#grow them a fucking flower beard

[firnik]

nnnnnnnyea. Good thing that among the fics I now must draw fanart for there is one about flipping off some transphobic assholes, really needed that today

@the-great-papyru here we go again???

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One TwentySix

Eddie climbs into the beemer, looking as hang dog as Steve has ever seen him, “what’s wrong?”

Eddie fiddles with his sweater cuffs, plucking at them with his finger nails, frowning, “we...speak English?”

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s what the language is called, English.”

“And...many more? Languages? Lots and lots, right?”

“Yeah baby, that’s right, what’s wrong?” Steve grows increasingly more alarmed, Eddie actually looks like he might cry.

“I have to learn more? Learn all?”

“Oh! Oh no, not if you don’t want to. You could learn another one one day, but only if you want to.”

“Sure? Do you promise?”

“Yeah. Yes, baby, I promise. Just this one.”

Eddie sags in his seat, whole body crumpling with relief. Steve can’t help but laugh, but he does give Eddie’s hand a comforting squeeze.

Eddie gets into the beemer holding one massive fucking sunflower. Like, the head of the thing is just. Huge.

“Too big. Too different,” Eddie elaborates, “can’t sell it.”

“Well, that’s okay, it’ll fit in perfect on the coffee table,” Eddie nods affably at Steve’s suggestion.

“Stevie?” Steve hums to show he’s listening, checking his mirrors as he pulls out of the car parking space. “Should we go to church?”

“Church?”

“Mrs. Vanderbilt,” Eddie sounds the name carefully, “say she’s worried about my immortal soul.”

“Does she now. And who is Mrs. Vanderbilt?”

“She makes flower arrangements for church. Stevie? What’s an immortal soul?”

Steve snorts a laugh, “well. Uhm. So there’s...some people believe that there’s God, and heaven and hell and stuff like that. And there’s loads of religions, like with languages, lots of places have different ones and...God is kind of like...do you remember El explaining about Santa at Christmas?”

“Yes. He has a beard and reindeer and choose if you’re good, then gifts. Not real though, fun for kids believe.”

“Yeah. Yeah God is like that, but for grown-ups. And instead of gifts you get into heaven when you die.” Steve sees Eddie’s face crinkle up in his peripheral vision, “actually, you know what, I bet there’s a book about this, library detour?”

Eddie nods, humming agreeably.

The book on religions they find at the library is probably, now, a little below Eddie’s reading level, but it seemed like the best option at the time. When Eddie looks up from it and asks, “think The Upside Down is hell?” Steve sort of regrets the idea of a book.

“No. No I don’t.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Hell's probably more like, fire. And brimstone. And I never once saw a little demon with a pitchfork. Also, and I know this for absolute certain, there’s no way someone as good as you comes from Hell.”

“Oh.”

“I think...it’s up to you want you want to decide baby, you read as much as you like, and you think about it, but I think it’s made up, like a-” Steve hesitates over actually saying 'fairy tale', since he’s talking to a guy who, literally, is like a character from one of those stories, “like something that’s made up," He finishes lamely. "Anyway, forget the book, come up here, I haven’t won the kissing game for a couple of days and I’m feeling lucky.”

Eddie leaves the book, forgotten for a while, and Steve decides the first chance he gets he’s taking that one back.

“Stevie!” Eddie bursts through the door of family video, luckily it’s the middle of the day and the place is dead. He breezes straight past Steve and presents four pink roses to Robin, “from Chrissy,” he tells her, causing a spectacular blush to form on Robins cheeks before she sinks down behind the counter.

Eddie completely ignores her. “Knock knock.”

“Who's there?” Steve asks reflexively.

“Eddie with some flowers,” Eddie says proudly, and then promptly bursts out laughing.

“Uhm...Eddie with some flowers who?”

“What?” Eddie looks confused.

“...what?” Steve asks, feeling as confused as Eddie looks.

Eddie brightens again a second later, “knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Steve asks again, cautious this time.

“Family Video.”

“Family video...who?”

“Family video not house!” Eddie declares, and then laughs uproariously.

From behind the counter, Robin Whispers, “what is happening?”

“I have...absolutely no idea,” Steve answers, right before Eddie starts again on another nonsensical knock knock joke.

There isn’t much that Eddie does that annoys Steve, to be fair, there’s not really anything. But this. By the time he gets home he’s had enough of Eddie’s one man comedy act. “Joyce,” he hisses down the phone desperately, “you don’t understand how shit they are; they don’t even mean anything.”

She has the audacity to laugh at him, “I remember the boys going through that phase. They both did it when they were...four? Maybe Jon was five.”

“How long does it last???”

“Oh, I don’t know, few months maybe, off and on?”

Steve, very gently, bangs his forehead against the wall.

Eddie’s holding a bunch of something pink and only, maybe, a tiny bit wilted. He’s bright eyed as he gets into the car, “Stevie, Chrissy say at me about a new thing. We can try?”

“Sure, baby, what is it?” Steve has the car in reverse, checking his mirrors as he pulls out of the spot.

“Blowjobs.”

Steve’s really pleased with how well he just...doesn’t react to that. Because, truthfully, he’s thought about it. He has. Really. But...well. Eddie’s teeth are sharp. And it’s not that Steve thinks Eddie would ever, ever hurt him on purpose, but that doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t have some, potentially, unresolved toe loss related trauma. And then there’s Eddie’s dick, and how...wriggly it is. How the end opens up and the...well. Just the whole thing, really.

“Stevie?”

“Why...are you and Chrissy talking about blowjobs?”

Eddie shrugs, “Chrissy not really like them, she ask if I liked them. I say I not try them. She said…” Eddie frowns, thinking, “she said, ‘you never get a blowjob?’ and got...angry sad? At Stevie?”

“Oh, she thought I was getting blowjobs but never giving you blowjobs?” Steve can, vaguely, feel his eye starting to twitch. He also can’t help but be fucking irritated with Chrissy, not only is it not her business, but he also can’t really be annoyed with her because...really if that’s what she was worried about, she is only sticking up for Eddie. He’s so naive, there’s no way Chrissy hasn’t picked up on just how innocent Eddie is, so Steve can't really blame her for thinking that anyone could take advantage of Eddie.

Even if it is fucking annoying.

“Yes, but I tell her no blow jobs at all. But we can try now, right?”

“Right. Right. Yeah. Sure. Uh hu.”

Eddie nods, “when we get home.”

“Right,” Steve says, with far more confidence than he feels.

“Stevie? Why not tell about blowjobs before?”

Steve hums, “just kind of...was saving it for a special occasion?” He tries desperately, he can’t look at Eddie as he speaks, keeping his eyes on the road, “didn’t want to go through all the good stuff too fast, you know?”

“Oh okay.”

Eddie limpets himself to Steve the second they’re over the threshold, demanding kisses, his fingers already exploring around Steve’s jeans button, “hang on hang on, couch or bed?”

“Couch,” Eddie answers easily, still kissing Steve as they walk awkwardly though the house. Steve sits, letting Eddie kneel between his legs, fumbling with his zipper.

And, the thing is, Steve really, genuinely believed he could do this. He trusts Eddie, he does. He loves Eddie, really, but he’s not even half hard when Eddie gets him out. And like Eddie...is, he tends to just go for things. Steve catches sight of the teeth and just...can’t. His hands are in Eddie’s way and he’s tucking himself away again before he can really think about it, “could we, maybe, leave this until...later?”

Eddie pouts, “want to try.”

“I just, I don’t want to do this right now, okay?” And the guilt Steve feels is a live thing. He remembers so clearly when he’d been frightened of Eddie’s dick, and how upset Eddie had been. That same fear raises it’s ugly head.

“But why? Chrissy tell me boys really like it-”

“I mean, I do. Kind of. But I just think we could...not do this.”

“But Chrissy say-”

“Jesus Christ Eddie.” Steve snaps, getting angry now. He’s not going to be prodded into doing something he just doesn’t want to do. Especially not by Chrissy Cunningham. “Since you’ve been working with her it’s been Chrissy this and Chrissy that, can’t you just, leave it? For once?” Steve gets up, needing to be away from this conversation.

“But why?”

“Because I just don’t want to, okay? Why don’t you go and ask Chrissy since she knows everything,” Steve snaps again, he knows he’s snapping, and it’s just making him angrier at himself for reacting this way, but he can’t seem to stop himself, defensiveness fueled by the guilt eating at him.

“Maybe,” Eddie says, hands on hips, frowning from the doorway.

“Go then. Go ask her what I should do about it.”

Eddie’s frown is nuclear now as he faces Steve across the kitchen, he tries to speak, half formed words at first, Eddie clearly struggling as he gets upset, “you think? You think?? You promise forever! Stee scared of Eddidie more! Eddidie different! Stee tell away!”

“You are though, you are different!” Steve knows he's wrong the second he says it. He knows Eddie well enough that saying that in anger is a cheap shot, and unforgivable low blow.

Eddie’s mouth pops open, shocked and affronted. He goes to speak but just...doesn’t. He turns and leaves...Steve hears the front door go.

“For fucks sake,” he sighs to himself, angry and upset with himself, the fight goes out of him as he’s swamped by guilt. Steve makes himself move to follow Eddie out. He opens the door just in time to watch Eddie pull the beemer out of the driveway, “oh fuck.”

“There’s pretty much only one place he would go, I think.” Steve tells Hopper, “so I’m pretty sure he will be there.”

Hopper hums from the drivers seat, “and what exactly did you two fight about?”

“I...well. I think this is one of those times where you don’t ask unless you’re really sure you want to know.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, there it is,” Steve breathes a massive sigh of relief, the beemer is parked near the florist. Tight to the curb too, a good parking job, and there’s not a single mark on her. The florists however, is shut for the day.

Steve bangs on the door, peering through the glass. It’s dark inside, but there’s some light shining through that little door in the back. Steve knocks on the glass again, and eventually Chrissy appears. She unlocks the door, immediately telling Steve, “he doesn’t want to see you.”

“Kid, can I go?” Hopper calls from where he’s half tucked the truck out of the way.

“Yeah,” Steve waves him off, turning back to Chrissy, “I need to apologize to him. Please.”

She scowls and makes a vague humphing noise at him, “fine,” Steve slips awkwardly through the gap Chrissy allows him, and once in she locks the door behind him. Steve follows her into the shop, “Eddie, I’m putting some stuff in the car out back, you come get me if you need me, okay?”

Steve comes around the doorway to see Eddie nodding sadly, he’s sitting in what must be their tiny break room. There’s two chairs and a beat up Formica top table, a little electric kettle on top of a under counter refrigerator. Eddie’s got a scrunched up wad of tissues in his hand where he’s clearly been crying.

“Hi Eddie,” Eddie fiddles with his tissues and keeps his eyes on his knees, not looking at Steve, so he pulls up the other chair, “I’m really sorry.” Eddie nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“I just,” Steve sighs, rubbing at his face roughly, “I did get scared okay? But I shouldn’t have...I should have just explained, I shouldn’t have shouted.”

Eddie nods, shredding the tissue, “I sorry too.”

“It’s...not you're fault. Not really. I just...Eddie, your teeth are really sharp you know, and my dick is...my dick. I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, okay, I know that but…”

“Chri-” Eddie bites it back, and stops speaking again.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that too. It’s good you have a friend okay? It’s good she’s...teaching you things I haven’t thought of. It’s…you can talk about Chrissy, it’s fine.”

“Chrissy say...no people should do anything they don’t want to. Especially with sex stuff...so Eddie a bit wrong,” he sniffles, “but she help me dig hole anyway.”

“What hole?”

“For your body. Dead soon, but that...kind of funny joke?”

Eddie says it in a way that means he did not find it funny at all, and Steve snorts a laugh, “yeah. Yeah, she’s a good friend.”

They sit in silence for another minute before Steve offers, “you did a really good job of parking the car...do you want to drive me home?”

“Yeah,” Eddie stands, and so does Steve, and then they both move in for a hug at the same time, Eddie desperately throwing his arms around Steve's shoulders and holding him as tight as he can.

Steve swears to himself he’s going to do better with this stuff, and lets himself nose at Eddie’s ear, his skin tickled by Eddie’s new curls.

Eddie answers the phone, “Harrington residence,” he says carefully.

Steve watches him frown for a second, before he says, “yes, wait please,” and then offers the phone to Steve, “doctors.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Steve takes the phone, confirming his address and date of birth, before the lady tells him his test results are ready to pick up.

He hangs up, and Eddie’s there, offering him a pen, “that your birthday?”

“I- yeah. Yeah it was.”

Eddie nods, “should be on calendar before, Stevie,” Eddie admonishes gently.

“Okay, I’ll do it now, and then we can go get my results, okay?”

Eddie nods, “no more condoms,” he says solemnly.

Steve snorts a startled laugh.

There’s a frantic banging on the front door, then the bell rings. The bell rings again before Steve can even clamber up off the couch. It’s Eddie and Chrissy, and they hustle into the house before Steve even has the door all the way open.

Steve’s already alarmed, he isn’t due to pick Eddie up for another hour at least, and Chrissy wouldn’t just close the store unless it was an emergency.

“What happened?”

“There was a man,” Chrissy explains a little breathless, “Eddie hid behind the counter the second he saw him, and I’m sure he didn’t see Eddie, I’m sure. But he was asking questions. If a young man worked at the store, weird things about Starcourt. I just kept telling him no Steve but- he’s definitely looking for Eddie.”

Steve feels a mounting sense of dread as she speaks, “Eddie, did you know him?”

Eddie nods, looking frightened, “Starcourt. When I was in tank.”

“Tank?” Chrissy pulls a face, “what tank?”

“Uhm,” Steve suddenly realizes that Chrissy maybe shouldn’t be here for this part, Steve definitely needs to call Hopper, “Chrissy, thank you, but maybe you should go-”

“Absolutely not. Not if Eddie’s in trouble-”

“Okay, but the thing is-”

“Steve.” Chrissy huffs, “I know, okay?”

“You know...what?”

“I don’t know!” She flails a little, “I don’t know what I don’t know! But I do know that Eddie had never heard of the moon landing! He didn’t know that the guy on the five dollars is Abraham Lincoln! He didn’t know that other languages exist and he certainly can’t speak anything other than English even though, according to you,” she pokes Steve in the chest, “he should be able to speak Finnish! And he can’t!”

She’s getting worked up now, and Steve finds himself taking a step back, his hands up in defeat. For a tiny cheerleader, Chrissy’s kind of scary.

“He can find one bug in a delivery of a hundred stems Steve! And do you know how, he told me he can hear them! Hear them! I’ve watched him trim anything from daises to roses to full on sunflowers with his thumbnails Steve! He can cut baler twine with them. And don’t get me started on the florist wire, do you know what he does with that? He just straight up fucking bites through it!” Chrissy gets louder and pinker the longer she rants.

“He came to work with a mashed potato sandwich, like that's normal!! His tears are fucking brown! Brown! Those fingernails, that’s not polish, they’ve never been chipped, not once, they just grow that way, right? And I might be a blonde cheerleader but I am not stupid. So no. Okay, no. I don’t know what Eddie is. But I do know he’s my godamn best friend and if he’s in trouble, I want to help, okay?”

She’s all bright eyed and kind of breathless, and just a little terrifying. Eddie’s got his hands up in front of himself, nervously pulling at the threads of his cuffs, eyes big and worried as they slide back and forth between Steve and Chrissy.

