#and it's just dry. the wet he eats perfect normal

[zemissinglinkus]

Yeaahhh... petty sure I got a Maine Coone for free.

I mean just look at this massive boy. He's NINE POUNDS (probably more like 9.5 now). He just hit 6 months. His paws are ginormous. They're nearly half the size of my palm.

Mr Starla is the absolute sweetest man I ever could've asked for. I love him so much 😭❤️

[diejager]

könig has a special place in my heart, but horangi is just *chef's kisses*. could we maybe get some more favoritism with DBF!Horangi?

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, smut, counter sex, implied shower sex, implied sex marathon, tell me if I missed any.

You watched your mother thank Horangi, her arms wrapped around him, trusting and confident in his ability to babysit and adult while her and König leave for a late vacation/honeymoon a year into their marriage. It’d been long planned, something that kept being pushed back and back because something would come up, and now that they had the month cleared up, it was the perfect moment to fly South. She kissed you on the cheek and skipped out the door, mumbling out her excitement while König carried the heavier bags out.

Horangi held you to his side, an arm wrapped around your waist, low enough to bother you, but high enough to seem normal for your mother. You would have ran into your room and locked yourself in if it weren‘t for your captors arm. Your stepfather passed by you as he left, a rueful smile on his face. Eyes fleeting towards your mother, seeing her busy with her humming, he bent down to your height, lips brushing your ears.

“Keep some for me,” his breath burned your skin as much as the order drowned you in anger, “I’ll call every night.”

The promise was scalding, leaving it’s effect on you even as you heard the car drive off the curb. Through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, you swallowed down the urge to push your babysitter away from you and storm away, but even the slightest thought of misbehaving would end up with you face down and ass up. Fighting and struggling against him only riled him up, made him more forceful, more rough and hungry.

You huffed and grumbled when he moved, taking you with him to the kitchen and moved you up the counter. Your eyes followed him as he worked, a small grin stretching over his scars, glowingly happy despite how small it was. His eyes was more expressive with his emotions, glowing and dark at the same time, an odd mix for a man who’d done so much. He moved around the room, hands busy cooking something up for you both to eat. You hated how he took babysitting you so seriously, yet easily pushed you down and forced himself onto you in the name of taking care of you.

After he’d gotten everything done: food in the oven, plates placed and vegetables and fruits drying, he found his way back to you, bending you over the counter. Legs spread around his hips, nails digging into his shoulders and teeth sinking into you bottom lip, your breasts bounced back and forth with every thrusts. He fucked into you with wild abandon, rutting into you until his bulbous tip prodded at you cervix, his long cock stretching you around his girth.

You wished he could just take from you without making it pleasurable for you, it made you feel dirty - a cheat - but his thumb found its way to your shamefully, engorged nub, rolling it as he pushed and pulled, bottoming out with a wet slap and a groan. You were sure he’d fuck you until the oven dinged, then would press you against a wall before and during your shower, and fold you in half in bed while your stepfather called. If König wasn’t here, then Horangi would fill the empty spot with himself, working twice as hard without breaking a sweat while you willfully wished this could all end.

taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[darkromanceenthusiast]

Hi, small request since I saw you have them open still-

I just had an idea of werewolf boyfriend with a girlfriend, who is insecure about how her vagina looks like like for example she has asymetrical labia lips and one sticks out slightly, so she doesn't let him eat her out, but of course he doesn't care and doesn't see anything wrong with it, he just wants to fuck his mate

I just thought of it because actually more and more women are sadly insecure or even seek surgeries, when they look perfectly normal it's just that in porn usually you have this perfect type with small outer lips that nothing sticks out, which obviously exist but apparently is the least common type, sorry for the long ask ;-;

M!Werewolf x F!reader

Contains: talk of insecurity, body worship, oral (f receiving), fluff, pretty short

“Why not?” He asked, you tensed at the question. You knew that he would ask eventually, after you turned him down so many times, you sighed,

“I..I just…” the words when dry in your throat. A heavy feeling in your stomach, you thought he’d think it was stupid,

“You just what, love?” He asked, his eyes finding yours almost as fast as his calloused hand took yours, you studied his handsome face, admiring his blown out green eyes against his sun kissed skin, dark hair framing it perfectly. You gave a shrug, the words and reasons dying in your throat. You’re pulled from these thoughts when he crouches down infront of you, heart rate increasing as his large hands come to rest on your knees, his thumb caressing the inside of one.

“You’re nervous, doll.” His voice comes out husky and you feel yourself nodding, you know there’s no sense in lying to his sensitive senses so you don’t bother.

“Tell me.” He repeats, tone firm and your face flushes you can feel the insecurity and embarrassment bubbling just under the surface.

“I-I just… well… I don’t like.. how I look”- “Well, I do. Let me eat you out.” You started but he cut you off, he adjusted his grip, tugging you down so your hips were better in line with his face as he pushed your legs to your chest.

“You can’t tell me you dont want this when I can smell how much you do.” *he practically growls as he pulls your pants and panties off, you tried in vain to cover youself as he sank between your legs, pushing your hand away as he wasted no time licking his long, rough tongue through your sensitive folds, earning him a small gasp. He worked on your clit for a while sucking and nibbling and licking the small nub until you were dripping into his hands.

Once he felt you were wet enough he carefully pushed one of his large fingers into you, pumping in and out gently as he licked your clit.

“Can’t believe you were gonna hide this because you were worried about not having some pornstar pussy..” he grumbles, tongue swiping through your folds again to gather your arousal to taste.

“But this..” he gives a gentle but firm slap just over your clit. “is so much fuckin’ better.” He groans, burying hims head back in between your legs, adding another finger in the process.

“I’m gonna eat you out every night until you think you have the most beautiful pussy in the world.” he mumbles against your folds, his tongue teasing your entrance. You knew this was only the start and judging by how he was content currently to just taste you and grind against the couch meant it could be hours before you're released from this.

[softestqueeen]

slipping and gliding pt. 1

pairing: natasha romanoff x afab!reader

summary: When the Avengers spend a day at the local water park, you start to see a certain redhead in a different light. You’ve never had anything with a woman before, but Natasha doesn’t mind showing you what feels good.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! semi-public sex, fingering, shower sex, inexperienced reader, shy reader, kissing, pet names (sweetheart)

wordcount: 2053 words

a/n: Yess, finally I’m writing something that’s wlw! I’ve wanted to do this for quite some time, and this is the perfect scenario. Enjoy <3

After a few incredibly stressful weeks, filled with mission after mission, Tony Stark decided that the Avengers needed a little break. So, he did what was every teenagers wet dream. (pun intended)

He rented out a whole water park.

Jup. The whole thing, just for the lot of you.

But you didn’t mind it. You could lounge around, eat for free at the buffet, and when laying in the sun got too hot you could go for a swim or try out the huge slide, which was the highlight of the park.

You, the other girls of the team, and also a few of the other SHIELD agents, like Maria Hill were lounging around, when you suddenly had the urge to go down that huge slide. It just looked like so much fun and you definitely needed an adrenaline rush that was not induced by the possibility of getting killed.

You got up, announced to the group that you would check out the slide and off you were. After a few meters you noticed someone joining you.

When you looked to the side you saw your colleague and good friend Natasha Romanoff falling into step with you.

“You can only use the slide with someone else. There are only swimming rings for two. But I’ll gladly go with you.”, after that the redhead sent you a wink and a smile. Only a small whispered ‘thank you’ left your lips before you looked ahead of you again and got lost in your thoughts.

Did she always look this good? This was the first time you noticed how smooth her hair falls over her shoulder or how beautiful the head looks that sits on that pretty neck. Her skin was flawless, and she looked like she just stepped out of a magazine. You could see why she was called the most beautiful Avenger.

Did you feel attracted to Natasha? No, that’s impossible. You’ve never felt something for another woman, nor had something with one and you and Nat were only friends! Why did she suddenly make you feel this way?

It seemed like it was only getting warmer and warmer and you were glad that you were about to go on that slide and get into the icy water.

The two of you were silent on the way up, the stairs seeming to stretch into eternity. But before you could overthink your feelings even more, the two of you arrived at the top and the instructor showed you how to sit down on the swimming ring.

Nat sat down into the first opening, and you sat down in front of her. You both laid down flat and you laid onto her, your head between her boobs and your lower back touched her most intimate parts.

Being this close to her made you feel some kind of way. You didn’t have too much time to think about it though, because in the next moment you were sliding down, and all other thoughts were gone.

You and Nat enjoyed the short but exciting ride, screaming in excitement . You hit the water and felt Natashas body covering yours before she smoothly slid up from you and dived to the surface. You followed after her and when you both resurfaced and made eye contact, you broke out into laughter.

It seemed like everything went back to normal, though you still couldn't get her out of you head and stop your racing mind.

You returned the ring and made you way back to the towels and lounge chairs. Once there you grabbed a towel and a fresh bathing suit.

“I’m going to head to the lockers, I need to put on a dry bathing suit.”, you told Nat before heading to the building where the lockers were. There were also showers and changing rooms inside of it, so all of it was easily accessible.

You entered the building and went to the showers. Putting down your towel and dry change, you were about to take off your bikini when you felt two hands grabbing your waist and turning you around.

You could just make out Nat’s face before she pressed you against the wall and pressed her lips to yours. You let out a surprised gasp before you got lost in her taste, her scent seeming to overwhelm you. She grabbed your waist again and pulled your wet bodies against each other before she grabbed your ass with her free hand. The sudden action made you gasp, and Nat didn’t waste this opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth.

Her hands start to roam your body and you were getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

When you both pulled away, Nat whispered against your lips. “I know you want this too, sweetheart.”

You just nodded, not listening to what she was actually saying. You just wanted, no needed, to feel her lips against yours again. You put one of your hands on the back of her neck and the other one went to her waist.

You pulled her in and connected your lips again. Both your and Nat’s hands were now freely roaming and groping each other. You were sure that the wetness you were feeling did not just come from the pool.

You were kissing a little more before you felt Nat’s thigh between your legs, pressing up against you, stimulating your clit and making you moan into her mouth. She kept on moving her thigh and squeezing your hips, holding you in place. It didn’t take long before you felt Nat’s hand roaming again and wandering towards your middle.

You were quick to catch her wrist, stopping her from going any further. She pulled away and looked at you, puzzled, because she thoughts that’s what you wanted.

“I’m sorry Nat. I haven’t done any of this before.”, you told her while looking at the floor, not daring to look into her eyes that you were sure were filled with anger towards you.

But Nat was having none of it and put a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to meet her understanding and soft gaze.

“You’ve never had sex before? Sweetheart are you a virgin?”, she asked you without a hint of deception in her voice.

“Well, I had sex before, just never with a woman. I guess in that aspect; yea, I’m still a virgin.”, you answered with a sheepish smile and a blush on your cheeks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good. Trust me.”, she whispered against your lips before she kissed you again and you believed her every word.

She kept pressing her thigh against you and you slowly started to meet her thrusts and grind down on her, slowly gaining more confidence.

Her hands started roaming your body again, while you were still holding onto her neck and waist. Her hand was slowly wandering towards your core again, but before she touched you, she pulled away.

“Is it okay when I touch you here, sweetheart?”, she asked you.

You just nodded before pressing your lips against hers again.

Her hands travelled towards your wet pussy, going under your bikini bottom. You let out a soft gasp when you felt her hand moving between your folds. She tested out the waters by spreading your wetness around, caressing your folds before making contact with your swollen clit.

Feeling her at your sensitive clit made you moan into her mouth. The kiss wasn��t as heated anymore but slowed down felt more intimate. Her thigh stopped pressing against you now that her hand took over.

She removed her hand and pulled away, making you whine and chase her lips.

“Patience, sweetheart.”, were the only words that left her mouth before she opened the strings on your bikini top.

