#i need to go back to painting i love doing that….

[whatifitis]

♡ Only Us - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando does a little fuck up and you're stubborn but you love him anyway. Feat. Max F being annoyed with a lack of dining utensils in an airbnb

Author's Note: this was based off this request! sorry for taking so long to write something. I hope this lives up to the request <3

WC: 1633

CW: Lando being a little shit, fluff, max f cussing

“I can’t believe this expensive air bnb doesn’t have utensils.” Max says, feeling a bit frustrated as you’d all gone shopping earlier for some groceries for your time in the air bnb. However, none of you thought to get some silverware as well, “it’s an air bnb, not a fucking hotel. There should be silverware in here. For fucks sake. We’re gonna have to eat with our hands like barbarians.”

“Max, relax. We can just get some pizza or something. No need for utensils.” Pietra says, walking up to him and hugging him from behind. You were starving so you hope a consensus can be made quickly. You hadn’t eaten all day due to having to rush from one place to another and somehow, every place that you had passed and that served food had a long wait. 

You and Lando watched the scene unfold from the couch as Max tried to argue that utensils will be needed at some point and you can’t just eat pizza the whole trip. After some debates, Max clapped his hands together, “All right. We’re getting chinese because we can ask for utensils and use them for most of the trip.” 

Everyone seemed pleased with Max’s idea and so you all gathered around to list everything that was needed before someone made the call and actually placed the order. 

In true Lando fashion, the man ordered nearly 40 spring rolls… that’s your man…

The whole group gathered in the living area and played some card games while everyone waited for the food to arrive. There was a lot of betting and wins and losses. Lando somehow was the only one to be down to his underwear after losing quite a few rounds of poker. Only Lando would find himself in that predicament. 

“If the food doesn’t arrive soon, I’m gonna call and ask where the fuck it is. It’s been ages. Where the fuck is it? The guy is probably having a fat shit and the foods getting fucking cold.”

“Max, it’s been 30 minutes and it was a pretty big order. It will be fine, just sit down and have some crisps.”

“No, P I’ve got the shakes look.” Max says whilst purposefully shaking his hands in an exaggerated manner, to which Pietra rolled her eyes. 

After some time, the doorbell rang and Max just about ran to the door, tripping over the leg of a chair in the process. Once Max is back with the bags of food, he places them on the table and begins to unpack them. As he unpacks everything, his eyebrows begin to furrow with each item he takes out, “No, no, no ,no! No fucking way.”

“Mate, what’s going on?” Lando walked behind Max. 

“There’s no utensils! They forgot the fucking utensils. Oh my fuck.” Max says in defeat, throwing his hands in the air and plopping onto the seat behind him. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. You feel bad for the man, but the scene was just too funny. 

“Yeah, keep laughing as you eat your fried rice with your bare hands. I hope your fucking rice is cold as well, fucks sake.” Max threatens. The man may be small, but when he’s upset, he doesn’t hold back with the threats. 

“Max, it’s okay. We can just make some makeshift utensils.” you offer. 

“Now how are we gonna do that, Y/n.”

“Simple. Someone can use this pen, we can roll this piece of paper into a cone and someone can shovel food into their mouth-”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous… Let’s do it before I rip someone's head off.”

So now the scene is painted, everyone is sitting around the coffee table and chowing on their food with the strangest objects. Pietra was using two makeup brushes as some makeshift chopsticks whilst Max opted to use the cone shaped paper, literally shoveling food into his mouth. Lando had decided to use a pen to try and shove food into his mouth and you ended up using a lens that popped out of your glasses when Lando sat on them earlier. 

When it happened, you wanted to be upset with Lando because they were your favorite glasses and they were the only ones you had brought on this trip. But Lando quickly apologized and immediately bought you a new pair. You also couldn’t be mad because once Lando saw how upset you were, he’d said “Just because my ass is fat, doesn't mean my feelings are tough.”

“I’m so hungry, I was about to go mental.” you said as you had taken your first few bites. 

“Same.” Max said, causing you all to side eye him, “what?”

“Babe, you were already going mental.” Pietra had told him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was calm, cool, and collected.”

After everyone openly judged Max, you all carried on eating and talking. Lando decided it was a good idea to play around and when he did, he was bumping into you. You were still eating so you asked him to calm down so you could finish eating but he didn’t. He ended up knocking your lens out of your hand and it got thrown across the room, shattering onto the floor. 

You just simply sat and stared at the shattered lens. You guys were limited on things you could use to eat so now all you could do was eat with your hands. But now you were too pissed off to eat. You’d lost your appetite. You simply stood up, threw your plate out and went to bed. 

Lando followed after you and you quickly glanced at him before turning your back to him. He looked truly regretful of his actions, “Baby, I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you. You hadn’t eaten all day and I fully messed up. You can use the pen I was using. You didn’t eat much.” 

“Not now, Lan. I’m tired and I don’t wanna yell at you.”

He understood his faults and didn’t want to make everything worse. He knew you needed the space so that night, he didn’t come to bed. He decided it was probably best to spend the night on the couch and let you have the bed to yourself. 

You tossed and turned all night, missing Lando’s warm body being next to yours. He did make you upset today but it didn’t mean you wanted him to sleep on the couch. But you were too stubborn so he spent the whole night on the couch. 

In the morning, everyone was set to wake up and get ready to ski and snowboard. You decided to sleep a little longer due to the fact that you slept so little during the night. But your sleep was cut even shorter when you were startled awake from the slamming of a door. Lando had accidentally hit the bedroom door so hard, it slammed into the wall. 

As soon as Lando had realized his mistake, he, once again, looked at you apologetically and mouthed the words ‘i’m so sorry’ but you were already pissed off yet again. You decided to just get up and get ready for the day, not paying much mind to Lando as you didn’t want to explode at him. 

The whole day, you spent time with the girls and just tried to enjoy your day. When it was starting to get dark, the whole group agreed to meet at the bottom of the hill near the cafes. You made your way down on your snowboard and when you spotted Lando standing alone at the bottom, you decided to have a little payback. 

Once you were close enough, you turned your snowboard to stop and spray Lando with snow. 

“I deserved that.” Lando had said as he tried to brush off some snow.

“You did.” was all you said before you made your way to the rest of the group. 

Once everyone was back in the cabin, you all started shedding your layers and began to unwind. You were walking around the house, just tidying a bit out of boredom when you stumbled upon some mistletoe that was hanging in one of the doorways. “You know we need to kiss now because that's the rule.” you heard Lando say from behind you. He had his classic smirk plastered on his face. 

You decided to give him a quick peck, resulting in him being smiley and thinking everything was okay now. 

“Nope. Still mad.” you said as you turned to walk away. But before you could walk away, Lando had wrapped himself around you. 

“No! I’m not letting you go til you love me again.”

“Lan, let me go.”

“No”

“Lan”

“Nope”

This continued as you tried to wrestle him off but he kept his hold on you and he ended up climbing onto your back but you weren’t prepared so the two of you fell into a mess of intertwined limbs and laughter. 

After the two of you caught your breath, Lando asked “Are we okay?” with a serious look on his face. You knew he could be insecure at times in the relationship, even after little arguments and disagreements. 

“Yes, baby. We’re okay. I was just tired, I’m sorry for making you think otherwise.” 

“‘S okay. I know I kinda fucked up.”

“Yeah. But no matter the fight, I will still love you and want you. What we’ve got going is good.” you move your hand to gently tap his temple, “We can try to quiet the noises in your head.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “I never thought there’d be someone like you who could want me. But here you are. It’s you and me and that’s all that I need it to be.”

“Only us.”

“Only us.”

[westside-rot]

Talk To Me Nice

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black reader

No warnings for this one. Hopefully there aren't too many errors cuz it's only lightly edited. I'm trying to squeeze in my last post of the year lol

This little idea is the result of a writing prompt and @megamindsecretlair keeping me honest about writing something every day. Figured I'd share the results with whoever else wants to check it out.

“That’s a bit harsh my love…”

After spending the last 20 minutes filling your home with negative energy you expected reciprocation.  Instead you were being derailed with a new form of gaslighting, the kind reserved for evolved men who appeared harmless on the surface but harbored a petty side few got to see. Though impressive, you knew Terry was only using kind words to paint himself the victim. It didn’t matter how many steps ahead you thought you were. The guilt still hit with the same bruising force.

Six months of newlywed bliss cruelly interrupted by disappointment you never wanted to feel so early into your marriage. Perhaps there was a better way to convey that hurt to your husband. Maybe sitting him down for a mature conversation would’ve spared you from the growing pressure around your temples and the rawness in your throat from all the yelling you’d been doing. You were convinced the window for apologies and grand romantic gestures had closed. He'd started it. You were damn sure going to finish it.

You pushed through your doubts and committed to your frustrations with arms folded tightly across your chest, the initial urge to roll your eyes shifting to a hard, resolute stare. “Well Terrence sometimes harsh is necessary.”

He scratched his beard and nodded as though you’d just agreed on what to have for dinner. Silence took over the room once again, intensifying the conflict between you. His eyes never broke contact.

“Are you done?” From anyone else the question would’ve triggered your inner toxic and possibly resulted in the police being called. But there was note of calmness in your husband’s voice that exonerated him from the accusation before it became your new truth. Terry wasn’t being dismissive. He was simply better at regulating his emotions.  His inability to stop wringing his hands together revealed the stress hidden within. For a second time you were forced to ignore your guilt for the sake of winning. Mirroring his casual demeanor, you continued to stand firm and prepared for whatever he intended to say next.

“I must’ve imagined sitting in premarital counseling for all those weeks. Or maybe I was the only one taking it seriously. That must be it 'cause at the first sign of a problem you’ve broken every promise we made to each other.” His words landed direct hits on your conscience. Everything holding you together began to cave under the weight of his response. Terry wasn’t wrong. Instinctively, you went into defense mode anyway.  

“That’s not fai—”

“Nah, you’re not about to interrupt me. I let you speak. You’ll show me the same respect. Understand?” The natural base in his voice instantly got your attention. Yes sir rang so clearly in your mind you weren’t entirely convinced you hadn’t said it out loud. You prayed Terry couldn’t somehow feel the lust pulsing alongside everything else flooding your system. One day soon under normal circumstances you were going to explore his newfound aggressive side. How, you weren’t entirely sure. With a new goal seared into your brain and soaked through panties clinging to your ass you managed to retain a sense of dignity as you obeyed your husband’s command. 

“You’re my wife. One day you’ll be the mother of our children. I refuse to let them hear us talking crazy to each other, so I’m gonna need you to find a better way to communicate your feelings. If I need to sign us back up for therapy I will but this shit ends tonight.”

All the fight drained from your body. Shame took its place. In its presence you were finally able to recall those important conversations leading up to your wedding, the dreams you shared, the legacy you wanted to create. If not for your anger you could have revisited them sooner and found a better use for them. Now you were facing an evening apart, perhaps more depending on how long Terry held on to a grudge.

All you could do was stare at the ground and wait for it to be over with. Hopefully you’d find a way to sleep knowing you had failed your first test as a wife. When your lip started to quiver you promptly bit down on it to keep your hurt feelings in check.  You hadn’t behaved in a way deserving of care but when Terry's long fingers reached out to palm the side of your face you sought out his warmth like a needy kitten.

“Now you’re breaking my heart.”

“I can’t help it. Did you have to be so mean?” Though you found your ability to speak you burrowed your pout lips further into his hand. The loudest person in the room didn’t deserve to cry. If you were lucky you'd disappear and rematerialize tomorrow with more sense.

“It got your attention. Besides, I thought harsh was necessary. Or does that only apply when you’re cursing me out?” He chuckled.  You weren’t persuaded by the playfulness in his voice to look up. Terry initiated the gesture with fingers affectionately placed beneath your chin. It wasn’t lost on you that he'd repositioned your face at the same proud angle you held while lecturing him as if two nights apart somehow equated to years of neglect. You wanted to look away but soon discovered his eyes remained steadfast and beautiful in the aftermath of the storm you’d caused. They connected with your soul in an instant providing a gentle assurance that you were safe with him.

 The words flowed through your upturned lips effortlessly. “I’m sorry baby. You didn’t deserve all those ugly things I said to you.” Before you could say more he captured your face in both hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re already forgiven my love.” Terry’s lips grazed yours as he spoke. The distance was torture. Finally, after what felt like an unbearably long time, he covered your mouth with his, reestablishing his dominance with a tenderness that sets your heart and mind at ease.  It was a proper reconciliation, but it also wasn’t enough. Not after the way you behaved tonight.

You treated the sincerity on his lips as your own personal buffet. When it became difficult to breathe you pulled away to regain control over the situation.  “I still have a lot to make up for.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he pushed the curls back from your face. “We both do. Your approach needs some work, but you had a right to be upset with me.” You nodded and yet nothing in you wanted to celebrate the vindication. You were simply relieved to know you hadn’t caused any irrevocable damage by overreacting. Even more relieved to see him smiling again.  "I think my beautiful and extremely childish wife should get the honor of going first.”

The frown you attempted to hold cracked under the pressure of his wide grin. You hate being teased. You were also guilty on all counts and willing to take your punishment. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“It’s very fair.” He mumbled between prolonged kisses down your neck.