Steve sighs, “okay. Okay. We can explain, but I just...I need to make a call first.”

Part TwentyEight

[pastelsugar6w6]

thinking about how, when they're separated from the hobbits, between Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli it's two bros and the third wheel. Legolas has probably known Estel since he was a child and watched him grow up. They're very close friends if not practically brothers. I can absolutely see him fucking with Gimli by speaking Elvish to Aragorn but purposefully making it sound like he's talking shit about Gimli. And Aragorn will tell him Legolas is just talking about the weather but how can Gimli know? How does he know Aragorn is telling the truth?? He can't understand what's being said and Legolas has this shit-eating grin on his face every time

and contrarily Legolas sounds dead serious, almost angry, as he asks Aragorn in Elvish if he thinks Gimli will like some flowers he found by the river and if it would be too forward of him to ask if he can braid them into his beard

[aliwritex]

more age gap, alonso!reader x daniel (i don’t love this but it’s alright) it’s filthy 18+

"Fuck, need you now"

Trying not to fail every single class, you had decided to only go tho one Grand Prix a month, but, God, was it killing you. You could not thing about anything else when you were away and Daniel didn't help at all. He was always texting you something provocative, asking for pictures or sending you some of himself. You had missed the Canadian and Austrian GPs, meaning you hadn't seen each other in about five weeks till Daniel convinced you to go to Silverstone.

And now you were in his hotel suite, straight out of the airport, topless with your back pressed against the wall.

“Good to know i’m not the only desperate one” he said as he picked you up from the ground, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist, and took you to the bedroom.

Daniel sat down on the edge of the bed, a rough kiss connected your lips as you pushed his back down onto the mattress but he was quick to flip you over, hands pressing your wrists onto it. You groaned into his mouth at the agressive motion making him pull away. He could feel the goosebumps forming on your skin as he started kissing down your neck, then your chest, and left a kiss right under your ribcage, the spot he knew would make you squirm. Daniel went even lower, stopping at the band of your sweats that hung low on your hips, he bit at it teasingly before making his way back up, his nose and plump lips brushing against thin material of your bra. His hands finally let go of your wrists when he took then to your chest, pulling your bra down to reveal your boobs, your nipples almost hurting as they met the cold air of the room but that was quickly taken care of by his mouth that wrapped around the left one as his hand cupped the other one.

The way his hands looked so big on your body made you lose your mind every time, God, he could fit both your breasts in one hand if he wanted to. Your hands made their way to his head, fingers tangling into his hair and pushing your chest onto his face, he only pulled away when he ran out of breath, looking up at you, his eyes so intoxicating you let out a sigh. His hands reached behind your back, unhooking your bra before standing up to take it off. You watched as he took the oportunity to slip your sweats off too and kneeled to the ground.

"Why do you make this feel more inapropriate than it is?" he sighed when he saw your underwear. It was obvious that you had picked them out porpously, they were covered in tiny pink flowers and had a bow right on top, the look of fake inocence getting to him.

"I don't know what you're talking about" you teased, earning a slap to the side of your thigh, one that made you gasp out of surprise.

Daniel shook his head in disaproval, his lips and nose brushing agaisnt your thigh in the process. He had his hands on your calves as he sat back on his ankles, starting to kiss up your inner thigh.

"Dan, please" whined, legs crossing behind his back to pull him closer.

"God, I forgot how damn impatient you are" He notted before kneeling up and hooking his arms under your legs.

His kisses got higher and closer to where you needed him most, till he finally kissed your clit through your thin underwear and his fingers circled at the growing wet spot on it. The anticipation had gotten you extremely sensitive, even the scratching of his beard to your skin sending goosebumps all over your body. He smiled at your reactions, loving to tease you and watch your squirming body beg for more. Daniel finally took his hands to the band of your underwear, pulling it down slowly till they hit your feet, you had gotten so wet in the past minutes that your cunt was glistening, right in front of his face, a view so irresistible that he had to dive in immidiately.

You could hear the relief in the sigh that left your mouth when his tongue finally met you, leaving small licks directly to your clit. His arms were spreading you apart as he took the nub between his lips and into his mouth, the small action making you throw your had back into the matress. Daniel wanted tease you and push you to your limits but in seconds his tongue was lapping at your cunt like it was his last meal. The taste, the smell and the feel of you making his pants grow tighter by the second, he needed you on him but he knew from previous experience that you would never be able to take him without preparation so he started poking your hole with his finger. By the time his digit made it in you were ready for more, the second one joined it shortly after, both his fingers spreading you open.

When he started curling his fingers all Daniel could hear were your sweet little moans getting louder as you aproached your high. He could feel it coming just as much as you, the clenchung around his fingers and the tensing of your legs giving it up. Your hands that had previously been grabing at the sheets above you dropped to his hair again, the tugging making him groan onto you. At that point, the vibrations of the groan being enough to tip you over the egde and make you come around his fingers, clenching so tight that he could barely move them.

"Fuck" you sighed.

Daniel smiled cockly, his ego going through the roof when he was with you. "C'mon, ass up, wanna see you arch f’me"

You quickly obeyed him, flipping on your stomach and lifting your ass up on your knees, arching your back as much as you could and burying your face in the pillow in front of you. Daniel almost groaned at the sight, realizing this was his favorite position to fuck you in. You questioned his presence fading away behind you till he showed up in your vision field, already stripped out of his pants and reaching for a condom in the drawer next to the bed. You felt yourself clench in anticipation as he made his way back to you, the seconds that took him to put on protection felt like ages and it drove you insane but it was all worth it when his tip finally poked at you.

Groans left both of your mouths as you let the feeling you had been waiting for weeks take over your bodies. Daniel starts moving slowly, watching as your cunt struggled to take him, it was always a stretch but you managed it beautifuly. He swore that was one of the prettiest views in the world, you taking him from behind. In a matter of minutes he was slamming into you, so hard that it made your body jolt forward with every thrust. His hands were tightly gripping your waist, pulling your body back to his as yours tried to grasp at the pillows above you.

You suddenly felt his body fold over your own, his chest sticking to your back with the layer of sweat that covered your bodies. One of his hands reaching up to take yours as his lips met your neck. His mouth worked the spot behind your ear that he knew to drive you insane, kissing and nibbling on it. You felt all your thoughts slipping out of your mind as his hips snapped against yours, mouth agape, sounds coming from the back of your throat. Daniel could feel the vibrations of your vocal cords as he kissed your neck and slowly made his way to your lips, capturing your own in a sloppy and messy kiss. You groaned into it, driving him insane.

“You feel so good, darling. So tight” he whispered in your ear before pulling away.

The praise and the change of position made you groan louder, the noises leaving your mouth uncontrollably. Daniel took his hand around your hip and to your clit, two of his long fingers circling it. A moan escaped his lips when it made your walls clench around him. You were unbelievably close again, the pleasure building up quickly inside of you, down your stomach and up your insides as his cock stroked them deliciously. You would’ve warned him about it if you could have formed a sentence but he was fucking you so good, all the words slipped out of your mind so all that could come out of your mouth as you came were moans and whines of his name. Your hips were about to collapse onto the bed but he held you up.

“C’mon, love, hold on just a little more f’me.” he whispered to your ear, his body folded over yours again as he snapped his hips a few last times before coming. “Fuck, there you go.”

He slipped out almost immediately, letting you flop on your side as he laid in front of you. Daniel watched you come back from your fucked out state, your breathing getting steadier, lips closing and body relaxing completely. You wanted to admire him too but you felt so tired and you couldn’t keep your eyes open if you wanted to. He placed a kiss to your forehead before getting up and waking way. The man came back a few moments later, dressed in boxers and holding two water bottles in his hands.

“You should go to the bathroom before you sleep” he suggested, handing you the water.

You knew he was right so you collected all the strength you had left in your body and walked into the bathroom. After cleaning up you washed your face, catching how the traveling had dried out your skin, and made your way into the bedroom again.

“Is there any chance you have a face moisturizer? my skin is so dead after the plane and mine is in my room.” you asked Daniel, that was already under the covers on his phone, he nodded.

��That one over there” he pointed at a small bag on top of his suitcase and gestured for you to take it to him.

You grabbed it, taking the opportunity to pull one of his shirts out too. You sat with your legs crossed beside him and put it on as he looked for the cream in the bag.

“Didn’t know you did skincare”

“I don’t, the thing is full” he handed it to you “you can have it if you like it.” Daniel watched as you put the lotion on your face before taking a bit more from the pot and spreading it on his own. The action took him by surprise but he didn’t stop you. “Is that a way of telling me that maybe a should use it?” he laughed.

“Just making your money worthwhile. This thing is not cheap”

§

The weekend went like that. Your Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights spent in his room after his long and exhausting days of work. You found it unbelievable how he could fuck you so hard after such a physically demanding job, especially being thirty something, almost forty.

On Sunday, however, your dad asked you to go to dinner with him, – some papa-hija time that he longed for – so you shouldn’t be seeing Daniel that night.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy time with your dad, you did, truly, but after he asked you about school, your mom and home there was nothing really left except for the race. And all that talk did was make you think about Daniel, what he was doing, when he was leaving, if you’d been seeing each other again before the next race you attended. You thought you might burst into flames if you actually spent two months without having his cock inside you.

“Papá, será mejor que me vaya. Estoy en un vuelo a las dos de la mañana, así que espero poder llegar an mis conferencias de la tarde.” dad, i better leave. i'm on a two am flight, so i can hopefully still make it to my afternoon lectures. You told him after finishing your drink.

"Sí, probablemente deberías irte. ¿Quieres que te lleve de vuelta al hotel?" Yeah, you should probably go. Do you want a ride back to the hotel? You shook your heaad, telling him there was no need. "Entonces me quedo a tomar algo, buenas noches mi hija." Then im staying for a drink, good night he said, standing up to kiss you good night.

"Buenas noches, papá, te quiero. Nos vemos pronto." night, dad, love you. See you soon You told him into the hug.

""Yo también te quiero. Envía un mensaje cuando aterrices." love you too. text when you land.

You nodded, already making your way out. You got into one of the taxis around the restaurant and gave them your adress before picking up your phone to text Daniel.

im leaving at two

need to kill some time

His response took only a few minutes

I can think of a few things

good, im coming over, was your answer.

In minutes you were back at the hotel, knocking in his door. It only took a couple seconds for him to open it.

"Don't you look nice? Were you out?" he asked, making way for you to walk in.

"Why do you care?" you teased before throwing your bag on the couch and quite literally atacking his lips.

Daniel didn't miss a beat and caught you in his arms, holding you up and taking you to his bed for what could possibly be the thousandth time that week. That night was somewhat rushed and desperate, hands grasping at each other, messy kisses and tangled sheets. You lost count of how many times he made you cum in the span of less than two hours before quieting down and curling up behind you. Your sleep was cut short, however, by your need to leave.

You tried to slip out of bed without waking him up at mignight but as he mentioned on your second encounter, he was a cuddler. A strong and heavy one. He startled awake when your legs untangled from his, his eyes catching your figure in the dark as you put on your skirt and the hoodie he was wearing when you got there.

"Hey" he spoke softly, making you turn to him "There're some clothes that you left here the other nights." he started to get up

"Don't need to get up, where are they?" you tried to stop him but he was already putting his sweats back on.

"No, who's gonna drive you to the airport?" he asked and turned the light on so he could make his way to the closet where he put your forgotten clothes.

"I was gonna take a taxi"

"Then let me drive you" he insisted

"Fine"

[abiiors]

cherry // ross macdonald x reader

valentine's week - day 1: secret admirer

a/n: before you say anything, yes there will be a part 2 that's literally just a nasty fuck fest. i just wanted to get the plot bits out of the way and it got way too long as you can see. cw: age gap (10-12 years), highkey ooc, incredibly self-indulgent btw, ummm kinda dom/sub? hand kink, kinda corruption kink also wc: 7.8k

it’s been twenty minutes that they’re all sat in this room—concrete walls, a little like matty’s house honestly, simple furniture and minimalist decor. it feels anything but sparse though—there��s the mic guy and the cameraman and a few assistants. there’s the host, a cheery, fresh faced woman dressed to the nines. but ross can’t stop staring. which is a problem because he really should stop staring and focus on his actual job. except the girl in front of him is distraction personified. 

next to him matty babbles on about the cultural and political significance of their latest album—all interesting, thoughtful stuff. ross, however, stares at the girl transcribing it all. and that’s what she is really, a girl. all softness and innocence, gently rolling the end of a pencil between her perfectly pink lips in a room full of lecherous men. unaware. aloof. or maybe he’s projecting. maybe he’s the lecherous one for staring at a girl who’s most definitely in her early twenties; at the pencil between her lips, at her cherry red dress.

every now and then she pulls the pencil away from her mouth and scribbles a few notes—something in neat, curving handwriting that is a little too far for him to read properly. every once in a while she also types something on her laptop, long, painted nails clacking so softly on the keyboard that the mic probably won’t pick up any of the sounds. 

on her notepad, ross can see little doodled flowers—a bit janky and uneven petals, underneath it she’s doodled a box. thin, pencil lines tracing the same shape over and over again until the paper almost rips. 

he tries not to be so obvious—tries not to stare at her face so much, at the curve of her cheek and the long lashes almost touching it, at the sharp line of her jaw, and the claw clip holding her hair up and out of her face. a few strands escape though, blowing gently against the air blasting from the aircon. 

he tries to keep his attention back on the interview. and he tries to give himself little goals—he can only look at her if matty says a certain word. he can only look at her every time the host laughs—all trivial stuff that goes out the window every time she shifts in her seat and he catches the movement from the corner of his eye. 

more than a few times, he catches her staring back—big eyes lingering right on his face with a distinctly interested expression. every time it happenes, he straightens a bit more and runs his hands through his neatly trimmed beard. 

the girl follows the movement with her eyes and ross wonders what she makes of him. 

“ross?” someone calls out for him. the host stares, expectant, and he stifles the urge to curse. searching his memory for the question that was just asked is useless; it’s not like he was listening to a word that was said in the last two minutes. but now everyone’s eyes are on him and the collar of his shirt feels tighter than it is. his cheeks grow warmer but ross laughs it off. 

“yeah, agree with what matty said,” he replies quickly and clears his throat. he has no idea what matty said last but the host seems satisfied and moves on to the next question. the girl looks up at him again and quickly presses her lips together. still, he sees the slight quirk of them, almost like she’s trying to stifle a smile or a laugh. 

this time he stares back just a bit longer, meets her eyes with intention and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge; just to see if she’d keep staring so blatantly. her eyes widen a fraction and the pencil stills on her lips. her teeth graze its end and almost dent her soft lip. 

ross sees the movement of her iris, unsure where to look. she fidgets in her seat, shifting again and crossing her legs. then she averts her eyes entirely and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.

“your head’s in the fucking clouds,” george deadpans the moment they step outside on the balcony. there’s already a cigarette dangling between his fingers and smoke curls around his head. 

ross groans. “haven’t slept properly.”

it’s not exactly a lie. he was up pretty late last night but ross lights a cigarette of his own if only to avoid looking at george. they stand there in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the smoke settle into their lungs and blowing it out. matty’s boisterous laugh floats outside and ross thinks back to the shitshow of an interview. 

there’s a reason he hates doing these, there’s a reason matty always speaks on all of their behalf. but ross knows big publications want all four of them and it’s good to create hype and get the fans excited. and he knows it’s just necessary—

the balcony door open with a creek. 

at first, ross doesn’t turn. it’s probably adam who’s bored of the conversation or matty who’s managed to escape it but out of the corner of his eye, he sees george turn around and straighten imperceptibly. 

and so he follows suit. 

the girl clears her throat. “uh… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” there’s a slight tremor in her voice and she looks up quickly from george to ross. she’s shorter than he’d realised before, only coming up to the base of his throat, fucking tiny compared to him and george and he pointedly ignores what it does to his brain to see her staring up at him, craning her neck just to meet his eyes. 