Her thigh went back to your cunt, stimulating you while she started caress your boobs. She slowly traced them with featherlight touches before she went over to straight up groping you. You let out moans and whimpers at the stimulation you were getting both from her thigh and her hands.

Her hands on you felt incredible and you wished you could feel her on you forever. She leaned forwards and started to trail kissed over your boobs and over your sternum. Your hand moved from her neck into her hair when you felt her lips on one of your perked nipples.

She slightly sucked on it and circled her lips around it, just how you imagined she would do it with your clit. The thought of her mouth on your cunt made a new flood of wetness rush to your core.

She repeated the same treatment on your other breast before she completely pulled away.

“How about we take this to the shower?”, she asked you with a smile on her face.

“That sounds good.”, you answered her, but you were quickly left speechless when you saw Nat taking off her black bathing suit.

She was breathtaking. She was always beautiful but seeing her completely bare was something else. The soft curve of her breasts and hips, her toned stomach and legs that seem to go on forever.

She took your hand in hers to lead you to one of the showers and once she turned around you could see a small tattoo adorning her lower back. That simple fact made her seem even more human and vulnerable, the fact that under that beautiful façade was a human being that had gone through so much.

But once she put on the shower and you felt the droplets of water gliding down your bodies all other thoughts were erased from your mind. All that was left was the sight of Natasha under the stream of water, momentarily closing her eyes to feel the warm water.

You joined her under the spray, pressing your lips against hers. She was quick to press you against the wall again, immediately taking over.

The kiss got more intense, and her hand went to your pussy again. She started to slide between your folds and circled your clit, finding a steady rhythm.

Once you’ve gotten used to the feeling of her hand against you, Nat took it a step further. With her middle finger she entered your tight pussy, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. She slowly started to pump her finger in and out of you, slowly adding a second finger while her thumb was stroking your clit, and her other hand was groping your ass. Your hips were moving against her hand and your wet bodies were pressed together, gliding over each other, the steady stream of the water only made it more sensual.

When she added a third finger you could feel the coil in your stomach starting to tighten. Nat could feel you clench around her fingers and started pumping them faster, also adding to the pressure on your clit.

You came with shout that was muffled by Nat’s mouth, while she was gradually becoming slower, helping you through your orgasm.

Once you calmed down, she pulled her fingers out of you and gently cupped your face. She pecked your lips before pulling you completely under the stream of the shower with her. She left for a moment, getting some shower gel that was provided and started washing you, her hands gliding over your body making you all worked up again. She lathered shampoo into your hair, massaging your scalp and making you melt into her hands.

Once she was done, you felt the urge to feel her body again, so you gave her the same treatment; gently washing her body and her hair.

Nat pecked your lips once again, before turning off the shower and getting a towel, drying your body and hair before doing the same with herself. Both of you got dressed in some dry clothing.

But before the two of you left the locker area, Nat turned to you.

“How about we cut this little trip short and continue with what we started, sweetheart?”, she asked you, a breathtaking smile on her lips and no shame about her suggestion.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do.”, you truthfully answered before taking her hand in yours, excited about what she has in store for you, once you were back at the tower.

a/n: i'm thinking about writing a part 2, so please tell me if you's like to see/read one. i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueen

part 2

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

[zae-heeyyy]

Pastiche

Summary: You and Arthur escape through writing. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader Word Count: 2,345 Trigger Warning: Tuberculosis, death Tags: angst, sadness, high honor Arthur

a/n: Thanks for you kind words on Chiaroscuro. I've enjoyed writing again so much! I'm in my tragedy era. My hs english teacher's voice haunts me when I'm writing, so I spent a lot of time scrutinizing this. Didn't mean for it to be so long, but I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

pastiche: a work of art or literature that imitates the style or character of another, often as an homage or tribute.

You knew there was something special about Arthur Morgan the day you met him. Despite his best efforts to believe otherwise, he was easy on the eyes, and his dry humor combined with his strong sense of honor sealed your crush on the cowboy. Everybody else could see that he was sweet on you, too, noticing when he pulled you to sit at the fire with him or how he watched you around camp. As more time passed, you'd become mostly inseparable, taking every moment you had to sneak away together. One of your favorite places to escape to was the fields of Little Creek River in Big Valley. You'd be reading a book and glance over to find Arthur staring intently at an animal until it was out of sight. Then he'd open up his journal and sketch it.  He wasn't doing that today, though. He was staring across the field, but you could tell he was elsewhere in his mind.

"Got somethin' to say," his eyes met yours earnestly. When he told you he loved you, a laugh erupted deep from your belly. Dumbfounded, he asked, "The hell is so funny?" his own laugh betraying his attempt to be solemn. It was hilarious to you that he didn't think you already knew that and that he didn't know you absolutely felt the same.

Another day, you were lying in Arthur's lap in the grass. Just the day before, he had returned to camp with bruised knuckles and some poor fool's blood on his face—one of Strauss's clients. You longed for a life where bruised knuckles and loan sharking were distant memories.

"Where would you be if you weren't here," you'd asked, holding his hand in yours. He stroked your thumb with his and gazed over the valley like always.

"Hard to imagine." He mumbled, sounding far away.

You nodded in agreement and replied, "You're always writing or drawing in your notebook. Maybe you could've been an artist or a writer." The thought brought a soft smile to your face, and you imagined, just for a second, a life where Arthur's biggest worry was perfecting his latest masterpiece.

He huffed in dry amusement, "Probably wouldn't have known how to read if it weren't for Dutch and Hosea."

You assented again and sighed, the smile on your face growing wider.

 "Arthur Morgan: author and illustrator." You held your hands up in dramatic fashion as if envisioning the words in front of you. Then you untangled yourself from him and sat up, "You could, you know? It's not too late. Maybe a biography?"

"A story about my life, huh?" He looked at you with a dumb smile, "I think a book about dirt would be more interestin'." He bobbed his head up and down as if nodding made his thought more true. You shoved him playfully, and he raised his eyebrow at you and held out his hands questionly. "What? There's all different kinds of dirt," he started counting on his fingers." Brown dirt, red dirt, hard dirt—"

You cut him off, "I'm serious, Arthur! This life…it ain't one normal folks live." A shit-eating grin crept up his face as he fought not to make another joke at his own expense. He shoved it down and kept listening. "Sure, it's just your life to you, but other people might find it interesting, exciting, even."

He thought for a second, then put his hands in the air, mimicking you, "The Confessions of Arthur Morgan: The Detailed Life of a Gunslinger by Arthur Morgan. Sounds like a Pinkerton's wet dream."

 "I see what you mean," you trail off, fingers playing in the grass. "Could change the name. People publish under a different name all the time. There's a word for that, I think."

"Pseudonym," he responded, his accent thick. "Think it's got one of those silent letters in front." He said it so matter of factly, and it confirmed what you already knew about him: he was far more intelligent than anybody ever gave him credit for. Still, you left the idea alone and thought Arthur had, too.

Then, on another afternoon in the fields near Little Creek River, he spoke out of nowhere. "Arthur Callahan or Tacitus Kilgore?" 

"Hmm?" you asked, barely glancing up from your book.

"For the pen name," he confirmed, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 

From that day on, your trips to Little Creek River became writing sessions. He bought a notebook that you two would trade off, coming up with ideas for the dramatized life of the gunslinger. You'd taken some creative liberties, and the story wasn't exactly a biography anymore. It had shaped into a Western love story. Arthur Callahan, after living a bad life, met someone who made him want to be better, an angel sent to rescue the devil himself. Arthur Callahan would get the perfect ending; a normal life. It was all Arthur's idea. 

"It's not my story; it's ours," he'd told you. 

You had been daydreaming about the possibilities for your novel for some time, but the chaos of life with the gang left little room to focus on it. The sudden move from Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point made things worse. Somewhere in the move, the manuscript was lost or destroyed—either way, it was gone. You couldn't hold back your tears during your next trip to Big Valley. Arthur's big hands swallowed your face as his thumbs wiped your tears away.  

"Shhh, we'll rewrite it, sweetheart," he promised.

Despite Arthur's gentle nudges, you couldn't find it in you to rewrite the story. Another day, he'd invited you to ride with him, heading off to your usual spot. He'd asked once more if you were feeling up to writing again. When you rejected the idea, he shook his head, seemingly surrendering. 

"Fine! You're so damn stubborn." There was no malice in his voice, though, and his eyes twinkled a little. "Looks like I gotta take matters into my own hands." Instead of stopping the horse in the fields as usual, Arthur stopped short, cutting into nearby woods. Eventually, he halted outside of the small cabin that was Vetter's Echo and hitched the horse outside. 

"Come on," he said, helping you down. "I've got a surprise for you." You walked up the cabin's steps, and he swung the door open to a small living quarters. "It don't got a back door, and I'm pretty sure the feller living here got mauled by a bear, but it's got one of these things." He gestured to the desk in the corner of the small cabin, a typewriter sitting atop it, "I don't have the first clue about using it." So he left it for you to figure out. He'd sit on a stool beside you, reading from a notebook, and you'd type slowly at first, but as time went on, the keys felt as familiar to you as a gun trigger did to him. 

Then things started falling apart. You'd moved from Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point, then to Shady Bell in a matter of weeks. The men went on a job to rob the bank in St. Denis, and most didn't return. You'd forgotten about the manuscript while trying to survive and spent weeks worried about Arthur and everybody else.

Then he came home to you, waterlogged but alive. You'd never felt more relieved. He was skinny and had a persistent cough, blaming it all on his rough journey. But it didn't stop him from finishing the book as promised. He'd write whenever he had a chance, and you'd go back to the little cabin in the woods, you typing and him reading.

Then he couldn't get through a page without coughing. You listened, concern etched on your face as he told you about his coughing spell and subsequent visit to the doctor in the city. Tuberculosis: practically a death sentence. After that, he'd step back when you tried to be close to him and wouldn't let you kiss him or be intimate with him. You spent a lot of time crying while he dipped his head in profound shame. 

Weeks later, he woke you up at night, gently shaking you and whispering to not alert anyone else. "C'mon, get dressed and ride with me." He was serious, his jaw set, his voice low but demanding. You didn't know what was wrong, but dread ran through your veins. You rode far away from camp, mostly in silence, your anxiety not letting you say anything. 

"You're gonna live a good life. "he finally said, breaking the silence. Your eyes stung, and you felt a lump in your throat.

"I don't want to hear this right now, Arthur."

He shook his head, frustrated, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Listen to me." His tone made you flinch. He'd never taken on that tone with you, ever. "This whole thing with Dutch, it's over. You gotta run. Gotta get out and make a good life for yourself." 

You wanted to protest; you weren't going to leave him, not now. But then you saw the waiting stagecoach up ahead. Your heart dropped and shattered into a million pieces. You reached around him to pull the horse's reins, coming to a skidding stop. You hopped down and started shaking your head, frantic in your movements and words. 

"No, Arthur. No."

You wiped away the quickly falling tears as you turned, fast walking, almost running back to that godforsaken camp that was Beaver Hollow. Even in his sickness, it only took Arthur a few big steps to reach you, grabbing you by the waist and turning you to face him. And then you cursed at him, pounded your fists against his chest, and wailed into the night. He just pulled you close to him, squeezing you until you didn't fight anymore. He gave you a stack of cash, made you promise to run, and said he'd come find you after it was all over. But both of you knew, deep down, that you were setting eyes on each other for the last time. He kissed your head. You sobbed into his chest, only letting go when the impatient stagecoach driver beckoned you.

"Never could've imagined I'd know somebody as perfect for me as you." All you could choke out was, "I love you," over and over and over again. He slipped a folded letter into your hand and helped you into the coach filled with your things. He stood silently with his hat in his hands while you rode off into the night. You sobbed for as long as your body let you while the coach took you down to Copperhead Landing.