You exhaled and curved your fingers over his broad shoulders. It was becoming harder to think or even breathe with him sucking everywhere his lips could reach. “Can we talk it out like grown-ups tomorrow?”

“Of course, baby. It's mandatory from now on.” When he spoke the guttural quality possessing his voice registered deep in the places he’s yet to touch. You felt painfully empty but knew you wouldn’t stay that way for long. At the rate his lips were moving you weren’t convinced you'd make it past the couch. You preferred the comfort of your king-sized bed the scene of your crime was a fitting place for getting down on your knees to make proper use of your mouth.

Terry surprised you when he broke the suction on your collarbone to reunite at eye level. There was a noticeable glint of mischief in his eyes before he bent down to throw you over his shoulder. You squealed and braced a hand at the center of his back for support you really didn't need.

"You better not drop me trying to be cute!"

"I was planning on letting you off easy tonight. Now I'm thinking your apology needs to be as loud as all that shit you've been talking."

"Yes daddy. Remind me what all these big strong muscles are really for. Also, please send help!"

With a single act you reclaim the home you’ve built, your gasps and combined laughter echoing along the walls as he carried you upstairs.

[venusincleo]

Time. iii.

Part One [i]. ♡ Part Two [ii].

Warnings: MDNI • Explicit • Aaron Pierre x Black!Reader, smoking, a lil angst, a lil fluff, teasing, p in v, creampie, slight overstimulation, pet names, DDLG kink, BDSM themes, Soft!Aaron, omniscient POV and more...

BKG/Summary: As you and Aaron maintain your budding love in your long distance relationship, your respective careers continue to grow exponentially. Your writing has picked up wonderfully, and your newest work is to hit local shelves with pre-orders out for delivery. When there is a snag in production and they print the wrong cover, fans are rightfully mad but have no one to blame but you. To help cope with the stress, you call Aaron, hoping that he can talk you down but as he's busy himself, all you get is solutions. To make up for his lack of sensitivity to a moment that may very well be formative to your career, he gets a one way flight to see you.

Word Count: 3.8k❣

A/N: ✴︎Happy New Year!✴︎ Tell me how you liked this one 💗 also... i ain't do my last proofread so keep it cute please 😚🫶🏾

• • •

right now i need your loving, one way flight ain't nothin'... - NYL by Phabo

Light smoke billowed from your lips, taking the color of the bronze sky as you blew it out of your large window. Your eyes low and your mind clear, you gazed into the horizon, thanking God for the beauty He had painted ions ago. You gazed along the limited foliage and bustling street underneath your apartment building, and couldn’t help giggling at the fact that everything seemed to be orange under the filter of the sunset.

As your mind was numbed from any of the day's events, you thought back to the person you would have loved to share this moment with. Earlier in your hectic day, you had called him for some relief from life’s unexpected symptoms but you did not get the reaction you desired. Wise but stern motivations took the place of the gentle words you thought you were sure to receive.

Then, your yearning tone turned defensive, and that was not pretty. Before you knew it, you and Aaron had had a small spat about his tone, and then you were hanging up in his face.

It wasn’t like you needed him to make things better, but you at least hoped that he would love on you enough for you to see the solution for yourself. Instead, he made it seem like he was too busy to handle your emotions in the moment, like he was unable to make the time. Though, two short minutes of affirmations would have sufficed, no doubt.

Now, you were okay with not speaking to him for the rest of the day. You wanted to feel your high for as long as humanly possible.

With a levitating sway of your hips, you allowed your bare feet to usher you back into your living room, your patterned maxi dress flowing behind you as you turned up your speaker. As Jhene Aiko’s voice heightened in volume, you rolled your body to her sensual lyrics, joint in the air.

'Let’s go half on a son, how far do you wanna go? Ohhhhh…'

Just as you brought your herb back to your lips to take in a long puff, your phone rang, interrupting the music. Breathing out the smoke quickly, you rush to your phone, ready to decline the call when you see the contact photo. Aaron.

A deep sigh rushes past your lips as you press the green button, taking a drag from your j as you see the call connecting. Distracted by nothing in particular, Aaron’s eyes take a moment to focus on your face through the screen, but once he does, he scoffs in near disbelief.

“I see you found an outlet.” His deep voice is littered with droplets of venom, and you roll your eyes as you breathe out the smoke you were holding.

“I would much rather have something else for that but, here I am.” You are involuntarily calm, your logical mind wanting to give him back what he was dishing. But physically, the effects of the weed wouldn’t even allow you to be phased. You were just…there.

“Anyways, did you call for something or what? Cause I’m busy…” You bend down to your coffee table to ash your joint in your pretty glass tray, and then your red eyes meet Aaron’s on your FaceTime. He hears a hint of reciprocation of the energy he gave you this morning, and his eyes soften, his natural pout a bit more defined.

“Uh, yeah…I’m outside.” Without much thought to his words, you smack your teeth, and look at your j, examining the neatly rolled herb inside.

“Okay, nigga.” All he can do is chuckle at your reaction, and you look at your screen to see what’s so funny.

“No, I’m really,” He begins, and then you hear three knocks echoing on either side of your phone. “Outside.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you set your joint down in your tray and go to your front door. A quick glance through your peephole is all it takes to see Aaron’s large frame waiting right on the other side, and you instantly hang up the phone. After unlocking it, you swing your door open and meet Aaron’s eyes.

Every feeling that you had been avoiding bubbled up quickly, like seeing him was the last straw. Shit. You cursed yourself internally. You didn’t want to fold under his intense blue eyes, but as his softened demeanor waits to be welcomed in, tears sting at the sides of your eyes. Blinking to try and keep the waterworks at bay, you step aside and allow a space for him to make his entrance, looking off into the distance of your apartment.

Once he steps in, and waits for you to close your door, he watches you turn on your heel to face him. Soft steps in your direction lead him to the space right in front of you, and he leans his head down to be face to face with you.

“Come here.” His English accent sticks to his deep voice, and he places his hands on your hips to pull you in closer. You almost allow him to hug you, but as he begins to nestle his face in your neck, you reach your hands up to push him away from you.

“No. You hurt me, Aaron.” He keeps his stature, silently flexing his strength over you, but he moves back a little to try and respect your wishes. The tears continue to flood your eyes, but at this point, you don’t care anymore. You want him to see how he made you feel, you need him to.

Seeing you so upset with him makes Aaron’s chest tighten with worry. It wasn’t his intention to make you cry, it never was. But he couldn’t help but notice the tears threatening to spill over your lower lid at any moment.

“Y/N, please. I’m sorry.” His tone is soft, maybe the softest it’s been all day, and you find yourself looking up into his slightly upturned eyes. You want to kiss him so bad, just say ‘fuck it’ to all the points you had in mind to make to him. But you had to at least bring up the most pressing one, your mind wouldn’t allow you to forget it.

“Aaron, I-…” You begin, shaking your head as you try to form your words in a neutral way. A tear falls onto your cheek as you find just what you want to convey.

“You won’t always be able to pop up on me like this; phone calls are our primary form of communication right now. If you’re too busy for calls then maybe we should rethink this relationship.”

“I’m not too busy for your phone calls, Y/N. Today was just a bit stressful for me too but, I had no right to take that out on you.” His hands rub at your sides as he gazes into your eyes. “Truly, I apologize.”

A moment of quiet falls between the two of you, and you take in a deep breath, releasing it into the room.

“Thank you.” Your voice was near a whisper, as you took in his second apology. Comfortable now, that the two of you were on the same page, even if only for tonight, you reach your arms around Aaron’s neck, peering up into his pretty eyes yet again. Instantly, he pulls your body into his and brings his hand to your face to wipe your fallen tear.

A lush peck laces the lack of space between each of your lips, and then finally Aaron gets the hug that he yearned for. His strong arms squeeze around your body as he rests his head in the space of your shoulder and his large hands find their ways to the skin of your back. You feel his supple lips on your neck and you breathe in slowly, smelling the distinct scent of his luxury cologne mixed in with his pheromones. Your mouth nearly waters at the perfection of the warm, clean notes of his fragrance.

"I don't like seeing you cry, pretty girl." He rasps against your neck, sending tingles down your spine.

"I know." You run a dainty hand down his neck, along his shoulder and bicep, squeezing at the toned muscle. Mmm.

"Not unless Papa is making you feel that good." He trails his hands down your body, resting at your plump ass to give it a squeeze. Hearing your whispered gasp at his gesture, he brings his face back parallel to yours so he can see your expression.

Doe eyes stare up into his lowered ones, the energy in the room long past shifted, and waiting to be acted upon.

"You want me to make you feel good?" Your eyes flicker from his lowered gaze to his full pink lips, your vision shadowed by your long eyelashes.

“Yes.” As your vision is fixed on his pretty mouth, Aaron leans forward to seemingly give you what you want. But just when your lips get close, he pulls away, his intense glare demanding your attention.

Looking up into his eyes yet again, you press your body further into his, craving so desperately to feel his kiss. Instead of a kiss though, Aaron brings a strong hand to your shoulders, pushing your lovely black kinks out of his way. Sure enough, his tender hand wraps around your neck tautly, and he pulls your face right up to his.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” His chest rises and falls quicker as he watches your lips purse to reply to him.

“I want you to make love to me.” He closes in on your lips but when your eyes don’t leave his, he waits just a moment for your other requests.

“Start slow.” Your tone is breathy as you express just what you wanted and needed from your night. The ghost of a grin plays at Aaron’s lips, and then they finally connect with yours.

He parts his mouth almost instantly, the fulfilled desire of your tongue on his causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You aimlessly fight for balance, your tongues playing a tug of war you were okay with losing as long as it continued. Aaron’s hold on your neck stays firm for a few moments later, and then he slowly lets you go, bringing his strong hands to your ass through your flowing dress.

Your sure hands move to his shoulders to push his suit jacket off of his frame, and his arms leave your body to pull the tweed fabric off of him rather quickly. He throws his jacket to the side with no real regard for where it lands, and soon, his arms are back around you.

Aaron lifts you like you’re nothing, allowing your body to straddle his waist as he holds you up by your thighs. You don’t disconnect for any longer than a second, as you continue to press your needy kiss into his thick lips, feeling his hungry reciprocation. As you focus on the warm breath filling the space between your lips, and the secure hold you’re in, your body can’t help but react, your natural lubrication easing from between your thighs.

“Mm.” You grind your body against his, the friction of the clothes between you both being just enough to stimulate your throbbing clit. You whine against his lips, and he pulls away from the kiss to see your flustered face, as you bite your lip.

Seeing just how dire it is for you to feel something right now, Aaron carries you to your couch, where he lays you down softly. He lays over you as you keep your eyes locked on him, bringing a hand to your cheek as he presses his lips back into yours. As he delivers one of his slow, torturously enticing kisses, he rubs his hardened shaft against your heated core, grinding his hips against yours through your clothes.

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel yourself get wetter because of his efforts, and energy rushes through your body.

“Fuck, baby.” You breathe out, nearly being overcome with the feeling of him grinding into you. A deep breath leaves Aaron’s vocal cords in a gruff, stuttered tone, and he rubs himself against you just once more, pulling back just slightly to reach up your dress for your panties. But, when he feels nothing but your plush skin, he blinks slowly as he tries to contain his excitement.

As he takes his time pushing your dress up your body to reveal your moisturized melanin, his eyes trail past your hips, your navel, your torso and your chest to meet your pretty brown eyes yet again. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheek as you watch him intently, having a hint of an idea of what he’s about to do.

Gently, he tugs at the airy fabric of the dress you are barely wearing now, and his eyes turn stormy with desire.

“Take this off.”

You obey quickly, pulling the dress over your head and tossing it to the floor beside the couch. When your eyes meet his again, he lets a moment pass before he’s tugging his chocolate brown shirt off of his own body, revealing his soft, honey-toned skin and the rippled muscles under it. Your eyes instantly attach to the greek sculpture of his body, and you bite your lip absentmindedly as you caress his limbs with your gaze.

Under your longing specs, Aaron only leans himself forward, his body drawn to the thought of your willful and wanton touch. Catching on to his wants now, you sit up and allow your hands to grasp onto his waist, pulling him into you tenderly as your eyes flicker up to view his face.

Almost completely overtaken by the needs of your flesh, you place a series of supple kisses along Aaron’s abs. Your eyes don’t leave his stare as you decorate his skin with small pecks, teasing him just a little. But as his mind is dead set on how pretty your face is from this angle –and the tingles that erupt underneath his skin wherever your delicate hands are holding him– soft moans sneak through his lips.

Your skin heats at every moan, as they get more and more pronounced, and you get a bit sloppier with your technique. Instead of the innocent feather-light kisses you were delivering before, you part your lips to widen your kiss along his skin. Your wet kisses sound in the quiet room, ad-libbing over the music that had started back up on its own some time ago. The song you make is just enough to make Aaron even harder, and his whispered sounds of pleasure harmonize perfectly with your energy.

“Lay back.” He keeps his composure the best he can, his mind swirling with thoughts of you taking control of him and doing whatever you wanted. Yet, as you layed against the yielding cushions of your couch, luscious brown skin glistening underneath the dim light in your living room, all he knew is the only place he wanted to be, was with you. And he’d be damned if he messed it up over a phone call.

