry. that’s too much. let me start over, please?” he leaned in a bit, resting his elbow on the surface between you. when you gave him a short nod, he sighed a bit with relief and nodded his head towards a blueberry muffin. “can i get one of those?”

you couldn’t help but grin at his choice of pastry as you packaged it. “anything to drink?”

“what’s your coffee order?”

“three cans of diet coke. i don’t drink that shit,” you tried to jest but it sounded bitter.

he blinked a few times and nodded. “good, me neither. i was willing to, though, let that be known.”

with a laugh, you replied, “noted. here, take a seat and i’ll bring you a lemonade? daph’s idea, she thought it would be refreshing to keep in stock for the heathens like us who don’t drink bean juice.”

“sounds good. i’ll be over here,” he called as he walked towards a table hidden away in the corner. you couldn’t stop smiling to yourself as you poured two lemonades, thanking the stars above you remembered to actually make some this morning. usually nobody ordered any until the afternoon.

setting the two glasses on the table as you slid into the seat across from him, you shot one final glance at your assistant manager, who was running the counter while you took a few minutes to talk with schlatt. luckily, she was too busy with a customer asking for a refill to make a face at you and your new potential suitor.

“holy shit, that’s fancy lemonade. is that mint on top?”

“yeah, daph says it ‘enhances the flavor profile,’ or some shit. she likes food network a lot.”

he eyed the green sprig and took a cautious sip, eyebrows raising once he made a decision on the flavor. “she’s really smart, man. i never woulda thought of this. how old is she?”

“five. she has autism; she’s always been crazy genius. i don’t know how to keep up with her, she’s already smarter than me,” you chuckled quietly. “she’s so creative, too. i can’t find a school good enough to teach her things, she has a hard time being away from me and it’s just a whole thing. speak of the devil, actually.” daphne was skipping across the dining area and sat down in the seat next to you. “hey, bear!”

“i’m not a devil, mama.”

“it’s an expression, baby. remember? like, ‘easy as pie?’”

“oh yeah. because we tried to make pie and it went really bad.”

you sighed, smiling, and rested your head in your hands. “yes, bear. ‘speak of the devil’ just means, ‘here comes the person we were just talking about!’”

daphne pulled out a notebook from her apron pouch and took a pen from your shirt pocket to write down her new phrase.

“what’s that?” schlatt asked her. “you’re five and you know how to write??” you opened your mouth to tell him, but daphne beat you to it.

“i like to write things down so i can talk better.”

“i think you talk just fine, personally.”

both of you flicked your eyes up to squint at him, curling your mouths in the same look of confusion and intrigue.

“oh my god, you two look identical making that face, that’s hilarious,” he mumbled through a mouthful of muffin. at the same time, daphne and you side-eyed each other and started laughing.

“mama says i talk just fine too, but nobody else ever did. now two people think i talk good. maybe you could be my dad,” she wondered aloud. you choked on your lemonade and slammed it back onto the table, spilling some onto the old, damaged wood.

“okay, daph. can you go get me some paper towels from the back to clean this up and then go see if anyone needs help putting sprinkles on the donuts?”

“i already looked, the donuts are done. but the syrups need refilling.”

“okay, go do that, bear.”

“mhm.”

she skipped away, oblivious to what she had just started, and returned a moment later with a roll of towels to clean up. it was silent until she left for the second time.

“you’re gonna trust a five-year-old to refill syrup bottles?”

“she’s actually steadier than i am. she came up with, like, a whole system, it’s really cool. and she’s not by herself, we have a highschooler that’s working with us for the summer, she helps her.”

thank god that’s the first thing he brought up.

“mm. listen, i understand how kids are, we don’t have to talk about what she just…”

“yeah. thanks. she’s, um… she just kinda says what’s on her mind; i can’t stop her.”

“i get it. so, uh,” he rotated his now half-empty glass a few times as he went over what to say in his mind. “why does your nametag say ‘owner?’”

with a glance down at your badge, you slunk down in your chair. “this is my parents’ store. they always wanted me to take over, and i kind of didn’t have a choice after mom fell down the stairs over there. they used to live above the cafe, now they’re in a home and i have to run this dump. at least i get to move out of my studio and into this place, though. if i can ever find the time to actually get my stuff from one place to another.” you sounded more and more dejected as you went on, unable to meet his gaze.

“i can help you move,” schlatt offered smoothly. you smiled, but shook your head.

“nah, man, we have a lot of stuff. it’d be too much to ask of you.”

“shut the fuck up, it’s fine. look, how about we make a trade? i’ll help you move if you let me take you out on a date.”

you blinked a few times in confusion as your face heated up. “m-maybe, dude. i dunno. look, we’re in a rush now, i’ve gotta get behind the counter and try to help my employees get this under control. i’ll come back in a bit.” you gestured to the line that was almost out the door and rose from your seat.

“lemme help!”

his words stopped you in your tracks. “what??”

“let me help,” he repeated, “it’s clear you need it, you’ve got three guys besides you and one of them is a toddler.”

he had a point. flustered, you waved for him to follow you. “just put on an apron and wash your hands.”

the rush of patrons took about an hour to deal with; they just kept coming. schlatt handled everything with grace, upselling people on pastries when they only ordered a coffee and making casual conversation with the usual customers that came in to ask about you and your family.

he was so much better at dealing with chaos than you thought he would be. for some reason, you were expecting him to dip out as soon as he could. it was hard to picture him wanting to hang around after learning about you and how complicated you were. but for some unknown reason, he stayed. you watched him with a soft smile on your face as he undid his apron and hung it back up before stepping around to the other side of the counter.

“wasn’t so bad,” he teased, flicking his head towards the lemonade dispensers. “gimme another one of those.” you pushed the hand that was extending a credit card towards you away and turned around to grab a to-go cup.

“you kickin’ me out?” he asked, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“i can’t work right with you here. need to think. so, i guess, just… show up here at 8 tonight wearing something nice and ready to take me somewhere. you’re gonna help me move my stuff this weekend.” unable to look him in the eyes as your face burned, you handed him the drink and quickly crossed your arms when he took it.

“i am, huh?” he was grinning as he took the straw between his teeth.

“yes.” you swept some crumbs away with your foot and glanced at him for a split second.

“alright, y/n. you like steak?”

“i guess. haven’t had it in years, it’s too expensive…” you mumbled.

“perfect. i’ll see you at 8, toots. bye, daphne!” he waved to the girl who was sitting at the table with an elderly woman sketching something in her notebook.

“bye, funny man!” she called back, not looking up from her drawing. the woman across from her looked shocked at her words.

“bye, schlatt!” you waited until he was down the street before jumping up and down a few times and pumping your fists in the air.

“got a date?” the woman watching daphne asked across the nearly empty store.

“uhm. yeah, actually, i do, mrs. reid,” you stuttered.

“need me to watch daphne for you?”

“yeah, that would be super helpful, actually.” you brought her a new cup of tea and traded it for her old one. “on the house.”

“she’s been talking a lot more.”

running one hand through your hair, you sighed and sat down next to daphne. “yeah, we’ve been working on it a lot. something about schlatt makes her open up. anything to say, bear?”

she just stuck her tongue out in concentration and continued drawing pigeons.

“that’s okay, daphy. you don’t ever have to talk if you don’t want to.” with a gentle pet of her head, you stood up and walked back behind the counter to help a customer that had just come in. you were unable to stop yourself from running over the events of the morning in your head, focusing on how schlatt would smile at you and how he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

you just have to be careful, you kept telling yourself. don’t get your hopes up.

it was too late. you couldn’t help it; your hopes were high. he made you feel… normal again. it had been almost six years since you felt that way. now you were just praying it would last, even if for only a night.

[ofsappho]

Let The Good Times Roll, Part 1 (of 2)

🔞 Captain John Price x reader 🔞

-

Captain Price is your sugar daddy and he takes you out for a night on the town. SMUT. Tags under readmore.

title from the Ray Charles song.

-

Tags: daddy kink, sugar daddy kink (the purest sugar daddy kink, harvested straight from the sugarcane), exhibitionism, voyeurism, service submission, like a lot of service submission, dom/sub, praise kink, degradation, 1950s housewife/1950s pin up girl kink, pet names, spit kink, ruination kink, dacryphilia, this specific chapter contains a blowjob, plus sized/squishy reader, john price loves curves

You’re curling your hair, carefully setting each ringlet in place with a pin as it cools, when you get the text.

P: Hey, baby. I’m in town for a bit.

Your phone dings with another notification.

P: Get your nails done tomorrow.

He likes you with red nails, long but not too long. Almond-shaped, elegant. Classy for a classy man. He also likes you in red lipstick, likes it when he smears it all over your face and makes your mascara run in messy black streaks. Like John Price’s personal pin-up model, picture perfect for him to ruin.

Your bank app tells you that you’ve just received a transfer. $1500.

You smile as you text him back. He must’ve missed you a lot with a gift like that.

You: Yes, Daddy.

In your personal life, you don’t think about punctuation. You fill your texts with emojis and curse words, and acronyms.

But he pays for proper and sets rules for you to obey. You’re always to use ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, full sentences, indulging him with the pleasure of your subservience.

You’re happy to oblige; his little games are fun for you both.

He probably won’t be here for very long if he wants you ready tomorrow, so you text your nail lady for an emergency appointment while rifling through your clothes to find something suitable.

You keep your gifted lingerie organized by client. It wouldn’t do to wear something someone else had bought you, after all.

John likes seeing your legs framed by thigh-highs and garter belts almost as much as he likes taking them off of you.

You have that peach silk set, embroidered with delicate lace, from a few months back.

When you tried it on for the first time, he couldn’t take his eyes off your tits and had you on your knees in an instant, thick cock down your throat so he could finish all over your breasts and the shining silk supporting them.

The garter belt emphasizes your waist, and the soft flesh of your thighs pours over the tops of the stockings.

“I like to see that I’m taking care of you, baby,” He’d said as he ran a reverent finger over the edge of the thigh-high. “I like my baby well-fed. Healthy.”

Then John had smacked your ass, watched it jiggle, and sunk his teeth into the red mark left behind.

What is that advice people give for job interviews? ‘Dress for the job you want’?

You flush as you think about being bent over his lap, your skin covered in bruises as dark as he can get them, or kneeling carefully at his feet while John watches you undo his belt without leaving a scratch on the leather.

Your black outfits are for when he wants to tame you, and your white ones are for when he wants to debauch you. Color is a toss-up.

P: I think you’d look lush in dark blue. Though you’re free to pick something else, love.

Ooh, dealer’s choice. That doesn’t happen often; he knows what he wants, and you love giving it to him, like, genuinely love it.

If Daddy’s over here trying to make his desires smaller and more socially appropriate, then his job must really be putting him through it.

There’s a blue dress he hasn’t seen you in yet. It’s dark midnight velvet with straps and a revealing sweetheart neckline, neatly tailored for your curves. It will simply be a toss-up kind of night.

Since he doesn’t follow up with an address, you assume he’s taking you to the same place he always does.

The nicest bar in one of the nicest hotels in the city, a golden Art Deco paradise straight out of the Great Gatsby, where he can tip highballs down your throat, and they play live jazz loud enough to hear from the smoking area.

P: 2000 hours.

Eight o’clock it is, then—the usual bar.

You’ve shared many a cigarette there, listening to a saxophone dance up and down impossible, brassy scales, the notes as rich and full as expensive red wine.

You: I can’t wait to see you.

-

You’re on time, as per usual. Actually, you’re a little early by about… ten minutes.

You can’t help it; you used John’s credit card to call a cab earlier than necessary, and you’ve been working yourself into a fit of giddy, nervous anticipation all day.

It’s been well over a year since your first… date, and John still makes you feel desperate, desperate for his smile and his hand on your neck when he kisses you.

Why, your nail lady even had to scold you to stop fidgeting while she filed down the acrylic extensions.

Your nail polish matches your lipstick, a beautifully deep red that brings out the colors of your eyes and makes your skin gleam. While your foundation is some incredibly long-wearing shit that can survive multiple rounds, you carve your winged eyeliner out of an easily-smeared eyeshadow and apply your runniest mascara.

Daddy was right. The blue looks perfect, and as you sit here, waiting for your date to show, you know that half the bar thinks you look perfect, too.

It’s too bad you’re happily spoken for. If any of those men looked up from your cleavage, they’d know by the luxurious pearl necklace draped over your collarbones with a diamond-encrusted clasp.

So you wait, tapping the point of your heel on one of the rungs of the overly-expensive (yet uncomfortable) barstool as you nurse a glass of water because you’d rather John order for you.

A man wearing a rich, spicy cologne rests his hand on the small of your back. “Sweetheart.” You squeal as you turn to see him.

John Price, as handsome as the Devil himself, dressed in a beautiful stormy gray peacoat over a black shirt, right across his broad chest, and freshly-pressed slacks.

The moment he sees your face, all dolled up and pretty and purely you, the tension in his shoulders softens, and his blue eyes wrinkle with a smile.

You can feel the warmth of his palm through your velvet dress, and your spine straightens like his touch is pouring liquid gold through your veins.

Before he can say anything else, you lean up to kiss him, your fingers tangling in the collar of his coat and his mustache tickling your skin. He laughs a little into your red mouth, eagerly kissing you back, one hand on the back of your neck and the other digging into your waist.

He tastes like smoke and something addictive, something you can’t identify but remember even when he’s not there.

When you finally, finally break apart, John drags his hand up your neck to your cheek, reveling in the silk of your skin under his rough, calloused fingers so that he can trace the edge of your kilowatt smile.

“You look nice tonight, Daddy,” You tell him, and you can feel the blush crawling up your cleavage and darkening your cheeks as he looks at you like he’s about to tear you out of this skin-tight dress.

His voice rumbles deeper than the bass player in the corner, plucking away at his instrument. “I do my best for my best girl.” John pinches the string of pearls around your neck with two fingers, and you know he remembers when he gave them to you.

Over half a year ago, when you agreed to be exclusive when he was in town and the bigger allowance that came with that.

John presented the necklace to you, carefully clasped it around your neck, then fucked you in three positions so he could admire how it moved when you came.

His hair is still damp from the shower he must have taken as soon as he hopped off his plane from… whatever awful corner of the earth his mysterious job took him.

Your Daddy is always handsome, no matter what, but he looks tired. Like he’s washed the dust off his skin but not his mind, like he hasn’t taken a break in ages.

“Hard day at work?” You tip your head back and slightly to the side, giving him as much access as he’d like to your throat and your curled hair falling over your shoulder. He briefly lets himself sink his teeth into the soft skin above your pulse.

Then John chuckles as you press yourself into him, well, specifically press your tits into him. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” He murmurs, his eyes glinting with mischief.

The bartender knows the two of you; you’re kind of infamous in this place, though they’d never dare tell you no. One of the things you liked about John from the start was how he tipped the waiters, the bartenders, and the cab drivers. Extraordinarily well, in cash.

“What is she having tonight, sir?” The bartender asks John, knowing full well that you’ve been waiting for this man and that John doesn’t like it when just anybody talks to you.

Daddy smiles again as you drop a chaste kiss on his cheek, his worry melting away with each passing second. “A lemon drop for such a sweet girl,” He orders in that marvelously rough British accent.

The live band in the corner kicks into a cover of a Nina Simone song, the piano twinkling in time with deep trombones echoing through the vaulted ceiling of the bar, and you know that it’s going to be a good night.

After he puts down his shiny black AmEx for your tab, John guides you to a booth in the corner. The leather upholstery creaks as you slide in first. He hangs his fine coat next to the table, then slides in after you.

It’s so private that no one can overhear while providing a great view of the whole joint.

As he works his way through a glass of fragrant, amber-colored Scotch, he unburdens his cares in your company.

Captain Price never goes fully into what he does, and you never ask. But his issues with his team aren’t news - you’ve listened to all sorts of shenanigans, all manner of frustrations they give him.

You listen, you nod in encouragement, and you place your hand on his when you know he needs it.

He pauses in his recollection to admire your freshly-done nails. “Gorgeous, as always,” John says before kissing your hand.

Earlier, he’d pushed his glass a little out of comfortable reach. Whether that was intentional or accidental, you’re unsure. “Thank you, Daddy.” You bend over him to retrieve it, your hair brushing his face and your mouth almost close enough for him to kiss, then deposit it elegantly in his waiting hand.

Once you’ve sat back down, he runs his calloused thumb across your cheek as he takes another sip. What a tease. You’re in public, and he’s still playing at chivalrous restraint, so you don’t kiss his finger like you want to. Like he wants you to.

After that, your concentration… dovetails a bit.

Shadows dance over his handsome, angular face. Shadows from drunk patrons and waiters wandering past, from the votive candles set at each table, from the dim golden floodlights reflecting off the glittering disco ball mosaic this bar calls a ceiling.

His voice trickles through your veins as heady as those awful cigars he likes, rough and raspy and prickling goosebumps on your exposed skin.

The cool condensation on the side of your glass brings you back to earth. Now’s not a good time to fantasize about what’s under his shirt, to wonder if he has any new scars healed enough for you to trace with your tongue.

After a long pause, John sighs and finishes his Scotch. “They’re a bunch of fuckin’ animals,” He says through a grimace.