First, Tilly showed up with Jack, and then Sadie came with Abagail. But then John arrived bearing Arthur's hat and satchel with a look in his eyes so terrible that it brought you to a screaming sob. That night, when everybody had finally settled down to sleep, you slipped away, leaving a note of thanks and well wishes. You were alone then, the way you wanted it to be without Arthur.  

Eight years; it had been eight years since everything went to shit. In eight years, you worked your ass off with any odd jobs you could find. Keeping busy was how you cured your broken heart. You'd tried as hard as you could to forget about the life you'd once lived until you read a headline in the newspaper: MICAH BELL KILLED. The memories flooded back to you, and you returned to a place you hadn't visited in a while. You only kept 2 things from that time: a letter from Arthur and the manuscript you'd written with him. Forged in Fire, you called it. After all this time, you couldn't remember who came up with the name, but you remembered why. You two were like tempered metal; the more you walked through hellfire, the stronger you became.  

Then there was Arthur's letter. You'd read it only once before today.

"Things I wanted to say but did not have the courage to say aloud." was scrawled across the top of the page, followed by a list.

"Keep visiting Big Valley.

Keep writing.

Publish the book.

Watch every sunset.

Trust your gut.

Please, be happy."

You heard his voice through every word. He'd underlined the third point: publish the book. In that moment, you decided to take a leap. You wrote to a publisher and sent a copy of the manuscript. And that's all it took. Things went into a tailspin after that, and before you knew it, you were holding a hard copy of the manuscript you and Arthur had worked on together all that time ago.

You'd made an effort, then, to find Abigail and John and Jack. They were held up at a ranch, Beecher's Hope, and were married now. You caught up with the Marstons and apologized for hastily disappearing all those years ago. They were happy for you, and you for them. 

On your departure, John took your hand, "I don't talk about him much these days, but I don't think he loved anybody like he loved you." He paused for a moment and forced his eyes to meet yours. "He's buried out in Ambarino, near Donner Falls. Top of the mountain. I can take you." You declined John's offer but set out east toward Donner Falls the next day. 

You found him around noon and watched wistfully as an eagle flew from its spot on a rock behind the flowery grave. You fell to your knees, no longer able to control the tears flowing down your face. "I did it, my love," you choked through tears. It'd been a long, long time since you let yourself feel this pain—a longing to reach something impossible. You dabbed the tears away from your eyes and sat in the grass, hugging Forged in Fire to your chest. "Thought I'd read it to you," you spoke into the air. You opened the book, cracked the spine, and read "Chapter One: Heaven's Fall, Hell's Rise."

[angelplummie]

thinking about stepdad armin……

cw: stepcest, age gap, contemplating cheating, sexual imagery, horniness

masterlist part 2

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you think you’re home alone. or rather, you thought you were home alone. because now you’re completely naked in the hall of your childhood home, staring into baby blue eyes. they’re blown wide open as he looks down and then right back up. pink erupts under his skin and he opens his mouth to speak, but you don’t let him. wet hair leaving water stains on the carpet, you run back into the bathroom and slam the door closed.

great. you just got home from summer vacation at your uni yesterday, and now it’s going to be awkward for the rest of the two months. you really really thought you were home alone, you thought they were at work. but you’d done it now. blood burnt your cheeks and embarrassment broiled in your stomach.

you did have to admit, your mum’s boyfriend was handsome, you’d thought so ever since you met a year ago. he looked a lot younger than he was, but the maturity with which he carried himself gave him away. he was always put together, refined. he wore silver rings on his slender fingers that you could never keep your eyes away from. he wore timeless clothes that screamed a contemporary elegance. he was always warm and kind and seemed to really want to get to know you. even if it was nothing more than a gesture to your mother, you appreciated it. he would always remember things you had told him in your last visit, always knew the right thing to say. he was so much better than boys your age, so much more real, more developed and solidified. he made you feel safe, made you want to please him. maybe it was because he was just ten years older than you, as he was considerably younger than your mother, you had always felt a certain connection to him. their relationship seemed to have progressed so fast, and you tried to suppress your jealousy, tried to make yourself forget it was ever there. but it was. and now you were even more embarrassed.

but aside from embarrassment, you couldn’t help the throb of your clit, the heavy wet feeling between your pussy lips. he had seen you, all of you. what was he thinking right now? you’re a pretty girl with a pretty body, he can’t be neutral to you right? you had wondered if he thought you were pretty, if he was attracted to you. if really deep down he wanted you. sometimes hugs would be tight and you would hear him inhale in your hair, looks would linger. he touched you unnecessarily, on the knee, on the shoulder, kisses on cheeks. he would take you out to eat, just one on one. your mother loved it, thought it was so sweet of him to make the effort. it made you squirm inside. maybe he was just friendly, maybe you were a crazy little girl, impassioned by the slightest attention.

but maybe he wanted you as much as you wanted him. maybe he wanted you more.

you imagined him on the other side of the door still red faced and flustered, hard in his pants. you imagined it straining against his jeans, his boxers. you imagined him taking it out and you imagined the tip dribbling precum. you pussy spasmed at the thought, the very idea that he wants you.

but now you needed to think rationally, you need to be a big girl. what would someone that didn’t want to fuck their new stepdad do?

you grab a towel, rush back into your room. creaking from around the house told you he was still home, probably feeling too embarrassed to approach you about things. you quickly dry off and get dressed before shooting armin a text that reads:

hi i’m really really sorry about that!! i thought i was home alone but still i should’ve been more cautious. i hope i didn’t mentally scar you 😭

perfect, you thought. it was friendly and normal and completely denied the idea that you thought about him thinking about you in any other way than paternally. which you hoped he did, in a yucky wrong sort of way. you hoped he did view you as something to protect, something that was his in some way. you wish the guilt and repulsion of this realisation made it go away, but it didn’t.

luckily for you, armin was in shambles in the exact way you wanted him to be. after pacing his bedroom for five minutes and he waited for you to leave the bathroom, he had gone downstairs to busy himself with cooking something. as an apology maybe, but mainly to take his mind off what he was never supposed to think about. what he couldn’t get out of his head.

before, it was a benign attraction. a want, not a need. he saw you, watched you. you’re a beautiful girl, it doesn’t make him a pervert to see that. and you’re such a sweet girl, such a good daughter. you were always giggly with him, always receptive. you made him want to be sweet and kind and warm, made him want to take care of you, whether you need it or not. so what if when he got the chance he was a little affectionate? aren’t all good father figures? bear hugs and reassuring squeezes, kisses on cheeks, that’s nothing! he loves your mother, she has her charms in her own little way.

but he would be lying if he hadn’t thought about it, the big it he couldn’t get over. he thought about what you would feel like, what those ever-glossed lips would feel like pressing against his skin. wrapped around his cock. he imagined those big doe eyes watering for him, choking on his cock, or, an even more dangerous thought, whimpering at the stretch in your tight young pussy. the thought of you and your insides plagued him, but he had managed to convince himself it was nothing. that he loved your mother really, and maybe it more of a compliment to her, since you look so alike.

but now, that has all gone out of the window.

how couldn’t it? now that he knew, knew with 100% certainty that your body was just as he had imagined, what could he do? cock aching with want, he sighed for the tenth time in 20 minutes and distractedly chopped potatoes. now he knew your tits were just as jiggly as he imagined, knew how soft you really were, knew you didn’t shave. he knew how sweet your little bush looked, so natural and untouched. he wondered if you’d ever been touched by a man before, but he shook the idea from his head.

he was a bad, bad man. but that didn’t mean he could stop these thoughts.

armin hears his phone ping on the kitchen counter, and takes it in shaking hands. he reads your message, stepping away from the cutting board and rubbing his forehead. what a sweet girl, he thinks. before he can stop thinking, he thinks more. what it would be like to bend your soft body to his will, to feel the undoubtably tight grip of your wet hole. would you still be his sweet girl then? he replies:

no worries at all, i should have made my presence known xx

he sends it with an eleventh sigh, and distractedly returns to his cooking.

in your bedroom, your heart pounds as you see the notification of his text.

oh.

why are you disappointed?

no really, why?

he was sweet and generous and lovely as usual, what were you disappointed about?

a dark cloud forms in your belly, and you know why. it’s because he didn’t reply to the last part of your message. the part you wanted him to reply to the very most. you wanted him to, at the very least, reply to it, acknowledge the absurdity of him being scarred by a body like yours. it’s self deprecating, it demands a rebuttal.

you react with a heart to his message and turn off your phone with a sigh.

maybe he really doesn’t want you, maybe it has been all in your head. it’s a possibility, you suppose. how awful are you, thinking about your mothers boyfriend like this? you’re terrible, a horrible girl. she’s happy. shes happy with him, and after everything with your father, that’s what you want for her.

that was it then. you really would never have him. that was it. forget about it. now.

but he isn’t forgetting about, not at all. he’s still staring at where you liked the message, allowing the water he was boiling to spill over before he turns down the heat. he can’t forget now. how is he doing to cope? two months of you, how was he going to keep this under wraps? even now, he feels tense knowing you’re upstairs, in nothing more than a towel. he knows the smell of your body wash, your conditioner, he knows exactly what your skin would taste like. he knows what your nipples look like, can imagine how it would feel to squeeze your doughy breast.

he feels desperate, clawing out for something he doesn’t understand. he doesn’t want to stop talking to you. he knows he needs to. he has to leave you alone as much as he can, for the sake of these two months. but he doesn’t want to.

so, serval minutes after his first message, he messages you again.

your butterflies swarm your stomach and you suppress a squeal in case he might hear you as your phone lights up again.

you open it immediately, far past caring what it says that you were so quick to read it. the message reads:

and trust me, i’m far from scarred xx

｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+*ﾟ

a/n: i will make a part 2 asap but i need to get this out in the world or i’ll die. reblog if you enjoyed!!

[spookmemepls]

☠ ― 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑊𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑 (𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟿) 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠. (𝑆𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟿 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑊𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑.)

"You've got another half-hour to practice."

"Relax... drink a strong cup of herbal tea."

"Everything has a purpose... even here."

"I'm stuck! I'm stuck...!"

"I can't do it. I can't sing."

"There's nothing to be afraid of; I shall be with you."

"I'm sure you'll make us all very proud."

"Oh, what am I going to do, ___...?"

"I'll go back later when it's all over."

"Oh dear, I'll be so late!"

"That's strange..."

"Now that I'm in, how do I get out?"

"If only I were smaller..."

"That wasn't there before..."

"I wonder if it's alright to drink/eat?"

"Oh ___ will be absolutely savage if I keep her/him/them/etc. waiting!"

"Are you crying?"

"Well, fortunately I speak "crying" and "sobbing" fluently."

"Yesterday everything was so normal... now look at me."

"H-how did you know my name?"

"I've a very important lecture to deliver, and everyone will be there!"

"What's your name, if it isn't a rude question?"

"Oh, you're wet...!"

"Get on with it!"

"I don't like the sound of it."

"The best thing to get someone dry would be... a caucus-race!"

"What's a caucus-race?"

"An extraordinary display of skill, determination, and sheer stupidity!"

"No man calls me deformed unless he's certified!"

"Who's going to give the prizes?"

"I think it's time we were all in bed with a cup of hot chocolate."

"What have you lost?"

"What are YOU doing here?!"

"I'm trying to get into the beautiful garden."

"They're treating me like I'm their housemaid!"

"Some of these things must be priceless... or even more expensive."

"I think I'll keep these, they may come in handy later."

"I might have coward's legs but the rest of me's brave as a lion!"

"I'm too rich! I can't afford to die!"

"Why won't anyone help me? I can't do it by myself!"

"We must burn down the house!"

"No one will think of looking for me there."

"I used to read fairy tales; I never thought I would end up in the middle of one."

"There ought to be a book written about me."

"Explain yourself, or you will find yourself on a charge."

"I don't think you should talk to me like that."

"You mustn't be afraid. That's worse than not remembering."