“ross…mr macdonald. sir.” she comes to a stop in front of him, all wide-eyed and flustered and calling him sir for fucks sake. he can almost feel the laugh george is trying to hold in. this isn’t the first time a nervous fan’s approached them and he’s had far weirder interaction. still he plans to smack george later for making him lose his composure

“just ross,” he corrects on autopilot then gestures for her to continue. he expects the usual—a selfie or autograph on a vinyl. to his surprise she holds up a phone in front of him and ross almost gapes before reigning it in. 

“your phone,” she says. “you left it on the set.”

quickly, he taps his back pocket and feels nothing. 

up close, he can see the tiny smudge of mascara under her eyelashes and the precise shade of red on her lips. up close he can smell her perfume too—sweet and warm, something that definitely suits her. 

the girls stares up at him expectantly, still holding out his phone. 

“thanks,” he mumbles, voice almost gruff and takes his phone back. his hand brushes her for just a moment—the pad of his finger against the back of her hand. but ross swears he feels a little jolt. quickly, she drops her hand and looks at his chest. 

“you’re welcome,” she says and this time her voice is a bit steadier than before. he’s about to ask her more. anything to make her talk more when george steps forward. 

“thank you, darling,” he says and gives her a winning smile, “he would have made us all search for it later.” 

the girl blushes furiously under all the attention, trying to maintain her bravado from before. ross stifles the urge to roll his eyes but takes the time to quickly look at her again. her hair’s down now, falling over her shoulders and hiding half her neck that was exposed to him before. he has the sudden and visceral urge to touch it, to run his fingers through it and tug on the strands until her chin tilts up to him. until she’s looking right at him. 

what the actual fuck is wrong with him!

he steps back and takes a deep drag of his cigarette untilt he smoke burns, until his eyes water. the girl nods and stammers a goodbye. then she quickly scurries back inside. 

george snorts and ross shoots him a death glare. 

“head in the fucking clouds,” george singsongs under his breath and puts out the rest of his cigarette. then before ross has the chance to respond, he opens the balcony door and disappears inside. 

ross stays back on the balcony and groans in his hands. then he lights another cigarette.

there’s a rot in his brain, gnawing at his neurons and eating through the organ until everything is replaced by a single image of her sucking on the end of her pencil absentmindedly. ross has been through this scenario a dozen times now. it was fine when he was busy, staving the thought away by replacing it with work related things. 

a million things he’s got on his schedule…

but in the comfort of his home, his bedroom, he can’t stop picturing the hollow of her throat—delicate and unmarred skin in direct contrast to her dress, her voice calling him sir. god, she’d even looked at him like a fucking fawn—all wide-eyed and unsure. he would have fucking loved to trace his finger over her bottom lip right then, if only to steal a sweet sound of surprise right out of her. 

he’s going straight to hell for this, straight to the fiery pits for doing what he’s about to do. 

ross props himself up on the pillows, delaying the inevitable, or trying to at least. but the ache in him won’t subside, the throbbing between his legs, the dizziness as all his blood rushes south. the tent in his joggers taunting him as if he were a teenager in heat. he groans. the sound echoes around the room. 

shame courses through him, already overshadowed by the heat that flows through his veins at the speed of lightning. 

he needs to stop thinking about her, this girl who he has barely said two words to. maybe this is how he gets her out of his system. instinctively, his hand creeps towards his thighs. 

he wastes no time dipping a hand in his pants, the other arm supports his head; nothing he hasn’t done a million times since he hit puberty. somehow this feels more electric than ever before. 

ross palms himself, eyes fluttering close and muscles pulled taut. he’s aware of everything—from the stretch of his soft cotton t-shirt against his skin, to his head touching the bedframe. he needs to keep what little sanity he has left, trying to sort through all the depraved and deviant thoughts racing through his mind. what would she have done if she could read his thoughts, if she could see him like this—a mess at the mere thought of her? would she kneel down and crawl towards him, hunger clearly written all over her face, her big eyes hooded with lust. 

ross groans loudly, letting out a string of curses, imagining that it’s her hand wrapped around him—small and inexperienced. stroking him up and down with unsurely; long, tentative, languid strokes making his head swim with deluded thoughts. 

his cock is painfully hard. ross knows for a fact that he’s never wanted to fuck someone with this intensity before, never before has his brain reverted to its most basic instinct like this.

thoughts of taking her all over his house makes him fuck his fist faster and faster. gone are the gentle, sensual strokes from before, now his hips buck as he thrusts into his hand. his mind plays a slideshow of made up images—her bent over on his kitchen island, the marble biting into her hips as he pounds into her. he would speak the dirtiest and filthiest words to her as he watches her squirming with want; her pussy swollen and wet. his brain conjoures up the phantom feel of her silky tresses between his fingers, gripped tightly in his hands. 

ross chokes out a gasp that turns into a broken moan. 

this is wrong, this is so wrong and sinful and every other synonym there is for it yet his mind refuses to move on from her. rather, it conjures up more images—her jaw slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she rides him at her own pace, figuring it out along the way. he would flip her at the last second, of course, looming over her like a dominating presence, wrenching another orgasm from her after she’s already cum on his tounge, his hand, his stomach. but she would let go for him again. she would do anything to be his good girl. 

his pumps grow rougher and more erratic, gasps leaving his mouth, echoing around the room. 

fuck. fuck. fuck. 

ross wonders if she’s doing the exact same thing he is, hand buried between her thighs, his name spilling out from her perfect lips. he wonders if that would absolve him of his guilt, his shameless act. it’s the thought of her soft sounds that tips him over the edge until he cums so hard, his vision goes black.

his strokes slow down, back to slow and sensual as he watches his cum flow out of him; milky white ropes splashed on his stomach, on his thigh. his hand is a mess, the tissues he had tried to grab at the last second are nowhere near enough to contain all of it. 

with her, ross wouldn’t need any of that. he would fill her up with his cum, fucking it into her, watching it drip out of her mixed with her own release, making a mess of her thighs that he could clean with his tongue. 

fuck it. he was damned already. he might as well enjoy the ride. 

somewhere in this city, she has no clue about all the dark and wretched things ross wants to do to her. and maybe he could get her out of his mind now, have her out of his system. 

he could just as easily fuck someone tomorrow. and someone else the day after. 

yes. yes, that’s what he should do. he should forget about the girl he’s known for less than twenty-four hours. that’s what he should do. 

he settles on it too, making a mental note to text one of his old flings who might still be in the city. he feels very strongly about his resolve too. the interview is done, he’s likely never seeing her again. 

until she shows up at the studio the morning after.

the day starts like any other. he drives up to the studio, one of the assistants tells him that the band will be shadowed for a magazine profile—some prolific publication that’s going to document their entire process ahead of the release. he doesn’t worry about it too much, talking is matty’s job. sometimes george chimes in. ross and adam speak only as a last resort. 

besides he has his to-do list cut out for him. 

last night—the entire day really—was a momentary distraction. now he’s back on track and focused. the track playing on his headphones is all he is thinking about. all he should be thinking about. until jordan taps him on the shoulder. 

“need you for a few photos, mate. and the magazine people are here,” he turns around to leave, almost walks up to the door too then turns back to ross to mouth something. someone new! followed by a waggle of his eyebrows. 

ross shakes his head, sets his things aside and walks out with jordan. 

everyone’s out in the lobby, and ross hears matty laugh before he sees him. then he hears another familiar laugh and turns the corner to a familiar face. he knows tobias, who shakes his hand and gives him a friendly pat on the back. he’s met tobias before—the man is soft spoken and has a keen ear for good music, a quality ross admires and the thought of him documenting their recording process makes him happy. 

tobias goes around making the rounds, hugging george and joking with the sound engineers. then he stops and turns to look at them. 

“oh i almost forgot!” he claps his hands together, “need to introduce to a fresh face.”

behind tobias, ross catches a movement. and it’s then that everything around him fades away instantly. 

there is no mistaking it. it’s her. it’s the girl, stepping out a bit unsurely from behind her boss and smiling tentatively at the room. he observes how she doesn’t look at him—no, rather she doesn’t look at anyone, cleverly staring at a spot just near them. but never direct eye contact and never more than a few seconds.

unlike yesterday, she’s in a simple jeans and a t-shirt—grey with a faded queen logo on it—but it fits her like a glove regardless. and when she introduces herself in a lilting voice, ross feels his thoughts from yesterday threaten to make a comeback. 

this cannot be happening… behaving like a horny teenager once was enough. he doesn’t need her working here and being close to him constantly, doesn’t need her to constantly be a presence in his thoughts. thoughts that are already way too focussed on the way her eyes light up after seeing him. it’s a trick of the light and nothing else. he’s sure of it.  

she introduces herself—her name, the fact that she’s here to transcribe and take notes and assist tobias. she tells them she really liked their last album and that it was her introduction to them. matty teases her about not being a fan and she blushes deeply, barely making eye contact with him. 

ross, in a world of his own, burns with irrational jealousy. of course, it would be matty who makes her blush and gets her to open up. matty’s a flirt—charming and confident and knows how to get people to come out their shells, even the shy ones it seems. in contrast ross feels about as subtle as a boulder. 

but she seems slightly relaxed after that conversation, even throwing him a look once (and only once) when he plucks on his bass string a bit too loud. ross doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day though, not a single time. no matter how tempting it is. even when she’s buried deep in her transcripts, murmuring to herself and listening to a recording of something adam said over and over again. 

even when she crosses and uncrosses her legs, sucks on the end of her pencil again—clearly a habit, he’s come to realise. not when she stretches and the hem of her t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of smooth skin and the hints of cherry coloured lace. not even when she asks him where the espresso machine is. 

the rest of the day ross spends hunched over his bass, glowering at the floor. and he doesn’t manage to focus even once.

day two he’s in the studio bright and early, gasping for some very strong coffee after tossing and turning the whole night (quite honestly, he’s gasping for something stronger but it’s 8 am and becoming an alcoholic now is not an option) 

every time he closed his eyes, his brain would haunt him with images of soft skin and lips caught between teeth and sucking on the end of a pencil. every time his brain sent his body’s supply of blood to one organ and one organ alone and ross has had enough of it. 

starting today he’s focused. he’s serious! 

that is until he walks into the tiny kitchen and sees her on her toes, stretching and struggling to get a coffee mug down. a red one. the same one she’d used yesterday. with some amusement, he also notices that there are at least two mugs near the coffee machine—one plain black and one with a swirly pattern. but she hasn’t cast either of them a single glance. 

she’s stubborn, someone who knows what she wants.

shamelessly, he staggers to a stop at the threshold, watching her lean against the counter and wiggle her fingertips in the air as if that would magically summon the mug. her calf muscles are pulled taut and visible in the dress she’s wearing. each time she stretches, he sees a flash of her thighs. 

his fingers twitch by his sides, desperate to what what it would feel like to drag his knuckles against the inside of her thigh, trailing them up and up and up until he reaches her hip. how she would react if he pinched the skin between his fingers, if he marked it with his teeth. 

“need some help?” in the early morning stillness of the kitchen, his voice comes out a bit too loud and a moment later she startles, whipping her head to look at him and hand coming up to her thudding chest. 

“christ!” she gasps loudly, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at him properly. “ross–shit! sorry, you scared me a bit is all.”

he can’t help the way his eyes linger on her face—big, wide eyes and scarlet mouth parted open as she blows out a breath. when he starts walking towards her, she stays in her spot, practically transfixed on him as he comes closer. ross stops right in front of her, their bodies so close that another inch and he would be pressing into her, or rather pushing her body back against the kitchen counter. with some satisfaction, he also realises how he towers over her—almost a head taller and practically twice her size. 

her breath catches in her throat when he reaches for the mug, pulling it out and setting it next to her. but he makes no move to step back, not until she finally looks up at him instead of just staring at his chest. 

her throat moves, her pupils dilate. almost as if she’s doing it involuntarily, she quickly looks at his lips and back into his eyes. 

for perhaps the hundredth time, he’s blown away by how beautiful she is, how fucking perfect. and everything he’s thought about her comes rushing back to him, all the times he’s pictured her mouth and her hand, her soft sounds and the feel of her hair between his fingers. his train of thought runs him over so thoroughly that ross actually staggers back a bit, averting his gaze and pointing at the mug. 

he has to wait a beat and clear his throat before he can speak. 

“there.”

“thank you…” she trails off unsurely, voice barely above a whisper. “did you want some too? i was just about to brew some fresh coffee.”

all he can do is nod. and when she moves around the room, getting other things out and making coffee, all he can do is watch.

by day ten, they talk a few more times, each time being interrupted by someone or the other—first it’s tobias, assigning her frankly trivial tasks (in ross’ opinion anyway) that she agrees to happily. then it’s matty coming over to shamelessly flirt with her which honestly makes ross want to deck him with his bass even though he knows it’s harmless. 

but at least with matty she opens up slightly—telling him she’s been working for tobias for almost two years now and that it’s her first adult job. ross finds out that she’s not from london, instead she shares a flat with a friend. 

day ten is also when she stays at the studio much later than anyone else, even when the skies outside darken and turn grey and flashes of lighting burst through every few minute. ross watches her anxiously stare out the window once it starts drizzling a little before she buries herself into work again, sorting through the video and audio footage of that day and making her notes that tobias seems to praise so much. 

and so ross does the same, putting on his headphones and focusing of the actual music instead of the tip of her nails digging into her jaw, creating slight crescent moons. this time, he even manages to stay focused for ten whole minutes until he hears unsure footsteps walking towards him. 

ross looks up at her, nervously playing with the ring on her index finger and takes off his headphones. 

“you need anything?”

she shrugs, looking at him and then around him briefly. “yeah i just needed a little break from work and, uh… barely anyone else seems to be here?”

barely anyone. he’d rather there was no one here at all. and even then, the urge to seduce her into the little soundproof recording booth weighs strongly on him. it would be just him and her and the tiny cramped space and all her sounds would belong to him and only him—

“ross?” he jerks back to her looking expectantly at him before her eyes widen. “uness you’re busy, i don’t want to be a bother. sorry.”

he quickly dismisses her apology, motioning for the chair opposite him before ross smirks at her. “so you’d like to sit there and stare at me huh?” 

he feels a little evil for enjoying the way she sputters, trying to come up with a retort or just plain denial or whatever else but he gets a little distracted by the faint red tinge to her face…

what else would make her blush like that? he can think of a few thing for sure.

“what? no! no, i just…” she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to gather her bearings. “i like watching you work.”

oh that’s certainly interesting. 

“just me? not the others?”

“uh, well.” she leans back in her chair slightly, getting a bit more comfortable than before and catching her bottom lip betweem her teeth for a second. just long enough for ross to go entirely rigid. 