“Daddy! Language,” You scold with more than enough good humor for the both of you.

The band is playing ‘I Put A Spell On You.’ You couldn’t have asked for better timing - his clear, scintillating gaze rests on your crimson-lipped smile, then trails so intimately up to your eyes that it’s like he’s stripping you naked in front of the whole city.

You feel him place one large hand on your thigh. “Nothin’ like you. You’re always good for me, hm? So well-mannered.”

You slide closer to let him tuck a strong, muscled arm around your waist. Now, John can bury his face in your hair and fill his lungs with your perfume. You know he likes it; sometimes, you send him handwritten letters in looping cursive spritzed with it, by his request.

He kisses your neck just below your earlobe. “Why, thank you. You know I just want to make you happy,” You giggle, sunshine-bright and giddy.

You feel his hand drift upward to where your dress starts in the center of your back. His fingers wander along the neckline, under one of the straps, as he tries to figure out what sort of wrapping paper he gets to take you out of later.

John settles his hand on the back of your neck.

His touch feels so warm and possessive that it brings a flush to your face. “You know what would make me even happier?” He asks softly, leaning in close as if he’s about to tell you a secret.

Those pretty blue eyes pin you in place. “I can’t do it if you don’t tell me, Daddy.” His fingers press into your skin slightly, a reflex borne of the fire you stoke when you call him that.

Then he collects your glass, half-full with freshly-squeezed lemon juice, some very smooth vodka, simple syrup, and a large, perfectly-square ice cube. John holds it up in a silent request, and you nod before eagerly parting your lips. The sweet, lemony cocktail goes down much better when he’s feeding it to you.

Daddy wipes away a stray drop at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. You don’t need any prompting to sit forward and lick the sweetness from his skin.

You watch the blue of his irises slowly become eclipsed by his pupils at the sight of your pink tongue.

“See that bloke over there? The one that’s been-“

“Staring at me this whole time?” 

By now, the regulars have lost interest in the two of you. Either they’ve seen you with John before and know better, or they’re too involved with their own lives to be nosy.

But that dude…

You know his type. Some horribly miserable finance bro in an uncomfortable suit, a little boy who graduated college five years ago and hasn’t grown up since. He probably has active Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge profiles and a string of unsatisfied exes who’ve never orgasmed. The kind of guy who thinks you’d be falling all over yourself to talk to him, like you should be so honored he’s checking you out.

Even worse than all that, he’s the kind of guy who talks a lot of game about his money, stocks, crypto, whatever the fuck, but has none to pay you with. You don’t work for free.

His attention goes from lax and sweet to razor-sharp. “Hey. You know better than to cut me off,” Captain Price tsks as his palm spans your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks.

A little trouble is good trouble, and he rewards your sly smirk with a kiss. He pulls at your curls until you gasp, then presses his tongue against yours, stealing your breath and thoughts and replacing them with nothing but him.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” You say after he moves back, not even pretending to apologize genuinely.

All it takes for him to set you on his lap is one burly arm around your waist. Then you’re curled on top of him, something angrily hard under your ass and his bearded chin resting on your shoulder.

“Yeah, that one,” Daddy nods as he runs his hands over every inch of your body, every curve and roll and soft edge. His fingers wander up, and down your thighs, then he tucks the hem of your dress up a few inches to make you gasp.

In revenge, you nestle yourself closer, coincidentally grinding yourself on his hard-on.

He laughs before playing with the bejeweled clasp at the back of your neck. “What do you think is goin’ through his head, hm?” John whispers into your ear.

You watch him look at your mouth as if he’s about to kiss you again, but your sulk when he denies you is too cute for him to pass on.

Then he looks past your shoulder.

“Ah, I bet he’s thinkin’ ‘bout you, baby.”

You sit up straighter, push your cleavage closer to Daddy’s handsome face, and flip your hair over your shoulder.

Oh, he likes that. He likes that a lot; he kisses your cheek as he plants a hand on your throat, you press your thighs together and stifle a teeny-tiny moan.

“You think so?” You murmur, eyes fluttering when John’s beard rasps over your sensitive skin.

“I don’ blame him. I’ve been thinking about you for…” He trails off, as if realizing for the first time that he doesn’t need to re-read your letters and jack off to your lipstick-marked Polaroids. He can have you, right now.

You make up for the lost time with another kiss, pouring into it all the long nights where you hoped he was well, where you missed his laughter, cheeky humor, and the wonderful feeling of his affection turning you into a pile of mush in his capable hands.

What else could you want? He’s your Daddy.

“Thank you, love.”

Your nails scratch his freshly-trimmed beard before you trace the dimple in his cheek that appears when he smiles.

There’s not a hair out of place in his neat buzzcut; you can tell his clothes are fresh from a dry cleaning service.

“I missed you, too,” You tell him. Then you lean in and kiss the tip of his nose.

You still have so much affection left to give - it’s practically overflowing, buzzing under your skin, silently begging him to take you home.

Daddy grabs one of your wrists to pull your fingers away from their exploration of what’s under his shirt collar, and you settle down instantly.

Then he takes your chin between his calloused fingers. “He’s probably wondering what’s under this gorgeous dress, what those beautiful fuckin’ tits of yours look like…” John’s voice is hardly louder than a whisper, but it goes straight to your head, making you breathy and squirming with desire.

Your eyes close, blink open, your pupils dilate, and he devours every little movement. “Maybe he’s even dreaming about your perfect cunt. But that’s all for me, isn’t it?”

Then he presses his thumb between your lips until you open for him, your slick tongue eager against his skin. He hooks his finger behind your teeth, effortlessly holding you in place.

When you speak, shining drops of saliva fall from your stretched lips. “Yes, Daddy. Only- only for you,” You whine.

Price adds more pressure until it hurts to keep your mouth open. “You’re mine.” The sting is nothing compared to what you must do to get most of his dick down your throat.

Your head swims with the smell of tobacco and sandalwood, and his eyes glitter as he watches your eyes cloud. “I’ve always been yours.”

He replaces the finger in your mouth with his tongue, his teeth sinking into your lip, and each kiss stokes the need burning through your veins.

“How does his face look, Daddy?” You ask breathlessly, finally breaking the kiss. Much to Price’s consternation; he pouts and tries to capture your lips again. You’re full of giggles as you brush him off with a finger pressed to his mouth, your nail polish gleaming in the low light.

When he kisses your finger, his mustache tickles your skin. “Like I’m takin’ candy from a baby,” Price says.

Then he leans back and spreads his arms out along the top of the booth, all rippling shoulder muscles and sinew under his tailored shirt.

“Wanna give him a show?”

You chance a look out of the corner of your eyes and see the man’s dropped jaw and a complexion the color of spoiled milk.

“You know I do,” You reply as you arch your back and push yourself so close to Daddy that a ruler wouldn’t fit between you two.

Price waits one moment, then another. “Pick that up off the floor, won’t you?” And with immense gravitas and no small degree of showmanship, he drops his napkin over the side of the table.

A mandatory skill in your line of work is getting in and out of situations balanced perfectly on high heels. Barring some odd request for sneakers, or a specific kind of ballet flat worn by the client’s mother, heels are a must.

So you extract yourself from John’s lap and the booth with the grace of a ballet dancer, carefully sweeping your skirt under you so you don’t flash the whole bar.

Getting to your knees in a show of complete subservience on this slightly-sticky floor is a little much, you think, as you examine the tableau John wants you to present. Plus, this dress is dry clean only.

You settle for bending from the waist down at an angle that allows the man to see straight down your dress and tease everything else.

Your fingers pluck the napkin from the floor, then you pause. You look at the businessman through your eyelashes and watch him groan as his gaze traces the tops of your breasts in worship. You wink before standing to your full height.

Price watches you turn on one foot with blue eyes half-lidded, gratuitously checking out your curves, and a shit-eating grin tugging at the corners of his lips under his beard.

He lifts you by your hips onto his lap again so you’re straddling his thighs. “Good girl.” Daddy presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhales, his hands paw your hem and the edges of your stockings, just as you knew he would.

He kisses your cheek, bites the delicate skin of your neck until you’re trembling with pain and want. There’s something feral in the way he touches you, an insatiable hunger that would make him risk a public indecency charge with how fucking badly he needs you.

You gasp as you rake your nails through his scalp, messing up that beautifully coiffed hair. No one says you can’t be possessive, too.

You know who else is watching you; young women on unsatisfying Tinder dates, fantasizing about John Price dropping you and sweeping them off their feet. There are probably more than a few frustrated, neglected wives eyeing his charming, dominant manner like they’ll start tossing panties his way any second.

But he’s yours.

Price drags the strap of your dress down before shifting you right on top of the erection straining through his dress pants. “Daddy-“ You pant, throwing your head back and grinding down, fucking ruining his clothes with your messy, dripping arousal.

Your panties are fragile lace, to begin with, and when they’re this wet, all he would have to do is unzip his fly and tear them and push in-

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” Price hisses in your ear as he slides his large, veined hand up your thigh to grab a possessive handful of your ass.

When you kiss him, your nails leave red marks on his neck, then down his chest where you’ve popped open his top button. “Then take me home.”

Daddy helps you out of the booth first, naturally. Price is ever the consummate gentleman. He even helps slide your strap up and unwrinkle your skirt.

In a stroke of genius so smooth that you’d almost think he planned this, he plucks his coat from the hook and drapes it over one arm, hiding the prominent, stained bulge in his pants.

You walk to the bar together with your hand tucked in his elbow.

“Closing out, sir?” The bartender asks with a straight face.

Price nods. “Thanks.” You see his mouth flatten into a sly, troublemaking line. “Put the fellow in the gray suit’s drink on my tab. Looks like he could use a break.” He waves his hand at your voyeur like he’s dismissing a servant, lazy and unbothered.

The bartender’s straight face cracks momentarily with a conspiratorial grin. “Will do.”

“An’ that’s for you.” Once Daddy gets that gorgeous black AmEx card with no limit back, he sets a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the bar.

The nice man takes it without hesitating. “You two have a good night. Come back anytime,” He says, dipping his head towards you in recognition—one service provider to another.

“Oh, we will.” Daddy steers you to the exit, nice and slow, so he can once again palm your ass through your tight dress for everyone to see.

You smile at the bartender, then at the poor guy you’ve been toying with all evening. “Bye,” You call over your shoulder.

The night air is freezing cold, and your breath comes out in foggy puffs. But it’s okay, because Price drapes his jacket around your bare shoulders before you can start to shiver, then draws you into a tight, warm hug as he waits for the valet to bring the car around.

You’re on your very best behavior in the unmarked black car. Your Daddy drives with both hands on the wheel, white-knuckled in anticipation, he makes full stops and uses his turn signal to change lanes. But the silence that falls over you like a veil is electric. It sparkles like static electricity, and his bright blue eyes dart to you every time you shift.

The walk through the pristine marble and gold lobby of this Ritz Carlton and the elevator ride to the top floor is a blur of meticulous propriety. John’s hand never leaves the small of your back, and he avoids brushing your bare skin. You smile politely at the elevator operator.

From the suite's floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline glitters beneath you like crushed stars thrown on a bed of black velvet.

And in these rooms, John Price is king.

The door closes with a heavy, decisive click.

There’s no need to be nervous, you tell yourself. You take the time you spend pulling his coat from your shoulders and hanging it up to regain composure.

Then you turn to face him. He’s watching you, always watching, muscled arms crossed one over the other. You’re the dancer in a music box resting in the palm of his hand. You are treasured, wanted, loved.

At last, he sighs, then scrubs his hand over his face. “It’s been a long day. Make me a drink, sweet thing?” John asks, moving towards the large armchair in the corner.

He finishes what you started with his shirt, untucks it after he gets it unbuttoned all the way, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. As he sits, you get a peak of the dark hair dusting his chest from the neckline of his undershirt.

“Yes, Daddy,” You murmur. Then you tilt your chin down the tiniest bit and look at him through your lashes, as shy as a newborn fawn. “I need some help with my dress.”

“Oh, princess,” Price sighs, his voice taking on a deeper, more sinful timbre. “Come here.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

You stand with your back facing him, so close that his knees bump your thighs. When you move your hair over one shoulder so it doesn’t get caught, Price’s fingers brush yours. His hands are steady as they pull your zipper down, inch by inch. Once he gets to the bottom, he sits back without saying a word.

The command couldn’t be more compelling if he had said it aloud.

You step away slowly and look over your shoulder as you do, your hands still holding the front of the dress to your chest. You turn smoothly and let the dress drop to the floor.

You’re a vision of full, rounded curves encased in the finest, most delicate lace, shimmering pale peach in the light of the lamp in the other corner. Your tits spill generously out of the cups of the bra, your (still soaked) panties highlight your soft belly, and Daddy lets out the most visceral, unhinged groan when he sees the fat of your thighs jiggle where your thigh-highs cut into your skin.

And then there’s his pearl necklace around your throat - the prettiest collar in the world.

The shadows around his crotch grow. “You’re too good to me.”

“Let me get you that drink, Daddy. An Old Fashioned?” You ask coyly. You’re walking towards the carved oak table in the middle of the suite’s living room before he can respond. It’s all part of the game.

There’s already a bottle of single barrel Kentucky Bourbon set next to a polished silver ice bucket, a carved crystal sugar bowl, an assortment of glasses, bitters, and an orange.

You make each movement as sensual and predatory as a leopard stalking prey; placing ice in the mixing glass, measuring the bourbon, you lick the spoon when you’re finished stirring, your eyes on him the entire time.

With a shining paring knife, you carve a sliver of peel from the orange and garnish his finished glass with it.

Now, to bring it to him.

Your heels barely make a sound on the thick, ornate carpet, and you find yourself before Price’s functional throne in only a few strides.

“On your knees.”

You go down happily, tucking your heels under your butt as you offer his drink.

Daddy takes it from your hand to hold it to the light and check the color. He brings it to his nose and inhales the scent of fresh orange zest and spicy bitters.

Finally, when he’s satisfied that you’ve made it properly, exactly how he’s taught you, Daddy takes a sip.

Your breath freezes in your lungs as you wait for his approval.

“Perfect, sweetheart. Just like you,” Price purrs, and you sag slightly on your knees in relief.

You crave him. You need his praise like water, like sunlight after a long, dark winter.

“Daddy- may- may I come closer?” You ask in a high-pitched, pleading voice.

He nods, and the face of his watch flashes gold as he pats his knee.

You ignore the carpet burn tearing into your skin as you shuffle forward to rest your cheek on his knee. Your body relaxes when Daddy begins to play with your hair, carding his rough fingers through your previously-neat curls. It’s pure bliss. All the thoughts melt out of your head from his ministrations, his blunt nails gently scratching your scalp. Ice clinks in the glass as he drinks, then he begins stroking your cheek. Price’s fingers wander across your temple before tracing the corner of your mouth.

You let out a small, contented noise, a barely-audible whine, and snuggle closer to his legs.

He sets the glass down on the side table, the sound frighteningly loud in the quiet. Just like that, every muscle in your body tenses, and your eyes snap open.

Daddy sits forward, cueing you to turn and face him. “See that, princess?” You are at eye level with the mouthwatering bulge in his dress pants, the one you were humping in the bar like a whore. “That’s because of you,” He hisses, his British accent turning the words sinister and gravelly.

Without realizing it, your thighs press together to relieve the flicker of newly-kindled ache in your cunt, and your jaw aches with phantom pain.

He takes your hand and places it over his dick. “I’ve been rock fuckin’ hard all night, and it’s your fault.” Your mouth fills with extra saliva when you wrap your fingers around his length in some fucked-up Pavlovian response, as your brain anticipates that you’ll need all the spit you can get.

You glance up at Daddy and see his handsome face set in a cold, distant mask, his mustache curling around his sneering lips. But his eyes- his eyes flash like a blue flame.

You’re too well-behaved to reach for his zipper yet, though you can’t deny that you’re a few moments away from begging for permission.

Price exaggerates his dismissive, drawn-out grumble. “Are you gonna do somethin’ about it?” He asks, raising a dark eyebrow as if to say that you should’ve already begun.

You blink your watery doe eyes, rounder and prettier than the moon, and wet your red-painted lips with your tongue.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” You begin, your voice quavering as you sink further down on your haunches. And with permission granted, you undo his fly in record time before slipping him out of his boxers.

John’s dick is a thing of beauty. And you would know; you’ve seen more than your fair share. So thick that you can barely wrap your fingers around him, veined, colored a deep, angry red.

You don’t take your eyes off his cock as you spit into your palm. You ensure Daddy has the perfect view as you pump your pretty hand over him, spreading your saliva as your mouth hangs open.

He throws his head back when you start moving your fingers, and a low groan echoes from his chest.

Then Price grins, a lazy, cocky expression that goes straight to your core, blue eyes lidded, and he sprawls out once more to pick up his glass.

He pretends he’s too busy enjoying his cocktail; you pretend you don’t know he’s watching in rapture. “Should be fuckin’ sorry, shit,” He moans as you bend to trace the thick vein on the underside of his dick with your precise, clever tongue.

You pull back from his shaft to flutter your thick, made-up lashes, a single strand of glimmering spit connecting your lips to him.