"Meanwhile, I'm going to sit here until tomorrow. Or the next day perhaps, or even for a whole week."

"It's no use talking to you!"

"PEPPERRRR! MOOOORE PEPPERRRRR!!!!"

"I best get you out of here; they're SURE to kill you!"

"You shouldn't make personal remarks, it's very rude."

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"Kindly leave the stage by the red door. There's a fifty-foot drop on the other side!"

"Disgraceful! You'll hear from my solicitor in the morning!"

"This is the most stupid tea party I've ever been to."

"At last. The perfect place to hide."

"Children have no respect for their betters these days..."

"I won't let you be beheaded."

"Do you play croquet?"

"I don't like it here. They're too fond of beheading people."

"Old age is not for weaklings."

"Beau-tiful soup, beau-tiful soup! Soup of the evening!"

"You see, I carry my bag upside down so my sandwiches don't get wet when it rains."

"You keep falling off your horse!"

"How can you keep talking when you're like this?"

"Now I must leave you. I've still dragons to slay, young ladies to rescue."

"You look worried. You're too young to worry."

"Just be brave... and always get back on your horse."

"Can you tell me how to get out of the forest?"

"It's your own fault, ___. You're too easy."

"I stand before you full of remorse and malnutrition!"

"I've all the money I need for the rest of my life... provided I die by 1 AM tomorrow morning."

"...Then you don't need us/me anymore."

[theferalgremlinmfb]

𝓡𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓸𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 ♡ 𝓣𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱

Pairings here: Cooper Howard • The Ghoul x Original Character(with a twist)

Summary: Cooper Howard was divorced, but soon got close to a co-star, the chemistry was there, the stars were high above. Let’s not forget his ex-wife to what she has suggested, not only he lost his daughter with no way of finding her, but losing his now and then before the bombs drop wife. Now he’s hired to find someone, the price is heavy amount, but what happens when he finds out who it is and not being able to do anything about it… or can he?

Word count: 1.9K

Warning(s): Minors, please don’t interact and fuck off, this is adults only, thanks you. The writer having an inexperience writing bc it’s been a while, yall signed up for this, remember that. ANYWAYS… Slow burn, implied torture, implied past fucking, future fucking, face fucking, anal fucking, normal creampies, radiated creampies, drug use, oral receiving and giving, and overall just pure filth. (Each chapter will have more descriptive warnings though!)

Notes by yours truly: If you wish to let me know of any errors, send a dm or something, I’d like to keep opinions from anyone open, as long as you’re nice. I give energy that’s given and I don’t fuck around, don’t sugar coat or anything, practice makes perfect and I wanna keep that flow going! Thank you. Happy reading, friends!

The Prologue:

Living in the vault was easier, much easier, the food was always fresh, never having to eat scraps to the dirt, licking everything till there was nothing left. The saliva that dripped off the tongue would linger wet onto the grainy floor till the sun would burn it dry. Getting a plate of Mac and cheese made by Blamco, the storage was full of any sort of food, with the side of Salisbury steak and pork n beans. But that wasn’t the case on the surface now. Tip was her name, living in a vault wasn’t her choice, the memories were a blur, but the voices were much presentable and known. Her name was simple and unnoticeable, but needed when bounty hunters would come looking for intel for whom they were looking for and to where to find them. The small amount of caps that she would get was always spent on food, never on anything else. The day she escaped the vault, it was a blessing from the dry boiling sky above, even if it was a surface hell, where she was at was far more worse.

Upon awakening from the cryogenic pod, the first fresh gasp of air, burning her lungs from the crisp sensation of the cool air around her, managing to get out, falling in the process, unsure if she was in that damn thing for days, maybe months - or worse… years. There was no telling how long she had been there, but the sight along from seeing, raiders is what some were called from the surface, hearing a while back that some heard of the vault she was imprisoned in, it was better than most, the food was the greatest, the water was most fresh and purified to the stomach and skin. When they let her out, they promised to reunite her with her lover, yet never saw him in any time that she was taken out, just to be put unconscious and back into the cryogenic pod. They never let her see what day it was, even the month was unknown, along with the year. Making it known that she would be fooled once again, because her feelings were always heightened, leaving her in such a state, her mental health was at its worst months ago. Fighting raiders wasn’t in her to do list, but she sure showed those fuckers that she was worse than any of them. From wearing the vault suit that was tight against her flesh to their shitty attempt of clothing, now she wore a worn out wedding dress that carried more blood stains from every son of a bitch that had crossed her so far. No one got near her, if so, they got to deal with her resting bitch face and dry responses or nothing at all.

“Doll, please lemme have some -” a poor idiot bastard tried to place his hand on her exposed knee that was wrapped by duct tape, attempt to expose a wound from a light stab, he had the tip of her double saw shotgun right in his lips, practically giving it a heavy smooch.

“Touch me the fuck again, and I will make sure you deep throat my fucking barrels,” she snapped, her tone cold as ice, cooling his nerve endings, “Now fuck off, you piece of lizard shit.”

The only time that a bounty hunter has talked to her, it was to find the whereabouts of a Skeeter Roman, a little pickpocket thief that roams in crowded pathways, easily sneaking a hand into a pocket and snatching a stash of caps. Tip tilted her head to the side, her light eyes spotting who was asked for, with no hesitation, pointing at the little radroach thief, taking an unconscious drunk idiot’s bit of caps from the pocket. Poor little bastard wasn’t warned or nothing, she watched the man walk up to that little person, grab from the neck and snap a quick snap. The man grabbed the body and slumped it over his back, walking towards her and handing her one hundred caps for the trouble.

Taking a full swig of her nuka cola quantum, all eyes on her, but no one dared to even pull a gun for such a thing she had done. It’s not the telling, it’s for the caps, fuck everyone else, it’s only you against the world of pure bullshit and hell.

It’s been about a few days, everything seemed too quiet for her liking, her little home was a worn out house that was probably fucked by the nukes that were launched, a very late warning, leaving a lot of people running to vaults, under the house shelters that were later discovered as bullshit. The people that bought the high price were saved, but later killed, for what? For being selfish assholes that pushed others to their deaths or more, they either became ash forms or whatever mutated shit that was created by the radiation. Pulling out the metallic bottle jug that she managed to find, it was still fully intact, but filling it with the fresh purified water was so good, the way it washed the dryness of the throat, the refreshness felt so filling, pulling it away was so painful and limited. Pulling a bag that was hidden away, unzipping it to push the top to the side, the inside carried a lot of old worn out clothes that weren't too tattered, most of it was dresses, casual pants and tops, and some garments. Whoever put this together, they were either going on a vacation or trying to see if they would survive the blast, sadly anyone that did, well… there’s the aftermath of it all.

Scavenging was something close to surviving, but sometimes luck was a clutch, anything would be, if the cards were played right. Sighing, anything over nothing was better to none, it made no sense to make sense, it’s how it was. Letting her body go limp for a moment, hours of looking, breaking through things for something, just a bit to show some sight of hope, but even that was impossible to find. The vault was easy living, the problem was that it was too easy for food, for clothes, and overall… peace. Living on the surface wasn’t like that, it was like rats fighting for the last little sugar bomb, only to be shredded in the process, then eaten into nothing. Leaning her head back, swallowing the annoyance of the thoughts of differences, even to have the what ifs was irritating to think of.

What if they didn’t drop the bombs?

What if it didn’t get to that point?

What if…

Her brows furrowing, eyes closed, the thoughts were overflowing her mind. There was so much to think about, wondering if she would exist with how she was before, getting a chance to see what it was like to live… normally? Was that even a thing? It wasn’t that she wasn’t alive, no. It was more of being born in luxury, becoming a star like her parents, getting to be a popular model for cereal brands and even some cooking shows, and movies. Just the memories flowing again, this time they were clearer than before, just her being a damsel in the arms of a cowboy that held a smile after saving her. The way he fought off the goons, freeing her from a silly pathetic little scheme, then the shared kiss. Her hand touching her lips, her eyes still closed, wondering where he could be and if he could be alive, maybe he fixed his -

“Well, now…”

Her eyes snapped open with a panic, her hand quick with the gun by the side that was never brought up from her surroundings, but she sure kept it in sight to her side if need be. Staring where the voice was coming from, gun at hand and aiming at the person - no, pointing at a pretty much fully and mentally attached ghoul. It was odd to face one that talked, even if there were a few, they kept to themselves till they succumbed into madness, but this one felt different. Oddly different. He was a pretty interesting sight, the outfit he wore was cowboy like, the accent that lingered was something familiar, unsure where to place it, her image wasn’t a sight to see for sure, but what was a cowboy dressed up ghoul pulling up to where she was, and why was he there?

“Can’t find your own damn fucking house to claim?” She asked, her tone was steady with her facial expression holding a stern look.

His eyebrows would’ve risen, if he had any, but yet he was hiding the shock under his impression, ain’t no one ever had the balls like her to do what she just did. Not like he gave them a chance, because he was quick with the trigger, but this individual was something fucking ballsy to even find, especially that he was hired to bring her back. The cap was more than what any bounty hunter has ever been hired to do such a thing, most would pay that way to kill the person and call it a day, but this one was different, and he was determined to why. There was something about her that felt… familiar? Why? He didn’t know her, or did he? The questions were there, it was something that he never had to deal with, if it was, that was so damn fucking long ago to remember now, he was no human now that he was then. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, till his mind grinding the gears going back some, maybe far back, just the eyes from her gaze and then it fucking clicked.

It was someone from his fucking past.

Fuck.

— Tags here: @rafecamsgirlll @yondus-girl

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Rewriting what was the old chapter 22 of TBBW (1920s Dance, Woo Woo!) and the last half, the klaroline half, has become a chapter all on its own. It's really building up to be one of my favourite chapters in the entire fic, and it's partly because I read @kirythestitchwitch's Crash Course which made me crave a cheeseburger so badly I wrote it into this fic. So here's a sneak peak --- don't let the fluff fool you, this chapter has its fair share of angst hehehe

“You know, I’m really surprised you didn’t insist on paying,” Caroline commented, unwrapping the paper around her cheeseburger as she settled back on the bonnet of Klaus’ car.

Klaus sat beside her, unwrapping his own burger as he stretched his legs out in front of him, one leg hanging off the side and resting on the upwards curve of the rim that snaked above the front wheels. Caroline leant back against the glass of the windscreen, relaxing into her spot as the sweet, steaming smell of the burger hit her — two seasoned patties topped with melted slices of creamy, cheesy goodness calling out to her from their package in a perfectly toasted, soft sesame seed bun, stuffed with crisp, curly lettuce and slices of fresh tomato. Up above, the light pollution from Mystic Falls was less intense so far away from the town, parked outside a quiet diner just off the Jackson highway. The stars were beginning to peak out from behind the clouds, the moon a quarter-full and shining down on them from the night sky above. Behind them, the warm glow of the diner spilled out onto the parking lot, employees wiping down tables and serving the odd exhausted truck driver behind the glass, like one gigantic, square-shaped fish bowl. The neon lights of the diner’s name, Wayback Burgers, flashed and flickered in the dark, reflecting red and blue light onto the wet pavement. 

“And why’s that?” Klaus asked, licking his thumb where the various condiments and sauces had leaked out of his large, triple stacked bacon cheeseburger and onto his hand. She’d felt weird ordering him nothing at the drive thru after she’d asked for the cheeseburger and fries, impulsively buying a milkshake to wash it all down with too. So she’d turned to him and asked if he’d wanted anything, and with some hesitancy, he’d ordered one of the meatiest burgers on the menu.

It was weird. The choice prodded something in her brain, seeming familiar. It was only when they got their burgers, Klaus eyeing his with a hunger that looked out of place on a vampire, that she realised why.

Tyler always ordered the meatiest thing on the menu too. Burgers, ribs, steak, chicken wings — it didn’t matter where they bought lunch, if there was an option to eat like a hungry pack of hyenas, he’d take it. Klaus had slightly more decorum, but the look was exactly the same.