Slow hands reached for the button of his pants, and he took his time undoing the fastens that kept the fabric up on his hips. His movements sped up just a little as he got the pants off of his legs, and across the room, out of the way. The black breifs that once decorated his lower body are close behind, and then it’s just you and him.

Aaron’s kisses start at your feet, feather-light, gentle. He allows himself whatever pacing he found reasonable, for cherishing every piece of you. His lips trail up your calve, his large hand holding your leg in place as he nuzzles his nose in your skin to smell the luscious lotions you had put on hours earlier. As he gives the same amount of attention to your other leg, his kiss tender as ever as he memorizes every detail of your skin down to tracing scars, you can see just what his intentions are.

Your eyes water just a little as you watch him make a mental note of all of your details, goosebumps raising along your skin as he runs his strong hand along every inch. A gasp leaves your lips as the dopamine surging through your veins makes way for your skin to be even more heated, more pliable, more sensitive to his touch. He looks up for a moment to check in and when he sees your beautiful eyes staring back at him, a small grin raises on his lips.

The smile falls as he kisses up each of your thighs, the puddle between them worsening as he got closer. His lips fall onto the side of your thighs, traveling to your hips and the stretch marks that came with your grown woman weight. He caressed the skin adoringly, littering smaller kisses on each stripe of lighter skin he found. The breath caught in your throat as you thought of the implications of his doting actions, and the tears that had welled in your eyes were threatening to spill over.

“Aaron..” You called for him in a near-cry. Instantly, he brought his face right in front of yours, and you ran your hands along his shoulders, pulling him between your legs. His thick lips captured yours without any direction, and you kissed back eagerly, your manicured digits easing into the short curls on the back of his head. He drags the kiss on for a few more seconds, readying himself at your slick opening. When you feel his thick tip easing in just slightly, you wrap your legs around his waist tightly, trying to brace yourself for his length.

“You are so special to me, Y/N.” He mumbles against your lips before he pulls away to look you in the eyes. “I don’t ever want you to feel like I don’t care.” You reach your hand up to cup his cheek, as he continues to speak his heart to you.

“I love you, Y/N.” Aaron gives your lips a lush peck before he presses his forehead against yours, easing his throbbing cock into your wetness. You growl softly at the familiar feeling, a slight pressure reminding you of your first time together.

“Mmh, I love you too.” You whine, feeling him pull back out slowly, to thrust once again before he caught a swifter rhythm. All you can do is draw in more air, your exhales laced with high pitched exclamations of unexpected bliss.

“Daddy’s so sorry, princess.” He goes to nestle his face in the crook of your neck as he continues to make love to you a bit recklessly. Your breathing gets faster, your chest heaving up and down as you feel your climax rushing through your soma.

“Aghhh.” You squeal lightly, throwing your head back at the overwhelming feeling of his thickness going in and out, in and… out…in…and…out. Aaron recognizes your falsetto-esc moans, and leaves kisses on your ear before he whispers to you.

“Ugh, this alright?” He asks, his deep moans doing nothing but making it worse for you to concentrate on breathing right.

“Yes, baby… Shittttt…ugh y- so thick.” You almost hoped that he would take it easier on you, but Aaron had no such plans. His strong hands reached to your legs that were crossed behind his back, and pushed them up so that your knees touched your chest.

Carefully, he pulled out of you, staring down at your connection and the tracings of your pussy juices that decorated your folds, and his entire length. A gravelly moan leaves his vocal cords as he slides back into your opening, you welcoming him in with the tightest fit, and your eyebrows turn upward at such a fill.

“Fuckkk. I’m ‘bout to cum, baby.” Your whiny confession is followed by a hearty moan, and then you cover Aaron in your essence, dripping down your cunt to the couch beneath you, and circling his cock in the process. He slows down just a little bit, though he has no intentions of stopping, and leans toward you to give you the most silken kiss. Then, as he pulls away from your lips, gazing down into your eyes, he thrusts at this new, slower rhythm.

“Mmh, pussy so good.” A growl laced his mumbled words, as he fought the urge to pick up the pace even slightly. With rushed, panting breaths, he reached his hand up to your neck and grasped it just tight enough.

You feel a jump in the pit of your stomach as he works your core, effectively digging yet another nut out of you. As you feel just a little overstimulated, you reach up to his hand that is wrapped around your neck, and hold his wrist in place. You wouldn't dare tell him to stop. But it was so much, and he was so girthy... you didn't know how much more you could take.

Eyes glossy, you let in a deep breath, hoping to regulate yourself but instead, all you do is moan out loudly. You throw your head back yet again, this time unintelligible whimpers and mumbles leave your mouth, and a tear runs down the side of your face.

"A-Aaron." You croak quietly, grabbing at his hips with your free hand. You find yourself grasping at any flesh of his that is visible to your hazy eyes, and he just sighs in delight.

He bites his lip to try and stifle his own cries but moans slip through his teeth so eloquently, you can tell he's close. His strokes never falter; they just get sturdier, firmer. Soon, he's squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment to hold on for as long as he can.

With a few more thrusts and a couple more loud moans, he was releasing all of his gooey, warm elixir right inside of you.

“Ohh.” You breathe out tiredly, another wave rushing over you in your trembling climax.

Aaron pulls out of you tenderly now, hearing your combined moisture sound lewdly in the room. When he saw the mixture ease from your slightly stretched opening, he smiled boyishly and placed a kiss on your forehead and then your lips. You hum lovingly, revelling in the feeling of him giving you the soft Aaron you'd craved all day.

The two of you share a quiet beat, just trying to catch your breaths. And then a resolution pops into your head.

“I need this every day. Every once in a while ain’t cutting it.” You express, still catching your breath from your great session. He chuckles at your forwardness, and pecks your lips yet again as he thinks about how he could make such a request happen for you.

“Then maybe…I move closer…?” He ventures, just a bit unsure. With sparkling eyes, and a hand to his cheek you assure his suggestion with a bit of levity.

“Maybe you should.”

• • •

I do not condone any translations, replications or plagiarisms of my original work. Please do not repost as your own. Reblogs and comments/notes welcome. ♥︎

MDNI Banner by @renyanovyn

༓TAGLIST༓

@userthatlovessmut32 @blyffe @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @dreamavenue99 @writingsbytee @mymindisneverhere @gg-trini @nayaesworld @the9sychwardlibrary @jaza23

*let me know if you want to be added to the ongoing taglist in the comments*

[witherby]

I fell in love with my own idea, so surprise! More baby time! >:3

Thinking about my Littlest Wayne au where each of your family members play games with you in different ways:

Dick is 1000000000% IN when you wanna play School or have Tea Parties or play Doctor. He is your student. He is your fellow gossip queen. He is your patient. He's whatever you need him to be and he plays his roles flawlessly. Tell him all the drama while you shop at his grocery store and pretend to paint his nails five minutes later, after which he has a crisis because you diagnosed him with Terminal Cooties. He's fretting over who gets what in the will but also he's the gardener, so he's gotta make his own funeral bouquet when the illness finally takes its toll. How could you do this to him, doc?

Damian will do the practical things with you. He won't play Pretend but he will color with you ("I'm helping them develop fine motor control."), play with Lincoln Logs with you ("It's never too early to take an interest in architecture."), and do puzzles with you ("See, this is an Edge piece. You can tell because one side is flat and doesn't link to other pieces.").

Jason and Tim are down for whatever, but they mostly just supervise you if you decide to play with your toys alone. You go to them if you want some Parallel Playtime. They're nice and calming while still keeping you company.

Bruce routinely decides you've gotten a little too chatty with the fake, other person on the line and gently takes the toy phone from your hands whenever you have it out.

"They're two years old, you son of a bitch," he growls into the plastic receiver, using the Batman voice and everything. Dick wheezes, Damian shakes his head, Jay and Tim are smirking, and you're jumping up and down, making grabby hands for your toy back. "I don't know who you are, but if you ever call here again, I will find you and I will kill you."

(This is his Favorite Bit. You're sick of it.)

Alfred disguises your playtimes with him as just helping with chores. He gives you child-sized brooms and plastic cutting boards and a mini duster, and sends you on missions to battle all the dust bunnies in the nooks and crannies he can't reach, or just gives you easy kitchen tasks like mashing potatoes or licking cookie batter off of the spoon. You're his favorite little helper.

-----

If you like my content, please consider reblogging! It lets me know you want more!

[cameronwillow]

Sorry, I just wanted to hear you Scream

Tate Langdon x fem reader

On Halloween, your ghost boyfriend can leave the murder house and you finally ask him what you’ve been wanting to know. Why was he Ghostface before his death?

I cannot believe I found this! From over a year ago. One of my favorite fics I’ve ever written. Reuploaded for my sis @marchsfreakshow and my OG @oceanblvd111 thank you for your endless love and support since I came back on here.

CW: Talks of violence, ghostface!tate, switch Tate, mommy kink, oral, knife play, unprotected sex, old so not as good as my recent writing.

Halloween was your favorite day of the year. Not only was the weather perfect, the best scary movies were released, costumes became creative but also because Tate could go out and venture into the world.

This was your second Halloween together. The first year you went to the beach. A place he admitted used to be his designated spot whenever he needed to escape. You had discussed back and forth before ultimately deciding to have your date at a graveyard.

It filled your gothic heart. Your relationship was exciting, despite his eternal life as a ghost.

Tate carried the blanket and bottle of liquor you bought on your way home. The walk wasn’t far, allowing you to wear platform shoes that went along with your costume. You were dressed as the Scarlet Witch. Trading in your black clothing for red.

Tate allowed you to paint his face with makeup, skeletal features were his preference. It took you almost an hour but you wanted to be precise. You slicked his curly hair back with product. But he would do anything you asked. He was your good boy. You held your own bag close to your body. A week ago, you gifted him a cellphone. For reason one, he could contact you while you were working. And secondly, it would make tonight even better. It was secured in his denim pocket. He wasn’t able to hold your hand, so you opted to hold the crook of his elbow.

You stepped through the entrance of the cemetery. The overhanging metal curved over your head as your eyes swept over the hundreds of tombstones. “This way, baby.” Tate gestured with his head towards the left. You allowed yourself to be guided. Your feet padded over the grass. It was dark, but the adjacent streetlight gave you enough ability to see your path.

Tate led you down the narrow section between a towering tree and a collection of tombstones before he pulled you to a stopping point in front of a smaller one. “Here I am.” He smirked, his skeleton makeup curving, turning to look at you. The modest headstone was ordinary, without any flowers to commemorate the loss. You nodded as you registered the name.

Tate Langdon 1977- 1994. Loving son.

You chuckled breathlessly at his joke. “This is one hell of an idea, having a date in front of your own grave.”

Tate quirked an eyebrow before pulling you to a seated position, setting the blanket down on the ground and alcohol aside. You both hadn’t bothered with cups, planning on just drinking out of the bottle, something you’d both done several times. He wrapped his arm around you, your head nuzzled on his shoulder.

“What was your motive, Tate? Being Ghostface?” It was before you were born but everyone heard about the killing spree during 1994. It started with one murder, a teenage girl strung up on a tree. Before it escalated to a principal. Those weren’t enough to raise concerns until the last night when the killer was caught.

It was at a party. A curfew had been given but a group of teens threw a gathering anyway. Two more people were murdered. Brutally. One girl was inside a dog door inside the garage. The man’s throat had been slit and he was dragged across the front of a van.

The murderer wore a gown and a mask.

Tate Langdons identity was revealed after he had been gunned down by the swat team. He took too long at the house as the police were called. The term Ghostface had been taken as a joke before it ultimately stuck with him. But he never revealed why he did it. Even during the last seconds of his life. Yet, his soul remained in the very home he was killed in.

He had been shot down in the Murder House.

You’d seen the apparel once. When he played the same game with you after class several weeks ago. Where he fingered you, used the very blade he commented the crimes with. It gave him pleasure to scare you. Or try too.

“My motive?” He asked, glancing down at you. He didn’t like to talk about his past. He hated answering questions because he didn’t want to relive it. He was always paranoid you’d leave him if he explained. You knew the relationship was toxic. But you still loved him.

Besides. He was already dead. What more could he do?

“Yes. Why did you do it?” You lifted your chin upward, watching as he clenched his jaw.

“Who said I needed a reason?” You pursed your lips as he teased you.

“Tate. Be serious. Why? Why did you kill them?”

Several seconds of silence followed. All you felt was the pattern of his breathing.

“I wanted to die. And I wanted to take people with me. I wanted to scare them. I wanted them to think they had a chance to escape me. I wanted my mother to know exactly what kind of monster she created. That’s why I killed her boyfriend. I wanted her to know the pain she made me feel.”

You allowed the confession to hang in the air. It wasn’t fear you felt, more like a realization that Tate had been dangerous. Your loving, doting and obsessed boyfriend had been a killer. He knew exactly how to press the blade down on your skin without breaking it. He knew how to walk without making noise. He enjoyed seeing you beg for him. Beg for his cock. Beg for him to let you finish.

But you wanted him to have a turn. He needed to experience it.

“Mmm. Did you like being covered in blood?” You asked, your voice soft despite the disturbing question.

Tate swallowed. “I didn’t really think about it.” You nodded and pulled your hands in your lap. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead starting at the stone.