Then you start to work him into your mouth. You glide your tongue up and down in long, sensual strokes, then pop the bulbous tip of his cock between your lips. He likes it slow. He likes making you work for it.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it.” Daddy doesn’t touch your hair, not yet. He wants to. The glass shakes in his hand, and his knuckles go white with the effort of holding on.

Salt coats your tongue, then musk, your mouth filling with his taste. It’s so sinfully good that it sends your eyes rolling back and pulls a quiet whimper from your throat. You chase it, finally taking as much of him as possible into your mouth. Your fist works what doesn’t fit, moving in slick synchronization with your lips.

There’s slobber dripping down his length, onto your hand, on his pants, making a little damp pool on the fancy carpet.

You focus on relaxing your soft palate, balancing busting your jaw open on Daddy’s cock, and breathing. “Suck my cock like you’re sorry,” Price orders before drinking. You hollow your cheeks just as he swallows, creating a hot, wet vacuum sucking his soul out of him.

That sip turns into a choking cough, then a low, tortured groan.

The next thing you know, his large hand fists in your hair, tugging so hard on your scalp that you see stars.

“Don’t whine,” Price snaps. “Daddy’s too tired for your shit.”

He fucks your mouth with one hand and savors his drink with the other. He doesn’t even meet your tear-filled gaze.

Your knees shift on the carpet so you can rock your aching, swollen clit against the barrier of your panties.

Your hair knots and tangles around his fingers as he sits forward. Then he angles your mouth up to pump himself down your throat. “Choke- uh- on it. Choke- uh- on my dick,” Daddy groans, his face flushed with exertion.

The tears building in your eyes spill over your cheeks as you struggle to inhale. Each hiccup and desperate spasm of your windpipe draws pleasured, breathless sounds from Price.

You can’t- you can’t think, you’re trying to be good, and your jaw is on fire. Your tongue has gone numb, and you feel him harden further. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his pants, anything to hold your limp torso up.

There’s snot in your nose and precum spilling out of your stuffed cheeks, and his cock makes loud, explicit squelches as you gag and sob.

His fist trembles in your ruined curls. “Cry all you want, baby. Let me see those tears,” Price snarls.

He knocks back the dregs of his drink, then sets the empty glass to the side so he can cup your face. You barely notice him drag his fingers through the mascara bleeding down your cheeks and red lipstick smeared across your jaw.

Deliriously, you wonder if he’s in your esophagus now. It sure feels like it - your nose brushes the wiry, spit-soaked hairs at the base of his cock.

“Fuckin- your sloppy, slutty mouth feels so good.” His voice echoes in your ears, overlaid with your weak, helpless whines. You’re not sure if you’re begging for mercy or moremoremore.

Daddy grits his teeth as his thrusts grow erratic and feverish.

A stream of curses and jumbled words flow from his mouth. You tune them out for the most part. The oxygen deprivation makes you fuzzy and weightless, and slick from your empty cunt tracks down your thigh. You don’t need to think when he’s pounding your mouth like he loathes you.

You just have to relax, be his perfect fleshlight, and let your Daddy take care of the rest.

“Almost there, baby. Make me come.” The world comes back into ultra-sharp 4K focus. Shit is about to get fucked-

Daddy looks at you like he’s looking at an angel, like you’re a real princess, his pupils blown as large as a solar eclipse. He always tells you how beautiful you are after you suck him off. “Fuuuuuuck…” Price groans, face red and sweaty as he stiffens in the seat-

Salty cum fills your mouth, sticking to your tongue and coating the back of your throat, and you retch on instinct, clawing at his legs as you tremble and heave.

He pulls you down on his cock and holds you there through the last spurt. “Swallow. Now,” Daddy barks before releasing your hair.

You comply mindlessly, gulping as you sag to the floor.

Price reaches down and picks you off the carpet like you weigh nothing. He settles you into his lap and wraps himself around you as tight as he can, helping you bury your face in the crook of his neck. “There’s a good girl,” Daddy coos as he drops delicate kisses on your damp forehead and rocks you in his arms.

The pearl necklace is covered in a mixture of fluids you don’t even want to think about. You’re pretty sure all the cum you couldn’t swallow dripped there. How fitting. If it didn’t hurt to laugh, you would.

“What do you say?”

You poke your head up. “Thank you for giving me your cum, Daddy,” You say hoarsely, trailing your nails through the hair on his chest.

He kisses you softly, so softly that your heart aches. Your mouth is sore and swollen, and he soothes the pain with gentle touches, his tongue swiping across yours to taste himself. John pulls you so close that you can feel his heart thundering in his chest, full-out gallop, and you sigh sweetly. One of his hands rests on your thigh, then absentmindedly fiddles with your stocking.

“You’re welcome, princess,” He tells you before kissing your nose and chuckling when you wrinkle it.

John is so warm, so strong and powerful, and the feeling of his skin settles your nerves better than a nicotine high.

His lips bear the faintest tint of pink. You swipe your thumb over them and come back with a trace of pigment from your lipstick.

Daddy smiles when he sees it. He slides his fingers under your chin to steal another kiss.

“You’re so gorgeous like this. Absolutely perfect,” He whispers.

“I’m all messy.” Messy is an understatement. You look defiled. You’ve cried off your eyeliner, and somehow, some of it has ended up on your bra. You don’t even want to think about how your underwear looks, probably stretched from your grinding and so wet they’re two shades darker than before.

He brushes your tangled hair from your neck with adoration. “Beautiful girl.” He swipes his fingers along your necklace, gathering the remaining cum, and feeds it to you like a rare delicacy. Once you’ve sucked his fingers clean, Price bends to kiss your neck and wreath hickies on your skin.

You gasp and throw your head back as pain runs with pleasure in your veins.

“And a good drink. Your best one yet,” He tells you before sinking his teeth into one of the dark marks to ensure it lasts.

Your vocal cords protest when you cry out. “Hurts. Ouch.” Your lips twist into a cute little pout, one that Daddy happily kisses away.

“Poor princess can’t talk ‘cause I came down her throat? We can’t have that, her voice is as beautiful as she is.”

Your eyes light up with excitement as Daddy continues. He intersperses his words with wandering hands that slide under your bra straps before hunting for the clasp.

“Let me make it up to her, hm?”

-

TO BE CONTINUED

tagging: @certainlynotasimp @fruitymoonbeams-blog @averyyreads @redrumarsenic @shroomje @kittybatman04

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

turns out im living in a horror film

pairing: ethan landry x gn!reader

WC: 2.4K

warnings: cursing, blood and stab mentions. should be it.

summary: im both the killer and the final girl

A/N: i think i like writing crazy reader🤔 anyway, once again inspired by a song, specifically the title line. dont think too hard about the killing, just enjoy the story.

any paragraphs written in bold and italic means thats what actually happened.

@alecmores​ my editor❤️

been in the drafts since may20

masterlist / ethan landry

🎧 always and forever and you first

the hospital was bustling with doctors and nurses, in groups talking or solo looking down at clipboards. families in the waiting room or cafeteria sitting at the small tables and eating the okay food. a few security guards posted at different entrances, your wary eyes watching them as you passed door after door until you came to the right one.

you couldn’t see anything due to the curtains wrapped around the bed. you did see a shadow moving about and then a nurse peeked out and her eyes widened just a bit when she spotted you. you froze, but forced a quick pull of your lips; even a weak wave which was just your hand going up and then down. her head disappeared behind the curtain and then she walked your way.

“are you here to see mr. landry?” sweet and simple. you nodded wordlessly, voice failing you. she stepped aside and cocked her head before walking away down the hall and a corner.

you clenched and unclenched your hands at your sides, palms slowly gaining moisture until you wiped them down your stained and ripped pants. feet moving on their own accord and you stopped at the foot of the hospital bed. a sigh of relief at the sight beholding you.

ethan laid on his back, dressed in the standard gown with his blanket pulled to his waist. an iv was poked into his hand with a gray device attached to his index finger, his hands resting over his stomach. his heart monitor was beating steady as you watched with every breath he took and how his chest rose and fell with ease. his eyes were closed, lashes fluttering over dark circles. his mouth slightly parted as he slept.

taking slow and quiet steps you rounded the frame and stood on his right side. fingers pressing lightly into the bed as you leaned closer to his resting face. his freckles that were spotted here or there stood a bit darker as his skin looked a bit paler. ethan’s head of unruly brown ringlets sat just a bit more deflated than the usual pillow of curls that you would run your fingers through. your eyes land on two bandages, one that sat high on his cheek and the other vertically on his bottom lip to his chin.

fingertips curled into the blue fabric as your blood got heated with rage. but your thoughts were cut short when you felt ethan shuffling and then heard the deep inhale telling you he was waking up. you took just a slight step back and softened your posture.

ethan rubbed a fist at his eye and when they opened again, his head moved against his pillow and faced you. a welcoming smile melted your insides as his honey-brown eyes pull you in. you gained that step back and reached for the hand close to you.

“hi.” that’s all you could say as your eyes watered. it seemed to please ethan. he flipped his hand and let his fingers curl with yours. “hi.” his voice cracked and you instantly searched for water. the hand with the iv took the offered cup and drained it with deep gulps.

you placed the cup on the nightstand and hesitantly moved your hand to touch ethan’s face. you saw how his eyes noticed and he led you the rest of the way until your palm was holding his uncut cheek and your thumb was rubbing his oily skin.

“how you feeling?” a stupid question, you know. but still, you had to ask.

ethan’s head tilted down and his lips turned into a frown, something you hate to see on his pretty face. “well, i’m still alive after being stabbed in the stomach. so… i would say physically okay, mentally terrified.” he closed his eyes and leaned further into your touch.

you licked your lips as your eyes kept a steady watch on ethan. “ethan…” he peeked an eye open at his name, “i have some… some bad news.” voice low and touch heavy.

ethan sat up and his head moved away causing you to drop it from the air and fall to his thigh. you needed a minute to formulate your words without sounding discombobulated or not making sense.

“what happened after the subway?” his heart monitor spiked. the green line shooting higher than it was a minute ago.

“well, me and mindy waited here until we got news on your stability. and then mindy got a text from chad about the plan. so she rushed out and said she was heading to help…”

“mindy, wait!”

you caught up to her quickly just outside the entrance. mindy stopped and turned around, her eyes narrowed as you got closer and then she put a hand up telling you to stop. you held your hands up in surrender and stopped just a few steps away.

“what are you doing?” her tone was accusing. “shouldn’t you be staying here? making sure ethan’s gonna live?”

“i… i can't just sit around while you and everyone else are at that theater waiting for ghostface.” you argued. “so i’m going so we have all hands on deck. six against, what, two ghostfaces? that’s easy.”

mindy regarded you for a moment and then she shrugged her shoulders, “okay, fine. let’s hurry.” and the two of you were rushing down the busy streets to the abandoned theater.

“we got to the theater and hurried up the elevator and that’s when we got a call from sam…”

you kept a steady pace with mindy seeing as both of you weren’t athletic. feet carried you down the hidden alleyway towards the front entrance. mindy was ahead of you and just as she was reaching for the handle-

“ah!” mindy screeched. her knees crumpled from underneath and she slammed into the door and slid down.

you yanked the knife from her back and plunged it into a different spot. out then in, out then in. you lost count of how many times the wet knife sunk into mindy's muscles. you only stopped once she stopped fighting and the yelling abruptly ended.

you wiped the signature blade clean on mindy’s jacket and walked through the door and into the elevator.

ethan’s heart rate was speeding up. “my love, calm down. please.” hands rushing to hold his face in your grasp, trying to provide a silver of comfort as you retell the horror you went through an hour ago. “why don’t i just wait until-“

“no. just- just get through it.” he insisted. you hesitate until he holds your wrist and nods his head.

you sigh, “when sam called us she told us to get out, that it was a trap. that kirby was ghostface.”

ethan’s brows furrowed, “why- why would she be- she got stabbed by her friend!” his eyes darted back and forth, trying to make sense of what you're telling him. trying to make the puzzle pieces fit.

“detective bailey said that kirby was fired over six months ago from the fbi. that she was showing major signs of ptsd and her anger would flare at times. she probably just…snapped.”

“y/n…this isn’t you! you’r- you’re not a killer!”

kirby struggled against your weight that kept her plastered to the floor. her gun kicked far away from sight as she kept your weapon-wielding hands away from her body. you didn’t want to stab her multiple times like mindy… maybe just once and then slice her throat.

“you don’t know anything about me, agent.” you hissed as you pushed down harder.

you pushed all your upper body strength into your arms and managed to inch the knife closer and closer to kirby’s waiting throat. you could almost see light bouncing off the silver…

“we stepped out of the elevator and kirby shot mindy in the head. and just before she could get to me, detective bailey appeared out of nowhere and shot her in the heart.”

ethan’s eyes watered instantaneously and his lips quivered. on instinct you crawled into the bed and pulled ethan’s head to your shoulder. he gripped your dirty shirt tight in his shaky hold as his salty tears dripped onto your skin.

“what- what- what about…the others?” he hiccuped.

you rolled your lips and looked to the ceiling. it was only going to get worse. you didn’t say anything as you dragged your fingers through his hair, which caused him to pull away. eyes starting to get red and puff, dried tear stains ruining his face.

“what… happened?” he restated sternly.

your hands fell to your lap and you looked down as you picked away at your skin and hangnails. flashes of blood on your hands cloud your vision but it’s gone in a blink. you cleared your throat.

“i… i think we were too late. i don’t know how, but… it was straight from a horror movie as me and bailey walked into the theater. i found chad… laying in a pool of his blood.”

it felt so exhilarating as you did the same tactic on chad as his twin. poetic or something shit, how they died the same way by the same knife and hand. his eyes screamed for mercy, but you didn’t care. the sound of blood and stabbing drowning your thoughts.

“then i heard a commotion somewhere so i went to make sure bailey was okay. I stumbled back into the main shrine area and saw sam wrestling with him…”

sam and bailey pushed and shoved each other into glass cases. bailey had more of the upper hand, but sam was holding her own. you hid in the shadows, crouching low and waiting for an opening to help your sudden accomplice.

“…sam managed to throw him to the ground and she had a knife ready to stab him. i didn’t think… i- i just ran at her and threw myself into her…”

both of you smacked into the bottom of a display, the breath knocked out of you for a minor two. sam pushed herself up and the look of disgust and disbelief that one of her friends-

“you’r- you’re helping him? you’re a ghostface?” she heaved as she stood up. you kept a close eye on her.

“not exactly… but that doesn’t matter. i’m only a ghostface in this case.”

with your guard down just a bit, she ran at you-

“- sam stabbed me in the thigh and then the shoulder.”

sam got a deep stab into your right thigh and swiftly pulled it out and sunk the blade into your shoulder near your collarbone. you screamed bloody murder from the pain and anger she flared up in you.

“i- i don’t know. it’s like she had a personality switch or something. maybe her dad’s genes kicked in and she and kirby planned this sick show. sam doing the first few and then when kirby came down they switched off. at least that’s the theory the police have come up with.”

ethan’s fingers ran over the wound on your thigh, that frown back on his face. once again you reached for his hand and waffled them together. you kissed the back of his hand then his knuckles and lastly each fingertip.

“is tara at least…” you heard the hesitancy as he asked about his friend. wondering if her sister would be sick enough to kill her off after showing such a protective front around others.

teeth sunk into your bottom lips as you shook your head. “her, uh, her throat was slashed. but no- no other wounds.”

“y/n, y/n. why- why are you doing this?”

tara was trying to plead with you or at least understand your reasoning for killing your friends. you took slow and menacing steps as you backed her further into a dark corner. twisting the knife handle like a toy as you just smirked at her.

“why does everyone think killers need a reason? well, in detective bailey’s case, he does have a reason. richie, his son, was killed at the hands of sam.”

tara’s face slackened further.

“now… i won’t reveal who was his main partner in crime. a promise i made so he would leave me and ethan be after-“

“you- you think ethan’s gonna wanna be with you? even when he finds out everything you did?”

your steps stopped as you kept a sharp eye on her, knife held high and steady. she didn’t understand the love the two of you share. and beside-

“ethan isn’t gonna know a thing. wanna know why?” your lips pulled into a sinister cheshire grin as your steps resumed. tara was pressed into the corner with no weapon to defend herself and no space to make a run for it. she was all yours.

you held the knife up under her chin, tip against her throat as she swallowed saliva. you leaned in closer, mouth near her ear, “ethan’s never gonna know about this, because you’ll all be dead.” you swiped the knife hard and fast against her throat.

“so… only you and bailey survived?” ethan’s voice was getting thick from emotion.

you hoped your story was convincing enough. maybe you’ll have bailey vouch for you if needed. maybe ethan’s mind won’t think too hard about everything with it clouded by grief and drugs pumping in his veins.

“i don’t think i would be if he didn’t show up. ethan-“ you held his cheeks once again, making sure his eyes looked deep within yours. “i was… so scared that i would never see you again.” tears came to the front without thought and you saw the way he melted.

ethan’s hands caressed your cheeks and wiped the fallen droplets away with ease. “i think you have a guardian angel watching you or something. whatever it was, i’m so relieved that you're back in my arms.”

and his lips met yours once again after hours of missing the feeling. it was like you claimed your first breath of clean air after only consuming pollution smog. and it felt like another reminder.

you pulled away, reluctantly, from ethan and leaned your forehead into his. fingers working to keep a smile and brightness to his face and eyes.