“you’re really still when you work,” she continues, “it’s quite calming.” 

oh he’s still alright. if only so he won’t give into the urge of constantly looking at her and following her every move with his eyes like some creep. he has to stay still if he needs to stop himself from going to up to her to try and flirt and like matty does, when he will inevitably end up making a fool out of himself. 

but she’s entirely unaware of his inner conundrum. she’s all too absorbed in her analysis of the band.

“matty bounces and paces around and it makes me slightly nervous. i like watching george when he’s on the drums or the piano but lately he’s been doing more production work so he’s always on his laptop and well, that’s slightly… boring”

“boring?!” he laughs sharply. “i should tell george that.” 

and then he finds it even more amusing when her eyes widen and she scrambles to backpeddle. there’s nothing to salvage it though. so she just sighs in defeat. 

“you wouldn’t! would you?” she looks at him with those big, round eyes and juts out her bottom lip and fuck! she could ask him to sign over half his possessions right now and he would say yes. 

“no,” ross laughs again, softer this time. “your secret’s safe with me.”  

this time he sets the bass aside, all pretenses of work gone as he leans back on the sofa, one arm behind his head. “what about adam? why not him” 

she contemplates her answer for a bit before speaking. “i don’t think he likes other people watching him, he looks a bit uncomfortable.” 

“love, half our job hinges on other people watching us…”

“no, not like that!” she straightens, gesticulating wildly, “not when you’re playing songs you’ve already played hundreds of times. i’m talking about when he’s experimenting and writing new stuff. i don’t think he likes to be watched then.” 

and once again ross is impressed by her astute observation skills. he knows how young she is—younger than him by a decade, yet here she is, reading his best friend of twenty years perfectly in just ten days. 

so he leans forward, properly interested now and scans her face for a bit, trying to get a proper read of her, of what she might say next. “and is that what you like to do? watch people?” 

“sometimes,” she shrugs, “when i find them really interesting.” 

“so you find me really interesting.”

he expects her to blush and stutter again. it is a bold statement after all and yet again she surprises him. “yeah… yes, i do.” 

this time she’s the one with her eyes roaming over his face, maybe a bit over his arms too (something he observes with an immense level of satisfaction) and the way they strain against his t-shirt. 

“good,” he smiles. “now i know i’m not the only one dying to know more about you…”

he tries not to flirt with her too directly but they talk. he tries not to ask anything and everything all at once and freak her out before she’s entirely comfortable with him but with every question she relaxes even more, leans forward and places her chin in the palm of her hand while he’s explaining something inconsequential about his bass. 

it’s only the muscle memory that keeps him going when the strap of her top slides away and a sliver of lace peaks out. 

his fingers still on the strings and she frowns. “no, play! i like the way your fingers move.”

the words slip out before she even realises it. in fact, it doesn’t dawn on her until he freezes completely and she goes bright red!

“i– no, that’s– i didn’t–”

but ross laughs it away, if only so he won’t fucking dwell on it until his head feels like it’s going to explode. 

“let’s go outside for a bit,” he offers and she accepts gratefully. 

the air on the balcony is cool—the sort of breeze before a thunderstorm—and he’s itching for a cigarette. ross looks at her again as she stares out at the trees outside, swaying with the wind. one strong gust and she shivers. her skin erupts in goosebumps. 

“you’re cold.”

she quickly shakes her head. “it’s fine, it’s so nice outside. i don’t mind that much.”

he wishes he was wearing some kind of a jacket that he could give her. the though of her in his clothes does something absolutely primal to him to the point where he has to physically stop himself from grabbing her by the waist and kissing her till she’s dizzy and moaning in his mouth. and she doesn’t help matters by moving a little closer to him, until they’re almost touching, until her arm is almost pressed up against his chest. 

“you’re cold,” he says again, voice tinged with roughness but she clicks her tongue. 

“‘s alright. you’re warm.”

“am i?” he chuckles deeply and takes a hold of her by her arm. “come here then. have a cigarette with me.”

it’s about as bold as he’s been with her. she whips her head up to look at him, and ross doesn’t miss the way her gaze dips to his mouth. just for a moment, maybe even half a second until she quickly looks away and at his chest. 

“i don’t… i don’t smoke.”

“ever?”

that makes her giggle. “no ross. i don’t smoke. ever.”

he wants to say something but the words don’t come out easily. the palm of his hand feels electric just from touching her arm, just from being so close to her. and the breeze all around them makes it impossible to escape her sweet perfume.  

“i’m not opposed to trying though,” she continues shyly and ross quirks an eyebrow. 

“you could try with me…”

“i’d like that.” he studies her face for a moment, looks at her big eyes staring up at him with a mix of sincerity and interest. 

“do you know what to do?”

she mulls it over for a moment, pinching her lips together until they’re in a kissy pout. “sure, i’ve seen people do it. i’ve seen you do it.”

“have you now?”

“mmhmm, seems easy enough.”

so ross pulls out a fresh one from the pack and places it between her lips. his finger grazes her bottom lip, the touch electrifying, making him linger there until her gaze dips to his mouth again and a light flush covers her face. she shivers again and steps even closer to him than before. 

“should i light it then?”

she nods tentatively, and ross flicks the lighter on. the flame wavers, almost goes out until he shields it with his palm and brings it up to her mouth. the fire casts a warm glow on her face, in her eyes. and she’s somehow even more breathtaking than he’s ever imagined. 

once the cigarette lights, she takes an unsure inhale and breaks out into a cough until there are tears brimming on her lashline and she’s pushing ross away lightly for laughing at her. 

“you’re helpless,” he teases. “here. let me.”

his hands graze her lips once again as he takes the cigarette from between her lips. it’s smudged with her lipstick, something sheer and pink. then he places it in his mouth, lazily taking a drag. 

“watch.” she obeys instantly, pupils dialating when her eyes linger on his mouth until her lips part and she swallows visibly. he takes the moment to blow the smoke out, bending down so he can blow it in her parted mouth without startling her too much. her eyes widen and she sucks in sharply but this time she doesn’t cough. instead, she bunches her lips together and tries to blow out some of the smoke she inhaled. it comes out in broken wisps and disappears on the wind. 

“there we go, darling,” he speaks roughly and watches her blush all the way to the tip of her ears. “should we try that again?”

she nods. he takes another drag. this time, he grips her chin between his fingers, tilting it up until her mouth is so close to his and he can practically feel her breath on his skin. her pupils are so blown out, her eyes almost look black. then he lightly brushes her lips to his and blows the smoke out again. 

ross stays where he is. he even pulls her closer until she’s pressed against him and her eyes flutter shut. her breath hitches, her hands move up to his biceps, gripping onto him until she exhales again and smoke caresses his mouth before dissipating once more.

“a-again,” she whimpers but he’s already taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out on the railing. 

“yeah?” he challenges just to see if she’d move away but her hands move up from his biceps, fingers traliing up his arms until they’re at the nape of his neck, nails softly trailing down his skin. and when she shivers again, it’s definitely not because of the cold. 

“yeah,” she nods and presses her lips onto his.

his heart skips at how unsure it feel, how she has to stand on the very tips of her toes and hold onto his just so she won’t lose her balance. he doesn’t give her a lot of time to overthink it though. as soon as he’s over the initial shock, he wraps and arms around her until she’s fully pressed against him, effectively trapped between him and the railing. the light drizzle of rain starts again. ross grabs her face in his hands, keeping her still so her can kiss her properly—the kind that leaves her gasping when he grazes her bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has her leaning against him entirely for balance when her knees almost buck under her. the kind that makes her moan involuntarily but ross doesn’t let her pull away in embarrassment. instead, he pulls her up until her legs are wrapped around his middle, her thighs pressed against his waist and his hands under her ass. and then he carries her back inside. 

just like he predicted, he fills up the tiny little space of the recording booth. the mic stand clatters and she moves it aside with a ferocity that’s unlike anything he’s seen from her before, it’s a nice surprise, to see just a glimpse into her feral side. 

ross groans into the kiss and slides his hand under her ass. his fingers snake up her neck, gripping her jaw in a grip that’s almost too tight. it’s tempting to mark her up, to leave behind bitemarks and fingerprints everywhere for people to see. she responds in kind and bites his bottom lip just hard enough to make him hiss. 

“someone’s going to hear us”

“it’s a soundproof booth darling, no one’s going to know a thing.”

his hand that’s been cupping her jaw slowly moves to her throat and she lets out a whine so desperate and needy that all the blood rushes straight to his cock. she’s practically begging for more at this point and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet. 

he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of her like this, so malleable in his hands—thought of the feel of her hair between his fingers that damned bottom lip that’s driven him so crazy over the last few days. he can’t resist nipping at it and the sting makes her breath catch. 

“i’ve nev-i’ve never done this.”

his heart thuds in his chest and for a second he worries she’s entirely inexperienced. not that he’d have a problem being her first… but he’d be damned if he let her first time be in a fucking recording booth. 

“done what?”

“hooked up.” she clarifies almost through a gritted tone, almost like she’s trying not to be ashamed of it. “outside of relationships i mean.”

“no? do you want to stop?”

she takes a beat to think then shakes her head. “no, i-i just really want you.”

ross hums in approval. it does stroke his ego immensely if he’s being honest and he can’t help but see how far he can push her buttons. “do you now? what do you want about me?”

just like she had outside, she blushes furiously, to the point where she has to stare right at his chest and take a moment to compose herself. her hands never let go of his chest though. and it’s safe to assume she can feel his racing heartbeat just like he can hear hers. 

“your hands are… i like your hands.”

“do you think about my hands a lot?”

“i don’t–i d—” her eyes go round again, wide as saucers, almost like it’s impossible for her to lie.

“no lying, sweetheart.” he tsks, and then bends down just until his mouth caresses her earlobe. “bad girls don’t get what they want.”

she makes a stragled noise, somewhere between a moan and a sound of protest but ross cocks his eyebrow and that shuts her up effective. a beat later, she tries again. 

“fine. yes. i think about your hands a lot. all the time…”

“and what are my hands doing when you think about them?”

he enjoys it very much when she stutters, trying and failing to meet his eyes, to say the dirty words in her head out loud. that alone is enough for his painfully hard cock to throb again. 

“go on,” he breathes over her skin and lets his hands trail up and down her body, “show me what my hands do.”

she places her palm on the back of his hand, so much smaller in comparison, and moves it down her body. he lets his fingers trail, lets the callouses pads of his fingers brush over every inch of skin he can until she stops just at the waistline of her jeans and looks up at him again. 

“i want you t-to…to touch me. use your fingers on me.”

“that what you think about hmm?” slowly, the slowest he possibly can without jumping out of his own skin, he undoes the button of her jeans. then he pulls down the zipper, all the while letting his knuckles drag across her skin. she shivers at the smallest of touches, so responsive and perfect.

“words, darling,” he taunts again. “i’ll stop touching you if you stop telling me what you want.”

“ross,” she whines, and tries to grind against his hand, tries to push it deeper in her pants but he quickly gathers her wrists together and tuts at how little strength he needs, how easily he can hold both her wrists together with just one hand while using the other to feel her up through her underwear. 

it’s soaked and he can clearly feel her clenching and unclenching, desperately trying to move her hips and grind shamelessly against his hand but he won’t give her what she wants until she forces the filthy words out.

“please!”

“you’re soaked, sweetheart. i can give you what you want but only if you ask for it.”

her eyebrows knit together and she almost looks… angry, about as feral and threatening as a little bunny. “fine…” she huffs, “i want–i want you to fuck me. with your fingers.”

the crass words sound filthier from her mouth, like she shouldn’t be saying things like these to lecherous old men in dark corners on even darker nights. “see?” he grins at her, all sharp teeth ready to almost rip into her, “was that so hard?”

when they kiss again, ross pushes his tongue inside her mouth until all he can taste is her, until all her can smell is her. his fingers move faster against her clothed pussy, making the fabric soak more than it was before and her legs spread wider, her hips move faster until she’s soaking his hand and practically rutting against it. 

she’s shaking, clenching around nothing and looking at him with tears in her eyes—so frustrated now, constantly whining for him to push his fingers inside her. slowly, ross pushes the underwear aside and circles her entrance with his middle finger. before she has the chance to whine again, he plunges the fingers inside and swallows her cry with another kiss. 

she clenches around his finger desperately, slickening his hand every time he pushes into her, more so when he adds another finger and thrusts into her faster. as a reward he lets go of her wrists and she immediately latches onto him, pushes her hands inside his shirt and lets them greedily roam all over his body. she traces his chest and down his stomach, she lets her nails trail up his back, scratching and digging into his flesh every time he thrusts his fingers deep inside her.

her breathing quickens and she starts pressing kisses to his jaw, tracing the golden chain around his neck with her tongue. every so often she tries to nip at his skin, to leave some of her own marks behind. once or twice he lets her… but it’s more fun to hear her gasp and mewl and cry out his name. 

“good girl,” he coos at her, “taking it so well, sweetheart.”

“feel so good,” she whispers and lets her head fall back. under his hand, her thigh spasms lightly and his pulse pounds all over his body—his chest and throat and stomach and fuck even his cock that so hard and leaking with precum now. 

he needs her so bad, bad enough that he entertains the idea of pulling his fingers out and bending her over right there. 

but this might be his one and only time with her and he needs to make it memorable. 

he needs her to feel him between her legs for days and taste him on her tongue for weeks. 

he needs to bottle up her gasps and whimpers and the feel of her cunt around his fingers and keep it hidden away forever. 

so he needs to make her cum over and over again until she can’t remember any other name but his. 

and he’s not about to do all that here of all places. 

“‘m so close,” she moans out, rutting her hips faster now, almost trying to match his thrusts and ross increases his pace, presses his thumb against her clit harder than before. “kiss me.”

instantly, he obeys, getting lost into the kiss and the way it sends little currents through his blood. she’s no better either, exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue and riding her fingers until he can practically feel her dripping down his hands and wrist. until she lets out a string of curses and her eyes roll back. she lets out a broken moan, louder than all the ones before and he feels her squeeze around his fingers harder then before. 

then he feels her release, gushing onto his hand until he has to hold her up so her legs won’t give out on her. 

ross doesn’t stop though, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, each time earning himself another cry or hiss or groan until the tremor in her body subsides to a slight shiver and she presses her face into his chest, sweaty and barely coherent.

“that was–” she tries and breaks off. “you were–”

“have i left you speechless, sweetheart?” he teases pointedly. “look at me.”

when she manages to open her eyes, ross pulls his fingers out of her and brings them to her mouth. 

“suck,” he orders. to his surprise she obeys without hesitation. her mouth closes over his fingers, taking them all the way in until her lips are around the base of his fingers. then she swirls her tongue around them and licks them clean. every inch, every crevice. 

she lets them go with a slight pop and ross almost gets on his knees right there. 

“you are not what i imagined,” he whispers, not trusting his voice at all. 

“am i better?”

he only nods in response and kisses her deeply, tasting her on his tongue, tasting the tang of her release mixed with her saliva. 

“let me take you home,” he offers. “i want to fuck you. but not here. i want to fuck you properly.”

“like a gentleman,” she giggles.

he worries she might say no. but she only pulls away to button her jeans properly. 

“let’s go then,” she smiles mischievously and hooks a finger through his chain, eyeing it with intent. “i have thought of loads of other things apart from your hands.”

lemme know what you think <33

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[darlingsfandom]

Could you write Emmett from AQP2 and pussy worship?

There isn’t enough Emmett content out there!

TW: pussy eating , squirting, fingering, swearing and not proofread.