“Do you ever think about me, covered in blood?” You withheld a smile when he took a sharp inhale. He blinked.

“Y-yes.” He looked down at you but you reached up, taking his chin between your thumb and pointer finger. You set his jaw straight.

“Did I say you could look at me?” Tate shakes his head obediently.

“Good boy. Do you ever think about…me killing someone?” His lips parted and he heavily inhaled through his nose.

“Yes.” He half whispered, half whined.

“Have you thought about fucking me in the costume? Using the knife on me again? While I’m covered in someone else’s blood?”

Tate shifted on the ground, his eyes glazing as he tried to keep his focus ahead. “Babe-“

“Don’t interrupt me, Tate. Be good and answer only when I tell you to.” You sternly commanded. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” He shakily answered. You needed to push a little harder, just a bit to get exactly what you needed.

“What are you thinking about now, Tate? And make sure you’re honest.” You kept watching him. His teeth grazed his lower lip, despite the paint and his hand started to drift to his pants.

“I want to splay you on the ground, right here. Right now. I want to spread your legs, taste you with my mouth before I fuck you senseless. Until you can’t wait. And then do it all over again.” You quirked an eyebrow before your hand fell to his thigh.

“What about you, baby? Don’t you want me to make you feel good? To suck your dick? Make you cum in my mouth?” He shivered and his fingers drifted to his crotch.

“I’d rather feel you cum. I don’t care about me. All I want is you.” You hummed and your finger tips grazed his growing erection.

“Mmm. You’re such a sweet boy, Tate. Do you like it when my legs are around your head? Do you like that?”

Tate’s hand finally palmed his dick and you smiled in triumph. You lifted yourself from his embrace and you grabbed his wrist.

“Tate. Did I say you could touch yourself? Don’t you remember our rules?” Tate’s eyes widened in response and you shook your head disapprovingly.

The rules consisted that Tate was not allowed to touch himself without permission. Neither were you. Along with a safe word. Mercy.

“I’m sorry-I thought you-“

Your hand raised and wrapped around his neck. You pulled him close as he grunted from the pressure. You squeezed steadily the sides of his throat and you leaned in, hovering over his mouth. “Mmm, my sweet little boy. Getting hard over me being drenched in blood. You’re absolutely pathetic.”

Tate’s eyes glasses over and his lip slightly trembled. “Mama-please-“ He leaned in to kiss you but you pulled your head away.

“I don’t think so, Tate. I think…you need to be punished. Would you agree?” You proposed and he swallowed heavily. Fear prickling his expression.

“Do whatever you want to me. Just let me touch you, please.” Tate placed his hands on your waist, squeezing gently and causing your knee to settle inbetween his legs. “Please, please let me touch you. I can make it up to you. I promise, baby. I can’t stand the thought of you mad at me.”

He laid down, his hair like a blonde halo on the ground as he stared up at you, your hand still wrapped around his neck. He looked so submissive. So willing to make you happy. Ready for you to use him however you fucking wanted. And you will.

“You’ll make it up to me?” You whispered. Tate started grinding his dick down on your knee, humping like a bitch in heat.

“Yes, anything. I’ll do anything for you.” He encouraged, slipping his fingers down to your waistband, your dark leggings stretching as he attempted to touch your underwear. Removing your hand from his throat, you slapped him across the face. Tate grimaced from the impact, his head jolting to the side and he blinked at you with watery eyes.

“I didn’t say you could touch me, Tate.” He leaned up, taking his hands off your torso and buried his face in your breasts.

You attempted to push him down but he was a lot stronger than you despite his slender form. His arms wrapped around your hips, making you straddle his pelvis.

“Mama-I’m sorry-I just need you. I want to make you cum. I want you to be proud of me-please let me be good. I promise you’ll be proud of me…” He was begging. You almost gave in, withholding a moan as he pressed kisses on your costume covered breasts but you needed to stick with your plan.

“Tate, if you want to make me feel good. Lay down. Lay down nice and slow for me, baby.” He quickly pulled away, his face paint smudged as he slowly laid his body down on the grass.

You were situated above him, powerful and he was willing to obey every command you gave him. Reaching your hand down, you brushed his cheek with your fingers and he contently leaned in to your touch. “Now, I want you to close your eyes. Keep them closed until you know exactly when to open them.” You instructed in a clear voice.

Tate opened his mouth to protest but you gripped his chin between your fingers. Leaving nail imprints. “What did I say about disobeying me?” He shut them immediately after that. You smirked. Now, the real fun could begin.

Carefully, you brought yourself to stand. Your boots crunching the grass beneath you while walking to your bag. Digging through it, your hands locked around a lightweight but long, black gown. Slipping it on, you then pulled out the last needed item.

The Ghostface mask. And the same blade Tate used on you.

Slipping it over your hair and face, you started walking away as quiet as you could. Then, you tucked the knife to your belt inside the gown. If Tate heard running, he would open his eyes too soon. You disappeared in the bustle of trees across the cemetery before stepping behind the church. Smiling wickedly, you pulled out your cellphone.

Tate was growing impatient. He listened to your footsteps carefully, trying to figure out where you were before they disappeared entirely. Seconds passed, he felt alone. Despite your warnings, Tate opened his eyes and sat up.

You were gone.

Panic set in and he jumped to his feet. What if something was wrong? His breathing grew heavier as he jogged through the area, desperately searching for any signs of you. He called out but no answer came.

“Fuck. Fucking shit.” He ran his fingers through his mused hair and stepped forward in the direction of the church, but his cellphone started ringing.

Tate frowned and looked at his pocket. Only one person knew of his number. Maybe you needed help. He dug it out of the material and pressed it to his ear.

“are you okay? Where are you?”

“Hello, Tate Langdon.” He froze and his eyes widened. The voice on the other end.

Was Ghostface. The very same alteration he used in 1994. The same he used to call you.

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to come up with a response. It was all a trick. It was you. But…how did you sneak it past him?

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners not to respond to a greeting?” Ghostface prodded and Tate cleared his throat.

“Hey. is that what you were planning? Where are you?”

“Tate, you’ve been such a bad boy. Dreaming about your girlfriend killing someone.” He huffed out an embarrassed breath and scanned the area around him.

“This-this isn’t funny, asshole.” He muttered under his breath.

“Oh, I’d be careful about calling me names, Tate. You wouldn’t want me to slit that pretty neck of yours, would you?” Ghostface leered. Tate chuckled and started moving towards the trees.

“That wouldn’t matter. I’m already dead.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be punished, Tate. For all the things you did to those poor, innocent people.”

“Innocent?” He parroted.

“Yes. In fact, I wonder if movies influenced you. Movies can be a powerful inspiration. Tell me…what’s your favorite scary movie?” Tate squatted down, trying to see evidence of your boot prints but he didn’t see anything.

“Do you really have to go through the whole speech? I asked too many questions.” He said to himself.

“Is that a refusal to my question? Mmm, Tate. You just can’t listen, can you?” Ghostface teased and he sighed with frustration.

“Where are you?”

“Aw, you look so pretty when you’re desperate.” He looked around, realizing you must be close by, able to see his expression. Instead of answering, he crept closer to the church.

“What happens if I find you?” He asked, excitedly looking for you.

“Then, you get to make me cum. Just like you want.” Tate groaned and quickly looked behind the building.

No one was there.

He went to speak before a hand gripped his hair, yanking him back and a sharp blade pressed against his neck. He gasped.

“You didn’t think it be that easy, did you?” You said, voice still altered. Tate wanted desperately to turn around and pound her on the ground but the knife nicked his skin.

Blood trickled down and the hand that gripped his hair, traveled down his face, to his throat. Her finger collected the plasma and smeared it across his lips.

“Please, Christ I can’t take it anymore. Please, let me fuck you. I’m begging you, please.” Tate pleaded. You turned him around.

He stared down at her, her gown hung on her body. The mask was secure and she aimed the knife at his chest. “Sorry, I just wanted to hear you scream.”

“Get on your back.” You commanded. Tate fell to the ground, landing underneath you and you smiled behind the mask. Finally, he was listening. With your free hand, you unbutton his jeans and yanked them down.

You lifted his shirt up, exposing his v line and the thin patch of hair. His dick was hard and prominent through his boxers. A wet patch of precum staining it. You shook your head, taking the blade and lightly tracing it across his skin.

Tate inhaled sharply and bucked his hips. Humping the air as you played with the knife. His hand lifted and you smacked his crotch with the handle. He stilled, panting as you peeled off the mask. You set the blade down, hooking your fingers around his waistband and then you pulled it down his legs.

His cock hung heavy, thick and red at the tip. “So needy, baby.” Your voice was back to normal. You lowered yourself on your stomach, wrapping your hand around his dick before licking a single stripe along the vein.

Tate whimpered with a high pitch whine as his hand flew to your hair. Allowing the grip, you pulled the tip to your lips and started sucking gently. His fingers pulled your hair, hard enough to hurt but you massaged his cock with your hand as you bobbed your head up and down.

He was a mess, moaning and shaking as you gave him head. “I’m gonna-I’m gonna cum.” He grunted. His climax rushed through, gushing out of your mouth as you helped him ride out his orgasm.

You pulled back, your lipstick smeared and you wiped your chin with the back of your hand. Before you had a chance to breathe, Tate flipped you over, immediately smashing his lips to yours. As he shoved his tongue in your mouth, hungrily kissing you, his hand frantically felt your torso. You kissed him back feverishly, pulling his hair as he sank his teeth into your lower lip.

You mewled as he ripped himself away and then sloppily kissing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “You’re mine, all fucking mine.” He pleaded like a prayer as he rocked his hips against yours, his hardening dick against you.

As submissive as he was, Tate could also fuck you like it was his last time ever doing so. You were lost in the growing pleasure as he brushed his tongue against your sweet spot. He fumbled to pull your leggings down and underwear down, any coordination gone as he shoved himself down. You wanted to resist, regain control but he pried your legs apart.

“Tate-“ You started but he shook his head. He opened his mouth, laid his tongue flat against your pussy as he started lapping away at your clit.

“No, no, don’t tell me to stop. I need this, mommy.” He moaned against your cunt as he circled his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to withhold your sounds but he grazed your pussy with his teeth. “No, I want to hear how good this feels.” Tate dug his fingernails into your thighs to keep you still, dragging them painfully but deliciously down. You felt the hilt of the knife against your entrance and you looked down. Tate’s eyes were black as he effortlessly slipped the handle inside you. The foreign feeling pumped in and out as his mouth worked your swollen pussy. You weren’t going to last much longer as he increased the speed.

A overpowering wave of pleasure exploded and you couldn’t make any noise as you trembled. Tate finally pulled back and removed the handle from you. He crawled up, cupping your chin before he kissed you. Forcing you to taste your own cum.

“I need to fuck you,” He moaned against your lips as he shuffled clumsily to line himself up with your cunt.

He nipped your lip too hard, blood pooled from the small wound and he repeated your earlier actions. Smudging your mouth with blood as he bottomed you out. “Fuck.” He growled. “You look so hot with blood on your skin.”

You arms wrapped around his shoulders as he thrusted, deep inside you, hard enough to hit your cervix but you loved the pain. His movements were growing sloppy. “Don’t cum until I say, Tate. Or else I’ll have to punish you again.”

But he couldn’t listen, his speed thudded inside you and you felt him spill inside you, he squeezed his eyes shut from the orgasm as he came to a stop. He ripped them back open in fear as he understood his mistake. “I’m sorry-you just felt so good-“ He pleaded but you wouldn’t have it.

You pushed him off, forcing him on his stomach as you straddled his back. His bare pelvis pressed against the ground as you trailed your fingers down his skin.

“Now, you’re really going to scream.”

@taintandviolent @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @evansroses @rafesheaven @stillwjk-channie-lixie @fear-is-truth

[cuchufletapl]

I was rewatching the scene where Ekko is trying to stop Jinx from killing herself to get a better feel of her perspective during all that and:

She's looking at him as he talks about it not being too late to build something new, and then she looks down.

Focus on the cymbal monkeys lining the Z-Drive that AU Powder put in as decoration.

We go back to Ekko, who also looks down for a second before he says the bit about someone worth building it for, and when the camera focuses on Jinx again, she seems to still be looking down at the Z-Drive before her gaze flickers back up to his face.

How the fuck did this detail not stick in my mind before this rewatch. The monkeys have been her symbol since childhood — it's practically her signature as Jinx, since what set her on the path to become Jinx was a cymbal-monkey bomb and she spray-paints it everywhere, in every place where she causes mayhem. But given AU Powder's fondness for them too it's safe to assume that she used them often for her gadgets even before that. Gadgets that she'd surely show and make with Ekko because that's a hobby they shared as children.

Her eyes fixating on this detail, these little toys that are synonymous with her, at the same time as he's saying the words that convince her to give life another try. It's significant! It's her past and her present, her inventiveness, her trauma and her havoc-wreaking — and Ekko is carrying it with him. During his time in utopian Zaun, he fell in love with AU Powder again, yes, but he was also finally able to reconcile with the fact that Jinx existing doesn't mean that his Powder is dead, that Jinx didn't replace her, that she's a continuation of the girl he knew. The cymbal-monkeys inside his device that allows him to rewind time and try again and again: they stand for both Jinx and the two Powders, three versions of the same girl he's come to love.