“you and me, ethan. always and forever. we’ll always be there for each other. and i’ll always protect you no matter what. you’re all that matters to me.”

you closed your eyes at the end of your declaration so you missed the slight crease in his eyes and how they took in every inch of skin. and how they spotted specks of dark red blood, but instead of causing his heart to spike he just closed his eyes as well and leaned in for another kiss.

always and forever

-

tags: @astrxq

[house-strong]

༄࿔ windfall

summary ; drabble requested by @beeebo234 as part of my 1k follower celebration.

“romantic confession 5 or 6 lucerys”

“5. it’s you. it’s always been you.”

pairing ; lucerys velaryon x reader

notes ; decided to do 5 for the scenario i thought of :)

it’s easy to not be yourself at court in kings landing, especially when single ladies are throwing themselves at your secret lover – was that the right term for it? could you even call yourselves that? friends, but less than lovers, was there a word for that?

you don’t know what the worse part is; that you can’t intervene and show them their place, or that you can’t be with him, publicly.

uneasiness and anxiety are two emotions that are hard to quell the feeling of when they start to make themself known. it makes you feel stuck; like a stone flowing down the currents of a river, only to get trapped under a bigger rock. as this stuck stone, you’re watching all your other stone friends dance down the current – leaving you behind without a second glance.

that’s what this felt like, right now.

watching lucerys, the handsome young lord he had finally grown into after all these years, chat with the other ladies of court. they’re batting their eyes, twirling their hair, and laughing at everything and anything he’s saying. anything and everything.

in truth, lucerys is not that funny.

the ladies are beautiful, no doubt. hair curled into ringlets and strewn up into that southern hair fashion that they love so much. long, silky gowns from essos that touch the floor and seem vibrant in the sunlight. they seem much more elevated and.. refined; fit for a king of driftmark.

lucerys feels your gaze and turns his attention toward you, his smile widening when he locks eyes with you. you manage to him a meek smile, but you quickly retreat when tears begin to well in your eyes.

without looking where you’re going, your feet carry you somewhere down the twists and turns of the red keep. you pass the tower of the hand, the courtyard, then up some stairs to a hall’s name that you can’t remember.

a wooden door then takes up the frame of your vision. your hands find the handle and you push it open with a soft grunt. your breaths are slowly becoming more labored, the threat of tears evident in the way your breaths shudder here and there. why were you even crying?

you shut the door behind you and move to a sofa. you fling yourself on to it rather ungraceful, with soft, mewling cries leaving your mouth. tears flow slowly, cascading salty rivers down your cheeks and staining the satin cushion. you’re like this for a few moments, your quieted cries echoing in the large room. the door that you entered opens and closes, and your hand quickly moves to wipe at the tears.

“go away,” you sputter.

“this is my room.”

you raise your head and see lucerys, his face screwed into a sort of sympathetic frown. he moves forward, taking a seat beside you. his hand raises to your face to wipe away a stray tear.

“why are you crying?” was he oblivious, or unable to read a room?

you release a deep sigh, looking down in shame as you play with the gathered tassel of a pillow, “the ladies.”

he moves his head low enough to catch a glance at your face. you peek up through your brows, watching him raise his brows.

“they’re.. flaunting all over you. it just makes me,” you trail off, unsure as of how to confess your hearts desire. “lucerys, i love you, more than friends.”

his face is unreadable, his eyes lowering to where your fingers played with the tassel. he sucks his bottom lip in, chewing on it gently in thought. that’s when nerves begin to instill fear – digging deep and rattling your bones. was he going to rebuke you? tell you that this was nothing more than —

“it’s you. it’s always been you.”

you look up, observing the way his face is drawn down. his head raises slowly, eyes trailing from up the same way. luke gives you a side smile, like the one his mother always does, and reaches for your hands. his hands cover yours and he’s gently running his thumb along the skin.

“no one can convince me otherwise,” he murmurs, scooting over closer to you. the warmth he brings is comforting, draping over your shoulders and hugging you tight – wordlessly telling you that you are his. “no one can change it.”

he moves forward, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“i’m sorry if i made you feel any different.”

he moves again, this time to kiss your forehead.

“it will always be you.”

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Quartet-chapter 8

here or read it below. this chapter is perfectly safe to read at work.

Daniel calls Alice on Monday to say they need to talk and she invites him over for dinner the next night.  The girls will be out on the town with her younger sister who flew in to visit for the week so they can speak privately.  His old home isn’t particularly far from his current one.  This is because when Armand said he was buying them a house, he had asked Daniel if he had any requests.  His only request had been to be near his daughters, in case of an emergency.

Alice is wearing leggings and an oversized tee-shirt when she opens the door.  Her brown hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s carrying a huge glass of red wine.  She’s wearing her square, black-framed glasses instead of her usual contacts.  “It’s been a day,” she says.  “Your daughter is smoking.”

Daniel frowns and follows her inside the house and into the kitchen.  It’s small, but sunny and warm, the walls an inviting yellow.  The round table had barely been big enough to fit the four of them.  Daniel supposes they have more room now.  

“Which one?” Daniel asks.  Erin is older and less rebellious, but she’d taken the divorce harder than Chloe.  

Alice slides a plate of hamburger and macaroni over to him.  Alice never cooked anything fancy, not with Chloe, who is a picky eater.  Armand never cooked, he merely hired top of the line chefs and had them prepare all sorts of rare and exotic food.  But sometimes a person just wanted Hamburger Helper.  

“Erin,” Alice says and slides into her normal spot across from him.  “Guess where she got them?”

Daniel does have an emergency pack of cigarettes hidden in his office.  Or he did.

“She found my emergency smokes.”

Alice eyes him and takes a huge swallow of wine.  “I thought you quit smoking.”

He has.  Except for emergencies.  What classifies as an emergency depends on how bad he needs a cigarette.  

“I’ll talk to her, okay?”

Alice takes another swallow of wine, and her body goes tense, like she’s bracing for something.  “Why did you want to talk, Daniel?”

“I’m not using again,” Daniel says, and Alice’s entire body slumps forward and relaxes.

“Oh, thank god,” she says and takes a gulp of wine.  

Daniel doesn’t think she’s going to like what he has to say next any better than if he had.  “I’m trying to work things out with Armand.”

Alice drains the rest of the wine.  “Well, that makes sense.  I’d like to believe I wouldn’t be cheated on unless you were absolutely stupid over the other person.”

She sighs and levels her gaze.  “But honestly, I do want you to be happy.  I mean, I wanted you to suffer appropriately for cheating, but I’m over it.  And if this guy is who makes you happy, then go for it.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

Alice grimaces a little.  “But it’s going to be an uphill battle with the girls.  They won’t care he’s a man–we raised them better than that–but they will consider him a homewrecker.  They’ll hate him once they know he was the reason for the divorce.”

“Maybe I just don’t tell them?”  Daniel says, but he knows it’s pointless.  Erin is whip smart and quick to put things together.  She’ll ask if Armand is the one.  She’d ask about whoever Daniel started dating.  

“Good luck with that.”

/

Bianca had called him after she delivered the papers to Nicki, naturally.  But today he’s in her office in the Upper East side, only a few minutes from home.  The wall of windows lets in an enormous amount of light.  Bianca went around and closed the blinds, then sank down gracefully into her seat behind her large desk.  

Armand is sitting across from her in a very stylish and compact cream colored armchair.  A matching one is a few feet away, both facing Bianca’s desk.  Her shoes are tossed on the cushion, white with white lace flowers and in the center on each flower a pearl, and a strap of real pearls that wrapped around each ankle.  They matched the pearls in her braided bun.  Golden ringlets frame her face, perfectly placed.  

A deep groan cracks her perfect image.  “Nicki’s been using Lestat’s lawyer.  She’s heinous; do you know how hard it is to stay polite with that level of passive-aggression?”

He runs a theater, so he has some idea.  Drama is what actors were good at.  “If you can make it through dinner with Father, you can manage anything.”

Bianca sighs and kicks her feet up onto the desk.  Her toenails are painted a bright pink.  “Speaking of Uncle Marius,” she says, as if she didn’t have the most torturous and terrible crush on him when she was in college, “he’s been pestering me about you.  He says you aren’t returning his calls.”

“He’s been calling more often.  It’s exhausting.”  He means Marius is exhausting, but Bianca knows that.

“Well, call him back.  He’s starting to suggest we set up a regular family dinner,” Bianca says then swings her legs off the desk and leans forward on her elbows conspiringly.  “I think it has something to do with Pandora.  You know how they are.  She withdraws, he lavishes her with attention and smothers her; she leaves for a while, she comes back.”

Bianca knows the family dynamics well; she’s practically Armand’s adopted sister.  She had met Armand and Marius when Armand was only fifteen.  She was nineteen and stunningly beautiful, one of Marius’ pupils.  Armand had developed quite the crush on her.  She developed quite the crush on Marius.  Marius was frustrated that Bianca would not focus on her painting, and still silently furious that Armand had never begun to paint again.  Not after he’d been kidnapped.  

Bianca had always been kind to him, and so gracious about his obvious affection for her.  Never condescending and always warm and friendly in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted as flirtatious.  Eventually, she grew close enough to them both that she shared her family were criminals, and made her commit crimes.  Marius had offered to take care of it for her, and had taken Armand with him.  He had essentially bought Bianca from her family, giving them an insane amount of money to leave her life and leave her in his care.  

Marius had gotten her an apartment, a car, and paid for her schooling.  Said something about her being a diamond in the rough.  Armand has always been pretty sure it had more to do with the fact that his father really, really, wanted to fuck a teenager.  A teenager who was one of his students.  Armand believes they must have fucked at some point, just to get it out of their systems, but Bianca is demure on the topic.

And she enjoys messing with him too much to ever let him know one way or the other.

He and Bianca had fucked, after he turned eighteen.  It was a now-and-then thing during his college years, when both of them were too focused on school for anything serious.  Every few months they would hook up, and they’d see each other at Marius’ during the holidays, because of course, she was invited.  That had just been convenient at first, he didn’t even have to leave home for a booty call.  After a while, it seemed too intimate, too much like a real relationship.

And maybe it could have been.  Armand doesn’t know if he could have ever loved Bianca like he loves Louis, but he knows he loved her as much as a teenage boy could.  Nearly as much as he loved Lestat.  He’d always been so careful to keep them away from each other.  He had been terribly afraid they would meet and instantly love each other and forget him.  

But Marius had discovered them, and he had been disappointed.  He hadn’t said so, but it was obvious.  Later, Bianca would tell him with red-rimmed eyes that Marius had pulled her aside and told her something shocking.  He’d been waiting until she was ‘old enough’ to declare his love for her and he thought she knew, and thought she was waiting as well.  Bianca had told him off for expecting her to wait around some arbitrary amount of time, and had stormed out.  

At least, that’s what she told Armand when she found him outside.  He’d been hiding in his old treehouse.  She had swiped at her bleary eyes, and explained it to him.  Armand had thought she was gone an awful long time, for just talking.  He’d been sure they had fucked after that fight.

Probably just the once, as some sick form of closure.  Marius would be too self-righteous to ever try an honest relationship with her, and besides, Armand had already had her; she was spoiled.

She climbed into the hammack beside him and laid her head on his chest.  Her voice had been so small when she spoke.  “I don’t think I can do this anymore.  This thing between us.”

Armand hadn’t said anything, just stroked a hand through her hair.  He felt her crying onto his shirt.  “I feel like we’re on the precipice of something, and if we keep going we’re going to tip over.  I’m going to tip over, to a place I can’t come back from.”

Armand had been surprised; while Bianca freely admitted she loved him, he never thought it held romantic connotations.  She freely told Riccardo that she loved him.  She said it to several of those girls from the gaggle that followed her around.  

“I thought you were in love with Fa-Marius.”

Bianca smiled sadly.  “I am;”  she looked up into Armand’s face and met his eyes.  “But I’m in love with you too.  I don’t know how or when it happened.  But I am, and I want you both and it’s not fair, but I do.”

And Armand hadn’t been angry.  The idea of Bianca being in love with someone else wasn’t appalling; it was that it was Marius that was the problem.  

“If I choose one of you, the other will resent me.  And I will be the reason for strife between you.  I can’t do that.”

“You can,” Armand had said, and kissed her, because it was the perfect time too.  She tasted salty from her tears and she had trembled against him before she pulled away.  

“I can’t, I can’t,” she said.  “You can’t do anything to make me fall more in love with you.  Anymore and I’ll never be able to come back from it.”

The selfish part of Armand had wanted that, but the rational part of him told him that while he did love Bianca, he wasn’t really in love with her.  At least, not the way he had been as a boy.  It was a love so pure, and so blinding in its intensity that whatever Bianca was, she could never be what he dreamed her to be.  So they had let each other go, and distanced themselves from each other for a bit.  Then one day they just fell back together again, as friendly as they ever were, but with not an ounce of flirtation there.  Armand had found he didn’t mind.

All three of them had come back from it.  They are…family. 

“I’m not here for family gossip, as fascinating as Father’s suffering may be.”  Armand doesn’t think he actually means it.  He wants Marius to be happy.  To be happy away from him.  

“Right, Nicki,” Bianca says, “We finally reached an agreement.  Do you care about the details?”  

She and Lestat’s lawyer, working on behalf of Nicki, had spent most of yesterday and today arguing an agreement for Armand to pay for Nicki’s physical therapy.  Nicki really didn’t want to do the drug tests, and had plenty of unkind things to say about him, Armand imagined.

“Not particularly.”

“The juicy bit that I didn’t want to get into on the phone is why Nicki thinks you’re doing it,” Bianca says with a grin.

“Guilt?” Armand guesses.

Bianca laughs, a tinkling sound.  “He knows you too well for that.  No, he thinks you’re trying to impress Lestat.  He believes you’re in love with him.”

In love with Lestat.  Well, Nicki would think that, wouldn’t he?  Historically, he would be correct.  But Armand is hardly a teenage boy anymore.    “That just means he’s still hung up on him.”

“Oh, it is unhealthy,” Bianca says.  “But I’m sure whatever you’re actually scheming will work perfectly.  Marius wouldn’t have picked us if we weren’t brilliant.”

“It will work.  It involves Lestat being a slut.”

“He’s blond.  Blonds have the right to be slutty,” Bianca says.  Then she points a finger at Armand.  “I will see you at family dinner.”

“I’m not-”

“Forty-eight hours.  I have not slept in forty-eight hours working on this Nicki business for you.  You owe me.”

“I’ll add it to your billable hours.”

Bianca’s eye twitches.  “Armand, you will come and save me.  Marius is talking about introducing me to some ‘nice young man.’”

That is solely one of those things that is not his problem; but he cares about Bianca.  “Fine, but only because you’re playing damsel-in-distress.”

Bianca clutches hands over her chest and pretends to swoon.  “Armand, my hero.”

Armand is going to hate every minute of this.  At least he’ll have Louis to bring along and make things bearable.

[sims-half-crazy]

List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to 10 simblrs whose sims you adore 💜💜💜

Oh gosh... How do I pick just one? I'd love to delve into Gordon's story, but giving out 5 facts right now would spoil the story. Since I can't dish on Gordon, I guess I'll have to go with my other go to - Euphemia "Effie" Gosnoll Collier!

Effie never resented growing up poor. It was just a fact of their circumstances. Effie was not materialistic and found that her real wealth was in the relationships she held. She had wonderful relationships with both of her parents, but a strained one with her sister. Not that the relationship with her sister was bad, but Lauretta really only sought her out when she needed something. In later years, Lauretta was disdainful of the fact that Effie and Gilbert had done so well and that did affect their relationship. You can see as the story progresses how much friendships and familial relationships matter to her, but she was not going to expend energy on chasing down relationships.

She was a quiet and calm demeanored person except when emotions were intense. During those intense moments, she was impetuous and rash in her actions but she would generally pivot when her emotions calmed and she could think clearly. You can see this when she and Gilbert conceive Eugene before their vows and during Gilbert's heart attack and the argument afterwards. She's not generally the one to raise her voice, but instead commands respect through her actions and calm resilience.

Effie found her stride in fashion and used the clothes she donned as a statement. She preferred blues as they brought out the color in her eyes. She generally chose very smart and tidy looking outfits as they were unfettered but not utilitarian. She liked the high necked garments of the 1880s-1890s and really liked the enormous sleeves that were popular. She never liked having her hair in her face and you can see from age of teen through her adult years, she never wore a hairstyle that fell in front of her eyes. She preferred to frame her face with ringlets. She also tend to pick demure jewelry, rather having her clothing make the statement.

She secretly loved that her dusting of freckles was passed down to her children and grandchildren. Only a few of her grandbabies have the smattering of freckles across their nose and even though it was not fashionable, Effie loved that part of her was passed down.