After surviving everything it was still hard to believe that it was real, that it had actually happened and that everything was back to normal well what could be considered normal. Out of all of it one good thing did happen… you had met Emmett, well more like he found you half naked quietly moving through an old building one day and he knew right then and there he needed you.

You were cautious of him at first when you two spotted each other. Neither of you moved for ten minutes until he reached up and pulled down his mask and it was like you could feel your heart beat all over your whole body. You tip toed carefully until you were face to face with the stranger that stole your heart and now?

Now the two of you have a tiny home near the lake. He’s taught you how to fish, hunt and basically survive because without him you’d probably be dead. Growing and building a new life with Emmett made you feel whole again. He loved watching you plant flowers, vegetables , the way you cooked , sometimes you’d only wear his shirt and a pair of panties while cooking which made him short circuit because he’s a smart man just not when you look like that.

“Baby?” His voice cracked your thoughts as you stood in the kitchen looking out the window at your garden.

“Hmm?” You turned on your heel to face him. Emmett looked a little rough but not more than usual.

“I’ve missed you.” He walked up to you, put his hands on your waist and kissed you softly. Your arms flew around his neck to kiss him but with more passion. Your fingers pulled on the hair on the back of his neck as he slipped his tongue inside of your mouth tasting every inch. His hands grabbed onto your ass which was his signal for you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist which you did before he carried you into the bedroom. Emmett threw you on the bed before crawling on top of you and pinning your hands above your head as his lips kissed down your made making sure to nip and suck on the flesh .

Emmett was an animal in the best way possible because he always listened to how your body reacted to his touches which is why he’s been the best you’ve ever had. He licked over the fresh bite he put on your shoulder before kissing down your tummy until he reached your thighs. His fingers massaged the flesh slowly making you chew on your bottom lip until he spread them open showing off your beautiful pussy. He was pussy whipped for you.

“Gorgeous!” Emmett leaned in and inhaled your scent before licking his lips. His index finger ran slowly over your lips to tease you. You watched him carefully through your eyelashes as he slipped his finger inside of you making your mouth drop open. “Such a pretty pussy! And it’s mine!” Emmett slid in another finger to scissor you open before he laid flat on his stomach to bury his tongue inside of you which made him groan at the taste.

“Emmett! Fuck! So good!” You laid propped up on your elbows watching him carefully. Emmett loved eating you out! He always devoured you. He was a real man who didn’t complain about your bush! He ate your pussy no matter what!

“Can’t believe this pussy is all mine baby.” He licked faster at your pussy before he moved up a little to wrap his mouth on your clit which made you curl your toes into the sheets. He was basically making out with your clit while his fingers pumped into you harder and deeper making you thrust your hips until he used his free hand to pin you back down.

“Emmett! You’re going to make me cum!” Your voice was whiny and needy as felt your legs twitch. Emmett didn’t let up, he went into over drive ! If there was one thing he loved more than eating you out or staring at your pussy it was making you cum because it made your pussy glisten!

“Cum for me baby! Soak my beard!” He spoke into your cunt making you cry. Your heart was racing, fingers twisting the sheets as he looked up at you with his tongue lapping feverishly at your clit you couldn’t hold back anymore and with your body relaxed you gushed against his tongue! It wasn’t the first time he’s made you squirt but it still amazed the both of you when you did.

“Good girl!” Emmett praised as he licked the juices leaking out of you making you shake harder from the overstimulation. He wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied which resulted in you getting multiple orgasms from time to time.

“Emmett please !” You tried to push him away but he couldn’t stop eating you out. Emmett did finally stop when he was ready and licked his lips. His beard was dripping in your juices and he even had some on his shirt since it was a huge orgasm. They were always big when it came to Emmett because he knew how to please you, your pleasure was his pleasure .

[navybrat817]

Down Again

Pairing: Soft!Dark Ari Levinson x Female Reader Summary: Getting settled into your life with Ari is easier said than done. Word Count: Over 2.2k Warnings: Tagging (D)ubcon to be safe (please do not read if this upsets you!), (e)xplicit (s)exual (c)ontent, (u)nprotected (v)aginal (s)ex, (p)ossessive behavior, soulmates, telepathic link, (p)orn with feels (it's me,) soft!dark Ari Levinson (he's a warning, okay?) Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Header by yours truly. A/N: Continuation of Wear Me Down. Our poll winner and @flordeamatista sensed it coming. I hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @galatially, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When Ari brought you to your new home, far away from your old place, you didn't go kicking and screaming the way you expected. You still weren't sure what he did for a living, but the way the few men around him averted their eyes in his presence stopped you from lashing out. If grown and capable men feared him, what would that spell for you if you tried to run? Who would help you anyway when they discovered you were trying to outrun your soulmate?

In some ways, you couldn't complain. The house was beautiful and spacious, plenty of room for you to be on your own while Ari worked. Anything and everything you could possibly want, you had. The moment you thought of something, he made sure it was there because he took the time to enter your mind and pay attention.

"But you still won't look through mine, will you, sweetheart?"

You wrapped the soft blanket tighter around you as you ignored Ari and stared out the bedroom window. The growing storm tempted you to open it and wash away your tears with the rain before you remembered the cries were inside your mind. You counted a few of the drops as they hit the glass and traced their paths with your finger, doing your best to ignore the pull to answer your soulmate. It was when you imagined his beard against your neck that you replied.

"What will I find if I look?" you asked.

It was strange to speak in your head, but it felt more natural than you expected. Whenever he spoke, it was like butterfly wings brushed against your temple. Soft kisses that said you weren't alone.

You'd never be alone again.

"Whatever you want."

But you didn't want to venture in the depths of his inner thoughts. He showed you enough of them as it was. Your bodies tangled together in your new warm bed. A ring on your finger. An intimate wedding where he made love to you right on the altar. Forever entwined and never apart.

You gasped when your legs opened on their own, beckoning for him to join you. "Stop," you whispered out loud, but it was as if you shouted.

"I'm not doing anything. That's all you."

Ari was right. He may have fed you the images, but you were the one who kept replaying them in your mind. He knew the kind of flowers you wanted on your wedding day, the sweet scent surrounding you as you closed your eyes and inhaled. His tux tailored to perfection, emphasizing his massive frame until you itched to see what was underneath.

He's breaking me, isn't he? No. I'm still me.

In a sense, some part of your old self was still intact. It was also buried deep down under the crumbled life you built for yourself. The job you used to have? Gone. He made sure of that once he claimed you.

And Luke.

Your heart lurched, but you didn't dwell on your ex. There was no point. Ari would likely knock the door down and fuck any thought of him away if you did. You were too tired for that today.

"I'm going to sleep, Ari. Do not join me. Just do whatever it is that you do."

He chuckled in your mind as you went to bed. Your recent fitful night of sleep ended with you waking up to the slow and deep thrust of Ari’s cock. He had worked you over first with his tongue before you were completely awake, the scratch of his beard leaving an invisible claim as his tongue lapped up every drop of you. Recovery time meant nothing to him as you whined, your thighs trembling as he sheathed you. The aura of red surrounding him almost seeped into your skin, another display of ownership. Would others see who you belonged to?

"I'm joining you whether we actually sleep or not."

You shivered at the implication. When you were younger, you didn’t understand or appreciate the value of sleep. You felt like you’d miss out on something if you didn’t stay awake, so you fought it as much as you could. As you grew older, you wished you hadn’t skipped out on the opportunity to rest. If only to hold onto the chance for lost dreams.

But how can I miss them if I never had them?

You dreamt of your soulmate now when you slept. The gorgeous and dangerous man who invaded and took over your life. The person who convinced you that you belonged to him. You felt in your core that he was right, as much as you didn't want to.

Because it wasn't my choice. I never had a choice.

"You know,” he gently began. “You could just ask me what I do. I'll tell you."

The connection between you and Ari was there by chemistry, but not your emotions. As much as he upheaved your life, he was at least trying to build something more. He didn't hurt you when you refused to comply with his whims. He attempted to talk through things with you and treat you well when he wasn’t bending you over the nearest surface.

You closed your eyes instead of offering an olive branch.

Maybe tomorrow.

The stubborn flame inside you dimmed more and more. Was a life with Ari really going to be so bad? He would take care of you, but it seemed like you were the only one who had to sacrifice something. How was that fair? Did he give anything up for you?

You weren't sure how many minutes passed when the bed dipped, but you didn't open your eyes. Ari would make it known if he wanted your attention. He did so by pulling the sheet from your naked body a heartbeat later, making you shiver as the cool air hit your skin. You could have put underwear on and at least give you that barrier, but why ruin another pair?

“You can try to sleep if you want to, sweetheart,” Ari said in a low and throaty voice as his body glided over yours, his bare chest brushing against yours. A whimper left your mouth a moment later as his lips moved over your fluttering pulse in your neck. “But I can't resist you like this.”

Pliant. Taking everything he gives me.

Insatiable would be a good word to describe Ari. Once he had a taste of you, he needed more. He didn't need to say it with his mind because he told you with his body. How did he have the stamina to take you over and over?

Is it the need for his soulmate that fuels his desire?

"Ari," you whimpered, wishing nothing more than to rest for just a little while.

"It's beautiful when you say my name," he said, using a knee to push your legs open. You resisted just enough that he had to put a bit of force into it. And you didn't need to look between your bodies to know he was hard and aching. "You should do it again."

Your eyes flew open when he began to push into your sensitive pussy, your walls still welcoming and wet despite the slight discomfort. Still a bit stretched from earlier made it easier for him to sink each inch in until he bottomed out. The groan he let out had you shuddering as he lifted his head to stare down at you. Was he an angel or a demon?

He's both.

You brought your hands up to his shoulders and rested them there, which made him pause. He was waiting to see what your next move would be. Would you dig your nails in and urge him to fuck you in deep strokes? Or would you attempt to push him away and keep fighting a losing battle?

“It’s all just… too much,” you whispered, closing your eyes so you couldn’t see the darkness in his blue eyes.

Shades of red moved behind your eyelids when he covered your mouth with his. It wasn’t long before you kissed him back, allowing him to invade your mouth the way he had with your cunt. Your senses. Every single part of you began and ended with him.

That was why it was too much.

“Too much? It’s not enough,” he whispered in your mind as he resumed his thrusts. "I'll never get enough of you. One day, you'll feel the same."

That's what I'm afraid of. That isn't love. Love takes time and care. This is obsession. I can't lose myself. I can't.

Because who are you now without him?

His hand, heavy and warm, gripped your hip as his lips curled into a smirk. You couldn't stop your pussy from squeezing around the length of him and it told him what he wanted to know. No matter how much your mind tried to fight him, your body welcomed him home.

“You’ll come around,” he promised as you pushed your hips back against his. “Sooner than you think.”

It was like he threw fuel on the fire, igniting the tiny flame. He was so sure of himself, so rooted in his convictions. What about yours? With more strength than you knew you had, you shifted your bodies until you straddled him. He didn’t look the least bit surprised as he lay beneath you, choosing to put his hands on your hips and rest them there.

He was waiting again to see what you’d do.

“You think I’ll come around just because you say so?” you asked, lifting your hips just to slam them back down. “Because my pussy loves your cock?”

“There she is. My stubborn little soulmate even though you know we belong to each other,” he moaned as you set your pace. "Go on, sweetheart. Take me the way you want to. That’s it.”

“Do you have to talk?” you asked through your teeth.

“Shut me up then,” he challenged, squeezing your hips for good measure. “Fuck me until all I do is grunt and moan your name.”

You rolled your hips, trying to remember if you ever felt so full before him. The way the tip of his cock hit your sweet spot, it was a wonder that you hadn’t gushed all over him. Yet. His light touch as he slid his hands to your breasts encouraged you to move faster and throw your head back, but he let you stay in as much control as you could. You’d take it as a small win.

“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever had and it’s all mine. Like my cock’s all yours,” he said in your mind as he sat up and wrapped your arms around your back, crushing his chest to your as you lifted your head. He groaned against your lips as you rode him harder, losing yourself to pleasure you didn’t ask for, but craved. “Fucking take it. Make me come. Make me pump you full. I know you want it. I want it, too.”

You lost yourself to his words, pleasure pooling in your stomach as you reached up to yank on his long hair. The growl you were met with spurred you on, getting closer to the edge as you eagerly bounced in his lap. You hoped this impending orgasm wouldn’t leave you feeling empty after.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Your head fell back again with a sharp cry, spasming around him with your release. He gripped the back of your head when you tried to squeeze your eyes shut, your face still contorted in ecstasy as he thrust up to chase his own end. He wanted you to look at him as he emptied himself inside you. A twisted part of you wanted it, too.

"Mine."

A familiar warmth bloomed deep in your core moments later as he finished, the sound of Ari grunting your name reaching your ears. He surprised you by laying back, taking you down with him as he twitched inside you. Both of you panted as he held you and you didn’t have it in you to try and roll away.

Every time Ari took you was like a cut to your heart, slowly making you bleed out. With each whispered word he spoke though, the wound closed. You didn’t feel the same ache you normally did and that frightened you. Was your heart slowly becoming his by giving him your body willingly? No. You refused to let that be the case.

And you refused to shed a tear when he pulled you closer.

“You’ll say it back. And you’ll have my ring on your finger.”

Because it wasn't enough that he had all of you, he needed you to take his last name, too.

“Having my body is easy,” you said in his mind as your eyes slipped shut, your breathing still ragged. “My heart is a bit harder to get.”

“I’m a very determined man,” he promised, kissing the top of your head with a small nuzzle. “Besides, you aren’t going anywhere.”

You bit your lip to keep from snapping back in denial. "If you say so."

Maybe you would try to run, after all. If only to see how long it would take for him to catch you. Because if Ari Levinson truly wanted your love, he’d have to earn it. He owed you that much.

What do we think? Will you run? How long until Ari catches you if you do? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Misc. Chris Evans Characters Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[octuscle]

Dude, I've been edging every day for weeks now, and I love how full my balls feel and how wild all that extra stimulation drives me. It feels so good to be so full of cum...

I wish I came even more! I wish my needy cock would drool so much precum that I need to wear condoms to keep from soaking my pants at work... I wish that my balls would produce so much that I can feel them gurgling and sloshing like water balloons...

Welcome to the NNN, bro! I can understand you, having as much pressure on your balls as on your bladder after a decent bender with your pals just makes you fucking horny.

As good as the idea with the condom was, unfortunately you forgot it. And now it actually looks like you've pissed your pants. Your underpants are completely encrusted with the sticky stuff. And thanks to your bursting balls, you can't concentrate at all. All you can think about is sex. Hard, male sex. And then you shout "Damn, I'm so horny, I could fuck a vase of flowers" in the middle of the meeting. Your colleagues look irritated, your boss asks you outside for a quick chat in private and suspends you for the rest of the day. Thank God, you couldn't stand being around people any longer. You would even have banged that fat, unsympathetic fellow from Internal Audit if you had been in the same room for much longer. Before you leave the building, at least take a piss. Flush the precum out of your dick. And put some toilet paper in your underpants to soak it up.