“I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to be ancient?” she shot at him, setting the wrapping in her lap and taking her first bite of her burger. She sighed in bliss the moment the taste hit her tongue — it was truly a magnificent burger. The patties were seasoned to perfection, falling apart in her mouth, cheese melted onto them. The tomatoes and lettuce were fresh but not soggy, and the pickles buried beneath it all had an acid tang that balanced the whole thing out. “Old people are always moaning chivalry is dead,” she finished, holding a hand up to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food.

“And I seemed like the type?” he asked, glancing at her with a raised brow. His voice dropped to a dry drawl. “Why? Because I’m old or because I’m dead?”

She grinned, cheeks full of food. “Both,” she informed him happily, before chewing the last of it and swallowing. Klaus grunted, finally taking a bite out of his burger. Like her, he seemed to melt into the taste, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. She shrugged, eyeing him consideringly before turning her gaze back to her burger, folding down the wrapping. “Most guys get weird when I offer to pay.”

Tyler normally did. Matt had. Since both boys were on opposite sides of the financial spectrum, she kinda figured it wasn’t because of the money.

He looked at her then, searching her face for something. He swallowed his food before he spoke. “Did you want me to pay?”

She shook her head. “No. It was my idea to drag you out here. And you’re giving me a lift home after my car broke down even though I’ve rejected you like, a bajillion times. Least I could do was buy you a burger,” she teased, smile strained.

They hadn’t spoken about it, on the drive here. This thing between them; his jealousy towards Tyler and cruel actions earlier that night; the dozens of hesitant advances, if unwanted on her part. They weren’t friends.

Problem was, Caroline wasn’t sure if they were enemies either. 

Enemies didn’t show each other their personal artwork or unfinished sketches that were hidden away from even their family’s prying eyes. Enemies didn’t sit on a public bench and discuss lost dreams. And they certainly didn’t buy burgers at drive-thrus and eat them together under the starlit sky.

Klaus sighed, but didn’t seem offended. “I don’t think it was quite a bajillion times.”

“Yet,” she corrected cheekily, taking a big bite into her burger.

Instead of the scowl she expected, Klaus smiled fondly, following her lead and taking a bite too.

[ash5monster01]

All Yours

Pairing: Drew Starkey x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, mentions of nudity, slight smut, fluff

Summary: When you and Drew move in together you have to get used to each others quirks. The only one he still struggled with was your lack of shirts around the house. How was he supposed to focus while you’re constantly on display for him?

word count: 1183

Masterlist

You and Drew had lived separately the majority of your relationship. When you first met during season one of Outerbanks you had been in separate apartments in the same building. By the time filming was finished and you two had sparked interest in each other you returned to your apartments in LA and continued to peruse your relationship with your own spaces. The thought of moving in together never really occurred to you considering you spent most of your time together and you were both content spending the night at each others own homes. Yet by the time filming for season three rolled around and it came down to finding apartments, Drew didn’t even have a second thought about asking to share an apartment with you. It had made sense, especially since you two had been together now for almost two years. 

It wasn’t hard to say no, you knew you’d both be in each other’s apartments every night anyway. So it made sense to save money, and move the next step forward. It also was a good trial run considering once filming was over you’d still have separate apartments to come back to, but you figured that would change by the time filming ended anyway. Drew was your favorite person, your comfort person, and sometimes spending all day with your significant other would drive people nuts, but for you it was a blessing in disguise. It was nice to feel even closer, learn new things that hadn’t yet been discovered in the relationship.

You learned Drew always had to eat by 7:30 or it was the end of the world, he always had to set out his outfit the night before, the first thing he did in the morning was brush his teeth, and he always showered at night. Which was perfect since you always showered in the morning. Drew had learned all the quirks about you as well. You were a lamp person, always lighting the one closest to you, especially before bed while reading a book. Until you moved in he had never even thought to turn a lamp on, viewing it as just decoration. You also were very organized, and clean, which he didn’t mind at all. He also learned you had a well planned out night routine, along with a morning routine. He had known vaguely about your night routine from previous sleepovers, but he normally was gone and working by the time you started your morning routine or you went home to do it, so this was all new to him.

You would shower, dry off, and then get halfway dressed. Now this didn’t mean pulling one of his T-shirts over your head like a dress. This usually meant sweat pants, or shorts, and no shirt. You would get ready, completely topless, and he hadn’t expected it. In a way he was glad you were so comfortable, but also he wasn’t sure what to do with himself because there you were, rack out, putting mascara on in the mirror, and he had to pretend like it didn’t make him want to pull you back to bed and be late to set by an hour. You acted so nonchalant about it, and he realized this was normal for you. So instead of trying to sexualize you, he’d sit back and watch the show. Brush his teeth, wash his face, and get dressed, his eyes trained on you. Or more likely your bare chest.

“What scenes do you have today baby?” you asked, brushing your wet hair, which was already starting to curl and frizz from the humid air.

“Me and Nicholas are filming on the yacht today, a lot of gold scenes” Drew responded, eyes trained on your chest as you brushed you wet hair over it.

“That sounds fun! Me and Rudy have a few today I believe” you responded back, now moving onto deodorant and perfume. Drew admired the way your chest moved as you lifted your arms, then peeking even more and you continued to innocently get ready.

“Sounds good baby” Drew mumbled, distracted by the show. You had picked up that Drew admired you in the mornings, it wasn’t hard to miss the incessant staring. You appreciated he ignored it, because this was your normal, and him not taking advantage made you love him even more.

“I wish we had more scenes together” you pouted as you turned to him. His gaze left the mirror and faced you before dropping right back down. You suppressed the giggle and decided to mess with him as he put down his toothbrush.

“I know, but I’ll come visit you on break and we can snuggle and watch High School Musical tonight” he told you, as he turned back.

“You’ll perform all the Troy scenes for me?” you asked as you stepped close, wrapping your arms around his waist. Drew felt his breath hitch as your bare chest met with his shirt.

“As long as you perform the Gabriella scenes” he offered, leaning down to peck a kiss to you lips. Now both hugging each other in the bathroom.

“I’d perform the Gabrielle scenes to your Troy any day” you grinned, squeezing your chest tighter against him. “Maybe we can come back home, put this outfits back on, and perform them just like this”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that” he smiled, nudging his face into your neck to flutter kisses across it.

“I’m sure you won’t be” you teased, hands reaching behind you to grab his own. He pulled back from your neck, eyes giving you a confused look, as you pulled them in front of you and placed them directly on your chest. “Stop pretending like you don’t want to touch them, if my boyfriend didn’t appreciate my body I’d have reason to be concerned”

“I was just trying to give you space” you offered, hands palming you lightly, permission to touch turning him on.

“The moment we moved in we sacrificed space, I’m all yours, and that includes these” you told him and a wide grin spread across his face, now feeling you up with no shame.

“If you keep getting ready without a shirt, I hope you know I’m never going to leave you alone” he told you, and you smiled as you reached to grip his pants by the belt loops.

“I’m not opposed to that, I love it when you touch me” Drew closed his eyes, drawing in a breath because you had work. If he got too worked up he’d be miserable all day.

“We have thirty minutes you know” you said, using his belt loops to tug his front flush against yours. His arousal now evident.

“I can work with thirty minutes” he said quickly as he let go of your chest. In a swift movement he bent down and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up, your chest right in his face. His lips locked onto your breast and you giggled as he moved you back to the bedroom.

“I’m never wearing a shirt again”

[in-a-nook-with-a-notebook]

Life Could Be A Dream

Franchise: Star Wars (but modern AU)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x male reader (reader's pronouns are he/him/his)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, modern!AU, implied smut (scratch marks on Poe’s back, hickeys, mentions of nudity if you squint), fluff, established relationship, mentions of Poe being an F1 driver, no plot really just a sweet morning with Poe, did I mention fluff?

Summary: Poe always gets cuddly after a race; the more intense the race, the more he wants to be glued to your side. Yesterday's race was pretty crazy, but you’re not complaining.

A/N: This is ridiculously self indulgent, especially with the breakfast foods (I am a slut for a good serving of pancakes) also the inspiration and the song mentioned is Sh-Boom (Life Could Be A Dream) by The Sh-Booms, highly recommend listening while reading; for some reason I imagine Poe being a Formula One racer in a modern AU so voila

You blink your tired eyes open with the sun peering through the curtains of the hotel room. It’s warm and welcome on your skin. A lazy smile drifts over your face. You stretch a little before curling up under the thick blanket again; it’s smooth against your bare skin, perfect for a morning like this.

You slowly roll onto your side, turning your back to the window. Your eyes land on your boyfriend’s sleeping form. Poe is snoring softly, his dark curls tousled and unkempt. He looks so peaceful. His broad back glows in the morning light, the duvet haphazardly covering the lower half of his body. There are faint red marks near his shoulders, reminders of last night. Even after the longest, most intense races, he still has some… pent up energy.

Careful not to wake him, you lean forward and press a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. You then silently slip out of the bed, tugging on a clean pair of boxers. You’re grateful for the carpeting under your bare feet until you reach the cold tile of the bathroom. You brush your teeth, considering you can taste how bad your morning breath is, but you don’t bother fixing your messy hair. You wash your face with cold water to wake yourself up a little more, padding it dry with a facecloth. You look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes sliding over the hickeys on your neck and chest from Poe last night. Your fingers ghost over them.

After leaving the bathroom, you grab a shirt from last night. It’s either yours or Poe’s. You’re not sure, but you don’t really care all that much - it’s a shirt either way.

You wander to the kitchen, thankful the two of you had booked at an extended stay hotel; full kitchen with a big fridge, living space separate from the bed area; lots of space for you and him to stay for a while. You dig through the fridge in search of ingredients for breakfast. The two of you went out for groceries a couple days before his big race in Melbourne, so you had everything you needed to make a filling breakfast; Poe’s always hungry after a night like last night. You are too, quite frankly. You grab bacon, eggs and milk and put them on the counter, lightly kicking the fridge closed behind you. From the cabinets behind you, you collect salt, baking powder, white sugar, and a small bag of flour.

As much as you don’t like packing heavy when you travel for Poe’s races, you’ve brought it upon yourself to have some essentials so you aren’t eating out all the time. After the first few races, you pretty much put together a travel kit of cooking/baking supplies and other things you guys would usually have at home.

You grab a mixing bowl and a wooden spoon and begin mixing the dry ingredients together. You snag a normal bowl from the cupboard to mix the wet ingredients with a whisk. You then combine them together and leave it on the counter with a dishcloth over it, letting it rise. From the cabinets underneath the counter, you grab two pans; one for the pancakes when they’re ready and one for the bacon. As you set the pan on the stove to heat up, you hear shuffling from the bedroom area; Poe’s awake.

The pan warms quickly and you start laying bacon on it to fry. The sizzling meets your ears just as Poe appears out of the corner of his eye. You focus mostly on the bacon, but you can sense his presence. His arm snakes around your waist and he pulls your back against his warm, bare chest. He rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you say with a smile.

Poe hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. “Morning, baby.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like a log, but last night was amazing…” He nibbles on your neck a little, tightening his grip around you. You chuckle, bringing your hand down to squeeze his. “Bacon?” Poe inquires, changing the subject and looking down at the pan in front of you. His chin rests on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours.

“And pancakes,” you add, gesturing lazily to the mixing bowl.

“Mmm, I love your breakfasts.”

“You love all my cooking. And baking, for that matter.”

“Because you, mi amor, are an absolute god in the kitchen.”

“You flatter me, darling.” You reach for the tongs to flip the bacon strips. “I’m assuming you’re hungry. You’re always hungry.”

“For your food, always.”

“Flirt.”

“I’m just speaking the truth here.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “Want help?”

“I love you, but you can just sit there and look pretty for now.” You turn your head to fully kiss him. “I wanna cook for you.”