She maintained a plethora of correspondence with people and upon her death, the family found dozens and dozens of half started letters to her friends and family. After some discussion, the family decided to send out the letters as is with a note saying that these were the last words Effie intended to the recipient. Goldie took on the task and through this task she began to understand the great affinity and responsibility that Effie held for her family and friends. It gave Goldie an insight into her own dealings with family and as we've seen in recent posts - it has changed Goldie's aloofness with her children to one of a close-knit family.

[originaltyphoonkryptonite]

Chapter 22: The Gala: Part 1: Getting There

Dick pov

I put on my white shirt while Damian smirks at me. I narrow my eyes so he could see them in the reflection of my mirror.

"You're never going to let me live what happened yesterday morning down, are you?", I asked him.

"No. Oh and thank you for letting me stay with you and Duff until the gala.", he replies. He was already dressed except for his tie and tux jacket.

"I didn't exactly had a choice since you blackmailed me.", I say as I put on my jacket.

"How did I blackmail you exactly?", he asks with a slightly bigger smirk.

"You threatened to tell Gus!", I yell at him as I place a small box in my jacket pocket. It was the watch that I had Lucius make for Zell. Lucky for us it will look good with a fancy dress.

"I had to protect Duff."

"She's my fiancée, I think that's my job."

"Then you can tell Gus why she refused to look at you for a whole day yesterday. And every time she did she would become red as Robin's suit."

"Hurry up. We need to get Zell.", I grumble as I grab my tie and lead him out of my apartment. "I wonder what type of dress she'll be wearing." I think to myself while locking my door. "I didn't get a chance to see it and I couldn't exactly take a peek in the box since Cippia caught me that one time. He then hid it in a shadow under the couch so only he or Zell could get it. It's kinda killing me not knowing." I was trying to tie my tie when Zell's apartment door opened. I looked up and my jaw drops. My hands just fall from their position and hang limply at my sides, leaving my tie just hanging around my neck. Damian rolls his eyes as he puts on his jacket.

"Whoa...", I breathed as I could only stare at her. Damian nudges my side and I close my now dry mouth.

She came out wearing a blue long-sleeve lace mermaid dress. The sweetheart neckline had her shoulders completely shown off and the sleeves ended a little bit past her wrists. They drew attention to her blue nails she had painted to match the dress.

"Does it look weird? Should I change?", she asks with a slightly panicked look since I didn't say anything. She looks down and tries to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles in the dress.

"No!", I must have said a little too loud since she flinched a bit. I take her closest hand, and hold it in my own. "I mean no. It's perfect."

Her black hair was in a ringlet ponytail that fell like a waterfall down her back with a few strands framing her face. She had on red lipstick, simple diamond earrings, and a simple diamond necklace. I then notice that her watch is on. With a frown, I take out the new one and switched them. It looked good so I don't have to worry about her powers going out of control.

"What did I say about this?", I ask as I held up the one her father made. I feel utter disgust whenever I think of what family would allow this...monstrosity.

"Not to wear it.", she says with a roll of her eyes.

"Good girl.", I said with a slight grin as she takes it and puts it inside her apartment. After she locked it she turned to face us.

She saw our ties weren't done so she helped us. I kept my eyes on her face....well her eyes and tried not to look at anything else. She giggles when she noticed what I was doing and just to annoy me, she went slower when doing my tie. I glare at her when her eyes meet mine and she just gives me a cheeky grin. Once done, she looked at Damian and bent slightly down towards him.

"Can we just go?", she asks after she finishes straighting Damian's tie since he did his while she was tying mine.

"Sure."

She walks past us to go to the stairs and I lost my train of thought.

"Grayson, stop staring at Duff's rear.", Damian says with a scowl. "It is unbecoming."

"Sorry Little D.", I respond while I ruffle his hair. I try to ignore my thoughts as I head down the stairs.

~Time-skip~

Damian was sitting in the back since we can't have Zell transport us. She sat in the passenger seat and when we reached Gotham, pressed the button. I held my breath while she does so and waited. When she smiled at me, it worked but we'll need another one made since this is a one time deal. We made it to the Manor and I parked the car in the garage. I get out and open the door for Zell. She gets out and before I could even close it, Damian takes her hand and leads her inside. I follow them and we made it to the ballroom. Zell saw that it was crowed so she moved to stand next to my side as we started to make our way to find Bruce. Damian went off on his own.

While I greeted some people I didn't noticed that she wasn't by my side anymore. It looked like we got separated due to the amount of people. "I need to find her fast.", I think to myself as I tried to look around but there were so many people. While trying to make my way through,  I ducked behind a group when I saw Vickie Vale talking to a businessman. 

"Now I really need to find her and fast. I don't want that vulture Vale to find her first." I think with a forced smile as I greeted a elderly couple. "Not to mention any other reporters that might be here."

Turns out the reporters would be the easiest of my problems for the night.

[bakuliwrites]

Intimate, Part 1- Julian x GN!Reader

Rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

Fandom: The Arcana

Relationships: Julian x Gender-Neutral Reader

Summary: Bathing with Julian gets a bit steamy.

Author's Notes: Hey all! This is a six part series, one story for each of the M6. Just a selection of sensual moments with the M6. I have the whole fic up on my AO3, but I figured I'd post it here, too :) Here, you can find Asra, Nadia, Muriel, Portia, and Lucio. Enjoy!

Julian’s heavy footsteps ascending the shop stairs alert you to his arrival home from the clinic. His boots seem to drag over the wood grain, a sweeping, exhausted shuffle as he draws nearer and nearer. You can tell the doctor has had a long, tiresome day from the deep sigh that escapes his lips as he enters your shared bedroom. Julian’s shoulders slump with exhaustion, worn out from carrying the weight of his workload and many worries. However, despite his weary gaze and the dark bags under his eyes, his face brightens at the sight of you. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he beams, delicately cupping your face in his gloved hands and planting a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. Julian’s mouth is warm against yours, and he tastes of bitter coffee and the sweet, citrusy slice of cake you’d sent along with him. 

Thank goodness, you think to yourself as you draw back to peer into his glimmering, storm-gray eye, He ate something today. It’s always a miracle when Julian actually takes the time to attend to his basic needs. He’s been a lot better about it since the two of you had officially gotten together.

“What’s on the docket for tonight, my darling?” he breathes, squeezing you tight and burying his head in the crook of your neck. His warm breath fans softly against your skin, sending delightful prickles along it. Your lips brush against the waves and ringlets of his fiery hair as you nuzzle against him. He smells of rich leather, rubbing alcohol, and his pleasant natural musk. 

“Mmm,” you mumble into him, taking a silent moment to breathe him in, “I was just about to slip into the bath. Wash my day away. Care to join?” 

A rumbling laugh reverberates through his chest, sending delightful shivers up your spine.

“It would be my absolute pleasure,” he grins, his eyebrow quirking mischievously up. You return his look of devilish glee with a coy smile, silently dragging your hand down his arm and pulling him along behind you. He eagerly follows you to the bathroom, making sure to comment on how positively bewitching the sway of your hips is as you lead him.

“Best seat in the house,” he teases, to which you can only roll your eyes and laugh. Warm steam hits your face as you enter the bathroom. In preparation, you’d started the water a few minutes before you anticipated Julian’s arrival home. It was just about full, heat rising pleasantly from the surface of the clear water. You rummage around in the cabinets, rattling glass bottles filled with various herbal remedies and pushing aside extra washcloths. Finally, you find what you’re looking for, uncorking a pale pink wine bottle and inhaling the floral scent trapped within. You turn back to the bath and pour a generous helping of rose-scented soap from the bottle into the water and follow it up with some of Julian’s salts from Nevivon.

As you lean over the cast-iron tub to turn off the faucet, you catch Julian curiously eyeing the way your loose shirt hangs off your frame. You smile to yourself, casting a coquettish glance his way. You make sure to go extra slow as you start to slip your hands under the hem of your shirt to begin pulling it off. Julian’s cheeks turn a brilliant crimson as you strip away your garments. He sees you naked practically every day, but acts like each time is the very first, glancing nervously away before giving in and staring in awe. It’s truly adorable, you think to yourself. 

“Well,” you start, gently biting your lip, “Are you going to join me?” 

“Hmm? Umm, yes! Yes, sorry,” Julian sputters, tearing his gaze away from your unclothed form. 

Hastily, he rips off his overcoat, jacket, and the rest of his elaborate outfit. He nearly topples over in his hurry when he gets to his trousers, eliciting a bubbly giggle from you which he returns with an embarrassed smile. With all his clothes in a pile on the ground, Julian slips off his eyepatch and sets it on the countertop, allowing you a moment to slowly trail your gaze along the length of his body. His legs are thin, but shapely. His figure is lithe; but, despite his lanky frame, he's broad-shouldered. You marvel at the auburn hair that speckles his chest and trails down from his bellybutton to his groin. You permit yourself a quick peek below his hips before your eyes quickly dart up to Julian’s handsome face. The curve of his lips brings heat to your cheeks as you think of all the places you’d like to feel their soft caress. His aquiline nose is positively wonderful, you think, wanting to press kiss after kiss to its tip. You could cut your hand on the marvelously sharp angles of Julian’s cheekbones. As your eyes meet his, he gives another roguish beam.

“Normally I charge a viewing fee, but I’ll give you a spousal discount,” he winks, laughing at his own joke.

“Well, thank goodness for that. I’m not sure I could afford the exorbitant price one might charge for a being as spellbinding as you,” you return, delighting in the way Julian’s brain seems to short-circuit at your compliment. This time his entire body flushes a lovely shade of pink. It’s only rarely that one can render the man speechless, but you manage to succeed quite often. There’s no greater joy than watching Julian stumble over his words when someone praises him, especially because you know he rightfully deserves it.  

You test the water temperature with the tips of your fingers. It’s just right for you. Lowering yourself into the tub, you immediately feel any stresses of the day melt away. You motion for a somewhat stupefied-looking Julian to come join you. He sidles up to the tub, staring expectantly at the puffy layer of bubbles covering the surface of the water.

“Should I get in this way? No, my legs will be all over the place, mostly up in your face if I do-” he mutters to himself, staring quizically at the rather small clawfoot tub. His gangly limbs are sure to hang out over the edges, or force you to make yourself as small as possible on one end or the other. You hadn’t thought about how best to position yourselves. It didn’t really matter how the two of you would manage to fit in the bath, just that Julian joins you in some way.

“C’mon,” you motion for him, “Just get in and lean back against me.”

“Won’t that crush you?” Julian hesitantly speculates, but you dismiss his worry with a wave of your hand. He acquiesces, carefully lowering himself into the steaming hot water. Gently, he leans back against you, his weight a welcome pressure. He’s careful not to press too hard into you as he settles himself between your legs. Julian sighs contentedly, allowing his head to fall back against you.

“Comfortable?” you offer, peering around his shoulder. He’s so much taller than you, but he’s sunk low enough in the water to allow you a view of the mirror in front of you. 

“Very much so,” he hums, eyelids fluttering shut, “Are you?” 

You nod in silent confirmation, closing your eyes in relaxation and enjoying a luxurious moment basking in the warmth of the water and Julian’s body heat. Life with Julian is always an adventure, hectic and exciting. Not that you're complaining about that, but sometimes you need a moment of reprieve. And you know for a fact that he could certainly use one, too. So evenings like this are utterly precious. Feeling Julian relax against you is enough to put your mind at ease. His fingers absentmindedly trace circles on your bended knee. For once, he's actually rather quiet. But you can tell he's feigning non-chalance. The little muscles in his face are still tense from what you can see in the mirror, jaw clenched and brows drawn in silent worry. In fact, Julian's whole body seems a bit rigid. You wonder if there's anything more you can do to ease his tension.

“Mmm, your shoulders are so tense, my love,” you hum into Julian’s ear, smoothing your hands along his broad shoulders, “Want some help?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you,” he agrees, eyes firmly shut and breath even with tranquility. You press a quick peck to his cheek as you begin what you hope will be a relaxing massage for your beloved. 

Your hands go to work near the base of his neck, gently kneading the taut cords of his muscles. You immediately identify a knot and start to press your thumbs in a little harder. 

“Ooo,” Julian grunts, releasing a breathy laugh, “I think you might’ve found something there.” 

“Good,” you purr in his ear and you can feel his heartbeat quicken with your sensual tone, “I’ll make sure to take care of that right away, Doctor Devorak.” 

You watch in the mirror as Julian’s eyes flutter open in surprise before a wicked grin dances across his face.

“I have the utmost faith in you,” he drawls, glancing back at you out of the corner of his eye. But before he can say anything more, you dig your thumbs into his flesh a little harder, eliciting a sultry moan from your dear doctor. 

You slowly work your way down his shoulders, squeezing tight along Julian’s freckle-dappled skin. Along the way, you pepper kisses along the spots that seem most tender, relishing the positively sinful groans that escape Julian’s perfect lips. Every once in a while, you pause to nip and suckle at his neck, leaving behind tiny brusies from your love bites. Julian will marvel at your hickey handiwork later, but for now he's lost in utter bliss from your firm grip and the grazing of your teeth against his skin. His face in the mirror is a delight: eyes squeezed shut with pleasure, lips parted ever so slightly, and cheeks flushed and rosy. His elegant fingers find their way to your thighs, digging into their supple skin and sending blissful tingles through your core. 

You skim your palms down Julian’s arm, feeling the auburn hairs raise with pleasured goosebumps. He sucks in a breath of air through his teeth as you make your way to his pert nipples, tweaking them teasingly. A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you circle your thumb around one while trailing your other hand down the center of his chest. You enjoy the sensation of your fingertips softly grazing the hair that leads from Julian’s navel to his groin. 

“Oh, you are quite the skilled masseuse,” Julian praises as your fingernails brush against the sensitive skin along his inner thighs. You take this opportunity to drag your tongue along the shell of his ear. Another loud, salacious groan from the man. You swear to the gods, Julian’s sounds alone could bring you to ecstasy. 

Your hand brushes against his erect dick. Julian gasps with his sensitivity, gripping your thighs even tighter than he had been before. 

“Would you like some help with this?” you offer, running a finger along his length. 

“Mmm, yes. Please,” Julian quietly begs, brows furrowing and gray eyes dark with desire. 

“Hmm, you got it, my sweet boy,” you hum, lips brushing feather-light just underneath his ear. You take a moment to massage his balls, savoring Julian’s breathy sighs and little keens. 

“I swear, your hands work miracles, my darling,” he murmurs, eyes falling shut once again. 

“I’ve learned from the best,” you compliment, voice barely above a whisper in Julian’s ear. If his cheeks could turn even more crimson than they already are, they certainly would. You start to pump his erection rhythmically, slow at first. Julian’s breaths are deep, his groans of pleasure reverberating through his chest. He leans back even further, practically trying to merge your forms into one. He’s so close, in fact, that his moans rumble through your chest as well. This moment is blissful: your chest pressed against Julian’s back, his fingers digging into your thighs. You’re so hot from the water, Julian’s body heat, and your own growing hunger. The heady scent of rose fills your nose, clouding your mind with desire. The feeling of Julian’s body against yours is utterly intoxicating. You’re joyously losing yourself to this evening of rapture.  

As you pick up your pace, Julian’s head falls back onto your shoulder, his eyes squeezing tight as you bring him closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Gods, you’re too good to me,” he huffs, reaching one hand back to tangle in your hair. 

“My darling, you deserve to relax,” you remind him, feeling his cock begin to ever so slightly twitch in your hands. Julian’s breathing grows shallow, rapid. The bath water gently sways with the rocking of his hips. His heart thrums wildly behind his ribcage, encouraging yours to flutter faster. His orgasm is imminent, the salacious sounds that escape his lips becoming more frequent and unbridled. You could listen to them all day, his velvety voice utterly delicious. 

Julian begs you to go faster, yet. As you oblige his request, he weaves his fingers further into your locks. His lips seem so desperate to find yours, his panting breaths warming your chin from this somewhat awkward angle you’ve managed to position yourselves in. But you hardly notice how uncomfortable it might otherwise be, for a moment later, Julian is coming undone beneath your touch. The water splashes violently over the edges of the tub as your beloved rogue finally obtains his euphoria. His hips rock erratically as you maintain your quick pace and his mouth falls open in pure bliss. A string of swear words in several languages graces your ears, followed by an invocation of your name that would make the very gods jealous in their heavenly thrones. Julian’s face in the mirror is orgasmic enough to nearly bring your own completion. Swiftly, you capture his lips in yours, swallowing up his praises and sighs. You’re both so desperate for one another, kisses sloppy and rough. You know your lips will be bruised come tomorrow, but it doesn’t even matter. 

You stay your hand, letting go of Julian’s cock and focusing on his luscious, sweet-tasting lips. You want this moment to last forever: tangled up in Julian’s embrace, lips working feverishly against one another's, your shared breathing a reminder of how entirely alive and in love the two of you are. When you finally separate, Julian slumps back against you, tuckered out. You tenderly drag your fingernails up and down Julian’s sternum, careful not to tug at any of his chest hairs (though you suspect Julian might actually enjoy that a little- something you can test another day). You luxuriate in this moment, letting Julian sink further into you, his body seeming to loosen as you gently tickle his chest. In the mirror, you can see the furrow in his brow dissipate, the very muscles in his face relaxing as his breathing deepens and evens out. 