So Ekko, in this scene, is not really asking her to change and fix her image like Vi did (which kind of takes me back to his conversation with AU Powder in front of the Vi mural, when she asks him, "You want me to change?" and he tells her no, that she's the kind of person whose ideas change the world and should allow herself to live to her full potential — because he's missing that part of her that's salient in Jinx, but that AU Powder is repressing). To her, his words sound like she doesn't need to die to break the cycle. No part of her needs to die. There are no chairs to choose to sit in anymore.

There's also a possibility that she realises that he's doing something weird with time. Every second of this conversation, every time she looks at him, he suddenly gets more disheveled and injured despite the grenade never going off (from her perspective) — she must notice that. She looks at that glowing gadget by his side with this added touch that is very much hers. And maybe she figures out that it was a version of her who put it there.

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

This year, I want to be a wetter, I mean better person - Mark Webber x reader

cws: age gaps (reader is in her 20s, Mark is in his 40s), perv! Mark, semi-public, squirting, dirty talk, author loves dilfs and hopes that one day dilfs will love her too

Whichever spirit possessed your parents to decide to move to the middle of nowhere, England was a hidden blessing. It may not have seemed that way when you had to endure their company for the 4 hour drive from the airport or when you knew that there was no one fuckable for miles. Not that you could get down and dirty under a family roof, whether it was somebody else's or your own. Nothing more haunting than staring down at the lone poster of Fernando Alonso from his Renaut era on your hideously painted walls while cumming. Or, more accurately faking an orgasm. So you spent a nice, festive Christmas Eve and Christmas in your new family home. Catalogued everything that went wrong in your life to land you in this position from the 26th onwards. Actually explored the town and found that at least 1 bar (as if it would have more than that not on the main street) was open on New Years.

Your parents were not party people. By 8, they had tucked in on the couch and were yawning through a holiday concert of some Dutch guy. You shimmied into the one presentable dress they had seemed to pack from your childhood home. "Conveniently," your cute clothes were in storage, and the owner was somewhere in Dubai at the moment. So you have to make do with this black piece. It's not your first choice. But at least the fact that you had grown some tits since being 18 a few years ago was comforting. You pass your parents by with a promise to not be long now. Being met with a sleepy "Don't worry, sweetheart." you know that they're going to sleep through the fireworks anyway.

To nobody's surprise, the bar isn't crowded. The raging bull is in a pathetic state. Some top 40 hits radio station is playing. The floor is sticky. The bartender looks like he's your parents' age, and it doesn't seem like he knows just what goes into your favorite Long Island iced tea. You sit down and ask him to keep pouring you rum and cokes until either he runs out or your wallet is empty. You sip his very boozy concoction slowly, as you're texting your friends. Complimenting their party fits. Asking details about potential hookups. Looking at pictures of their pets in ugly sweaters. As midnight draws near, someone else actually gets inside the bar. You look up and see a pair of green eyes and holy shit, it's a holiday miracle. It's Mark Webber. 9 time GP winner. Manager of your current favorite driver on the grid. Ultimate celebrity crush, Mark Webber. With the grace of a newborn giraffe, you slide out of your chair. You don't want him to see you, but at the same time, you need it to survive. There goes your cover of not knowing who he is. Now, the bar name makes sense. It all aligns like a jigsaw puzzle. The car themed coasters. The signed cocktail napkin framed on the wall. The only “fancy” drink on the menu being named the Aussie grit.

After you not so subtly go to the bathroom to reapply your lipstick and try to work wonders with a mascara wand, you go back to your place at the bar. Only Mark is next to you, bendy black straw into his namesake cocktail.

"Look, I don't know how much they paid you to tail me here, but I can double it." he says, and you're confused.

"You're some kind of journalist or something.” You shake your head, still too stunned that he's here, talking to you.

“Don't tell me you're just some big city girl whose boyfriend brought her to meet the parents, and now you're single because you found him groping his cousin. Because, believe me, that romcom's more of a staple than you think." He continues.

"Wow, how bad is this town that a young woman in a bar on NYE is news. My parents moved here in April. I'm visiting them for the first time. And so far, I haven't encountered any guys, much less the ones that think the best part of waking up is Folgers in their cup." You explain.

"Are your folks the couple who hate each other but are always bragging about their daughter's graduation in March?" Mark guesses, and you are once again stunned by just much this small town gets to people. Not only does a man that's starred into many of your wet dreams know your parents. No, that's not enough, he also knows they're not the perfect relationship role models. You can't help but wonder if it's hereditary and also the reason you haven't brought home a partner. Pushing that to the side, you reply to him with

"Just the ones.”

"You know your dad thinks we're best friends, and your mom keeps asking if I can hire you at Porsche or McLaren." He says and suddenly all the facetimes with your parents come back to you. The man with a very nice house who they invite over for tea sometimes. The one that's been a little under the weather lately. The one who drives a sports car to the center.

"You're motorsport Mark? Of course you are. Be grateful that you don't have any kids my age because I'd practically be your daughter in law too." You speak before you think, momentarily forgetting about the man's wife and kid. Then you wonder why he's out here with you and not back at home. You're inching to ask, but there is no way to say “are you divorced, and if yes, can I ride you into next year, please?"”. Especially after he hits you with a reminder of why that's a bad idea.

"You should be happy that your parents are proud of you, sweetheart. And that they want you to stick around with them here." He says.

"If I was, wouldn't I be about to watch the fireworks with them?" You ask.

"Still some time until that, isn't it? Wanna make it count?" He replies to your question with a question.

You agree, and there's two more Aussie Grits on the bar. The bar tender also places two laminated sheets of paper and two markers in front of you. The comic sans text on top says "New Years Resolutions" and the neat little lines give you 5 rows to write in.

"Sick of hearing us talk, aren't you?" Mark asks the other man, and the latter just grunts.

"Bet I can write mine before you finish your drink." The former driver says, clearly still a speed fiend. You shake on it, and you start chugging the strong drink. Meanwhile, he's adding chicken scratch sentences to the A4.

He beats you, and to his credit, all his resolutions are thought out and personal. You're happy to see that he's put "do more for Oscar" in there and giggle at the "post more on Instagram?". While you're still reading, he's busy gloating, making fun of you for not learning the most important thing in college - how to hold your liquor.

"What, like you could do any better. Mark, I'm surprised you're standing after the drinks you already had. I bet that I'll have to see you get locked in here till the morning for your own sake." You say, both posing a challenge and remembering the "beauty" of some more traditional British pubs. You hope that the one booth you see is at least comfortable. He doesn't back down, and you're on the clock, writing down what you want to accomplish in 2025. But your brain is buzzing from the drinks, from the way liquid is dripping down Mark's chin and onto his pants, by the fact that you're a horny drunk and the unavailable dilf next to you is too delicious to pass on. You lose, unsurprisingly. Handing over the list, you absent mindedly say

"You know I wouldn't mind your help with the last one, I'm sure you can make it happen, wink wink, nudge nudge.". You're referring to the item "attend my first grand prix," a dream of yours since getting into the sport. But apparently, in the rush, you had added a more nsfw goal under it. Because the item on your list that ended it prematurely was, in fact, "squirt for the first time.".

"You wanna double-check your work before saying things, sweetheart. " he asks, and you're mortified when you do. You start apologizing and gathering your things to leave. Mark places a strong hand on your bare thigh to stop you.

"I never said I wasn't going to do it. I'd be glad to. I'm just making sure that here and now is the place you want to bring this up." He says. Your jaw drops, and you're like a fish out of water.

"Aren't you married?" You ask. It's not the first that you thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, you have to hear him say it.

"Divorced. Technically, in the process of, but no ring. Empty house, and a cold bed. Only my left hand for relief." He says and you're picturing Mark pumping his cock in his fist. You cross your legs and clench your thighs slightly, which doesn't go unnoticed by the older man. He moves his hand and spreads them.

"And you, sweetheart? Do you have some secret boy toy to make your switch into adulthood more fun? Or a nice pretty girl like yourself that you've been shaking up with since your dorm days?" He asks.

"No. Same as you, but I use my right hand. My clit's too sensitive if I switch up my technique." You say, hellbent on making that man go crazy for you.

Mark looks around and tips a crisp 50-pound note from his wallet. You can't help but notice the little blue wrapper peeking out of the Italian leather. He calls over the bartender and asks for "2 coffees when we come back." You think the Aussie's going to take you to his car. Have you ruin his custom leather seats and make you lick up your mess as punishment? You guess he might even take you to his house, not that you have any idea where it is exactly. Ask you to hold on tight as the headboard to his once marital bed slams against the wall. Makes sure your sensitive little clit humps against the pillow as he's fucking you from behind.

But Mark drags you to the men's room instead. Spreads your legs and makes you grab the sink.

"You know I'm a man of few words. And as much as I'd love to start you off with a hands-on approach, I think you haven't earned it yet. So let's show you some videos first, huh?". He pulls out his phone and opens his Google drive. He's got a folder titled xxx and in it is maliciously organized subfolders by years.

"I can click any of them? And I'll see you making a woman squirt?" You say, impressed.

"Never met a girl whose pussy I couldn't make gush. Although I'd stick to the pre-retirement years." He says and you settle on a 2012 video. You know the later ones probably feature his ex. But this one stars a faceless blonde, all curves and moans. You squirm when Mark smacks her ass, watching it jiggle. You keep your eyes on how his tongue slides between her folds. You try to ignore how he's rolled up your dress and is just staring at your underwear. Watching it get wetter and wetter. You're too preoccupied with younger him to ask for his touch now.

The next video is a brunette, with pierced nipples and a possible disdain for Mark. That's gone when he slides into her, fingers pinching her clit. He makes her come too, and the next one and the one after that. You've seen enough. You turn and find him eye level with your cunt, long legs bent into a squat. He may be more than a decade older than in the video, but an old dog doesn't stop learning new tricks.

"Mark, I need you, please." You beg, beyond ready to be treated like one of his "little starlets" from the spank bank. You wonder if he'd film you too. Have your pussy soaking his cock in your juices as a memento of your time together.

"How do you want me, sweetheart?" He asks.

"Need you to fuck me, want to feel your cock inside of me, please." You moan out. And he's a perfect gentleman, because he promises he'll give it to you.

But first he slides his fingers to the front of your underwear and two of them are on your clit, rubbing. Maybe it's because of his height, that the length has spread even to his limbs. Maybe it's the dexterity, the sheer speed of his movements. Usually you'd prefer it starting slow, and building up. But with Mark, it was all climbing, starting at a 100 and moving towards 200 and above. Your hips are bucking against him, searching more. He slows just for a second in order to thrust two fingers inside of you.

"Look at you, already a mess. Did I get you so rilled up, sweetheart. Does this old man do it so much for you?" He asks and smiles as you can only groan and beg for more. He's not someone who draws out things, so he tells you to keep it up for him as he opens the condom package. He watches you whine that your fingers don't feel as good, that they aren't enough.

"Oh sweetheart, just you wait. You're going to be ruined." Mark says as he feeds you just the tip. He makes you take your hands off, replacing them with his. He thrusts up, matching his movements on your clit.

"It's too big, please." You say. Were you asking him for more or to stop? Your body seemed to favour the latter , because you were practically dripping on the bathroom floor. Mark uses his other hand to bring you closer to himself, his shallow thrusts pumping deeper and deeper. He's hitting that spot in your body, the one which you didn't even know existed.

"Be good and cum for me, will you, sweetheart? I don't have all night. So unless you want me to drag you out like this and fuck you on the town square under the fireworks, you better let go." Mark says. He does miss how tight you get around him when he talks like this. He continues, telling you how good you make him feel and how he can't wait to see your pretty orgasm face.That's what tips you over the edge. They're tears coming out of your eyes, you're pretty sure you're drooling and Mark's cock is indeed soaked with your juices. You can hear the obnoxious squelching of his last few thrusts, before he also comes.

He's still inside you when your alarm rings, the sound coming from your purse, long forgotten on the floor. You scramble to turn it off.

"One minute to midnight. Well, it's more like 20 seconds now." You announce. Mark takes your face in his hands (still slick with you) and kisses you gently. He doesn't have the heart to tell you that this is the first kiss he's had all year. You don't have the heart to tell him the same. All you know is that your return flight might be rebooked to a later date. You finally found something interesting to do in your parent's new town.

[teddypines]

The pretty things in life

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Summary: Y/N needing comfort after a long day and Logan being a carrying husband. Making sure his wife got all the love she deserves after a tough day.

Lost of fluff and use of multiple nicknames (Bub, kitty, Kitten).

Husband!Logan x Wife!Reader. Reader is a snow leopard mutant/hybrid in this, other feline creatures are possible too.

Note: happy New year everyone!! (This was totally not posted on accident)

Pictures and art from Pinterest, credits to the artist. I just put it together.

Words: 2097

The little poem at the end is from the book 'Pillow Thoughts' by Courtney Peppernell.

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Today wasn’t the greatest day, everything just seemed to go wrong. The children were louder than other days, the noise being a bit too much for Y/N’s sensitive ears, but she was going to finish her lessons. Already looking forward to cuddles in the nest with Logan after dinner. Needing her hubby for comfort, wanting to be wrapped in his arms and sent. But that sadly had to wait for a bit, only two more lessons to give and then she would be done.