Fuck, there's so much manhood building up in your balls… It's coming out of your cock as precum. But you also start to sweat it out. And with the sweat you fertilize your fur. The bushes under your armpits grow. The bush around your dick grows. And your dick is getting longer and longer. And your face, still clean-shaven this morning, is showing a veritable three-day beard. And the damp patch on your pants looks forbidden. If you already have the afternoon off involuntarily, you might as well get out of your clothes. And get yourself something new. There's a sportswear and workwear store just around the corner… Maybe you'll find something there…

A jockstrap won't do much good. But the synthetic material will at least dry quickly. Just like the nylon sports pants. You asked the store assistant to lend you a pair of scissors. You cut open the trouser pockets with them. That way you can get to your cock and balls better. Not at all to play around with you. But this way you can spread the precum and massage it into your skin and hair. Shit, the thought makes even more precum flow. It's a vicious circle. You look in the mirror. That makes it even worse. The soft office boy has turned into a pithy chav. Your hands are already sticky. You rub them on your old clothes and stuff them in a garbage can.

Don't wank, don't wank. You try to think of things that are a complete turn-off. But then you see some guy walk past you and your balls push out another gush of precum. Not wanking… But sex is not forbidden. So if someone were to suck you off now… That would be okay… The guy coming towards you looks at your pants for a long time, where you're playing with your balls, and then deep into your eyes. You walk past each other and both turn around again. And while you maintain eye contact, you turn into the side alley. As expected, you don't have to wait long and your fellow follows you.

Thank goodness. You wouldn't have lasted a second longer. The guy gets down on his knees and you push your waistband down. Your cock pops out and pulls up a fat slimy strip of precum. The fellow's saliva runs out of the corner of his mouth. The poor bastard has no idea what's about to happen to him. An explosion is brewing in your balls that you will both remember for a long time to come. Enjoy!

Found the pic with you playing with your sticky balls @milankotowyc

[little-diable]

Kinktober Day 29 – Alfie Solomons

Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

🩶 Day 29 🩶 praise

Warnings: 18+, oral (f), outdoor

Alfie Solomons x fem!reader (900 words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

My Kinktober Masterlist

“Mhm, my pretty flower, I could get used to this sight.” Alfie’s voice filled the afternoon air, forcing her eyes to flutter open, flickering towards his smiling features. (Y/n) couldn’t help but chuckle at her husband, shaking her head as she stretched her hand out for him to take.

“Don’t act as if you haven’t seen me sit out here before, Alfie. But maybe if I’d see you around here more often you’d get to enjoy me some more.” He bent down to press a kiss to her lips, swallowing the sound of her giggles. Alfie’s beard scratched her skin as he deepened the kiss, unable to bite down his satisfied hum. 

The sun was burning from the sky, filling both with heat, a comforting sensation that made their hearts beat calmly, relishing in the silence the calm July afternoon offered them. Before she could even try to part from her husband, (y/n) felt his hands fumble with the fabric of her dress, fingers tapping her waist.

“You’re right, doll, yeah, I should be home more often. I’ve missed my wife, can I get a taste?” His raspy voice left her shuddering in anticipation, body covered in goosebumps. He sank to his knees, kneeling on the blanket (y/n) was sitting on, pushing her back down before she could respond. 

The fabric of the blanket left (y/n) feeling comfortable and protected as Alfie shifted around, forcing the fabric of her dress up to her waist, pulling her undergarments down her legs before he nestled between her thighs, “Look at you, such a pretty cunt, how could I ever let you out of my sight, huh?”

The praises leaving Alfie made her gasp, unable to speak up, unable to ask if he really wanted to do this out here, in their garden. All she could do was moan, hands fisting the fabric of the blanket to try and stay grounded. Her heart was racing, blood rushing, toes being forced to curl as Alfie’s breath met her exposed cunt.

“You’re dripping, doll, you love when I praise you, don’t you? You love being good for me.” A breathy “I do” left (y/n), a sound that was interrupted by a gasp as Alfie plunged two fingers into her tightness, spreading her walls. It had been days since Alfie had last touched her like this and yet her body couldn’t help but welcome his fingers, finding pleasure in the stretch of her walls, in the feeling of his fingertips nudging her swollen spot.

With the sun burning down on her features, (y/n) felt herself growing warmer, making sweat pearl on her forehead, body begging her to get rid of her other clothes. She knew that this was only the beginning, that he would take her up to their bedroom after he was done with preparing her for his cock. 

“Fuck, Alfie, want your mouth, please.” Alfie’s chuckles left her cheeks burning, unable to pay attention to the smirk he wore on his lips as his tongue brushed through her folds, collecting drops of her arousal. He moaned against her cunt, sucked on her pulsing bundle of nerves as he kept fucking her with his thick, ringed fingers. The gold clinging to his skin felt cool against her heat, making a whirlwind of different sensations thump through her veins. 

He ate her out with his eyes focused on her features, sure that this was the most beautiful sight his eyes ever got to take in, a masterpiece ancient painters have longed to create, though unable to succeed in doing so. She was his end and his beginning, making him feel reborn whenever she graced him with her moans clawing through her.

“Alfie,” the call of his name made him chuckle against her, enjoying that she was already close to letting go, that she was about to cum around his fingers any moment now. His fingers picked up their pace, mouth latching onto her clit, once again leaving her to arch her back off the blanket.

“Let go for me, pretty darling, my beautiful wife, I got you.” With another breathy moan leaving her, (y/n) came around his fingers, eyes rolling back into her head, fingernails about to claw holes into the fabric of the blanket. He lazily fucked her with his fingers for a few more seconds before he pulled away, moving up her body to press a soft kiss to her lips. Alfie looked at her for a few more seconds before he rose to his feet, hand stretched out for her to take, set on guiding her to their shared bedroom.

[johnslittlespoon]

hi sorry i can't stop thinking about your leaving!bikeriders au aaaaaa

big tough intimidating gale and his sweet little puppy boyfriend is just *chefs kiss*

but also just the potential for the future of these two is driving me crazy

john's always been a little smaller than gale, or just the fact that he's so pretty thin and lanky makes him seem smaller in comparison

but the years go by and suddenly he's got a couple inches on gale and he's beefy as all hell

gales loves it

gale gushing to his biker buddies about his baby bucky and then this brick wall of a man walks up and theyre all like holy shit

and bucky never loses his puppy tendancies, he just kinda becomes like a big dog that doesn't know his size, draping himself all over gale and almost crushing him in the process

and also gale with a little white in his beard im going insane

au post | STOP IT THIS MADE ME SO <33 i loooove this (also it won't let me add a 'read more' without messing up the images so forgive this wall of text lol)

just the thought of them growing so close and their lives intertwining over the years, sorting through their issues, getting over every hurdle and going through so much together. gale in a suit bringing flowers to john's college graduation, john getting a part time job despite gale's protests because he wants to help out but also so they can take a celebratory vacation together when he finishes his exams :((

they meet when john looks like this sweet little thing in his second year of college, early 20s, shy and still growing into gangly limbs:

and then suddenly a couple years have passed and he's graduating and he looks like this twunky frat boy (gale realizes somewhere in the first few months of living together that john's vision is absolute dogshit and john's just been writing it off as a lack of focus lmfao so he forces him to an eye doctor):

and part of gale feels a little bit sad when john doesn't have to tilt his chin up to kiss him properly anymore because yk it's like watching a puppy grow up lol but mostly he's just. insane. about his boy. he's in love with his brain, and getting to see him grow confidence and become at peace with himself over the years only makes him more infatuated (and he'll be damned if he doesn't go a little crazy at the feeling of muscular thighs beneath his hands when he's got john pinned down) <3

gale's friends going a good chunk of time without seeing john during his last year of college because john's so busy juggling part time and cramming for his final exams, and when he finally does show up at the pub or biker club or whatever just before summer, there's jokes about "what the hell have you been feeding him, buck?" because that is not the lanky awkward pretty boy that had been hanging off of gale's arm the summer before. although john's absolutely still the same personality–wise, still crawling into gale's lap whenever he can, making gale carry him to bed, loving to sit on the floor by the couch between gale's legs so gale has to lean down to kiss him. :')

maybe john gets an internship after graduating and ends up working part time at the mechanic shop instead of his old part time since gale can give him whatever hours he needs to balance the internship and income (i'm pretty sure that's what i'll have gale's job be, running a car and bike shop, because yk it just checks out). john does a lot of heavy lifting and physical activity working there and bulks tf up and it makes him feel so much more confident in himself and gale would lose his mind at the way john's work shirts stretch across his broad shoulders hsdgdskhj !?!

and oh my god yes salt and pepper beard gale. john would go fucking feral over him, catching himself staring all the time, as if he doesn't already do that enough. they both become more and more attracted to each other as time goes on, like they keep waiting for the 'honeymoon' phase to end but it just doesn't, even through whatever conflicts and fights they go through, even once they fall into routine and domesticity– they're just as crazy about each other sigh.

thx. these two are gonna live rent free in my head forever. i love them so much and i haven't even written them yet fml. ALSO THANK U FOR UR OTHER ASK WITH ALL THE BIKER INFO!!! i will absolutely msg u if i have questions ur a life saverrrr omg. i screenshot and saved that ask to my drafting doc bc god knows i'm gonna need it SJKDJG ur awesome <33

[its-your-mind]

okay well I know I said I wasn’t watching tonight and I’m STILL NOT but ALSO I did see pics of the new art and 1. I love it all so much they are all. Very pretty. Ashton and Dorian specifically did make me briefly black out. Friends you are going into the snow wtf are you doing but also don’t stop doing it holy SHIT I bet Orym just got a nosebleed as soon as he saw both of them anyways speaking of Orym 2. ORYM. MY BBY MY BOY. Two things. First I love the bluebells he’s growing bc that’s his DORIAN flower and that’s cute as fuck but SECOND AND MORE IMPORTANTLY he is growing!! His!! Hair!! Out!!!!!! Do you understand me???? It’s long enough to curl! It’s got enough weight to it to hang down over his face!!

(and you KNOW this was an intentional decision on the part of Liam “Caleb shaved his beard as soon as they got to xhorhas but let his red hair grow long and started to take care of it” O’Brien. He knows what he’s doing.)

I have been having so fucking many thoughts about Orym and his responsibility to his husband and dad and keyleth and his people and the hells and dorian and and and and. and I’m Not gonna be able to get them all into one post I think but Y’ALL. He is Intentionally ditching the military haircut. That’s the kinda haircut you gotta Maintain, ESPECIALLY if your hair curls (trust me — my undercut is on a Strict Schedule bc if I don’t shave it back every month or so it just becomes a field of curly-cues beneath my long hair). My boy Orym keep that cut Sharp and Precise for five years of wandering mostly alone. There hasn’t been any commanding officer telling him to cut it since he left home. But he kept doing it!!

I’m sure it was part routine, but it was absolutely also a connection to home and to the responsibility he had taken on, which we KNOW at its core was a responsibility to his husband and father. They were soldiers. So was he. They wouldn’t stop fighting. Neither would he.

And the Hells found the killer! Found out why the attack had happened! Reported it all back to keyleth, even! Orym did his duty - he hasn’t been an active air ashari soldier for a while now, even if his five years away counted as official business.

But he kept the military cut.

Until now.

Until after he had finally helped to kill the woman who had struck down the man he loved and the man who raised him.

Until after Dorian came back, only one day after Orym begged him, not because Orym needed his help, just because Orym needed him.

And so Orym wears his Ashari armor, is working to advance the world-preserving efforts of the Tempest, but he also lets his hair grow out, and he adorns himself in bluebells.

When Orym died on the end of Otohan’s blade, Will sent him back. Told him he wasn’t done.

Will wasn’t talking about a mission from the Tempest, or his own need to be avenged. Orym knew that then. He knows that now.

But Orym did still feel the responsibility to his family and to his people, to end the threat. And even though it was only a small part of a greater danger, it is still a threat neutralized. Now, there’s this freedom, this world of possibility that wasn’t there while Otohan was still alive.

And yes, things are horrible. They’ve all just lost a dear friend. It’s causing internal ruptures and dangers and it’s still possible the world will end soon. He’s made a lifelong deal with an Archhag. He’s still not sure what his responsibility is to the Tempest.

But Dorian’s here, now. Back by his side.

And Orym decides to let his hair grow out. Just this once. What the hells, right? Everything is changing. The world might end. Might as well see what kind of person he can grow into before he’s done.

[moondirti]

a pearl

Still scarred; you don’t think he’s ever not been. Still scarred, yet vivid enough to accept a gentle caress he said helped muffle the phantom pain. He’d tell you the stories as you did (hardly ever pleasant), and you’d cherished them enough to remember.

But the John that pistons into you now does so with muted malaise, a concoction that clusters too heavy on his tongue to fully form words around.

pairing: Captain John Price x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.5k summary: what follows bloodshed warnings: angst, seriously - angst, canon typical violence, gore, allusions to childhood abuse, lots of unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort, a happy ending (the bare minimum), rough sex, marking, p-in-v notes: i have nothing to say for myself. there's no plot, just vibes. sorry (not). very much based off the mitski song of the same name.

It starts a little something like this– 

Moments caught in the rhythmic flicker of a bedside lamp; golden, dim, dark. Golden, dim, dark. Pink flesh, blushed in foreign warmth, mottled in crops of chestnut hair you can’t help but run your fingers through. It’s sticky when it presses to you, slicked in half-dried sweat and the brine of a sour mission. You lick the salt from his collarbone, trying your best to place a firm kiss to it against the bludgeoning thrust of his body. 

He fucks you like he hates you.

Not always. No. 

But tonight, and in that perennial week that trails behind him when he comes home, he does. He finds you, supple enough for the two of them, with a restrained agony swimming in florentine eyes. It bleeds into blunt fingertips (calloused, too. Barnacles that rub rough on your breasts), staining you across the chest. You feel it in your lungs, scraping bone to marrow, your ribs a collapsible cage of sponge. And with the way he bears his weight on top of you, you think you just might. 

It’s entirely too much, violent in a way you don’t find behind a plate carrier, the heavy security of a gun in your arms. Vulnerable – some crushed flower, one might say. Ripe with gallons of water at its centre and nothing to use it on. You’re plucked, right off your stem, your petals caught between teeth. 

His hands stay planted on your hips, pinning them down to a sleep-soaked mattress while he plunges into you. One, ten, fifty times – years together and you’ll still never grow used to how thick he is. His cock is splitting, cleaving your cunt into two halves, filling you until a mushroomed head meets the gummy wall of your cervix. It falters then, nestled in that sweltering heat, before pulling back out to bruise you again. 

And you take it. Your own limbs remain wrapped around his back, curved to fit rippling muscle, your nails digging into the sinew. You could push him away, should you please, you’re far too familiar with this routine to kid yourself into believing he wouldn’t listen to consent. Fight and watch as he reluctantly breaks away, turning to less delicate vices; a Maduro cigar, toasted. Scotch with a water back, neat. 

But you cling to a sweet nothing he’d whispered to you once, crowded in the back of his old Audi Q5, his beard abrasive on the soft stretch of your neck, trailing desperate kisses. 

Bloody christ. Can live off you alone, sweetheart. 

It had held some semblance of truth then, caught under bad weather with the sky open to the heavens, a great cataclysm of rain pelting down on the car. A revenant vow, no witnesses; something for just the two of you until the day’s promised wedding – a novel, diamond-encrusted band, thin on your ring finger. 

(You now wear both his and yours on a chain around your neck. His embellishments narrow down to those dog tags, the ones that hang over you when you fuck – silver slips the only indication of the man beneath the uniform, a body to be brought back home once it’s been bled through.)