“Feeling better?” you inquire, snuggling closer. Julian lets out another contented sigh. 

“Much better, thank you,” he returns, cracking an eye open to look at you in the mirror, “But you know what I think?” 

“What’s that?” you question, raising a confused eyebrow. Julian lifts himself up and swivels (somewhat awkwardly) around in the bathtub so he’s facing you. He leans back against the opposite side of the tub and motions for you, an impish look in his eye.

“You know, I think your shoulders must be awfully tense now. Care for some help?” he offers. You smile knowingly at him. How could you deny such a delightful proposal?

[gingerteaonthetardis]

WIP Telephone: "Spooky"

if you don't want to see what might become an increasingly long tumblr post, feel free to block the tag "WIP telephone." (i'll also be tagging it "long post," just in case. don't want to clog up people's dashes.)

when i logged on this morning and opined what to do with all the WIPs i know i'll never finish, it was brilliantly suggested that i offer some of them up to be collaboratively worked on by my pals here on tumblr. it's intended to be a tag game, of sorts, with each person adding maybe a hundred words (obviously, since my WIPs are all more than a hundred words, my starting excerpts are going to be… a bit longer than that, oops; and feel free to add more than that, if you feel like doing so) and then tagging someone else to add more, and so on, etc. etc.

if it's fun and anyone's interested, i'll do more, but i thought i'd start with something... 🍂 seasonally appropriate. 🍂 i'll be sharing additions as they come along!

also, tagging you for the next hundred words, because you're the one who started it all: dear @mrunmione (i'm not telling which doctor this is supposed to be; i'll let you pick!)

-

She hadn’t meant to say it.

“I’m not sleeping in here without you.”

In all honesty, she’s perfectly capable of sleeping on her own in a strange place; she’s done it plenty of times before. Living with the Doctor means getting used to sleeping in unusual spots. Hospital gurneys. Motel rooms in the far future where the beds float. Under ballroom tables, though that was just the once, and she’d had a lot to drink. The occasional jail cell.

Needless to say, she’s well acquainted with catnaps in odd places.

Only “odd” isn’t really the same as “haunted.”

And this place—wherever they are—is definitely haunted.

No matter what the Doctor says.

-

"Spooky," she decreed as they trudged up the damp path toward the house on the hill. "Think it's haunted?"

"There's no such thing," he insisted. The Doctor rolled his eyes in clear scepticism, but they both knew there was some reason the TARDIS landed them there. 

Entering through the unlocked door, they set about taking readings of the entrance hall and cramped lower rooms, all covered in dark wood and heavy tapestries. The decor was decidedly out of date, like something from a period film. No modern lighting, no electrical outlets to speak of. 

But though the place had something unsettling about it, it also seemed decidedly empty.

“This house is old,” the Doctor said, eyes intent, scanning over the low ceilings. “A few hundred years, I’d say. Maybe more."

When Rose wandered to the hearth, his supposition was confirmed by two small, framed sketches: two different women, their hair pulled back in artful ringlets and their faces set in gentle Mona Lisa smiles. One was dark and the other fair. And there were no names. 

They were both dated 1781. 

Before she could point them out, the Doctor was already running up the main staircase, rattling off jargon that she couldn’t even begin to understand—nonsense about atmospheric pressure and residual readings of… something—his voice too-loud in the stillness of the house. 

She trailed after him, only sort of half-listening. But as she turned the corner back into the hall, the whole place rumbled—and thumped, a sound like stones grinding against the bottom of a ship. The floorboards shook perilously under her feet, and she reached out on instinct, steadying herself against the base of the bannister.

“Doctor?"

The Doctor, of course, didn't so much as move. He remained stopped about halfway up the stairs, effortlessly balanced despite the unstable terrain. His head cocked and a half-smile on his lips, he said, "That wasn't a quake."

Of course not.

"What was it, then?"

His smile spread, becoming a full, face-overtaking, slightly manic sort of expression. "I have no idea."

To her very great alarm, he sounded delighted.

-

"Don't tell me you're scared, Rose," the Doctor laughs, sending the torchlight juddering through the darkness. "Look, it's cosy!"

"I'm not scared," she insists. "It's just—"

"Yes, spooky." It's a little too dim to tell, but she's pretty certain he's rolling his eyes. "So you've said." 

He'd picked her room for the night seemingly at random, nudging open doors until he found one with a suitable bed. And in the faint light, the bedroom does seem—nice. Less haunting, maybe, than the rest of the house. But still… off, somehow, in a way she can't quite put her finger on.

As she steps around him, careful not to cut off the wavering beam of the torch, she peers around, making note of all she can see: the crisp linens, the intricately carved wooden bed posts, the glint of polished glass—an oil lamp, she realises.

Something catches at the back of her mind, and she turns toward the Doctor with a frown already creeping over her face. "It's all sort of… clean, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's not musty or anything in here." Gesturing at the bed, she waits for the torch to illuminate the bedspread; startlingly, the coverlet is tucked down, as if someone had only just recently got in or out. Though, perhaps not. Maybe the last occupant of the house just really went in for turn-down service.

But then, she sees it, on the pillow…

She ducks down, looking closer at the little shadow against the pale linens. A faint waft of something carries up to her nose, and it takes her a moment to register just what it is: floral, reminding her faintly of Mickey's Gran.

"Lavender," she murmurs, thumbing over the little bundle of flowers, held together by faded ribbon. "It's fresh."

With a click, the torch light blinks out, and for an instant, she is overtaken by unstoppable, irrational fear. The Doctor is in the room with her, and as he's reminded her several times tonight, they've swept the whole house, searched every nook and cranny: there's nobody here.

But the wind howling outside the window, the faint blueness of the night, and the whisper of dry, bare tree branches scraping together all press in around her, thick as shadow, making her skin crawl and her breath catch.

The prospect of passing a whole night like this, alone with the dark and whatever lurks inside it, is almost too much to bear.

So, fine. She is a little bit scared.

Then there's a rustle, a scrape, a hiss, and then a match blooms with fire, lighting the sharp lines of the Doctor's face from below. He's grinning as he lowers the match to light the oil lamp.

"You're right," he says pleasantly. "This is spooky."

[always-sunny-in-alaska]

Lets Fang (READER INSERT)

hi i want to post my writing so please enjoy.

You should have noticed the signs of your ‘friend.’ The way he was a little too pale then most on the beach town where it seemed liked the sun never went down.  How he always wore sunscreen and held a blue umbrella with him, even in the late afternoon. You figured he was just eccentric or at least Nordic. 

You should had noticed the way his dark eyes reflected a murky red in the lights of the wafflehouse or how he never seemed to sweat or grow warm. Always cold to the touch. Always clammy. But that didn’t mean anything? Most skinny white boys are cold and awkward.

Even with all the signs, you blatantly didn’t see who Thaddeus Whitlock really was. His name itself should of gave it away, but you didn’t believe in vampires nor any being from old wise tales. It was just the wet dreams of teenages threw out the eras. 

Until it wasnt. 

He effortlessly climbs on top of your body, it shivers in hunger as his cold fingers run up and down your body. Staring up him you’re meet with the hungry primal look that’s dangerous close. Fear spouts in your soul for that moment, it’s uprooted when Thaddeus takes your linked hands and presses them into the pillow to the side of your wet head, kissing you with eager from your lips to your shoulder, half his naked body laid on top of yours. the cold refreshing as your feels like it on fire.    

A snap of a manicured finger snaps you back into the tiny classroom. The girl, Cherry looks at you with a mischivous expression. Cinnamon ringlets framing her doll like face

“You wanna go to Wafflehouse? Maybe drinks? i have sme vodka in my car we can spike the oj.’”

“Well..Sure” you say looking for an excuse but none were appearing. Letting out a faux breath, you gave cherry a tight lip smile and nod. Satisfied with herself cherry turned away to gather a few more classmates for a late night dinner. everyone tend to ignore eachother in night classes, everyone but Cherry understood that most didnt want to be here but because of the unforantue of their daily lives thier cursed to be here. 

you cant help but twitch you eye at the loud wishpers, scanning the room, landing on a duo of familiar faces, the taste of acid in your mouth.              Weston and Steven, two boys you went to high school with and was once close friends. They look over at you, eyes gleaming with shit eatting grin on thier faces.

Weston was a very broad fellow with a blond mullet. Someway, somehow, some hick from the 70s had found thier way into the future. He wore a black Ed hardy T-shirt and jean shorts with American flip flops. His hat was from the construction Bussines he worked on, a father and son construction where the family owning it hasn’t picked up a hammer in decades. 

Steven looks slightly better, he’s the same height as Weston but wider with curly brown hair hiding his small dark eyes. He wears long plaid button up under a north face vest and khaki shorts, with working boots that’s never stepped foot on anything that isn’t pavement. He’s the son from the construction bussines that’s never touched a hammer. 

You ignore them, packing your notebook into your bag. Walking out of the night class, ignoring cherry calling your name. You couldn’t stay in that room. the rotten smell was filling up the room.  If it wasn’t midway threw the last semester you would’ve transferred schools. taken online courses, But since it’s only few more week untill graduate, you decide to suck it up and control yourself from lunging at those bastards.

reaching the front door of the bulidng you realized today was national bastard day. 

“why are you here?” You spoke, voice smooth and even. making a beeline towards the dull yellow Volkswagen, the cool night wind blowing through your hair, The man that sat on the hood seemed to be unphased by your glare.  

There he sat a brooding mess, his lips full and red. In your short amount of years, you had never seen such a bright shade, and for a moment grew jealous of the lipstain. 

You laughed bitterly, ignoring the looks from the man and other students around the parking lot lifting a hand to wipe at his mouth, pulling back once your fingers were the same color at his lips. You gave your fingers a lick. it tingled going down.

“Oh I love Koolaid. Brought me any?” You asked opening the driver side door, tossing the bag of books off your shoulder and into the passenger side. Becoming more aware to the others around to them. The girl jogging towards her car, blooding rushing in her veins. The boy picking a scab as he talked with his friends, the scent of blood rushing to your nose once he broke skin. The smell of the dried roadkill Weston had hit with his large truck. It all attacked you. 

The man on the car known as Thaddeus noticed your actions. 

“No” he smirked, focusing you in front of him, you held your keys tightly, so tightly that one of the keys started to bend. 

“I have some at home though. Come with me?” Thaddeus asked, it caused another laugh from you. 

“No I’ll make my own.”

“Your sloppy at- at making Koolaid. You don’t know the rules.” Thaddeus insisted, turning around to face you. 

“I know enough. Never got in trouble making Koolaid before.”

“Not yet.”

“Well let me know when the Koolaid police come around. Now get off my hood I have places to be.” You huffed, before flinging youself into the car. Thaddeus frowned and looked at you with a surprised and offended look threw the window. You turned on your car and revered up the engine. Not afraid to sling the man off. He would be fine, you’ve done it a few times. 

“Fine.” He huffed before sliding off, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his outfit. A billowy white blouse with black trousers. Absolutely overkill for a community college parking lot. Even without the red cape. 

His lips are on your neck, the feeling of totally euphoria rides threw your body. Hands are clawing at his back, no matter how hard you dig into him, he never has a scratch on him. Another red flag. You feel his lips attack your neck, too soft. Too soft for your liking. You like to see the aftermath of a love session. The mistake rolls off your tongue in such smooth honey that Thaddeus doesn’t disobey the pleas. 

Your grip on the wheel loosen as Thaddeus walks out of the parking lot and into the woods, totally not strange.

 With sigh you pulled out of the parking lot not paying mind to your appearance as it slowly shifted, you tugged down the turtle neck, letting the wounded neck breath. The bite mark was now scarred but it still looked bruised and totally noticeable, not even your novice make up skills could cover it up. 

Oh, the woes of a newborn vamprie.

[prettyboykatsuki]

congrats on 1k! <3 may i have sub!kitty!sakusa, please? 

✫ cw ;; hybrid!sakusa / catboy!sakusa, sub!sakusa,  gn reader, d/s dynamics 

come join me for 1k! 

sakusa kiyoomi doesn’t really like to behave much. 

it’s hard to complain about it since he looks so pretty. black hair curled into ringlets framed around pale face. large and domineering figured but still moves gracefully with lithe. he’s nice to look at and even nicer to have around. he’ll bare his fangs and hiss at anyone he deems unsafe. 

but sakusa is spolied in that way - even when he hisses, sharp nails and textured fingers. he might as well hiss at anyone who comes within a few feet of you, scratches whenever you spend too much time with the damn miya mutts or the like. he waits for you all day for you to come home and demands attention before both feet are in the door. 

he really doesn’t know any better than this, or than you. you should cut him some slack he thinks. after a long of classes, he immediately comes jumping towards you once the door clicks up, dropping down onto his knees until his cheek is pressed against your thigh. 

“woah, woah - slow down there, kitty,” you hum, scratching your nails behind his ears with a soft smile. “looks like you want something from me,”  

it takes you a second to loko at him closely. he’s flushed a soft pink from the neck down. his grip is unsually tight on your legs. it takes you a second before it clicks in your mind. you tug on his curls until he looks up at you - wide eyed. his voice is soft and gentle when he speaks. 

“please,” 

his throat is so hoarse when he speaks. you’re quick to tug on his collar, looping your fingers through the hook with a soft sigh. a hand on his face has him nuzzling into your palms - he’s flushed. 

“so needy,” you tsk “go upstairs and wait for me,” 

sakusa goes with quick speed. you find him on the bed with his thighs, stomach on the bed. his cock is especially pretty - heavy at the way it twitches on the bedsheets. he grind against it with a soft mewl. its especially desperate like omi tends to be. 

you pat his ass and he turns to you, laid on his back with a whimper lodged into his throat. you lay into his side with a soft hum - your teeth sinking into the skin of his neck as your palm wraps around the base of his cock. you can see his tail swing between his legs at the touch - hissing at the sensation. he whines, tired and achy. 

“need to cum so bad you had to bother me soon as i got home, omi?” 

the jerk of your hands makes him dizzy as he nods for you. pre-cum makes your hand so slick you don’t even have to get him to spit on it. you pump your hand slow - gripping his cock with light force. kiyoomi is pretty but especially when he’s debauched like this tongue, eyes dazed and unfocused.

“ngh, more,” are the only coherent words that seem to come out of his mouth. you shake your head when he asks, ignoring him when he thrashes around for your attention. he squirms so easily for you, stimulation making his mind feel numb with desire. his body goes into this heat like state so easily - toes curling as you jerk him off with no respite in mind. 

“aah, aah - “ 

you know he wants to cum when his ears twitch for you. when his voice gets extra pitchy and he lets out a quiet, quiet whine. it’s barely audible, almost choked. he gives you a lustful, pleading look. blinking at you with so much innocence you lose your resolve. 

“you gonna cum for me, kitten? make a mess on my hands?” 

he nods his head rapidly, mouth dropping open with desperation. his skin feels prickled with heat so searing he huffs. just a little more, just a little harder and he’ll cumm. 

“oh - oh, please let me cum,” 

you grin at him, jerking him off even faster. you chuckle as his spine arches, fucking so sloppily into your hand. a lewd and wet sound echoes in the room, thick with precum. he’s so close, he just needs you to - 

“cum for me, kitty. be good and cum for me,” 

white spots his vision as he cums hard and fast. thick ropes of white coating his stomach all the way up to his chest. it’s thick and hot  as you smear on his thigh, humilation burning for just how much he got off. 

“you’re still hard?” you task, shoving your fingers into his mouth so he can clean them off for you “bad kitty, omi. it’s my turn next or that’ll be your last one for the night, yeah? don’t be selfish” 

sakusa doesn’t like to behave except at times like this. 

[llyncooljones]

happy toddler, happy life - rowaelin month day twenty-one.

ao3 || masterlist || rowaelin month '21 masterlist

prompt: CANON WEEK: rowan, aelin, and their toddler princess

word count: 932

trigger warnings: language.

tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @rowanaelin @surielandiareendgame @fireheartwhitethorn4ever

the streets of terrasen, midday.

Rowan Whitehorn is famed for many things.

Honourable things like murdering a man by ripping a table leg from a table and stabbing a man with it, like flattening cities and towns and villages at the snap of his fingers, like shedding blood so far and wide that nobody isn’t aware of who he is.

He’s famed for his brute strength, the ten-year absence he had from the world after the death of his wife and unborn child, for the tattoo that tells a story tears always accompany.

But these days, these happy, happy days, he’s famed other, much more honourable things.

More honourable things as keeping his young daughter with him, carried against his chest in a sling, at all times he could – whether in court, training the guards, walking through the bustling streets of Terrasen. It doesn’t matter, young Princess Ariden Whitehorn-Galanthynius is always with him.

As the houses of happy citizens pass by in his peripheral. His hand stays glued to the covered back of his toddler, the size of his hand allowing it to span her whole back and around her front as well. Her cheek is smushed into the green tunic he wears, her little, fisted hands hanging limply by her side, swinging ever so slightly as they walk.

Her blonde curls make a mess atop her head, the ringlets crazier than her mother’s hair after she fell asleep with damp hair, a mistake the Queen makes very rarely.