“You always cook for me.”

“Yeah, because, no offence, but you can’t cook for shit.”

“I’m a Formula One driver, not a chef.”

“I’m not even technically a chef.”

“You might as well be,” Poe replies, untangling himself from you. “You are probably one of the best cooks I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. And eating with. And, you know, everything else.” He kisses the back of your neck before stepping away to sit at the island, watching you fondly. “You sure you don’t want help?”

“Well, how about you set out the fruit from the fridge?”

“That I can do.”

As you get a plate out for the bacon, as well as a couple pieces of paper towel to catch the leftover grease, while Poe goes to the fridge. You feel Poe’s finger drag down your spine, sending a shiver through your body.

“Tease,” you murmur, looking at him over your shoulder. He smirks at you, blowing a kiss to you. “You wanna put some music on?”

“Absolutely.”

You transfer the cooked bacon onto the plate, then put more bacon on the pan. Poe shuffles around behind you, connecting his phone to the speaker.

Life could be a dream, life could be a dream

Do, do, do, do, sh-boom

A smile crosses your face with you hear the song and you turn to look at Poe. He puts his phone down on the counter. You both begin to murmur the lyrics under your breath.

“Life could be a dream. If I could take you up in paradise up above. If you would tell me I’m the only one that you love, life could be a dream, sweetheart, hello, hello again, sh-boom, and hopin’ we’ll meet again…”

“You look so good in my shirt,” he murmurs, coming up behind you again. He kisses your cheek, resting his hand on your hip. “I ever tell you that?”

“You’ve mentioned…” you reply, relaxing under his touch.

“I love when you travel with me,” Poe says. “Thank you for coming.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be, my love.”

Poe gently takes your chin in his hand to turn your head towards him. He presses a deep kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, he has a piece of bacon in his hand.

“Impatient?” You tease.

“It’s bacon. I’m hungry.”

You laugh when he takes a bite and his face lights up. “You’re cute,” you remark. His face goes red and he dips his head.

“Shut up.”

“No.” You tilt his chin up with your finger, pressing your lips to his. “You’re downright adorable, Poe Dameron.”

“You’re relentless.”

“You love me.”

“I adore you.”

You smirk. “I know.”

Some mornings, the two of you have to rush around, packing for another plane or prepping for another race, but not today. Poe’s got a free day, and he intends to spend every minute of it with you. Even if it’s just swaying in the kitchen, teasing each other. As long as he’s with you, he’s happy.

A/N: I just wanted a soft morning with Poe and the song had me in a fluffy mood so I hope y'all enjoy this because I know I did! Feedback is encouraged and appreciated! Have a lovely day y'all <3

[wildxard]

Summer Sun, Cast My Shadow

fierrochase content for the soul.............. My bad if either is out of character, it's my first time writing for these two.

If there was one thing Alex hated the most, it was perfection. To him, it just never made any sense. It wasn't because of the fact that Alex was well accustomed to the imperfect, but because of the fact that it just never clicked.

Alex's hands curved smoothly around wet clay, forming it and shaping it with practiced ease. The clay spun rapidly, quickly shifting into various shapes and sizes at his own whims. Cool air hit his muddied hands, smooth yet still scarred.

To be perfect was to remain unchanging. To be at the pinnacle of everything without imperfections, without failure. The ideal image of what should be right. To be the best without competition.

It never felt right. To listen to things be referred to as perfect. There's always somewhere to improve, and nothing ever stays the same forever. Besides, people were free to change. To define themselves. Why be held down by the fake ideals of what everybody else wants you to be?

Alex loved ceramics, that much was obvious, if you couldn't tell by the stacks of bags of clay laying around in his room, or the massive kiln consistently firing away in the corner. It wasn't complicated, and you could shape it however you pleased.

His hands dug into the sides of the wet clay, curving it upwards until it finally formed something resembling a vase.

There was nothing perfect about ceramics. It was simply forming, changing, shaping, and bringing what you wanted into reality. Shaping and defining art in your own terms.

To him, that's what made sense. That's what he understood.

A sudden knock on Alex's door reverberated throughout his room, and his hand slipped. Dipping into the sides of the vase and deforming it immediately.

His eyes narrowed, glaring at the clay as if it had wronged him, even though he was the one who made the mistake. It was fine. He could always fix it.

"Come in." He called out.

The door opened smoothly, with Magnus standing in the doorway. He looked rather disheveled, his normally wild blonde hair sticking out in directions it shouldn't be, his jacket loosely hanging around his shoulders.

Magnus glances from Alex, to what he was working on. His brows furrowing as he tried to register if Alex was upset with him or not. He was praying that wasn't the case. Sometimes an angry Alex ended up in another death.

"..I didn't mess anything up, did I?" He asks, carefully making his way into the messy, crowded room. Pots were scattered about, some finished, others broken into pieces out of frustration. Like Alex had made his own personal rage room, and was using his own art for things to destroy.

Alex shook his head, turning his attention back to his clay. He couldn't take his eyes off of it for too long. If he abandoned focus now, the clay would dry up. The plastic-like, easy to mold state it was in now would become a more leather-like, stiff state if he wasn't careful.

"No, I was just... Just working on something. Can't seem to get it right, and it's been eating away at me for a while."

He admitted, running his thumb smoothly along the edges of the pot, softening the edges into a more smooth curve. His hands were cold, and dry from the clay taking the moisture out of them.

Magnus didn't seem to mind, though. He leaned closer, studying the vase. He thought it was perfectly fine. Though, he was never good with pottery like Alex or his cousin Annabeth.

He let his eyes linger on the work for a mere second, before returning their focus to Alex. He was always the center of his days. No matter if Alex was identifying as a female, or like today, a male. It didn't matter to Magnus.

All that mattered to him was that it was Alex.

"Do you even know what you're going for? Or are you just mindlessly fumbling with clay?"

Alex paused. What was he even going for? He's been sitting here throwing out random ideas and yet, there hasn't been a single solid plan for this thing ever since he's started making it.

"...I don't know.."

Magnus snorted, looking at the sad heap of mud and grime that was the clay. Alex had curved his hands too far inwards, and had flattened it into a pancake. "You've been here for hours, how have you not figured anything out?"

Alex huffed, rolling his eyes before trying to reshape the clay, but failing miserably. He couldn't focus. "Shut up. I'm trying, okay. I've got an idea, I just need more time—"

"We have plenty." He answered simply, reaching a hand out and resting it on top of his. He was warm, unlike Alex, who remained a freezing cold. Even dead, Magnus still remained warm. Must've been some Son of Frey thing.

Alex's hands relaxed against the clay. Right, infinite time. Like that in itself wasn't terrifying. Alex looked back to Magnus, who didn't seem to be in a rush. Unlike himself. He looked less rushed, and more lax. As if telling him that the clay could always come later.

Alex retracted his hands from the clay, his hands muddied and dirtied. Magnus didn't seem to care that the mud had gotten all over his own hands either.

A shiver ran down his spine. The room was frigid, encasing the both of them like a cocoon of ice. Sometimes when the cold got too bad, it reminded him of Niflheim. Sailing through the endless, freezing seas.

There was one constant between then and now. One thing that never seemed to change, no matter how much he challenged, provoked, teased, sneered, or shoved him away. Magnus had always stayed.

Alex reached out once more, bringing Magnus into his awaiting arms. For a moment, Magnus was stiff. Tensing up nervously almost instinctively. He couldn't blame him. He was aware Magnus wasn't too big into touch.

But even despite that, he relaxed. Sinking into Alex's arms as the two sat on the hard floors. His head rested on top of Alex's, arms loosely hung around his back.

"You're warm." Alex muttered, the words softly spoken in a way that it was almost too soft to hear.

"And you're freezing." Magnus replied, huffing as Alex tried to bring him closer. As if closer was possible. He was cold. Freezing, and still malnourished. It wasn't as bad as when they were sailing across Niflheim, but he would still be less worried if he'd actually eat something.

The two sat there for a while, Alex trying to steal what warmth Magnus could provide. After a minute or two of getting nowhere, Magnus sighed, bringing forth some of his frey-power in hopes of making things a bit better.

He began to glow. Not in the blinding sense, like how he would be whenever using the peace-of-frey. Or any other high powered move. It was soft. Like a lantern amidst the shadows.

The temperature in the room began to slowly get warmer. The frigid, unwelcoming atmosphere melted into a gentle, warm and cozy safe space. It was a little scary, how fast Magnus could take a space from deadly and terrifying to sweet and gentle.

Alex held onto Magnus, his grasp on him slowly having loosened up. He still kept him close, his head under his chin as he leaned against his chest. He never understood it. He hated it, in fact.

He hated how perfect Magnus seemed to be. How wherever he walked, nature followed. How the sun would shine down on him like he was an angel, kissing his skin with the utmost care. He didn't understand it.

How something so imperfect as him could have gotten something so perfect as Magnus Chase.

Sure he was a dork. A bit of an idiot here and there. But that's what made him loveable. That's what made him, him. These moments, where he could reach out to him on his own terms. The days were Magnus always miraculously knew what he was going by. Whether it was she/her, or he/him. How either way, he wasn't deterred or disgusted by him.

"...You suck." Alex muttered out, frustration lacing every edge of his voice.

"...What did I do..?"

"Everything."

[alwritey-aphrodite]

getting caught in a rain shower with poe

2024 Summer Blurbs

It seems like no matter how hard you try, the weather will always ruin your plans. No amount of research and frantic checking of the forecast will ever let you accurately predict the weather. In the winter, when you’d prefer to be warm and cozy inside than anywhere else, it doesn’t matter if the weather is a little bit unpredictable, but when summer rolls around, an unexpected storm can completely derail your plans.

Normally, you’d be able to laugh it off, roll your eyes as the storm clouds roll in like an unpredictable younger sibling ready for attention. Sometimes, though, the unexpected rain completely ruins your day.

You’ve only been on a handful of dates with Poe, all of them expertly planned and perfectly wonderful. It was finally your turn to plan the date, and you’d spent hours upon hours agonizing over what would be best, whether you should cook at home or go out to eat, whether you should spend an afternoon together or an evening, whether you should dress casual or elegantly. Everything had been perfect, plans scrapped and reimagined as you changed your mind over and over, checking the weather every step of the way.

Together, you’d settled on a casual lunch followed by a walk through the park, taking advantage of clear skies and warm weather. Everything was perfect, and you’d taken a detour to an ice cream shop when the sky began to darken.

“No way,” you say as you stare in disbelief at the quickly graying sky, the storm clouds approaching alarmingly fast.

“Think it’s gonna rain?” Poe asks, glancing between the sky and your equally stormy face. You'd been having such a wonderful time, and even though you’re sure Poe could make watching paint dry an exciting experience, you’d spent so long planning what you’d hoped would be a perfect day and rain hadn’t been factoring in. You’re at least a twenty minute walk from where you’d parked and neither of you have an umbrella.

“We could just find a store to wait in, see if it rains or if it’ll blow over?” You offer, trying your hardest to save what has been a series of wonderful dates, desperate not to let the unpredictable weather ruin your track record.

“C’mon, it won’t be that bad,” Poe sticks out his hand to you as he says this, and even though you don’t really believe him, you’d follow him anywhere.

Hand in hand, you walk for a few minutes before you feel the first raindrop hit your forehead. In a matter of seconds, you’re caught in a downpour, soaked to the bone as you turn and look towards Poe. He’s grinning, even as water drips from his hair into his eyes, and he squeezes your hand before taking off at a run, all but dragging you along with him.

You’re out of breath but grinning when you make it under the tree cover of the park, dripping wet as you try and calm your racing heart.

“See, I told you it wouldn’t be that bad,” Poe says, still grinning and not nearly as breathless as you. You can’t help but to laugh, at the sheer bad luck of a storm on a seemingly sunny day, and at the pure giddiness coursing through you.