“Next slice, please, Kurt.” Y/N said before Kurt tapped the laptop for the next slide of the presentation. “And here we see a painting of heterochromia. See how the artist put detail into every little coloured dot on the eyes.” Y/N explained as she looked at Kurt, giving him a little sign to put on the next slide. Until one of the teen’s put up their hand. “But miss what does this have to do with art?” 

“Good question, Alice, we are going to try and paint something as close to it's real life counterpart. Get it to look as realistic as you can, put in details that someone might not see at first. You can try to use different perspectives, see it in a different light and color. Just put on canvas what you see as best as you can.” Y/N explained as she showed the children a piece of art she did showing the beauty of something small yet so bright in color because of the lighting, in this case Beast's blue fur. “And if this doesn’t work for you, then do something else, be creative but keep the overall details in mind, it doesn’t even have to be big. Just paint or draw what you see.” 

With this the children went to work on their art as Y/N left the classroom to get a cup of tea and a few moments alone. Of course giving a few students the job to keep the others in check. Not wanting to come back to a destroyed classroom. 

Standing in the kitchen as the kettle boiled, thinking about how she could make it to the end of the day without feeling too overwhelmed. Unconsciously rubbing the ears on top of her head. Her tail moved around nervously in a way to try and calm herself down. She was so deep in though she didn’t even notice Logan slipping his arms around her waist. 

“What ya thinking about, bub?” He asked, making Y/N jump out of her thoughts. “Just what I have to do to survive the rest of the day.” She answered while leaning back against Logan, her tail going around Logan's leg to ground herself against him. “Awh, is my kitty a little overwhelmed and overstimulated?” Logan asked with a small smirk on his face. Which made Y/N grumble a bit in answer, knowing the tone in her husband's voice all too well. She reached up to grab her teacup from the cupboard.

“How about I join you for your lessons, that’s your last lesson of the day, right?” Logan suggested after kissing Y/N’s shoulder. Wanting her to know he was there for her, even in her overstimulated situation.“No, have one more after this one, but you don’t have to join me, you have your own classes.” She answered. Putting her tea bag into her cup, putting in the boiled water right after. “I finished for the day.” 

“Really? Owh, yeah, it’s wednesday.” Y/N realised as Logan took her mug, starting to lead Y/N back to her class, his hand on her lower back, just above her tail. Just a little bit of comfort he could offer her. “Come on love, after classes have ended I'll cuddle with you.” Logan promised with a smile on his face. “In the nest?” Y/N asked, giving Logan big kitten eyes. “Yes, in the nest, bub.”

<---------------------------------------------------->

Logan stayed by Y/N’s side as she helped the children with their art and taught the next class. He didn’t say a single word, he just looked grumpy with his arms folded over his chest and his feet on the desk. Some of the children did see a small glimpse of a smile on Logan’s face when Y/N looked back at him while she explained something about inspiration and making art about the things and/or people you love. Logan’s gaze made a few of the children giggle, and some of the girls just wished someone would look at them like how Logan looks at Y/N. He just really loves his wife and it showed.

If Logan could make art like his wife, he would make art about her, show her how he sees her every day, how beautiful she really is. Bring out her best features, her glowing eyes, her hair and those fluffy ears. That idiot tail that always found a place around his leg or her legs and the thighs he loved to nap on when he allowed himself. Sadly no one would ever see the way Logan sees Y/N since he sucks at art and photography doesn’t do her justice.

<----------------------------------------------------->

After classes had finally ended for the day and the kids had left the classroom, Y/N sat down in Logan’s lap and let out a sigh. “Good job, bub, you’re done for the day.” Logan whispered into Y/N’s ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Gently holding onto her as she lay her head on his shoulder. “Yeah… Now I want to go to the nest and cuddle, I really need cuddles right now.” Y/N responded as she buried her nose into Logan’s shirt, his scent calming her down a little. “And I could really use some dinner and a good drink, right about now.” She added. “Then let’s get you some dinner first, get you in the shower after and then we can cuddle in the nest.” Logan answered, taking charge. He knew exactly what Y/N needed when she was tired, so he was going to take care of her.

Logan wrapped Y/N’s arms around his neck and her legs around his waist before standing up from the desk chair. Holding her close to him, as he carried her. “What do you want for dinner?” He asked after getting out of the classroom and into the hallway. “Pasta, the good one.” Y/N answered. Logan grumbled a bit as Y/N answered, he knew which pasta she wanted. The only problem with this was that he didn’t make the pasta the way Storm made it. So he only had one choice, hope that Storm was making dinner tonight and that it was the pasta Y/N wanted and that she wouldn't get overwhelmed even more if it wasn’t the pasta she wanted. Y/N wouldn’t but Logan just wanted his wife to have the pasta she wanted.

As Logan carried Y/N to the kitchen, some of the children ran past the two. Also going to the kitchen for dinner. Bickering with each other about what they thought they were going to get for dinner. 

When Logan walked into the kitchen with Y/N he saw that it was Jean and Scott by the stove. Logan groaned a little when he found out it wasn’t Storm who made dinner. “What are you two making?” Y/N asked Jean as she looked over Logan’s shoulder, not really minding that it wasn’t Storm making dinner. "Lasagne." Scott answered, putting more sauce in the dish. Logan sighed in relief, lasagne was pasta too, that was good.

“Yeah, and we have garlic bread on the side and some salad if you want to be healthy.” Jean continued Scott's answer. “It will be ready in about forty minutes.” She added, already have read Y/N's thoughts about how long it was going to take until it was done. Y/N groaned but accepted It would take a little more time. “Logan? Can we shower now instead of after dinner? We have the time.” Y/N asked Logan, actually liking that they had time to shower now instead of after dinner. Logan nodded his head and took Y/N to their room after telling Jean and Scott they would be back for dinner.

Some of the children in the kitchen grumbled that they had to wait almost an hour before they could have dinner, not liking that dinner was later than usual. Not really caring that some of the adults had a mission or other adult tasks to do which made them start on dinner a little later. 

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Once in their bathroom Logan sat Y/N on the counter next to the sink. “Need me to shower with you, love?” Logan asked between gentle kisses on Y/N”s head. “Yes, I would like that, please.” She answered to which Logan nodded. “Alright, let me get some fresh towels and then I'll help you undress.” Logan said as he whipped underneath Y/N’s eye, brushing away some sleep. He stepped away from her and started to grab enough towels. Y/N on the other hand wasn’t really patient and got off the counter, already undressing herself and putting her clothes in the laundry. She made her way to the shower and turned it on, waiting for the water to become the right temperature. 

“Hey, I was going to do that for you kitten.” Logan laughed once he saw his wife already undressed and underneath the warm water of the shower. He placed the towels on the heater next to the shower before undressing himself. “Just wanted to be in the shower already.” Y/N explained as she appreciated the way Logan was undressing. Logan rolled his eyes playfully. “Such an inpatient and naughty kitten.” 

Y/N gave Logan a tired smile as he got into the shower with her. Placing her right hand onto his chest. holding back the desire to just press her face into his pec’s. Logan placed his own hand over Y/N’s, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. He looked down at Y/N, seeing just how tired she really was right now and how much the shower was helping her relax. Not a single word needed to be said between them. They just showered in the comfort of each other, Logan helping Y/N was her hair, ears and tail before she helped him wash his. After doing the whole shower routine Logan just held onto Y/N for a few minutes, just letting her know he was here for her, letting her lean on him. Telling her he loved her and other sweet nothings.

Getting out of the shower was difficult, but it happened because tummies started to rumble. Logan helped Y/N dry off and got her into some comfy clothes, his shirt and her favorite comfy pants. He dried her hair and fur, brushing it after. He got some comfy clothes for himself before looking at his watch. “Dinner will be ready soon, bub.” He announced. “Okiedokie.” Y/N answered as she reached out for Logan’s arm. Holding onto him as he led the way back to the kitchen. Logan was secretly liking how clingy Y/N was right now, she usually is when tired, but now she was just a little extra clingy and he loved it.   

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Dinner was nice, a bit loud because of the inpatient and hungry kids, but the lasagna was amazing so that fixed everything for Y/N. They stayed a little longer at the dinner table for ice cream and talked about everything and nothing. Well it was mostly Logan and Y/N listening to the other, but they didn’t mind, it was nice to listen every once in a while. After dinner Logan carried Y/N back to their room. Gently laying her down on their nest, laying down next to her after she was settled. Logan made sure Y/N was tucked against him, holding a plushie he gave her for their first anniversary. Warm covers and blankets over the two of them before he kissed her head. “Sweet dreams, Love.” He whispered before watching her fall asleep. She was clearly too tired to stay awake to long for the cuddles she wanted.

Logan admired Y/N for a few minutes, looking at her fluffy ears and her cheeks. The way the bedside lamp made her face glow. She really was the prettiest thing he had ever sat his eyes on. “Of all the maps in the world, the only one I will follow is the map to your heart.” Logan whispered against Y/N’s forehead before leaving a kiss. He turned off the lamp and closed his eyes. Happily falling asleep in their nest, letting the comfort and warmth take over.

[ravenwind-75]

If @heylorrain subjected me to pain and angst songs and said to go with the ideas I was given, I listened, hard. And so I have something for you. Sorry in advance.