He pulls his eyes from the light of his life, just in time to avoid a rouge cat as it runs through the streets, hopped up on adrenaline. He lets out a low chuckle, smiling as his daughter’s head knocks with the shakes of his chest.

“I’ll never understand it, Ro, how that daughter of ours…” His wife trails off, her eyes smiling as her lips stretch to form a mischievous grin.

“How this daughter of ours, what?” He knows it’s bad, if she’s grinning like this, he just knows he’s going to end this conversation blushing and shaking his head affectionately at his wife.

“Seems to prefer her father’s tits to her mother’s—”

Aelin’s words are cut off when Rowan lets out a loud laugh, eyes turning to face him as he both covers his daughter’s ears (lest she be corrupted by the foul mouth of her mother) and damn near doubles over with the force of his laughter.

“—It isn’t even like yours give her anything. Mine, my tits? They sustained her life for many, many months of nipple torture. And not the kind I like, big man. And here she is, lying her cute little head on yours and not mine. The audacity of this one-year-old, I can’t.” Despite the nature of her words, the attention they draw from the small crowd in the streets, her face is stone-cold now, not a hint of the humour they held just seconds ago.

Rowan knows it’s only a façade, knows she only does this to garner his sweet, sweet attention. Make him feel guilty (lovingly, obviously) and pull attention and affection from him.

A kiss to the crown of her head, a tug on her braid of her ponytail, a light swat of her behind, even the brush of his wind against her.

Any of that and she’s all smiles and laughs again.

“Aelin, the love of my godsdamn life, I promise you. She very much appreciates your tits, but you have to face it, no matter how hard it may be. Mine are better.” His tone is cheeky, a smile evident in his tone.

At the loud, booming laughter of her parents, little Ariden rouses from her sleep. Her eyes stay screwed closed while her mouth opens in a gummy smile, her tongue poking out slightly. Her head shakes left to right, her hands fisting tighter than before and rising up to whack him in the chin.

After a few moments of waking up, Ariden’s eyes pop open, the turquoise ringed by gold, light in any darkness. Framed with perfect, blonde lashes, she’s an angel sent from heaven and Rowan and Aelin have never felt so blessed.

Aelin leans over her mate, placing a sweet kiss to their daughter’s temple and running her nails softly over her mess of curls. Aelin then scoops her daughter up and out of the sling, swinging her high and then placing her on her hip.

Pressing a hand to his heart, like a scandalised mother, Rowan stares at the love in his mate’s eyes. He loves the light his daughter draws from Aelin, the shine in her eyes that only he and his daughter can place there.

Standing in place, Aelin shakes her body a little, her hips moving in order to jiggle their daughter from side to side, up and down. Laughter bursts from their child, shrieks of laughter and happy giggles interspersed within the witch-like cackles she favours.

A fact Manon adores, if their child has no witch blood, Manon will settle for a classic witchy cackle.

They continue their walk through the suburbs of Terrasen, stopping and saying high to frequent visitors, popping into shops and buying bits and pieces for themselves, for their daughter, for friends, and for family.

By the time they reach the castle, Ariden is asleep again, against Rowan’s chest, and Aelin is leaning sleepily into his side while his other side is weighed down with their shopping and gifts from citizens.

All in all, the day was simply perfect, and he wouldn’t exchange it for the world.

[fandomvariousness]

Pairing: Levi x reader

Warnings: mild angst, violence, swearing, smut: slight dacryphilia, choking, slight masochism, slight dumbification, power play, unprotected sex

Summary: you’re an untruly scout in Levi’s squad and he let’s you know exactly how he feels when he pays you a visit during your punishment task

Word count: 3.6k

All hell broke loose if it was one of the worse days.

Your hot-headed disposition was a challenge to deal with in the first place, but if you felt a tad annoyed that day… Let’s just say punishments were as natural to you as breathing air.

It took slightest things to piss off Captain Levi – an irritated glance after he scolded you, a quiet remark you’d use to talk back and he, of course, would hear it. Simply put – you were disobedient. Yet even then you were an indispensable soldier – resourceful, intelligent, and absolutely fearless. Much like a wildfire – once you blaze, it’s hard to put you out.

Even so, Captain Levi eventually chose you to be a part of his new squad. Yes, he never encountered such an erratic human being that’s basically impossible to control, the traits that go against his every bullet point in describing a proper soldier, but he knew he would be an absolute fool if he’d go that massive potential of yours go to waste.

Countless times he wanted to kick you off the squad for being an unbearable brat, yet he didn’t. Often, you yourself wondered why.

✃

The squad has been on a minor expedition outside the walls for training purposes, so all of you were headed to the nearest cottage safe house.

After a tiring day of training, when the sun was setting down, you were all sitting outside, enjoying the last remnants of warmth in the air. Captain was sauntering inside the cottage, probably inspecting each crack and crevice after you all spend the first half of the day cleaning it.

It would be such a nice evening if Eren and Mikasa would argue a bit quieter. In fact, Mikasa was calmly saying something to Eren, while the latter, being basically as hot-headed as you, was arguing against her every word.

It pissed you off when they were like that, because it’s obvious Mikasa would do anything for Eren. Either he is so daft and doesn’t get it, or he doesn’t care. You never admitted to yourself that you’re jealous that Eren has someone who cares for him, while you have no one. Not even your family which was once very big – you had lots of cousins, aunts and uncles. Now, only you remain.

“Oi,” you exclaimed. “could you just tone it down a bit?”

Eren’s fiery gaze snapped towards you in a second. “Stay out of this!”

Now, you knew it’s none of your business, but you hated being talked to like that, much less ordered. You stood up in a swift motion from where you were leaning against a bench and turned your body to face Eren.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve no interest in what you’re crying about, Jaeger, but you’re not even listening to Mikasa, that much is obvious.”

Others were starting to pay attention too – they knew that when the two of you started bickering, often it’d turn into something more… interesting.

“You know what else is obvious?” he asked, his voice challenging. “That you act all brave and fearless, but in reality you’re just a restless child acting as if she lost her dummy!”

You felt that familiar tickling feeling of your temper rising, firing you up until you eventually lose yourself and act upon instincts that keep you alive and going.

You chuckled curtly. “Me? You’re calling me a child?”

Tauntingly, you’ve stepped closer to him. Eren knew that it’s not smart to wind you up like that, you’re still friends, good friends – it just so happened that you’re both in a bad mood today.

“At least I can wipe my own ass without Mikasa’s help.” you finished your sentence just before Eren grabbed a fistful of your collar and roughly pulled you flush against him, both of your impulsive auras conflicting with each other.

You growled as you pushed him away in a swift, forceful motion, earning a murderous glare from him.

It took so little to get you angry. Even though you pushed him away, that unruly part of yours stepped close to him again as you dug your forefinger in his chest in a threatening manner.

“Don’t touch me, you, whiny bitch,” you spat out, your voice dripping with venom – you were already blazing, and there was no going back.

Eren slapped your hand away. “Who you’re calling a whiny bitch? I wasn’t the one who cried into the pillow for two weeks after driving Reiner and Bertholdt away!”

Now, you can be reckless, wild, fiery… But Eren can be cruel.

The reason you were so devastated after finding out your two best friends were your mortal enemies was because with them you felt like you’ve had family again – both of them reminded you of your older brothers. You shared your feelings with Eren in confidence, and he just blurted it out in front of everyone.

“Fuck it,” you thought as you launched a punch at his face with a primal scream.

By now the others knew not to interfere in your fights, not even Mikasa. God knows they tried, and it made it even worse.

Eren fell to the ground with a hard thud before you quickly straddled him and lifted up your bent hand to launch another punch at his bloody nose.

The bastard was quick to react nevertheless as he met your fist with his palm and squeezed it, slapping you off of him with his free hand in a swift motion. The second your own body collided with the grass you were already scrambling with your hands and feet to get up.

As you turned to Eren with the intention to ram him to the ground again, he was already on his legs as well. The others were still shouting for you two to break it up, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before Captain Levi shows up.

Not thinking straight, you did exactly what you wanted, you launched yourself at him and picked him like a flower stem, both of you flying to the ground again, followed by a sickening thump.

Your vision was getting blurry from all the rage and adrenaline as you lifted up your fist, charged with savage energy, ready to collide with Eren’s already battered face, yet it never happened. It never happened because someone else was gripping your wrist so hard, almost stopping the blood flow.

You snapped your head back to see murderous look in Captain’s gray eyes.

Still gripping your wrist, he jerked you back like a rag doll, painfully sending you to the ground, away from Eren.

It fell so quiet you could hear the clouds passing.

Levi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I will kill both of you.”

“Right,” he continued. “when everyone’s going to sleep after this long, tiring day, you brats are going to sweep this house clean again. I don’t care how long it takes you. Eren takes right wing, Y/N takes left.”

He glared daggers at the two of you before going back to the cottage, just like that. It was actually worse when he didn’t say much – means he’s absolutely sick of you.

Still breathing heavily, you stood up, leaning on your knees with your palms for support.

“Shit, guys,” Jean muttered. “Shall we say our goodbyes now, or...?”

“Jean.” Mikasa snapped, shutting him up.

You glared at Eren who glared right back at you, although his eyes were already void of the rage that was previously residing in them.

You looked away without a word and made your way towards the cottage, wanting to wipe all the dirt and soot away.

✃

You stared at your distraught face in the mirror. Distraught by the fight you had with Eren, and by the fact that you got on Captain’s nerves again. How longer can you go on like this before he finally kicks you out?

You wiped your wet face with a towel as you heard someone come into the bathroom. Mikasa’s frame showed up in the mirror.

“Mikasa,” you spoke without hesitation as you turned around. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

Mikasa shook her head sheepishly. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. You’re the most caring person I know and I used that to shame Eren, although there’s no shame in caring for your loved ones.”

Mikasa blushed as she set her eyes to the ground. “Everyone’s going to sleep already – you better hurry.”

“Right,” you sighed, feeling the jitters of anticipation.

You quit the bathroom and made your way to the cleaning cupboard to grab all sorts of supplies. At least the Captain was nowhere to be seen – you couldn’t bear his condemning gaze now. Not when you secretly always yearn for his approval.

You can’t help but stare at him a second longer than you should, or think about him when you shouldn’t. The fact that he hasn’t kicked you off of his squad gives you some material for thinking that maybe he simply doesn’t want to. There’s just something about him that makes you tense everytime you’re around him – not the dread everyone feels, but something else entirely, something that makes your stomach tingle.

You just finished cleaning all the dishes after dinner and was now sweeping the floor that was still clean after your cleaning tasks earlier in the day. That was the point of the punishment, you figured – clean the surroundings that are already clean, only to frustrate you.

You were kind of spacing out, the flashbacks of the fight with Eren coming back, rekindling the violent blaze within you. Everything was suddenly in your head again, pushing you to the edge. You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose as you stopped momentarily, letting go of the broom and trying to forget how Eren just blurted out about your sorrows, how Captain glared at you, how everyone got to witness you getting unhinged again.

Hot flashes hit your body as you blew the stray ringlet of hair from your forehead, leaning on the dining table with your palms, desperately trying to calm down.

“Who told you to stop?”

Oh no… Really not the time.

You needed a few more seconds to stop the shivers as you opened your eyes and straightened your frame, facing Captain Levi, who was leaning against the counter.

It was precisely those few extra seconds that displeased him.

“Tsk,” he spat out as he straightened his frame. “Not only you’re deranged, but lazy too.”

You faced him with as blank a face as you could possibly muster, yet all your feelings were bubbling up, threatening to spill out with a little more provocation. You never wanted to rip off someone’s head so bad, until now.

You didn’t realize you’d squeezed your eyes shut until they suddenly opened with the sound of hard crash – Levi had purposely smashed a ceramic cup to the ground, shattering it to pieces.

You set your mad eyes on him, disbelief written all over you.

“Clean it.” he ordered. “Or are you going to disobey me again?”

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you sure it was bleeding, breathing heavily, restraining yourself like never before in order not to pounce on him.

Instead, you repeatedly bit your lower lip as you felt your eyes watering. It’s better to cry yourself stupid before him than to actually hit him – then everything would definitely be over.

He stepped closer to you, your clothes almost brushing together, as he looked down on you with clear disgust, and… satisfaction?

You were so angry. He tried to demean you just now, and you were under immense pressure to actually pick those pieces up. You knew you had to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

You gulped. “You’re abusing your power.”

“No,” he closed in on you, making you step backwards until the back of your thighs hit the table. “I’m establishing my power, since you clearly don’t recognize it.”

He leaned his palms on the table just like you did moments ago, trapping you. Your heart was palpitating against your ribcage, yet for reasons entirely different than rage.

All of those glances and pushes and punishments now made sense – that was the only way he could think of to interact with you with no suspicion from others. He’d often chide you for the stupidest things, just so he’d have the chance to have a conversation with you, no matter how fleeting or unimportant.

Deep down you always knew it, and that’s why you’re continued being such a burden. Just so that he’d look at you and punish you again, scream at you, or kick the shit out of you again.

The atmosphere in the room has changed radically. You felt like walking on a string, about to fall off as his face was hovering just above yours, torturing you with anticipation.

“You wanted to beat the shit out of me just now, didn’t you?” he quizzed while slowly tracing your features with his stony gaze. Instead of answering, you gulped.

He grabbed your face harshly, puckering up your lips in the process. “Speak.”

“Yes.” you admitted before his hand slid down to lightly hang at the base of your neck, igniting whole another fire within you.

“Yes what?” he asked, adding pressure to his hand.

“Yes, Captain.”

At this rate, you’re going to burn out.

He chuckled quietly through his nose and stood up straight. “Go on, then. I’m ordering you to slap me.”

It was as if you just turned into a statue – that’s how shocked you were. “W-What?” you asked sheepishly.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You stared at him, trying to see him and his intentions through. Obviously, things were finally getting spicy, but your defense mechanism still rang some alarm bells – is he trying to trick you into something? Are you really going to bitch-slap the humanity’s strongest?

You felt your palms starting to tingle as he stared right into your eyes, challenging you to do it.

And you’re gonna do it, alright.

Something just snapped inside you, as it always does before you do something stupid or something you’re going to regret. You charged your palm with strength before sending it flying across his cheek with all your might. You whimpered as your skin came in contact with his, setting your palm on fire from such a harsh stroke.

And then it dawned on you – you really did bitch-slap him. He even stumbled one step backwards, his head ominously turned to the side, crow-black hair shielding his eyes from your vision, what absolutely terrified you.

He straightened his frame as he wiped a droplet of blood from his lip with the tip of his thumb.

You gasped audibly, making him look at you.

That’s it, you thought, he has a perfect reason to kill you now, and you were stupid enough to fall for it. You closed your eyes and awaited whatever’s to come, and it did come.

His lips came crashing on yours, both of you stumbling backwards, moving the table a bit. He immediately yanked you to sit on the wooden surface, positioning himself between your thighs as you held onto him for dear life.

He devoured you with hungry, open-mouthed kisses before you bit his lower lip, drawing blood once more.

One of his hands that were digging into your hips came in contact with your neck, squeezing it hard and pushing you away so he could see your hazy face.

“Savage.” he muttered after a few moments of taking you in, making your mouth stretch out into a lazy smile.

He pushed himself to you further, making your back hit the table as he attached his lips just below your neck, where jaw transitions to neck, coaxing a mewl out of you. He coaxed another when he rutted his hips against yours, making you aware of the growing tent in his pants.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, eyes closed as he sucked and bit little marks all over your neck. Hiding them is going to be a problem.

You took his face in your hands and kissed him deeply, rolling your hips against his in a tantalizing motion, whimpering at how his hardness brushes against where you need him the most, feeling him exhale into your mouth as his mind was equally clouded.

It felt like everything was finally coming to be exactly as it should, like you’d finally be released from your misery, like the intentions behind each of your actions would finally be clear, without any misunderstandings.

You were both impatient. No time for thorough build up, you just wanted to feel him inside you, just as he wanted to fill you up.

He drew back a bit, restrained by your legs snaking his waist as he rested his forehead against yours, panting heavily. “I’d really like to fuck you now.”

The fact that after all the crazy shit you’ve been through today he’d still ask for consent made you give it all to him. “Only if you do it so hard I can’t walk for days.”

You felt his dick twitch. “Easy.”

You yelped as he flipped you around, fumbling with the hem of your pants as he pushed them down to your knees, along with your underwear. You shivered as cool air hit your slick folds, and once again when you heard Levi fumbling with his own belt.

You wiggled your hips against him, impatient, almost crying out – you needed him that bad. His palm came flying against your behind, making you yelp loudly, gripping the edge of the table as you’re all sprawled out on top of it.

You whimpered again as you felt him brush the tip of his dick teasingly against your entrance. “Please, Captain…”

“So impatient,” he muttered silently before ramming into you without any warning.

Your nails dug into the wooden edge as you cried out into the air, holding on for dear life as he slammed you, table legs creaking underneath you rhythmically.

Levi had a perfect view of you as he rutted against you – the way your ass bounced flush against his hip, your arm muscles straining as you gripped the edge of the table harder and harder, the way the strands of your hair flew up and down with each motion, and how helplessly you squealed each time his tip hit your cervix – all of that sent him insane, unable to stop the silent whimpers that came out from his own mouth.