The sun comes out again while you and Poe catch your breath for a second time, this time from the laughter that you couldn’t seem to control. Even though your plans had been completely derailed, you still think it was a pretty successful date, despite your rain soaked clothes.

[haezen]

a/n: OKAYY IM SLOWLY COMING BACK im defrosting my writing skills ... they're frozen

(not proofread mb)

belphegor x gn!mc

2:56 A.M.

The perfect time for a late-night snack. 

You make your way to the kitchen and try to be as quiet as possible, so as to not disturb any of the demon brothers ‘peacefully’ sleeping in their rooms. Though it’s useless because you can hear Levi screaming at his teammates behind a closed door. That was normal for the third-born. If you listen carefully, you can also hear a faint tune playing all the way from behind Lucifer’s door up in his study.

You tip-toe to the kitchen and peek around the corner to ensure Beel isn’t already inside rummaging around for scraps. Aaand he’s nowhere to be seen. Perfect. 

During your time down in the Devildom with the demon brothers, you have noticed that there's rarely a day that passes where there are snacks for you to enjoy at night. Luckily, tonight seems to be an exception because a singular cookie is sitting smack dab in the middle of the kitchen island. Your favorite flavor.

You creep towards it to inspect it. How could this be?

There’s not a single letter, mark, or name written on the wrapper. There’s also no ignoring the convenient absence of any note that would indicate not to eat it.  Surely with Beel’s senses, he would have been able to sniff this cookie out in his sleep. It’s a miracle that the cookie has lasted this long.

The growling of your stomach pulls you out of your thoughts. Nobody would miss this cookie if it was gone, right? There’s no time to debate or allow your conscience to take over because before you know it, you’ve already taken a ginormous bite out of the cookie. And it tastes absolutely divine. It tastes so heavenly that you can’t help but close your eyes to savor the flavors that overwhelm your taste buds. Have you ever had a cookie that tasted so good?

The bliss you’re experiencing from a singular bite out of this godly cookie comes to an abrupt end. 

Creeaaak!

Oh, god. Please don’t be a ghost. You think as you peek around the kitchen door. Nobody’s there. You assure yourself. Everybody is busy or asleep. This house is just really old so of course it’s going to be creaky.

You take another bite and it’s just as good as the first. So maybe a moan escaped from your mouth? It tastes so good that you don’t care if any of the brothers heard you. 

A glass of milk would go perfectly with this cookie. Even though it tastes amazing on its own, it’s kinda making your mouth go dry. You fling open the fridge door to grab the carton of milk – nearly empty. 

With no one around to chastise you, you unscrew the cap and take a swig right from the container. As you begin to slowly shut the fridge and screw the cap back on, a dark figure is directly behind the previously open fridge door. 

You want to scream but with your mouth full, you end up spitting milk straight into their face. 

“What the fuck!” He yells with his hands outstretched in shock as he looks down at the floor.

“Belphie?” You whisper in disbelief, trying to calm your rapidly pounding heart. You want to feel bad for the demon because he's now soaking wet. But…you don’t because he scared the shit out of you while you were peacefully minding your business. He deserved it.

Ever since you told the demon brothers about Halloween and all of its traditions that you participated in up in the human world, the brothers have been tirelessly working to make it possible for you to celebrate the holiday in the Devildom too. Belphegor must have thought that scaring the shit out of you was perfectly in season. The thought of him planning the scare makes you wanna slap him. (Not that it’d hurt him, but just to get your point across that you didn’t exactly appreciate the gesture)

As your attack left him, his face, and his hair soaking wet, he’s forced to brush his bangs back out of his face to see properly. He tries to adjust to your unexpected reaction to his prank, but he could have never expected to be standing right in the splash-zone. 

“Why would you DO that!” You whisper-yell and lightly push him backwards. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to spit all over me!” Belphie groans in his defense, regaining his balance from your shove. “I was just trying to give you a good little scare.”

You slam the fridge door shut and shake the milk carton in front of his face. “You want the rest? Because I sure am tempted to dump the rest over you, you jerk!”

“Are you trying to get on my bad side?” 

“Are YOU trying to get on mine?!”

“Ah, right.” He laughs and snags a hand towel from the counter to dab his face dry. “Well…I don’t suppose you want to help me?”

“Surely you’re joking?” You set the carton down by your half-eaten cookie on the counter. “You want help, Belphie? I can help you plenty!”

The look on his face sours at your sarcastic tone. He’s about to roll his eyes but the sensation of your warm hands coming into contact with the wet clothes on his skin forces him into giving you his full attention. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer, sticking out your tongue to lick his cheek. Belphie recoils in disgust but you don’t miss the slight tinge of pink dusting over his pale cheeks. 

“You’re fucking disgusting!” He complains as he throws his head back. As he’s lifting his hands up to try and push you away, you lean in even closer to continue your assault. “Hey!”

“You asked for it!” 

Giggles and loud protests from the both of you fill the kitchen. Neither of you want to let the other win. As the fight continues on, the louder his squeals and your laughter become.

You sneak in a particularly wet lick on his jaw and as he cringes away, his foot slips out from beneath him. In the blink of an eye, you've fallen on top of the seventh-born. The fiery look behind his violet eyes and the slowly growing smirk on his face (as he plots revenge) makes you want to kiss him.

“Oh, you’re so in for it now [Name].” 

“I would say that the BOTH of you are in for it now.”

At the sound of Lucifer’s voice, you scramble off of Belphie immediately. Heat floods your body and when you meet Belphegor’s eyes, they are just as wide as your own. The apologetic smile he offers you in the midst of being caught immediately steels your nerves.

“If this kitchen is not cleaner than before you entered it in approximately ten minutes, both of you will deeply regret having left the comfort of your rooms tonight.”

"Yes sirrrr..."

[elvisabutler]

we'll kiss just as before

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x female reader word count: 1839 warnings: rutting against beds. dry humping so to speak. coming on thighs. breastfeeding kink. light sub elvis. light mommy kink. light dom reader. elvis is a selkie. bit of fingering kind of. use of the words mama. tiny bit of aftercare. brief mention of a rough pregnancy. author’s note: welcome to day 13 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, breastfeeding kink with selkie elvis presley x reader. fun time for context author's note. this takes place in an alternate 1978 where elvis is living his life with his wife, lisa and his now two sons. truth be told anything i write for this series of fics probably will always live in this au ending to elvis's life. probably dying maybe in the 90s/00s. in case anyone ever wants to request more from them even if it's fluff. i was supposed to write a piece before this that explains jesse's origins but time's gotten away from me lately so consider this me doing my normal shenanigan of writing out of order. also if you have no idea what this series/verse is, the masterlist is right here. beyond that long winded author’s note, special thanks to @stylespresleyhearted, @ab4eva and @prompted-wordsmith for being seal!!! at me always. also once again, i really do love how y'all liked this and received it and live to see your thoughts on my writing. and yes i did post these within an hour-ish of each other. because this has been finished for a while. also. divider by @/cafekitsune over here on tumblr.

In the time you've known Elvis— in that small window of his life— you've known him to be an insatiable sort of man. Not gluttonous, though he can err that way, but a man who allows himself to live life with an intensity that makes you proud to call him your husband. On bad nights you wonder what would have happened if your paths had never crossed again because of his skin or if they had never crossed when Anita had broken up with him. Those nights are few and far between though, soothed away with a stepdaughter who you adore, a son you carried in your belly for nine excruciatingly long months and a little baby boy adopted by a selkie who took one look at a little baby seal and told you that he was your son— told you it was God's way of providing the two of you with another child without the risk of your health. It's a blessing John was still young enough to be suckling at your breasts when you adopted Jesse. It's a blessing that at the young baby's cries your breasts rose to the occasion, swelling up like they did when John was a newborn, leaking at inopportune times and causing Elvis to laugh in sheer delight that his wife— his perfect seal wife— had so much milk within her breasts that it came out even when no one was there to catch it but him.

No, you've always known that Elvis is an insatiable sort of man, and nights like this remind you of it as you climb into bed, taking in the sight of him naked as the day he was born, glasses perched on his nose as he reads quietly. Your eyes roam over his body, watching his rounded stomach rise and fall, wetness from sweat or perhaps a shower causing the hair on it to stick to him reminding you that despite being a seal he's practically a bear when it comes to the hair on his chest and belly. You feel yourself clenching around nothing the longer you stare and yet you don't speak, don't put into words your thoughts even as Elvis starts to shut his book and glances over at you, eyes zeroing in on your breasts.

"They're still lookin' full," he murmurs, moving to set his book on the nightstand next to him. "He ain't eaten?"

Your hands move to take off his glasses as you shrug, hissing slightly as Elvis moves his hand against the fuller of your two breasts. "No, he's eating, but— not enough tonight. He's full, but so are they."

There's a question in the words you speak, a request for Elvis if he's willing to grant you it, but you hate the mere idea of asking for it. Sure, Elvis has done it for you before but— only when it's started to leak on his chest when you're pressed against him or when it's started to make a mess of the bed. Asking him outright tonight feels wrong and you feel a hint of embarrassment despite everything go through you. As if Elvis can sense it, his hand that isn't on your breast moves to cup your chin. "Darlin'. They ache, don't they?"

The answering nod you give him is slow and controlled before you exhale quietly. "They're gonna be hard as rocks before he wakes up again."

"You need more out of 'em, don't ya? Make it so it doesn't hurt so much in all that time." He says it as a question but you and him both know it's more of a statement than anything else. "I ain't gonna mind."

If you ask him to do it. You know that's what he's telling you and yet you can't help the way you bite at your lip and watch as his thumb brushes over your exposed nipple, a bit of milk dribbling out as he does. Without missing a beat he puts his thumb in his mouth and sucks it, his tongue swirling around the digit as he stares you down, blue eyes somehow containing every bit of the depths of the ocean in them. He's your husband, this is— this is what your insatiable husband is willing to do for you and you've been looking the gift horse in the mouth. After a moment, one of your hands moves to cup the underside of the breast his hand had been on as you speak.

"Can you please? Mama's— Mama's got all this milk and I can't— I can't sleep with them aching like this."

It's as if you've granted the man salvation when he looks at you through eyelashes that have charmed so many women. He hadn't planned sucking on your breasts tonight, truthfully but it was always a gift when he could. You've taken care of him since that fluke meeting when you didn't even know who he was. When you thought he was just a seal that gotten a handkerchief tied around him. With this act of allowing him to drink from your breasts he could take care of you and indulge in something that helped him sleep better than any pill ever had. You could take care of him just by letting him have the simple pleasure of sucking at your breasts. It's different than when he does it when you're not nursing, but even so there's an element that's the same. There's that element that has you squirming and clenching your thighs as he drinks milk that he shouldn't want.

He places his hand over yours, the warmth of it inadvertently making you shiver and causing your nipple to harden and you hear the shaky breath he takes as he just stares at it. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he shifts in the bed and places your nipple in his mouth.

"El— Elvis," you stammer out his name as his tongue runs across your nipple, teasing and only gathering the faintest of drops before he forms that little bit of suction with his lips. His suckling is gentle, knowing that he barely needs to pull for his little treat. Your relief is almost immediate though, your shoulders relaxing as you lean back against the pillows, hearing the soft sounds of his sucking and the sound of him swallowing every so often.

Sometimes you watch him when he sucks at you, cradling his head like a child. Those nights are the nights this action is purely for comfort and for the intimacy of being with one another without any of the children. Those nights are special and remind you that it's a bit of a fluke that you're a part of his life. They remind him how you're the perfect seal wife and how you came into his life at just the right time. The first time you met hadn't been perfect, hadn't been right, but the second time, this time was.