Younger. You remember it distinctly; right out of SAS training, his skin a canvas for memorised marks. You’d been able to map each one to its source; rings of red concentrated at the wrist, cigar shaped but not self inflicted. Silver lines on his knees, founded atop the Brecon Beacons from his long drag assessment. Scabbed knuckles that never seemed to heal, not since he’d punched through a concrete wall the night he decided to leave home. 

Still scarred; you don’t think he’s ever not been. Still scarred, yet vivid enough to accept a gentle caress he said helped muffle the phantom pain. He’d tell you the stories as you did (hardly ever pleasant), and you’d cherished them enough to remember.

But the John that pistons into you now does so with muted malaise, a concoction that clusters too heavy on his tongue to fully form words around. You imagine it tastes bitter, bitter and much like the ichor that blooms to your cuticles. You don’t expect him to reel those horrors back with him – the sight of a dead mother after his executive order to shoot all potential hostiles. You know he’d much rather find sanctity here, with you. But he bends under the perceived punishment you inflict, groaning when you carve crescent shaped divots into him; and it comes clearer to you than anything else. 

His burden as Captain finds him far beyond the field. You’re just not made privy to it. 

You let him express it in the only way he can.

It goes a little something like this–

You don’t ask, despite the named tension that floods the chilled bathroom. 

He lets you shower first. Actually, almost commands you to, murmuring the words into sex clogged air while he cradles your quivering thigh. He waits until you find your strength again, nudging a tear away from your cheek with restrained tenderness. He guides you while you make your way, his touch smoothing from the small of your back to your shoulder, where it clamps down to steady you.

You can’t pinpoint the expression that twitches beneath his moustache as he does. It’s much too complex under the varicoloured delirium that clouds you. You see, you hear, you feel and smell and taste the oceanic headiness at the back of your mouth, yet none of it crackles back to your synapses where you can properly process his disquietude. 

So, you whimper a little asseveration in place, the sound of it lost amidst hissing pipes when he sets the shower for you. 

I missed you.

Maybe he doesn’t hear it. Maybe it’s drowned in the same chasm that eats him alive. But his eyes catch yours before he turns to leave, and they flicker with the light reflected off the faucet. Or, you’re tricking yourself, and it’s recognition of something he can’t reciprocate. 

By the time it takes you to clear your throat, he’s gone – off to his spot on the balcony, no doubt, stretched on an armchair you’d bought especially for him. You’d set a Maduro box on the coffee table between his seat and yours. 

And you can smell it on him when he returns. 

He must time it so you’re already out when he comes to wash up. You check it on the watch he’d discarded by the sink – forty five minutes to the second, a gratuitously long stretch to press on sore legs, but the water had been nice. He’d known the exact temperature to turn it to. 

(He used to avoid the spray during your times together, too. 

Any hotter, eh? It’s barely blistering.

You were the one who insisted on joining.

And kneaded your reddened flesh when you asked him to moisturise your back.)

His baths are militaristic in comparison to yours – he’s always in, soaped, and out before you get to your hair. You’d teased that he does it to avoid those grim thoughts that taint deluge silences – the ones no one is immune to. Perhaps you’d been on the mark.

So, you don’t ask. But you try and bear through ten more minutes upright, standing in front of the mirror, a towel around your bust, untangling the jewellery that’d been neglected in his absence. 

You hardly get through your wedding chain when he finishes, picking at the same stubborn knot. 

“You’ll get sick,” John gruffs, padding up behind you. You move over for him to reach the towel rack and pointedly avoid the large mass in your peripheral, hanging between thick thighs, nested in chestnut curls.

“If rearranging my guts wasn’t enough to ail me, then what harm can a bit of cold do.” You jibe. He gives you a grunt in response, tucks a corner into the wrap around his waist and sticks his hand out.

“Let me see that.” 

You blink, looking up at him for a split second, before handing over the chain. The bathroom provides a brighter luminescence than the glow of the hazy bedroom. 

It’s then you notice a hardly healed cut on his shoulder, sutured with black stitching. 

And one on his chest. 

And leg. 

A purpling bruise, stippling the expanse of his abdomen, furling over the side of it to darken into black. 

You’re caught like that – staring, hands at your chest – for far too long. If he realises, he doesn’t say, pulling at gold strands until something gives. 

But his elbow tucks closer to hide the discoloration, the gesture veering on childish insecurity. Though that conclusion rolls between your teeth; a pearl that won’t dissolve and is much too large to swallow. Things can never be so simple with John. He fits the world in ways you’ve spent your entire marriage attempting to figure out – like a sole jigsaw piece, made with no greater picture in mind.

(You cut yourself to suit it, sometimes. He changes shape before you can catch up.)

The action is an inclination you can never fully acknowledge, then; not until it’s you racing to see what can heal first – your body, or your mind. So you single in on the bulk of his arm instead, expanding thew with the movement, choking back the stone lodged in your chest. It becomes easy to lose track of time like this, returning to your perpetual dysthymia. 

You’re only snapped out of it by the smokey gravel of his voice, somehow simultaneously full-bodied and edging on a whisper. It pops like wet wood on a campfire, seething with an undercurrent of resignation, like it’s aware of its failure to fully fuel the kindling heat. 

(You still feel it though; like a deafening salvo in the chamber of your hollowed gut. Butterflies turned gunpowder. It holds the same effect.)

“Here.” 

And he hands you your necklace back, unravelled.

Brushing your teeth, you point to the hickeys decorating the column of your neck, then at his own wounds. 

“Look, we match.” 

His reflection tenses, the razor pulling away from his jaw. John opens his mouth – knuckles blooming white, clutching the edge of the sink – then snaps it shut upon scanning your foamy grin. 

He goes back to lining his mutton chops, his lips pursed in a grim line.

Maybe you should’ve stayed quiet.

It ends a little something like this–

Moonlight filters through sheer curtains, ballooning with the tranquil breeze. You left the window open to allow some air while he finds his rare sleep. 

You’re usually the first to knock out, but you stay awake on certain nights, these nights, stuck on vigilant duty against forces you can’t quite keep at bay. You know where he keeps his guns – taped to the sides of dressers or under a chair. They aren't anything you need. No. Now, you weaponize your hand, spread flat and smoothing over a coarse head of hair. You brush the strands that stick to his sweaty forehead and pull down the duvet when you notice his continuous battle with the heat. 

Then, the nightmares start. 

It’s subtle at first. No stranger would notice. 

You cradle his forearm and his pulse quickens under your thumb. Doldrums, a war cry. His body thrums with awakened adrenaline as his pupils thrash behind fluttering eyelids. It’s an unsettling tremor that vibrates through you, the mattress, the still midnight where things tend to find their peace. You bite your lips through it and hope the worn-film memories go easy on him. 

His breathing breaks into a stuttered pace. He’d forgone a shirt, clad in just plaid bottoms, and his chest gleams with a thin layer of cold perspiration. It shakes with him, rapid inhalations, his lip twitching while his body tries to regulate the instinctual fear. Your touch never leaves his head, your other, freer hand wrapping around twitching fingers. 

And so begins the paralysis. The purgatorial state where nothing exists outside of stifling sheets and the distancing sounds of fusillade. You can tell when he comes to uneasy wakefulness – wavering in and out of a fight long since filed away in manilla cabinets – when his digits go rigid underneath yours. He gasps in one final, drawn-out convulsion, assured in his survival, before his eyes snap open to the present. 

He grabs your wrist and flips you over in the split second afterwards. 

You can’t help the scream that pitches at the assault. It’s not the first time this happens, but never has he been so quick to act. 

“John–” 

“Fuckin’- Fucking hell.” 

His inflection warbles, still a victim to whatever profound helplessness overtook his dream. 

“Are you okay?” You lament into the scant space between you. His nose brushes yours. You can feel the red-hot distress radiate off him in waves. 

“Y-You… Affirm– Yes. Yes, I’m solid.” Though his eyes don’t meet yours. 

You nod. He doesn’t let go of you. 

“Water?” 

“Scotch.” 

“You’re not going back to sleep?” 

“No.” 

He flinches when you caress his cheek, brushing over wrinkled crows feet. 

“You need your rest, John.” 

“You haven’t slept, either.” The reaction holds more venom than he likely intends. You use the lowlight to memorise the way he appreciates his anger, the hissed admonishment echoing back with full force. Before his brow can crease again, you place a tentative peck to his chin. His jaw ticks at the movement. 

“I will if you do, yeah?” He doesn’t agree, but his shoulders drop with an exhale. “Let me go, I’ll fetch a bottle for you.” 

His face bows, a retired concession. It’s a side of him you hadn’t had the privilege of seeing, not until your first morning together, post-honeymoon. 

(I have to go, love. My flight’s in an hour. 

Stay. Just ‘till I fall back asleep. 

He had.)

You’d miss it if you had stayed basking in the thought. His lips, chapped and bitten and cracked, brush over your knuckles when he pulls away. 

You smile like a fool on your mission for refreshments. And, on your way back from the kitchen, you clasp over the rings on your necklace. An old habit, a happy tick. 

(You almost drop the water when you feel only one; your classic, round diamond ring. 

But you find his adorning his finger when his left hand reaches for the bottle.

You hadn’t noticed he’d taken it off the chain.)

The next morning, he tells you about Serbia and the calamity that brought upon new disfigurements. He grieves it in between thrusts, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck, his grip unabashedly bruising on your breasts. So we match, he echoes.

Still scarred. Always will be. But he dives deep into the personal upon remembering the comfort in your low hums. 

(Your nails circling the marks on his palms - he’d told you about his dad two years in.

It helps. 

What does? 

When you trace over them like that.) 

A week after every return to his house, John finally settles and rediscovers home.

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[roosterbruiser]

I'm just thinking about Uncle Bob and Auntie Nix going to Chateau Bradshaw after a long deployment and them just getting absolutely tackled by the Bradshaw girls while Bradley laughs his ass off and Faye makes sure no one gets injured.

I feel like in a way Chateau Bradshaw is home base for everyone especially in the early years before everyone else really settle down, everyone makes a visit when they get home from deployment because Faye is such a mom she'll get them reoriented into life stateside.

shut up shut up shut up this is so fucking sweet :,)

Chateau Bradshaw is definitely the first place everyone goes after deployment if they can swing it. not only because they welcome the tackling of all five Bradshaw girls, plus a solid hug from Bradley and an overall sense of comfort from Faye, but because they're home is just a home.

it's not even that it's always clean and organized and proper, because Lord knows it's not. but it's lived-in. it's warm and full of life and little hands and piano and knitting projects and homework and dogs and home cooked meals. there's always fresh bread and there's never a quiet moment. it's the kind of place where everyone wants to go after living on a giant hunk of metal for months and months on end.

so, while Uncle Bob and Auntie Nix get tackled in the entryway by a horde of little girls wearing paper crowns and tutus and glitter and braided flowers, Bradley's grinning in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. he's patiently waiting his turn to hug Phoenix and Bob, grazing the little bits of gray in his beard as he watches his daughters hang onto two of his favorite people in his childhood home. he always sees a little bit of Carole and Goose in all the girls, especially when they get excited.

and Faye, on the other hand, is smiling softly to herself in the kitchen. it's a mess of orange pulp and strawberry juice and banana peels and smushed blueberries. there's fresh coffee on the pot because Lord knows Phoenix and Bob are gonna need it to keep up with the Bradshaw Bunch. the bread is cooling on top of the oven and Faye still has flour strewn across her cheek and fruit pulp beneath her fingernails. but all the same, as she picks up the fresh fruit platter for Bob and Nix, she's the happiest she's ever been.

"no biting!" Bradley teases Joni, swooping in to scoop her and June up, kissing them both on the cheeks. "let 'em breathe, girls!"

and Bob and Phoenix are blushed with joy, getting all their hugs in, commenting on their growth, petting their curly hair.

"god, they're so big," Phoenix marvels, hugging Bradley and kissing his stubbly cheek. "when did they get so big?"

"they grow about ten inches every time I see them," Bob echoes in disbelief, holding Opal and Finch while Olive hangs onto his leg. "can't y'all just stop it already?"

"I wish," Bradley says with a tired and happy grin. "little beggars, aren't they?"

and when Faye comes out of the kitchen and into the doorway, the vision of domesticity and sweetness with her old apron and her soft edges and tarnished beauty, everyone's breath is in their throat. she's there, holding a platter of hand-cut fruits form her hand-grown garden, grinning that same grin. and she's watery in the eyes and so joyous when she laughs that it's like an alarm for all the Bradshaw girls, who detangle themselves from Bob and Bradley and start galloping towards her.

"I'm so happy you're here," Faye says.

[escapismmaxing]

icewing redesign and headcanons!!

this is kind of a jumble sooooo

physical traits

i think they are so huge. easily the biggest out of all the tribes on average 

huge not just in height but they also tend to be chubby and fat like blubber

furred at hatching, but can lose fur as they age, often ending up with partial fur (mane, down the spine, trailing at ankles, etc)

also perhaps “beards” (genderless, duh)

(my imagination for this is kind of traditional unicorn esque, like those fuckass tails + hair around their feet and their mane. yeah)

speaking of fur,,, they have little toe pads with fur sticking out between their toes!

tiny little baby ears to prevent frostbite

antlers instead of horns!! or at least horns with many branches like antlers

kind of smallish wings compared to their body size, so they tend to be slowish, lumbering fliers but they still get the job done

this “style” of flying lets them be very sturdy despite high arctic winds

icewings hunt underwater, so they’re somewhat partially aquatic and can hold their breath for long periods of time (also hence the blubber)

their “spines” aren’t spines connected to their skeletal structure, but quills connected to their skin, so they fall out and regrow a lot, and also get embedded in opponents skin during battle

colors,,, im always conflicted on. for sure natural arctic animal colors (all greys, whites, beiges, yellows and browns during summer months) but also like. fuck it they’re dragons so blues, purples, and pinks too

i don’t remember when i originally did this, but i gave them a pronounced throat sac thing to produce sound and music? so yeah. we’re sticking with that because ive been drawing it for like a year

on the topic of their throat sac! i love to imagine what the tribes individual voices/languages sound like. i think icewings are very veryyyy scary according to other tribes, with deep growling, warbling, and clicking (like a leopard seal). and really throaty hoots and high pitched screeches like a snowy owl!

just saw a video of a caribou (?) fucking screeching. so yknow what icewings do that too (but not in normal communication it’s explicitly like an “uh oh!” noise)

frostscales! and also frostless. warmscales? i don’t really know but they exist to me. they’re kind of a lot less,, harmful than firescales, especially when kept within the ice queendom, because they just add more ice to existing ice

culture!!