He had to restrain himself from going too fast – that’s how eager he was to finally sprawl you under him, after all this time you drove him out of his mind with your unstable behavior, hatred-driven glances and disobedience.

“Yes, yes, love it,” you wailed incoherently.

“Of course you do,” he huffed just before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head backwards, stars spilling out of your head.

The way his dick breached you was literally driving you crazy – it was like a perfect fit, slipping soundly against your walls and hitting all the right spots at exactly the right time. Your cunt clenched around him on its own, making him groan at your artfulness. His fingers dug into the plush of your backside, thrusting into you without any mercy.

The coil in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter, your brain short-circuiting each time you heard Levi groan, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin ringing against the walls.

“Oh, God,” you cried out as your bliss was rapidly closing in on you.

“No,” Levi countered as he pressed his back flush against yours, brushing his lips against your ear. “just me.”

His head hung down, burying itself in the crook of your neck as he finally spilt his seed inside of you with a low groan that sent you to your own release. You cried out as he panted heavily against your skin, your body slumping on the table completely.

You had to muster up the remaining grain of your strength when Levi stood up and pulled his pants on so you could to the same with your own. Your breathing was still erratic as you fumbled with the pair of strings in the hem of your pants, trying to tie them. Levi approached you and lightly swatted your trembling hands away, tying them for you.

You were lost in his gray eyes by now, not even knowing what to say at first, but this silence that ensued was kind of comforting, both of you assessing the situation.

He chuckled suddenly. “Why did you beat the shit out of Jaeger in the first place?”

You smiled awkwardly as you shook your head curtly, gluing your eyes to the ground. “Doesn’t matter. Stupid thing, really.”

“Alright.” he said, his voice low, as usual. “You can tell me all about it next time.”

His words made you look at him again, eyebrows slightly lifted, eyes full of sudden anticipation.

Next time?

You were kind of scared at the thought of getting together with Captain again, but you felt excited way more.

“Oh, and like I said,” he paused before leaving the room completely. “clean it.”

You remembered the shattered cup and this time failed to refrain a smirk that creeped upon your lips.

“Yes, Captain.”

He left after that, but you swear you saw a ghost of a smile on those harsh lips.

[nationalharryleague]

In the Long Green Grass

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: the fluffiest fluff with husband!harry  

Word count: 2K

A/N: Hi everyone!! Merry Christmas to all that celebrate!! this is my Secret Santa (run and organized by the lovely lu (@meetmymouth​) gift to the sweetest angel who walks among us miss hasibi (@peachybloomss​)!!! I hope you enjoy it my love!!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and I would love to hear what everyone thinks in my ask! Thank you so much for reading!! 

*** 

You were stirred by the sounds of the waves crashing against the cliff outside the home as the early morning sun streamed in through the windows. A small huf and whine left your lips, always one to ask for just five more minutes in bed, before you climbed from underneath the warm plush blankets and your toes hit the icy and worn wood floors beneath you.

The buttery yellow sunlight thwarted your plans to fight yourself back to sleep for those last few moments, prompting you to reach out your arms in a longing stretch. You released a light and sleepy hum of surprise when your arm hit a tiny furry body, and not the arm of the man who loved to sleep late in the bed beside you. Peeping one eye open, you made eye contact with Piper, Harry’s small jet black cat with glowing green eyes who was laying next to you, curled up on sheets that still held the indent of his body in them.

Piper wore a face of annoyance, obviously blaming you for interrupting her precious beauty sleep, and her eyes followed your body as you forced yourself out of the bed with one goal: find Harry.

Harry had a habit of disappearing, especially in a new place where there was just so much to explore. He was a wanderer (and an aquarius); always on the move, carried along by a thought or idea he just couldn’t resist. It was hard for him to sit still, a trait he probably picked up after tour after tour after tour, never allowing himself the luxury of rest or relaxation after it was never allowed to him. That was why you had insisted he needed time away from the city, finding a perfect spot in a small cottage that sat on the edge of a cliff along the ocean with a back garden full of sweet smelling flowers and tall cushony grass.

You tiptoed carefully down the spiral staircase that lovingly let out groans underfoot, still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, into a kitchen that looked straight out of a fairytale. It was small with moss green cabinets and large bay windows that filled the space with light that kept the seemingly hundreds of plants in the house happy and thriving. A cool ocean breeze came in through the open windows of the small breakfast nook, bringing along the scent of a fresh pot of coffee that sat on the butcher block countertops like it had been waiting for you to wake all along. While you felt a jump of excitement within you for the coffee, it still hadn’t been what (or who) you were looking for, even though you were very glad you found it.

A sweet cup of coffee was thoughtfully prepared in a tea cup you had found in the cabinet with small wisteria flowers painted around it’s rim. You knew Harry would poke fun at your cup choice if he were there. “Tea cups are for tea,” you could hear him say, perking up the edges of your mouth into a gentle smile as you sipped it carefully. But the flowers reminded you of the beautiful wisteria tree that flowed in the wind and scattered it’s petals all over the back garden; you just couldn’t pass it up.

It took you quite a while to find him, even with the new found caffeinated energy running through your system. You had run into the two other cats at the house, both rather chubby tabbys named Jack and Gus, that called this back garden home on your search and you obviously had to say good morning. The two rubbed themselves up against your legs, begging for a scratch behind the ear and a bit of attention, and you obliged. Who were you to deny them of it?

The garden the cats got to call home was a dream. It was filled with every variety of colorful flower imaginable and blanketed in a sweet air that always hovered over the space. Your favorites were the small peachy blooms that smelled of sugary perfume. A stone fence ran the perimeter of the yard, a white picket fence in the middle opening to a swath of overgrown grass that swayed in the wind on a hill. If you squinted, you could see the house of the couple you were renting the cottage from, but they were far enough away it felt like you were the only people around for miles.

When you spotted a Harry-shaped hole in the tall grass up the hill, you had a sneaking suspicion you had found your missing husband.

The tall grass squished beneath your feet as you climbed the hill, creating a soft padding below, and the long blades tickled against your bare legs as you made your way towards him, still only dressed in one of his perfectly worn t-shirts from the night before.

“There you are,” you hummed happily when you reached him, standing above him as he layed in the grass. “I thought that I lost you.”

He looked like a renaissance painting as he laid in the grass that was dotted with small pink and purple wildflowers. His curls had gotten a little longer during his much needed break and they splayed out around his head in delicate ringlets like a halo. The light from the still rising sun bounced off his slightly dewy skin, giving him a glow that lit him up even more than usual. Stubble danced across his cheeks and jaw, framing his perfectly pink lips that held a gentle smile as he looked up at you from the ground. And his eyes squinted slightly, shielding his pupils from the ever growing brightness of the sky, creating delicate little wrinkles around his sea glass green eyes that looked so vibrant in the light.

A worn book that you hadn’t seen before, bound in dark green leather with gold detailing, sat on his chest; Poems for Lovers: A Collection was embossed delicately across the cover.

“You’ll never lose me,” he mumbled up at you, a gravel in his voice like it was the first time he had used it that day. You had been married for almost two years and had been together for five, but your cheeks never failed to redden when he spoke sweet nothings like that. “Good morning, angel,” he said softly, reaching his hand up for yours.

You moved to place your hand in his, but ended up only linking your pinkies together in the process; a light tug from the man below you signaled for you to join him on the ground. You couldn’t resist, sitting yourself down with your legs crossed in front of you on the slightly damp ground next to him, pinkies still locked together.

“Morning,” you greeted. “I missed you in bed. Piper isn’t much of a cuddler,” you chuckled while absentmindedly playing with his fingers, twirling his wedding band.

“She’s not very nice, is she?” he smiled, opening his eyes fully to meet yours as you strategically moved your body to block his delicate eyes from the sun. “I’m sorry my cat’s a bitch,” he joked. “She still thinks she’s my number one girl.”

“I tell her I’m sorry that I stole her spot in bed all the time, she never listens. Won’t even have a civil chat with me about it,” you teased sarcastically.

Harry let out an enthusiastic giggle at your words; it was high pitched, and came from his belly in loud bursts of air. His cheeks scrunched up and forced his eyes closed because he was smiling so wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes once again. His laughter was infectious and you couldn’t help but join in.

You two must have looked insane, sitting in the grass in a field in the middle of nowhere just after dawn, laughing like idiots. But you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Well, a few more hours of sleep wouldn’t have hurt.

As your gigges died down, you turned your attention to the book resting on his chest. “You ditched me in bed for a book?” you teased, letting the remaining laughter escape your body.

“I couldn’t sleep and I found it on one of the bookshelves. I thought it would be nice to read in the grass and watch the sun come up.”

“You should have woken me up. I could have thought of a few things we could have done to tire you out.” A smirk played on your lips as you tapped your chin, pretending to think, as you watched his eyes grow in amusement from your innuendo.

“You looked too peaceful sleeping. Also, drool and bedhead don’t really turn me on if I’m being honest.” It was your turn to react to his teasing.

Your jaw dropped in feigned offence and your finger flew over your shoulder to point back at the cottage. “I can go back if you’d like your privacy,” you said incredulously and with dramatics, until a few chuckles broke through and your resolve softened once again.

“Oh no no no,” he spoke with a grin, “come here,” moving the book and tapping his chest for you to rest your head on. You turned yourself around to lay yourself on the ground, placing your head on his chest and listening to his steady and calming heartbeat.

“How are your poems?” you asked, referencing the book he was now holding in his hands.

“They are very good. I’m glad I found it.” His voice reverberated under your head as he spoke, and you rose and fell softly with his breath.

“Read me your favorite.”

“Okay,” he began, thumbing through the pages as he held the book above both your heads. You listened as he let out a small “ah, here it is,” before he dramatically cleared his throat. “You might remember me talking about this one already, but I love it.”

You knew he loved it before he even began reading anything. He loved his poetry, especially when they were about love. Harry was a hopeless romantic at heart, often saying to you and interviewers “I just love love.” He loved falling in love with you and becoming a team, just as much as you did with him.

“It’s called The Wait,” he spoke gently, his voice taking on a deeper and more enunciated quality. You recognized the poem immediately, as it was the one referenced on his pants for the Vogue cover shoot. He had dedicated it to you then, and was doing it again now in the grass. “It seemed like years before I picked a bouquet of kisses off her mouth and put them into a dawn-colored vase in my heart,” he began. He spoke slowly and smoothly with the consistency and sweetness of honey. “But the wait was worth it,” he continued. “Because I was in love.”

You couldn’t help but think of your own story as he read. He had chased after you for years, with you always insisting that he was your best friend and you were afraid to ruin that. But gradually, your best friend became your lover, and your lover became your husband.

“I like that one a lot too.” You spoke softly and with reflection. “It reminds me of us.”

“That’s why it’s my favorite.”

You two layed in the grass for hours, not a care in the world, as he read from the book. Every poem took you two on a journey into a love story, one that for the two of you only existed on the page, but told of a very real love that couldn’t have been dishonestly written.

But with how you felt in the moment, with the joy and loving warmth you felt in your belly, you were sure you could write a million poems about the love you had with him.

Thank you so much for reading!! Reblogs/feedback mean the world!!! 

[zoellajulien]

the chains that bind us

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1,343

Warning: Family fighting, Royalty AU, Kidnapping (Mention), Character death (Mention)

With a face scrunched up into a glare, hot tears running down your face, trembling hands, it was apparent you were experiencing burning, searing anger. There seemed to be no calm within you as you frustratedly fought with the material of the dress you wore while trying to remove it. Thoughts that could be considered punishable continued to run through your mind. Who does that thick-witted man think he is, telling me to find a man and replace the queen?

The maids' faces held obvious concern, but they did not speak. That, however, did not include the head servant. "Princess! Be careful! Ruining a dress tailored days ago will cause the king great distress." Despite having sound reasoning, the words went unregistered.

"That man's emotions have no meaning to me, as mine do not to him." You spat, eyes trained onto the wall in front of you. The gasp from the lower maids did not cause guilt. "I would be glad if his emotionless self experienced grief."

"My lady, you do not speak truth in your words. Please, try to calm yourself!"

At this, you turned. "Maiden Riene, you dare question the word of your princess?"

Before the woman could answer, a shudder went through you. With that, tears traveled down your cheeks and beneath your chin. All anger seemed to leave your body and change into various other emotions. Riene, who had spent many years in your presence and experienced more than a few breakdowns, enveloped you into a hug.

"Princess-"

You cut her off, reminding her to use your name instead of a flimsy title.

She changed her wording and continued, "what is prompting such sadness within you?"

There was a pause in the room, silence enveloping the four of you, excluding your heavy breathing. Your eyes, almost always bright with wonder, held deep angst and hurt instead. Taking a step with the intent to turn, Riene grasped onto your wrist. She did not utter a word, giving you much-needed space.

"He called me to his throne, told me we needed to speak. He handed me the ring he bestowed upon my mother during their marriage." Silence seemed to build thicker as confusion grew. "He told me that I needed to prepare myself to replace the queen. He told me he started the process of finding a 'worthy' husband."

The younger maids looked at each other. One spoke up timidly, "Princess, can I ask why that makes you sad?"

Moving towards the window, you sat down and stared at the gardens below. "My mother was a ruler most queens would only dream of becoming. She helped this kingdom prosper, along with the others around us, and gave many people jobs. She never let one servant fall under mistreatment by anyone. She convinced my father to let women become knights and fight for the kingdom." You smiled and placed a hand over your bracelet. "She always told me one thing, though. She told me to marry for love. Mother said that without marrying for love, miserable days do not get better. You will not have the reassurances of a friend to accept your lows without hesitance.

"My mother made me promise, swear my word to her, that I would not marry a man I did not love. I expected to stay true with Mother's help, but then she slept upon her deathbed. And my father, that belligerent man, expects me to take over what she left! To forget the vow I made to a woman with more intellect than he could fathom."

You could tell you got your point across, seeing as the two younger servants looked at you with wonder. Their looks of interest almost broke your static look into a smile due to reminding you of small children.

After more silence ensued, you took the initiative and motioned at your dress. The trio began carefully undoing the ties, buttons, zippers, and other things holding you tight in the dress. That gave you time to ponder the moments you had shared with the queen, sparking an idea.

"Rience, stop."

"My lady, what do you mean?"

"I request you fetch Prince Peter, King Anthony's child. Bring him here, for I must speak to him."

"Your highness, you are partially unclothed! His majesty will think sinful activities abound!" The third maiden, who had yet to speak since you entered your chambers, warned.

"Do not let the king find out, then. Go, all of you. My chambers are off-limits until I call for you again." Riene gave you a skeptical look, worried about leaving you with a boy. "I will not be doing anything you're imagining, please, have some sense. Now, go."

---

"If it isn't the fairest royal descendant in all of the land." Voice heavy with his accent, Peter entered your bedroom without knocking. How uncivilized, your father would say. You loved it.

"You flatter me, your highness." You tease, turning to look at him, smiling when he shined his grin at you.

"Oh, please, all the formalities! We sound as though we are ruler's consorts who are ordered about by their betrothed."

Standing in front of you was the widely known prince, Peter Parker. He wore his family crest proudly on his chest, son of the famed Anthony Stark. Once, he had been the child of a thriving family that served King Anthony well. However, tragedy struck the family when Peter's parents died due to one of the king's enemies' attempts at war. In a moment of guilt, the king brought the boy into his home. The Stark kingdom was not far, only a half-day trip west.

Peter had stood at 5' 8" at the age of fifteen, only to grow taller for the next three years. Now, he stood at 5' 10". His hair was a deep brown color, made up of several short ringlets that stuck out when not styled. His eyes were also brown but were a few shades lighter. His broad frame reminded you of your relatively small stature and warmed your cheeks as he held a confident presence.

"You're in distress. Why? What troubles you?" Peter's voice came out soft. His footsteps seemed even quieter as he made his way to sit beside you.

"Have my maidens told you?" Your voice did not come out laced with malice. Instead, an emotion similar to a mixture of hope and wonder filled the room.

"About your father? They have. I noticed the unease they carried, so I prodded until they granted me explanations. If it was a secret, it's best you punish me and not them."

When you hesitated to find words, he gazed at your appearance. In turn, you became uncomfortably aware that the dress you wore was tighter than usual around your waist. Was that just the corset? Did the color compliment your skin tone?

"Darling?"

"What? Oh. Apologies, I was lost in my thoughts. I do not wish punishment upon you or the girls. For, I expected and am rather glad they told you, as I do not need to."

"I understand you are in anguish. But, if I may ask, what can I possibly do to ease such feelings? Our families are bubbling a feud already-"

"I wish for you to remove me from this castle. I do not imply death, but I wish to escape the eyes of my father."

"What?"

For a fleeting moment, as you sat in front of someone you trusted with far more than your life, fear encased you. His expression was no short of confusion, with a heavy lining of panic as well. An undeniable terror tore through your chest, resulting in an unplanned and inelegant explanation to tumble from your lips.

"You've heard what my maidens have said." You stood and walked to your bed, pulling a light cover over your shoulders. "Tell me, is it kingly to break a widow's last wish? I can not fulfill what I promised with my father forcing a marriage down my throat."

"Princess, are you imply we stage your kidnapping?"

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