Indigo:

~~~~~~

He was worried about her. She knew that. That she shouldn’t be here still. That she’d lose her way to the next place. Yet she lied to herself each day that she could find her way back to him. That this time her path would lead to life not death. She never should have left him, she never should have gone there when he asked her to leave his family to him.

Yet she did.

She wondered if her aura had changed. He used to say it was bright and brilliant. She used to feel it herself, the thrumming of life and power, of love. Now she felt colder, and lonely. It was so dark here in the in between. She didn’t know how the other ghosts did it. How they moved past it. The guilt.

Maybe it was time she finally went home, but she didn’t want to leave him here by himself. It wasn’t fair, why did they have to say goodbye? Why did she have to be dead and alone, leaving someone who needed her just as much and even more so?

…..

He gave her a piece of his heart and then tried to run from it. Run from her love. And when he finally accepted it he was so lost in the clouds of fear, he’d never seen that the sun would risk her light for him. Now he couldn’t feel her closeness, warmth at all.

When he heard the news his light had left him, his face paled. When her hand evaporated in his the clouds of his soul shed tears, bitter rain of sorrow.

Yet her death had given him some hope and faith that he could be free of them. That he’d be saved.

But at what cost? What kind of lesson was this?

Her death is my fault…

He’d lost his color. He lost his light. He lost his love.

….

She was the gold to his silver, the sun to his moon. He had never felt warmer than when he was in her presence. Soft curls wrapped around his fingers, her cradled against his chest, her lips pressed against his. She gave him the joy that he’d shared.

Now he was her warmth yet she couldn’t feel it. Just a wisp of frigid wind that made him shiver that he didn’t have the heart to tell to leave him alone. He wanted her warmth back, to feel her colorful aura.

Yet she begged him as he knelt on the cold stone floor, wand to his head, “Don’t take the life I fought to save. Live for me. You’ll come home to me someday. Patience remember? I can wait. Please!”

“I already feel dead so why can’t I join you?! I don’t want another sun to set without being by your side.”

But he’d stayed when she left. Many tears were shed when they said goodbye, one last brush of her hand on his cheek he felt her fade away, his wand pointed skyward doing nothing to sense her shape.

“Don’t say goodbye I’m right here. Please, I’m not leaving, not ever.” She’d said weeping softly.

He just smiled weakly, “Darling it’s better there. Go.”

It didn’t take long to convince her. Her spirit was tired. And they just kept painting each other darker.

He couldn’t move on with her here. And she got no rest. It was time to part ways with their ghosts.

“Goodbye Ominis.”

“Goodbye, my darling.”

…….

She’d loved the color indigo. She said it was what a twilight sky looked like. Where everything is half-lit and bathed in a hue between reality and a dream.

Maybe this is how indigo felt. Calm, sad and soft. An understanding, the deepest sense of peace yet a slow pain in the quiet isolation of her absence. On the edge of something unspeakable, untouchable.

A longing, a wish for connection out of reach, something impossible. Not a bright sadness but a certain kind of a melancholy that simply fades into the silence of darkness like the light of day.

Like she did.

His favorite color used to be gold, her brightness.

Now it was indigo.

Because In his dreams, when twilight came, she lived.

[whinyangel]

inspired by this lovely piece: go read it NOW also this isn’t proof read soo…ignore the mistakes pls

felon!jj who instead of calling when he gets out of jail he sneaks through your window

it all came as a shock to you. him getting out earlier than you expected, to him now standing beside your bed grinning from ear to ear.

“h-how did you find me.” your eyes trailed up his long frame. he looked so much bigger in person than he did in the pictures. jj ignores your question and scans your room as if he’s taking it all in: the walls, the bed sheets, the paint slightly peeling, the nightlight, and the air seeping in from the crack of your door.

“I see you kept my photos and my letters.” he smirked to himself as he reached over to grab it off of your nightstand. he read over them, almost laughing, at what he wrote. “you haven’t forgot about what I told you, right?” your eyes lit up. you knew exactly what he was referring to. your mind raced as you remembered every little thing you said you wanted him to do to you and vice versa. it scared you shitless.

he moved closer, slowly moving the covers and lifting up your pajamas to reveal your smooth skin and your plump tummy and thighs. his brows furrowed, as if he was concentrating, but a sad—desperate if you will—expression covered his face. he traced his finger tips under the hook of your shorts. “oh angel. i’m so sorry to do this to you.”

he felt so bad to be fucking a young thing like you. the frilly bedsheets and matching pajamas with cute cotton underwear—that was far from sexy— made him realize how much of a “kid” you still were. “just relax baby. i promise I’ll be done soon. stay quiet for me. can you do that?” you tried to scream but his large hand was covering your whole face. you sobbed and kicked into the mattress, begging him for at least a break. “f-fuck sugar. i didn’t want to do this but the photos you were sending me had me thinking about this all the time. you shouldn’t talk to complete strangers let alone someone who’s in jail.” you knew the decision was stupid. you hardly knew him but something excited you and that was very evident from the huge puddle your pussy was leaving. you could kick and cry and scream for him to let you go but you knew you wanted this. jj could feel that you wanted this and that was enough for him to keep going until he came.

“whew. goddamn i needed that.” he says as he rolls off of you, reaching for his pants and the rest of his clothing. “you alright there.” he looked back at your body, sprawled out against the sheets. beads of sweet dropped down your back and your thighs. your sensitive clit pulsated against the sheets while your pussy clenched around nothing. “you need anything else, you call me, alright sweets?”

@starfxkrinc

[httpvomitello]

HOTD: Male Stark Reader meeting, courting, marrying, raising the kids, ruling, and growing old with Rhaenyra. No Dance. I need some domestic happy fluff about how the two go from two strangers who are marrying each other out of duty to a Queen and King consort who have a family and have grown to love one another.

Hello, hope you like it!

Ice And Fire *⁠.⁠✧

rhaenyra targaryen x m!stark reader

WARNING: AU, happy ending, no Dance Of The Dragons

Rhaenyra Targaryen stood at the edge of the Red Keep’s gardens, her silver hair catching the light of the setting sun. She looked like a painting—untouchable, beautiful, and distant. That was your soon-to-be wife. A princess who didn’t seem too thrilled about this arranged marriage. To be fair, neither were you.

But duty was duty.

You adjusted the heavy Stark furs draped over your shoulders and took a deep breath before approaching her. The soft crunch of your boots on the gravel drew her attention. Her violet eyes flicked to you, then away just as quickly, like she wasn’t all that interested in who you were.

"Princess Rhaenyra," you greeted, bowing slightly.

She nodded, her face a picture of politeness, but you could see the tension in her shoulders. "Lord Stark."

"Not a lord for much longer," you joked lightly, without thinking about the words that came out of your mouth due to nervousness. “I hear I’ll be King Consort by the end of the week.”

Her lips twitched, almost like she wanted to smile, but she held it back. “So it seems.”

Awkward silence stretched between you. This was going to be a disaster, wasn’t it? Two strangers shoved together for the sake of alliances. You could feel the cold bite of Northern winters even here in the warmth of King’s Landing.

"I hear the North is… cold," she said, breaking the silence.

You couldn’t help but laugh. "That’s one way to put it. But it’s also beautiful. Vast, untamed. You’d like it, I think."

Her brow raised. "You think so?"

You shrugged. "You strike me as someone who doesn’t like being confined."

That earned a real smile—a small one, but a smile nonetheless. Maybe this wasn’t a lost cause after all.

Courting

Married life started… awkwardly. The wedding had been a grand affair, with feasts and dancing and the kind of fanfare that made you feel out of place. You weren’t used to so much attention. The North didn’t do lavish, but the Targaryens? They thrived on it.

Rhaenyra was polite but distant. She fulfilled her duties—dinners together, public appearances—but behind closed doors, she was guarded. You couldn’t blame her. This wasn’t her choice either.

So, you decided to make the effort. Small gestures at first. Bringing her a book you noticed her eyeing in the library. Walking with her through the gardens. Listening when she spoke about the things she loved—the skies, flying on Syrax, the history of Old Valyria.

One evening, as you both sat by the fire, you handed her a small box.

"What’s this?" she asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Open it."

Inside was a necklace—a delicate silver chain with a small wolf pendant. "I had it made for you. A piece of the North to keep with you."

Her fingers brushed over the pendant, her expression softening. "It’s… lovely. Thank you."

For the first time, the walls between you started to crack.

Falling in Love

It happened slowly. Shared smiles during council meetings. Quiet conversations late at night. The way she started leaning into your touch instead of pulling away.

You found her one evening in the nursery, holding your firstborn son, Jacaerys. The sight stopped you in your tracks—Rhaenyra, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, humming softly as the baby gurgled in her arms.

"You’ll spoil him," you teased, stepping into the room.

She looked up, her smile lighting up the dim space. "He deserves a little spoiling."

You moved to stand beside her, your hand brushing hers as you looked down at your son. "You’re a natural at this."

"At what?"

"Being a mother."

Her cheeks flushed, and she leaned her head against your shoulder. "To be honest, I never imagined myself being a mother."

Moments like that became more frequent. You started to feel less like strangers and more like a team.

Building a Family

By the time your fourth and fifth child was born, twins: Viserys II and Visenya, the castle was filled with laughter. Rhaenyra ruled with grace and strength, and you supported her every step of the way. When court politics became too much, you’d whisk her away to the for a moment of peace.

Your children grew up in a home filled with love. You made sure of it. Whether it was teaching your sons to wield a sword or letting your daughter braid your hair, you were present in their lives.

Rhaenyra often teased you for being soft with the children, but you’d catch her sneaking them sweets or reading them bedtime stories long after they should’ve been asleep.

Growing Old Together

Years passed, and the love between you only deepened. You weren’t just a King Consort and a Queen; you were partners, friends, lovers.

You stood together on the balcony one evening, watching as your grandchildren played in the courtyard below. The years had added silver to your hair and lines to your faces, but none of that mattered.

"Do you regret it?" Rhaenyra asked softly.

You turned to her, surprised. "Regret what?"

"This life. Marrying me. Leaving the North."

You cupped her face in your hands, your thumb brushing over her cheek. "Never. You’re my home, Rhaenyra. You always have been."

Tears glistened in her eyes, and she leaned into your touch. "I love you."

"I love you too."

And as the sun set over King’s Landing, you knew you wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

[eeuni]

come out and play.

b.e ❀ ݁˖

fluff, mentions of sh, depression and relapses.

you lying on the grass, in the middle of summer, with plenty of reasons to cry. your teary eyes do not release even a tiny drop of water, the soft 'male fantasy' chords begin to resonate throughout the place and all that remains is to listen as well as think.

a weight settles on your soul as if it were its home, depression spreads through every sign of life that your heart gives. summer depression was definitely the worst thing you could feel. billie drops the guitar, tired of seeing you so bad and not knowing what to do.

she approaches you a little unsurely, keeping the bravery she had a few seconds ago.

"baby?" her sweet voice hurt your soul.

it hurt you not to be able to be a little better for her, or even to feel that the things that happened to you didn't matter much at the end of the day. her soft fingers traveled down your back, motioning for you to sit up so she could see you better. you sat down dejectedly. billie's eyes studied your blank expression, your eyes that didn't want to look at her or they would burst into tears.

shark let out what seemed to be a silent whimper, looking at you. his little paw landed on your thigh, decorating the scars of the cuts you once did to yourself when you were 13. on your other thigh rested your girlfriend's tattooed hand, massaging warmly.

"what's wrong, hmm?" she asked, searching your gaze.

you felt ashamed of not knowing what answer to give her because if you were honest you didn't know what was happening to you.

"i think it's just a moment of sadness, bils. is temporary." your words came out in a soft murmur, praying that what you were saying was true. that in a couple of days you weren't going to feel this way anymore.

and billie would do everything in her power to make you shine again.

"im here. in every way possible, im here. me, finneas, claudia, zoe, my dad, my mom. me." billie kissed your hand. "and i love you, and you are strong and i will hold you even if that is what you want and nothing more, my sweet girl."

you felt a tear paint your face in love and pain.

"you don't need to hide, okay? i love every mark on your skin that makes you, you." you nodded. "and even if things seem confusing, i will remind you who you are and where you are."

when you dropped your head on your girlfriend's shoulder, she realized that not a word could come out of your lips, you were simply too tired. you closed your eyes trying to focus on billie's loving touch, her sweet lips kissing the top of your head and you felt much better after a few minutes.

she gently let go of you so she could grab the guitar once more. "do you want me to play a specific song, baby girl?" billie consulted you, you nodded.

"come out and play, please" you answered.

"whatever you want my sweet girl."

she began to play and sing, closing her eyes and opening them from time to time to adjust her bangs and look at you, dedicating every word she sang to you. it's been a while since she sang this at a show, but with you she sang it at least once or twice a week, it was a song that you always asked her to sing when you were feeling bad. sahe thanked you for keeping that song alive.

"i know it makes you nervous, but i promise it's worth it."

"don't hide"

"come out and play."

[fanwarriorfictions]

Help Me, Help You - Part Twelve

Fenrys x F!Reader

Summary- Y/n finally has her reunion after twenty years apart from her brother.

Warnings- tearjerking reunion, angsty(I’m sorry)

Series Masterlist

Part Twelve

   “Please tell me you’re here to collect the bird”

   Y/n practically flies from her seat behind Nesryn, dismounting the ruk with shaking legs almost before Salkhi had even touched the stone below them. The steep mountains around them were vastly different from home, much more harsh, colder. If she wasn’t aware of her brother so nearby she would love to look around the massive aerie, to experience the wonder that was the mountain home of the clan. From what she could see of the central area there was a promising fire smoking from within the pit in the middle of the vast room, rukhin milling about the room behind the woman she assumes is Borte.

   “Where is he?” Y/n is to excited, to terrified to bother with pleasantries that she knows she should give the woman.

   “Banging on the door to his room like it’s a prison cell,” Borte laughs, crossing her arms over her leather clad chest as she looks Y/n up and down, “You must be the sister.”

   Y/n nods once, glancing past her and into the large circular room, like she would see Vaughan standing there between the painted pillars holding up the ceiling, his arms open for her to crash into like they always had been when he’d come home. It’d been so long, since she felt his strong arms around her, holding her together as she teetered on the edge of the madness of her solitude. Only for him to leave, again, and again, and again, till he left her alone, completely and utterly alone.

   “You’re going to wear a hole through the mountain if you keep that up,” Fenrys says beside her, both their packs hauled over his shoulder.

   Y/n forces herself to be still, to stop shifting her weight from foot to foot like she was about to sprint through the mountain fortress to find her brother. Borte eyes the male beside her, earning a charming grin from Fenrys that leaves her completely unimpressed. 

   “It’s good to see you Borte,” Fenrys grins even wider.

   “You look better than when I last saw you,” she nods at his cheek.

   Y/n tenses, her need to see her brother dampened with worry as she glances at the male beside her, watching as he forces back on the mask to hide the pain from the reminder. He could act like everything was fine, that he wasn’t bothered by the missing scar, he could lie to her and tell her it was alright, but Y/n saw right through that, and she hates that she caused it. 