so even though snowfall broke down the physical tracking of the circles, that hierarchy persists and there is for sure a hierarchy of dragons with closer relationship to the queen etc

now it’s just less concrete so it’s easier to move up and down etc

i wouldn’t think it matters any less though, like social standings persist

i think the social climate within the castle is insanely different to what it is outside the castle

inside the castle: cold, cutthroat, fuck you

outside the castle and outside the circle: living in a really harsh environment, so an insanely strong sense of community and togetherness, still with distinct familial groups, and icewings probably have one of the more common rates of monogamy/marriage

formal school settings depend on the town, some towns have them,and these towns also tend to be more formal in general and carry more remnants of the circle system

what’s more common is apprenticeships

speaking of apprenticeships,, jobs

hunting is taken on as a community activity, and there isn’t much to grow so there’s not a lot of agriculture

but there ARE a lot of traders/merchants in the border villages

also a lot of icewings who focus on hide/leather preservation, clothing and fabrics, sculptures,, lots of artisan work

lots of holidays, like holidays allll the time (high stress environment creates a need for frequent relaxation)

just for shits and giggles,,,,, some examples

celebration of first snow melt

celebration of first flower buds

midsummer celebration 

summer ending celebration (heralding in a kind winter)

probably during the winter a celebration every biggest full moon or something

you get the idea

i forget if this was confirmed at some point in the books, but i think “royal” instruments are just straight up like woodwinds carved from ice. so they’re royal because they can’t leave the tippy toppy coldest place of the continent otherwise they’ll melt

i think there’s a lot of legends related to like dragons trapped beneath the ice and lost in snow storms etc, just because water beneath ice makes some crazy terrifying sounds

as for population distribution, i think icewings are kind of concentrated at the castle, and then closer to the sandwing border. the tundra is kind of just meant to be traversed rather than lived in

they’re very friendly with sandwings and seawings! also eventually friendly with mudwings because of crystal, and probably at least somewhat friendly with skywings as well

although they did have a history of fighting with skywings for the northern mountain territories, they’ve come to an agreement now

also, of all the pyrrhian tribes, they’re one of the most friendly w the pantalan tribes since the icewing queendom is the hub for travel

fashion!!

so there’s a lot of mixtures with sandwing culture! drums and woodwinds, shawls are popular, beads braided into manes and tails

furs and leathers are common (using all parts of the animals they hunt) and carvings made from ivory are also common art + jewelry

i think other jewelry would consist of like really thin strands of metal looped around their face and antlers (so inconvenient but so pretty)

royal vs commoner

wow these categories are getting,,,, messy. sorry!!

royals have really political weddings still, related to rising in the circle ratings and whatnot (lowkey so much incest within the castle,,, save them)

it’s getting better, and dragons are marrying outside the nobles but still

monogamy would be commonly practiced but i don’t think they’d hold the “nuclear” family model i think all generations would help raise the hatchlings and instill family values into them or whatever

i think it’s similar for commoners, with generational but not communal raising, but obviously marriage is isn’t as pressured, so it’s less common

i generally think marriage isn’t the norm amongst dragons even if a couple is monogamous

as for commoners' view on royals,,,,, very very icy and unkind. royals tend to be really only concerned with royals.

i think they’re so unconcerned, actually, that there’s a whole separate “cabinet of diplomats” setup that live closer to the sandwing border and handle all the dealings with the other tribes. they send a report to the queen every first moon cycle. fucking maybe

royals and nobles tend to have more fun/thick and long fur because fur is really hard to maintain, keep healthy, and keep clean so a royal with a lot of clean and beautiful fur is a really clear sign that they put a lot of effort into their look

versus most dragons don't have the time for that, so over time they’ve lost fur (not completely)

religions/superstitions 

i think they’re insanely superstitious!!

the amount of ermines or stoats they see in a winter correlates to how fast spring will come (more = faster)

also to herald in spring, icewings collect flowers and seeds, dry them, and hang/sprinkle them around all the entrances to their house

polar bears and leopard seals are bad omens. they’re some of the only other animals that can take on dragons. icewings avoid them

(they’re seen as highly holy or a bad omen. or both. depends on who you talk to)

i think icewings think fire bad. you see smoke in tundra? bad. run

however. still. light is rare in the arctic, especially the winter, so it’s bad luck to snuff out a light and often is thought to mean inviting death into your life. this is also bad! 

so coming across a fire? bad. PUTTING OUT THE FIRE? worse. get outta there

i think there’s a lot of myths of seeing apparitions in the tundra and during the winter (that’s just snow being kicked up by the wind,,,, but also what if it’s not)

most common are: a giant dragon-like creature with a horn on its forehead and a finned tail, following this creature is debatable

still with the apparitions: crowd of small rodents (ermines, stoats, lemmings) scurrying about. decidedly don’t follow these, but they do often point to an early spring

i could go on forever.

(i also think icewings use water to “scry”) ((in general i headcanon magic to be a bit more present in the world. not just animus have it))

holy shit this got so long 👁👁 i hope these were somewhat interesting. dm or send an ask if you want more info on any of them i love spinning these guys around in my head i think icewings are so interesting fr.

[resident-sean-expert]

50+ random hcs about Sean because I have too much free time :

• One day Charmaine found a strange vase while looking for something in the garage. The next day Sean woke up to see flowers in his bong

• Sean owns a boat that he renamed "the Ocean's 12"

• Sean is the kind of guy who only celebrates Halloween to traumatize children with a real chainsaw

• He has never learned to tie his shoes, and doesn't plan to

• Sean has a lot of sleep disorders (including sleep apnea, insomnia, night terrors, confusional arousals...), so that's one of the reasons he drinks, so he can 'sleep' easily

• He suffers from bipolar disorder (type I), "The Guy Pillow", "the Casino", and "A Night Out With the Guys" were manic episodes, "Pine Barrens" a depressive episode

• The first kiss he shared with Laszlo was on a mechanical bull

• Sean and Charmaine attend couple therapy with the conclusion "put yourself in each other's shoes." Sean took the advice to the letter, wore one of his mom's dress, bought a cheap wig and stole makeup from Charmaine's purse. In the morning Charmaine woke up to see her husband dressed as a woman baking cookies and listening to the Spice Girls. 20 minutes later Charmaine changed into jeans, grabbed a bottle of wine and turned on the TV

• If Sean learns that vampires are real, he'll turn into a conspiracy theorist

• He has a scar from his liver transplant

• He secretly does drag when his wife's not at home, stealing her dresses, heels and make-up

• He owns glasses but never wears them, except when driving at night without passengers

• Sean is color blind, so he always chooses clothes with neutral colours or regular patterns (leopard, military), he is also dyslexic but not diagnosed

• He killed his father when he was a teenager (premeditated)

• Sean has a tribal tattoo on his right arm, 'Charmaine' on his left pec and 'Carpe Diem' written on his lower back

• As a child he was not allowed to watch cartoons so his childhood was forged with VHS of old movies. His favourite was Ocean Eleven 1960, it became his comfort film. He exploded with joy when he learned that there would be a remake (2001) It's also because his father forbade him to watch PBS, that today he only watches sports games and cartoons in front of the TV

• He has been fascinated by the occult and the supernatural since he was a teenager, his father considered it to be bullshit so Sean has always been discreet about it

• Sean gets frequent migraines so he uses essential oils, peppermint or CBD oil. He especially can't stand the smell of nail polish (and remover)

• He and Mikey slept together in college, mainly because they couldn't get any 'chicks'

• Sean lived in Canada for few years, so he knows some French

• He still can't identify the bushes that Laszlo has cut (the vaginas)

• He would never admit it but he loves to sew and crochet, yet he always asks his wife to put the thread in the needle because he can't do it and it makes him furious real quick

• Sean would like to grow a beard but Charmaine can't stand it because it scratches her when they kiss

• While Charmaine is a fucking danger in the kitchen, Sean is excellent, and his favorite dish to cook is lasagne. He uses his cooking skills to sell (edible) cookies in front of universities (it has a great success)

• He's had a string of odd jobs, but now he's the manager of a sex shop

yes I totally based this hc on this image :

• He wears matching underwear with Charmaine (leopard or zebra pattern)

• He has a terrible sense of hygiene; he doesn't brush his teeth because it's "too long", so he only uses mouthwash. To wash his body and hair, he borrows his wife's products, but in the past but he's already used white vinegar for washing himself because it's "more economical". And he only cuts his nails with a pair of scissors

• He has a birthmark on his ass

• He can make a "W" with his tongue

• Charmaine always prepares Sean's baths and makes sure the water is hot, even scalding, because Sean is traumatized by freezing baths (for the same reasons as Gregory in House MD)

• To this day, he's convinced that being pansexual means being attracted to "pans"

• When he was little, his mother forced him to learn the piano, he hated it, so he stopped after a year

• Every time Charmaine sees her husband watching wrestling on TV, she laughs at him saying it's soft porn, her husband's response is "you're not wrong."

• Despite his love of the ocean, he suffers from seasickness

• Sean's biggest fear is having the same baldness as his father, so he buys all kinds of miraculous products he's seen on TV to try and stem the problem

• While Charmaine is a shit at geography, Sean is pretty good

• For a short period of his adolescence he was Satanic, the only trace of which is the inverted pentagram he had scarified on his arm, which is why he always wears long sleeves, to hide his numerous self-inflicted scars

• To reach Sean you have to call him, he never replies to messages, if you're lucky he read, and if you're extra lucky he put an "👍" emoji

• When Sean goes to the bathroom, you don't see him again for at least 30 mins. Charmaine often wondered what Sean did to take so much time to shit, and he simply replied that it was his only moment of peace of the day

• Since he's a "man" he's not supposed to cry, so he only cries in front of movies (his love for the Ocean's trilogy is explained by the fact that it's the only time he allows himself to sob)

• He has a naturally artistic temperament : storytelling, crochet, painting etc...

• When he eats, he always starts with dessert because "the best comes first"

• At the beginning of their relationship, he and Charmaine had a little dog (Toy Poodle) named "Biscuit". One day, Sean almost killed the dog by sitting on it while being stoned (the Sopranos ref)

• He's an energy vampire (only Colin knows about it)

• During the pandemic curfew, he drank hydroalcoholic gel out of desperation because he had run out of beer at home

• He has a stuffed animal named "Badger", It was a bear but now he looks more like a rag, Charmaine almost threw it away by accident, Sean threatened to kill her if anything happened to the first love of his life. Franky has already ended up with a black eye for insulting Badger

• He is still a fan of the occult, tarot, gems energy and astrology etc...

• Every time he goes to the movies with Charmaine, he asks her to hide beer cans under her breasts. At first she thought it was absolutely stupid, but eventually Charmaine did it a few times. She never admitted to him that she could hide a bag of weed in her vagina if need be, for obvious reasons

• He hates IQ tests because the only time he took one online, he scored 89 and Charmaine 130

• If he's rich today, it's because he won a game show when he was 30

• Sean suffers from depersonalization/derealization

• He grew his hair to look like the Joker (and subconsciously Laszlo)

• Most of Sean's savings went into expensive jewelry that he bought for his wife to make up for it

• Behind his Ocean's Twelve memorabilia there's a secret room with absolutely everything needed to organize a casino heist : A notebook with personalized costume sketches for each of his friends + 11 extremely extensive custom-made costumes protected in covers, an entire library about robbery and action books, entire handmade maps of New Jersey and more precisely Atlantic City's casinos, an impressive collection of various weapons and safes to practice opening them, twenty years of research for the perfect heist, accumulated in notebooks and plastic sleeves, a notebook with all the formulas on how to make a bomb, and of course, the homemade bomb in the corner of the room, a huge table in the center with a video projector, a cupboard with other figures and goodies from the trilogy, and posters all around the room

• Sean is a kid mentally, and annoying his wife is his favorite pastime, his favorite activity, being upstairs and shouting Charmaine's name, if she answers, he doesn't answer, until she freaks out

• If someone knocks on the toilet while he's occupying it, he shits louder

• At the beach, every time Sean passes by a sand castle, Charmaine is forced to threaten him by whispering "Don't" because she knows that her husband wants to "accidentally" destroy the castle

• If Sean dies at some point, his unfinished business as a ghost is to kiss Laszlo

• He has very long feet, when he goes bowling with Mikey and Franky. They call him "Bozo", which is the nickname he chooses on the screen to play

• Sean suffers from sleep apnea, so he snores like a pig, and for the past few years he's had a CPAP machine

• In his teen, he sympathized with the Jersey Devil, but after the brain scramblies he forgot that he had become close to the creature

• Sean already asked Charmaine to do ASMR videos just to gain money

• He is stronger than Laszlo at chess

• He wrote plenty of Ocean's 11/12 fics on ao3. Charmaine corrects his spelling mistakes, and she's annoyed to see that her husband only writes sex scenes between men, she'd also like to see between women. His excuse : "I don't have a vagina, how the fuck I'm supposed to write the sensations of having one duh-"

• During a manic episode, he bought 6 Roomba to make an army of them

• He knows the Ocean Twelve lines by heart

• If Charmaine and Sean don't judge the clothing style of their neighbors it's because they probably had a goth period in their youth

• He is a reincarnation, just like Jeff/Gregor

• Jenna is the secret love child of the Rinaldi

• Although he and Charmaine have reconciled, they no longer sleep in the same room; because Sean has insomnia and gets up often to go out on the balcony and smoke his cigarette (which awakens Charmaine)

[lirusstories]

Evangeline

Chase gets his wife and kids back for valentines day! Happy Chase week ya'll!

-

He's running, he doesn't know where, there are corpses everywhere and the air is thick with the smell of panic and blood and ozone. He doesn’t know what that thing was or how it knows his name (He knows, fuck he knows but he doesn’t want to). Fuck he wishes he had his gun.

Chase barely gains enough traction to stop himself from slipping on blood and hitting a wall, only bumping into it with his shoulder when a familiar song, deep in memories he simultaneously wants to forget and never let go of fills the air.

“That someone as beautiful as he~” It feels like the voice is drawing him in, it feels like nice warm soup after a cold day outside and couch cuddles while the kids are in bed. Like a nice warm summer day gardening next to the person you love. 

Like listening to your wife sing as you slow dance in the kitchen after a nightmare of red hallways.

He doesn’t realize he’s begun stumbling towards the source until he feels his own tears in his beard snapping him back to what's going on.

A part of him wants to turn around and run away, the last he saw of any of them were their bloody corpses in the twins room. Whatever could be drawing him in can’t be good but… her voice… It's been so long since he’s heard it.

“Could love someone like me

Love always finds a way it's true!”

He doesn’t know how many twists and turns he takes, but he starts to run into flowers, roses growing into the bodies on the… everything of the building, and yet they seem to part for him.

“And I love you, Evangeline…”

The voice is mournful and he wants nothing more than to wipe it away and tell her he’s still here.

“I’m still here-” He chokes out as he lets his body guide him through the thicket of white roses, seeming to part but gently cling to him, yet weary of their own thorns.

“Ooh, love is beautiful

Love is wonderful!”

Her voice no longer feels like an echo, the closer he gets, he can hear her. But, where is she?

Where are they? His family where are they?

“Love is everything, do you agree?”

He does, he very much does. He just, can’t remember the last time he’s felt loved. Everything feels so long ago…

“Mais oui!”

Chase feels his breath hitch, the voice is echoing through the halls now properly echoing through the halls.

“Look how he lights up the sky~”

Chase stumbles, he’s so close. The thicket seems to be clearing towards him from around the corner now instead of around him. It feels like his heart's about to pop out of his chest.

A part of his mind tells him he’s crazy for hoping, that whatever is coming around the corner will kill him as soon as it sees him. But he can’t help, please be her. At least let one of his family members defy reality and still be alive.

His heart jumps to his throat when he sees her come around the corner. It’s not the her he remembers. But it’s so clearly, vividly her. And she’s singing.

“And I love you, Evangeline…” Her voice trails off when she sees him. Her now spacey eyes blossoming with pink and orange and more pink as the roses around him seem to change color, and he’s so distracted by his own joy at seeing his wife again he doesn’t notice the smaller figures hiding behind her.

Chase’s heart jumps to his throat as she speaks, he never thought he’d ever get to hear it again, it’s soft and breathy with disbelief.

“Chase?”

-

@glitchyartist @randowaffle