Nights like this though? Nights like this you find yourself with your head leaning back against the pillows, soft pants leaving your lips as your fingers thread through his hair and pull every so often. You've been aching in more than one way for Elvis and it shows in how after just a minute your thighs are clenched as you try and shift, only to be stopped by his chest and torso pinning you down with his bulk. You open your mouth to speak, to tell Elvis to pull away from the breast he's suckling on only to realize he's rutting against the bed. You hadn't known he needed this too. You hadn't known that you both had been craving this way of being together for what feels like forever even though it had only been a week.

A groan or a growl rumbles deep within Elvis's chest and you mirror it with a gasp as starts to suck harder, adding enough pressure that you can feel the throbbing in between your legs. Touching you would be ideal, feeling the calloused tips of his fingers against your clit would be ideal. Anything but a lack of touch would be ideal and yet you feel your arousal starting to ruin the panties you wear to bed. Words dance on your lips even as you tighten your grip on Elvis's hair, pulling him off your nipple with a small pop noise. Looking up at you with dilated pupils he uses his strength to pull his head back down to attack your other nipple. A whine leaves your lips unbidden as a fresh wave of desire courses through you and has you clenching around nothing and thrusting against his torso. Yet he doesn't stop, his lips still stay around your nipple, filling his mouth with your milk even as you look down and see some spilling from the sides of his mouth.

The look he wears is ravenous and you find yourself starting to thrust and move your hips to get any sort of friction. A whimper leaves your lips. "Please."

The sensation of Elvis's lips curling around your nipple into a smirk should have you pulling him off once again and yet you find that you just thrust once more. All that matters is chasing the high Elvis has started to bring you and somehow as your hand yanks at his hair again he finally takes pity on you. He doesn't bother to take off your panties, though, no, he merely takes one more final suck from your breast and shifts to allow himself to pin you down. The air feels as if it's been sucked out of your lungs when his lips meet yours, the sweetness of rogue breastmilk drops falling on your lips. Elvis is rutting against you, not bothering to enter you but the friction is enough, the feel of his bare cock brushing against your clothed vagina has your toes curling. One of your hands moves to his behind and as your release finally comes you grab his ass and squeeze, puling him in closer. His own release follows shortly after, painting your thighs with his cum. Flopping against you he takes deep breaths for a few minutes before finally speaking.

"Didn't— Didn't know ya needed me that bad," he jokes before nuzzling at you. "Didn't know ya needed that so bad."

Your words come out a little slurred as you feel your body starting to drift off to sleep. "Neither did I. Just— We needed that." Your tone, despite the slurred words leaves no room for argument. "Clean then sleep?"

Clean both of you off, then come to bed is what you mean but you know your little seal can translate from the way he moves to get off of you. He walks slowly to the bathroom and in the doorway of that room he looks back at you. You've already fallen asleep and it warms something inside of him to see you finally allowing yourself to relax.

"That's it, darlin', get you some rest."

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust, @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08. if you weren't tagged it's not a slight. it's literally me copy and pasting from old tag lists.

[ghosttownwherenoonegoes]

A few people - @badgirlforeddiemunson @thefreak0fhawkinshigh @ilovecupcakesandtea - have asked me things about my hair; routines, products, hints and tips. And I figured it'd be easier to make a generic post with everything included and people can pick and poke at what they want.

I'm not a vain person, but I will freely admit that my hair is my pride and joy. It is my baby. I have told my mother that my hair is the only grandchild she's ever gonna get from me, and now when she helps me with it, she calls it "babysitting my grandkid".🤣

I have quite fine hair but I have a lot of it, so it's quite thick. Holding it in one fist is a bit difficult and it knots very easily. This post includes routines, products, hints, tips, and things I think are relevant. My hair is my baby and a lot of my leftover energy between my job and my degree goes into my hair. I've dreamed of having hair just like this since I was a child - maybe seven or eight - and now as a twenty five year old, I am living the dream.

I hope those of you who are curious about my rather extensive hair care find what you need in here! I am open to questions about it, as well.💖

TW; in the 'basics' section, there is one mention of actual physical assaults related to non-consensual hair-cutting which happened in my home town about a decade ago. Not to me, but I worry about it every day as a lasting point of anxiety. If you want to skip this, it is the LAST BULLET POINT OF THE FIRST SECTION RIGHT BELOW THE CUT.

Okay, so... where to start...

The basics/equipment I use

I sleep on silk pillowcases and I secure my braids with silk scrunchies. It helps to prevent knots and tangles (it's not perfect, but my hair is much more manageable thanks to silk).

I use a wooden comb and a boar bristle brush which moves natural oils from my scalp down to the ends of my hair. I would never be using a plastic brush or 'normal' elastic ties in my hair. The thought makes me shudder.

I wash my hair once a week unless it gets rained on. In which case, I will wash it more than once a week, but neither me nor my hair will be happy about it.

I pat-dry my hair with a plain white cotton t-shirt and I let it air-dry, which takes about twelve hours to become damp-but-dry-enough-to-safely-brush. (Hair wash day is a whole ordeal, I need a day! More on this to come.) T-shirts are gentler and less damaging than towels; wet hair should be treated like glass because it's very fragile.

I never go outside of the house or go to sleep without first brushing and then braiding my hair. I never go outside with it down. This is because, honestly, I'm terrified someone will come up behind me on the street and assault me by cutting all my hair off (I have severe anxiety but also, this actually happened to a few girls in my town as a series of three assaults when I was a child and I've never forgotten about it) but also, doing this helps to prevent knots and tangles, which minimises damage to your hair.

I eat a lot of meat and dairy but I also take a generic multivitamin every day. Protein and fat are super good for you in general but also, what your body doesn't use, goes to your hair!!! Happy body = happy hair.💖

I am very precious about my hair, very few people are allowed to touch it. If I let you touch it, you are trusted. It's pretty much an "I love you". My mum helps me with my hair every day. I'm very grateful to her for it, and I make sure she knows how much I appreciate it.

My hair only needs a half-inch trim every eight months or so; dad measures it out with a ruler, mum watches him to make sure he's doing it right, he shows me what he's cut off after the first snip and I'll approve it and then he's allowed to continue. I cry a lot when it has to be trimmed, I hate it, and I grieve that half-inch until it grows back in about three weeks.

My different hair-care routines (these are extensive)

Hair wash day!

Number of stages: 4

Duration of all four stages: 13 - 14 hours🥰 (I have to schedule an entire day to do it and it can be tricky because my job doesn't always align with my preferred wash day, which is a Sunday, so sometimes I have to go 10 days without washing it and that can make me very irritable. It's the little things, you know? It has to be an all day thing because my hair takes twelve hours to become damp-dry enough to brush without damaging it. I never use heat on my hair; pat-dry with a t-shirt and then air-dry only. And then I have the brushing routine on top of it, which takes an hour if I do it myself, and ten minutes if mum does it for me, which she often does).

Brushing routine:

I brush my hair before I wash it. This is the first stage of hair wash day, and I do this routine after work. It takes me an hour to do it alone or ten - twenty minutes if mum does it.

I section my hair in two, over each shoulder, and then section it again so that my hair has been quartered. I always brush from the back first (I tuck the front section underneath the back section, which has been pulled forward to the front). Whichever side isn't being brushed, I secure into a side-ponytail with a silk scrunchie to hold it there while I work on the other half of my hair.

Starting from the bottom, I finger-comb first and manually untangle any big knots or tangles. If this part goes wrong, I will cry about it. It's instant panic attack if I can't get a knot undone with minimal effort.

Once that quarter-section is finger combed thoroughly, I then use my wooden comb to go through the section again and I alternate as needed back to finger-combing if I find a section I missed the first time.

Once that quarter-section is done, I put it behind me and start on the other section, same process as above. Doing one half of my hair usually takes me a half hour.

Once one half of my hair is brushed, I use a boar-bristle brush, going from the top of my hair down to the tips; this moves the natural oils through the hair. The oil normally comes down to just below my ear, and obviously the further away I am from wash day, the more oil there is, and so from the nape of the neck down to the very ends of my hair, I apply Mielle's rosemary and mint scalp and hair strengthening oil (£8.99 for a 59ml bottle; half a pipette is sufficient for one half of my hair, so it's expensive but does last a while).

Once the hair is finger-combed, combed, brushed, I then pull that section back as well and braid it in a simple three-strand braid and loosely tie it with a silk scrunchie. The first few patterns are tight to hold the braid, but after that, I loosen it off so it's a loose braid and loosely tied. In the morning, I'll redo my braids as needed before I go to work without brushing them - I don't have that time in a morning to do my whole routine before work. To secure it, I tie the silk scrunchie around one more time so it's tighter and will hold longer (bedtime braid: tie it around three times / morning braid before work: tie it around four times).

Repeat this whole thing again for the other half of my hair, and then I can go to bed. A normal night, this takes an hour, a bad night as in really knotty hair or I'm tired, two hours. Unless mum helps me with it. I can and will cry if I find a knot I can't immediately undo and it's not unusual for me to be swaying at the bathroom sink because I will not go to bed unless my hair is fully brushed, oiled, braided.

If it's wash day, I don't braid my hair or apply more oil, I just finger-comb, comb and then brush it and then get in the shower...

Washing routine: Okay. This is the most in-depth and complicated part of my entire thing I do for my hair, and I have to get it right or I will have an anxiety attack thinking I've just fucked all my hair up and I have to cut it off (I catastrophise a lot, especially with my hair). This is the second stage of hair wash day.

So, hair is brushed, shower time!

I have the water lukewarm - too hot will burn your hair and damage it, but too cold and you won't be able to get the oils out properly.

I get my hair wet so it's plastered to my back, and then I use L'Oreal's Dream lengths shampoo; I apply it to my scalp and to the surface of hair up to the nape of my neck, giving myself a gentle scalp massage (treat wet hair like GLASS!!!!). I rinse it all out once it's all in there, and then I use the same brand of conditoner, which is applied from the nape of my neck down to the very tips. Leaving that conditioner in, I then shampoo the scalp up to the nape of my neck a second time (it's like a greasy pan - the first lot of washing up liquid lifts the oil, the second lot of washing up liquid actually cleans the pan - same concept applies here to hair, especially because I only wash it once a week). And rinse that off too.

Then, I apply conditioner for a second time from the nape of my neck to the very tips of my hair, wiping off any excess on the top of my hair (just below the scalp so I don't clog my pores). I leave it in there while I wash my body, which takes a few minutes, and then I wash it off again. I let it all come out, and then I change the shower temperature so it's now COLD, to effectively close the pores in my hair.

My hair is washed! I pat it dry with a cotton t-shirt, then from the nape of my neck down to the halfway mark of my hair, I apply a leave-in conditioner, then from that halfway mark through to the ends of my hair, I use one pipette of the oil to cover everything, and then my hair air-dries for twelve hours until it's damp-dry enough to safely brush, as above!

Using oils and leave-in conditioner:

I use the oil every day from the nape of my neck to the ends of my hair, and every few days I apply leave-in conditioner from the nape of my neck to the ends of my hair. The top section of my hair (scalp to the nape) will be fine, it has the natural oils from the scalp, which is evenly distributed by using the boar-bristle brush.

Brushing routine: After twelve hours, I brush through my hair as in the first stage of wash day, so this is now stage three of wash day for me, and braiding it is stage four!

And finally, a picture of my baby!!! This was taken about two weeks ago and I believe it was the day after wash day!😍💖

I love it (her) so, so much. I bitch and complain often about the knots, but nothing fills me with instant grief and abject horror quite like thinking about having to cut off more than a half inch. That, in itself, is already cause for tears. My hair is my pride and joy, my favourite body part, and something I cherish as a very real, long-lasting childhood dream. I hope you find what you need in this post; I know it's not applicable to everyone because we all have different hair types and budgets, but hopefully something is useful.💖

I'm pretty sure this is everything but I might reblog with additions if needed, and I'm open to questions as well! My hair was jaw length in late 2019 when I started to grow it out, so it's grown quite quickly and I'm very in love with it.🥰