   “I wasn’t so grotesque was I?” Fenrys uses his free hand to touch the smooth skin on his face, “I thought it added to my rugged charm.”

   “Do show our guests to their room before you insult his ego further,” Sartaq says to his hearth sister, giving the woman a pointed look that said, shut up and leave it. “Where is Vaughan.”

   “The bird is in a room on the southern face,” Borte says, turning on her heel, “You’ll hear him.”

   Y/n hesitates, turning to look at Fenrys, asking with her eyes if he was okay, even if she knew the answer would be no.

   Fenrys smiles down at her, nodding towards the retreating form of Borte, “Go, I’ll be alright.”

   “Come with me?”

   “Go see your brother, kitten,” Fenrys nudges her, “I’ll get us settled in.”

   “I’m scared,” she admits, “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

   “He does,” Fenrys says, and his hand finds her own, giving it a gentle squeeze, “Go.”

   Y/n takes a moment to gather her strength, taking some of his own that he offers through their clasped hands, like they were a thread between them that he could share a piece of himself with her. 

   She never thought about this moment, when she’d finally face her brother, so focused on finding him, on the impossibly difficult journey to do it, she hadn’t prepared herself for this. Fenrys could sense that, and he poured his strength into her until she felt steady on her own feet.

   “Are you coming?”

   Fenrys lets her hand drop between them, “She won’t wait forever, go, it’ll be alright.”

   Y/n believes him, even if Vaughan wanted nothing to do with her, it would be alright, because she wasn’t alone anymore. She held onto that, the strange bond between her and Fenrys, the male who had been a means to an end, then a friend, and now something more. And she follows Borte, her heart finally stilling in her chest, and she searched for her brother one last time.

   Borte wasn’t lying when she said Vaughan was pounding on the locked door, she was surprised he hadn’t broken the wood or ripped it off its hinges. He was perfectly capable of that, Y/n knew how strong her brother was, how a wooden door was holding him hostage, she had no clue.

   “I told him he would only be confined to that room if he tried to sneak off,” Borte says as they near, “It took half the clan and a few ruks to catch him when he shifted and fled. Luckily Aelin taught me a few handy wyrd marks.”

   “Does he know?” Y/n asks, “That I’m here?”

   She shakes her head, “He wouldn’t stop his hissing and growling long enough for me to explain why he was here so I decided to let him brood.”

   Y/n relaxes, he wasn’t trying to escape her. 

   “Knock it off bird brain!” Borte slams her fist into the door as they stop before it, “I am not replacing another door, I’ll put a rock over it next.”

   “I swear to the wyrd I will tear this whole mountain down, Borte.”

   And Y/n freezes, completely still as if she was a part of the unmoving stone of the mountain around her. His voice, she’d almost forgotten what it had sounded like, gruff and low, barely speaking his threat above a whisper, never one to shout even when she wanted him to. She’d always been the one to scream and hiss as they fought.

   Never come back. He hadn’t rose to meet her, to fight back, I’m sorry. And then he’d left, with nothing but that whispered apology for her to remember.

   “I have a surprise for you,” Borte coos through the door, “You have to behave or I’ll make her wait.”

   Vaughan doesn’t respond, no doubt plotting his escape as soon as that door opened, to lunge and tear out Borte’s throat, to fight his way out of this mountain. Y/n can’t move, even if he rammed through that door with a knife to her throat, she wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing. This is too much, too fast, and she is helpless to slow down, to breathe and steady herself.

   “Are you ready?” Borte doesn’t give her a chance to respond, “I love a good reunion.”

   The rider’s hand traces a shape on the door with a black paint, Y/n doesn’t know where the paint had come from, she can’t process anything other than her brother on the other side of the door. It swings open and Y/n nearly collapses.

   Vaughan is there, right at the threshold of the room, his body frozen as if he’d been mid sprint, a dagger made of stone poised to attack. And he’s staring at her, dark brown eyes flared wide and unblinking, like he’d seen a ghost. She feels like one, as if her body is floating in the space between here and purgatory. 

   “I’ll leave you to it,” Borte says, turning on her heel to stalk down the hall they’d just come from.

   Y/n feels her consciousness slam back into her, enough to choke out, “Hello, brother.”

   The stone in his hand shatters as it falls to the ground, and Y/n shatters with it when her brother surges forward, his arms wrapping around her to keep her from falling into a million little pieces. She is broken and whole, destroyed and rebuilt in that single moment. Everything that had been broken in her, the child he pulled her from that ice, the healer she could have been, the female he’d left in that house, the heart in her chest, none of it matters anymore, none of it.

   “Gods,” she sobs, clinging to her brother, her feet not touching the ground as he hauls her into his massive frame.

   She can’t say anything else, he doesn’t say anything at all. They only hold onto each other as if the other might slip away into nothing. They stay like that for an eternity, Vaughan, strong and unyielding, holding her together, holding both of them together. They were frozen in time, suspended in this moment where they were alright, but it wasn’t.

   And it crashes down on her, all of it, all one hundred and thirty years of solitude, of fear and sadness and anger, so much anger. 

   She pulls away quickly, stumbling out of her brother’s embrace and Vaughan has the nerve to look surprised.

   “You left me,” she says, tears streaming down her face in an endless stream.

   “I know.”

   He’d left her alone, completely and utterly alone, “I begged you to stay and you left.”

   “I know.”

   For twenty years she waited in that village, looking south, waiting to see him through the parting trees, and he was never there. He left her, abandoned her, left her to rot and decay into nothing but a shell of herself.

   “You didn’t come back,” she sobs, “I thought you’d come back, I didn’t mean it.”

   If you leave now, never, ever come back. She could still feel the way she’d growled the words at him, a feral animal backed into a corner, lashing out at the hand who had only ever been gentle with her. She’d begged him to run away with her, to leave Maeve and Doranelle far behind them, to travel like he’d been doing for months now, but he couldn’t. Maeve would find him, hunt him down and kill them both. Y/n had lashed out in anger, in fear, but she didn’t mean it, he had to know that.

   “I didn’t mean it,” she cries, “I swear, I didn’t- you never came back.”

   “I know,” Vaughan nods, “I’m sorry, you’ll never know just how sorry I am.”

   He reaches for her, trying to put everything back together, to fix it like he always did. 

   “Why?” She steps out of his reach, her shoulder colliding with the door frame, causing her to stumble into the hall behind her, “Why didn’t you come back? All this time?”

   “I couldn’t,” he says, and her brother’s voice waivers, he never cracked, never crumbled, but he does now, “Y/n I couldn’t, you know that, she-“

   “She’s dead,” Y/n screams, not caring if her voice echoes down the halls, through the mountains around them, let them know, let them feel it, her rage. “She is dead, Vaughan. You could have come back, she can’t hurt me anymore.”

   But she had, for months now she has been haunting Y/n, as if the queen’s ghost finally discovered the healer that Vaughan had hidden from her all this time. 

   “I’m sorry.”

   “You’re sorry?” She feels light headed, on the verge of passing out, this was too much. The anger, the confusion, the joy, the fear and the sadness colliding in a mess of emotions she has no ability to separate, to understand. “You were there! In Wendlyn, in Doranelle, you came back, months ago, but not for me.”

   He looks as broken as she feels, and there’s a sick part of her that is satisfied in that, knowing she hurt him just as much as he hurt her.

   “The moment the news broke that she was gone,” Y/n snarls, “I left that place for the first time in my whole life, and I started to look for you.”

   It had been the scariest moment of her life, taking those steps beyond the trees, taking the well worn paths south towards Doranelle. It took her months, picking her way across the continent, spending so much of it in her other form that at times she felt more cat than fae.

   “I thought you were coming back for me, the first time I heard a sighting of you I was so excited that I ran the entire night towards mistward, the creatures of the forest couldn’t even catch me.”

   She’d nearly died, so many times, so woefully underprepared for the world outside of her home, because of him, but it didn’t matter, not when he was coming home, not when she was finally free.

   “And then you were gone,” she says, “Again, you left, again, before I’d even gotten there. And then I thought maybe you would have gone home to look for me. I thought you would find that empty cottage and you wouldn’t know what to think, that had to be where you were going right? That would have to be, but you weren’t there, and no one had seen you.”

   She’d nearly wrung the neck of the first male she’d found in her village, demanding him to tell her what he knew of her brother. He told her that he’d heard the osprey was in the capitol of Wendlyn, the next person said he was in Maeves strong hold, the next said he was already on a ship to the southern continent. And then she’d found Fenrys, and he’d been the first shining light of the golden sun she’d seen in years.

   “You were never going to come back,” she says, not asking because she already knew, and the truth was a knife through her heart.

   “No,” Vaughan says, seeming to shrink away from her, from her fury, from his truth, “I wasn’t.”

   And that felt like the cold water of the lake filling her lungs, but it wasn’t his father holding her beneath the ice, it was Vaughan.

Tag list -

@emma-andrea1 @mgchaser @anxious-study @lees-chaotic-brain @girl-math-aint-mathing @mali22 @nikt-wazny-y @theworthlessqueen @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @lethargicluv @hannzoaks @batboygirlie @foxysouls @kiarathace @jesskidding3 @raginghellfire 

[bloodinwine]

I don't know you, I love you Chapter One: The Sweet Spot [read on a03] pairing: astarion X effy (female OC)

it's love at first sight except it doesn't feel like the first time

It was four-o-clock on a Sunday at The Sweet Spot. Everything was 10% off and they had a buy-one-get-one free deal on lube. Management (also known as Mama) had been trying to sell overstock for weeks but still refused to budge on markdown.

Goblin dildos were so 1799.

It was 1800 and orcs were in.

The store was dead.

From behind the counter, Effy was humming to a song playing off her Chest of Chords while zeroing in on the store’s front window–the only one it had. It gave her a rectangular view of the sky, as colorful as the wall of vibrators below it.

Oranges, pinks and purples.

When all the colors went away, Effy bid the sun farewell and another day of hours wasted.

“Hey.”

A set of keys were slapped onto the counter by a hand covered in dried paint.

Effy looked up at Charity who was pulling a hood over her bright, blue hair.

“I’m heading out now, you take over,” she said.

Effy stood up fast, red heels clacking as she tried to catch up to her sister already heading for the door. “Chari, no! Please don’t go. I don’t want to be by myself tonight. Can’t you just–”

Chari sighed. “Stop it, Eff. You know I’m running out of time to prepare for the gallery .”

Effy hugged Chari’s arm. “But what am I to do for the next three hours? We haven’t had a single customer in the last three. Not one.”

Chari pried herself free, which wasn’t hard for her to do; she was much stronger. “Well … maybe Pete from BG-Mobile will come over to pay a visit.”

Effy cringed, her whole body rejecting the thought. “Okay, you can go now.”

“Don’t forget to drink water, love you, bye.”

“Don’t forget I’m your favorite sister, love you, bye.”

The bell above the door chimed as Chari left and the door closed behind her.

Effy sighed and walked to the window’s edge, checking to make sure Chari got in her car safely. Knowing she was watching, her little sister saluted her before pulling away.

Gods. She’d much rather tag along to help prepare for Chari’s art show. But someone had to watch the store. The downside of family business was that sometimes it was all business and no family.

Effy walked slowly from the end of the window to the other, from the welcome sign to a small corner shelf of erotica. She could follow Chari’s buggy this way—just until she’d hit a stop sign before veering right and disappearing completely from view. But just as Chari rolled to a stop, the point of Effy’s heel kicked into something.

She looked down. Her gaze landing on the new shipment of dildos Mama says her friend Stormie swears by. The box was half open, Chari must have forgotten to unpack it. Effy glanced back out the window, but her sister was already gone.

“Be safe, babyblue,” she said.

Well … back to work.

Effy opened the box and shielded her eyes from a sudden flash of brilliance. When her eyes adjusted, she looked back down at what had to be the shiniest, most golden dildos she’d ever seen. She pulled one out, stood up and smacked it into her other hand to test its weight.

Hmm. It was nice. Solid. Had good density. Effy became curious to learn its name.

“The Cock of Lathander,” she read. Above the title was a sticker, celebrating the turn of the century.

1800–the era of dreams. 

Meh. Effy had enough of those. In most of them she was being whisked away to freedom by some handsome man who was obsessed with her.

Speaking of, maybe after she put all these dildos away she could play Eternal Nights on her faePhone. As of last night (very late into the night), she needed to make a choice. Prince Kieran had given her an ultimatum to choose him, or his sworn enemy, the dark knight—Phoenix. Prince Kieran was so very handsome and very sweet, but Phoenix …

A distant rumble from outside yanked her from her thoughts and Effy looked back out the window. A black bike sped down the road, except this was no ordinary bike. A shadow clung to its sleek shape, flickering in its ghostly headlights. Effy watched in awe, as those very same lights veered into the parking lot.

She recognized it; at the club, men often talked about getting one.

The Wraith—fastest bike there ever was. It made her poor Ruby look like the ugliest car there ever was.

Please don’t park next to me. Pleaseee.

The man–judging from his form–did not. Thank the gods.

He parked under the only lamplight, closer to BG Mobile. Tendrils of shadow dissipated when he turned the engine off. By now, Effy’s face was practically smooshed to the glass as he swung his leg off the bike in a motion so sensual, it made her jealous of the seat he’d been riding.

He grabbed underneath his full helmet and removed it, revealing white curls and pointed ears. With the helmet tucked under his arm, he began to walk. And Effy quickly realized it was in her direction.

“Fuck.”

She took a few steps back from the wall and realized she was still holding the Cock of Lathander in her hands.

“Fuck!” The dildo was chucked back into the box, and the box was picked up just as quickly. But Effy miscalculated the weight and dropped it and watched a sea of the Sun god’s dick hit the floor and flop around her feet—just as the bell to the front door chimed.

Mortified, she slowly looked up.

The man was looking down at the mess she made with a raised brow and half a smile before he lifted his face to her.

His eyes were red. Beautiful.

And for some reason, so heart-wrenchingly familiar.

“Have we met before?” she thought to ask.

But he beat her to it.

[lost-oasis]

thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses "Do you want it, kitten?" thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses "Yes." thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses thigh kisses

Oh, hey, don't mind me, just brainrotting, rrr.

-

"Do you want it, kitten?"

"Yes."

And that's all he needs to hear, spreading your legs so he can settle himself between them a little more. His eyes half-lidded, practically glazed over by your earlier make out session. His cheeks and ears flushed, even painted down his chest.

You push at his chest out of habit, surprised at your action and even when he looked surprised as well - perhaps, even disappointed - he was already teetering in between holding back and letting go. The mixed signals you just gave him has his mind spiraling out of control.

You curse yourself, because you know damn well that you want him. No - you need him. The tension between the two of you has only gotten stronger, even your urges towards him were no longer something of your control. The thought of him nearly leaving after carrying you back to the room had your mind panicking, keeping yourself close to him as much as possible.

Your mind snaps back to reality, your eyes meeting with Sylus's.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you? You already said 'yes'," his voice heavy with desire as he kisses your thigh over and over again.

Each kiss spells more desire and need, your body heating up as his other hand glides along your leg, stopping at your thighs once more, squeezing them. He absolutely loves kissing your legs, your inner thighs, every inch of your body he wants to devour. 

"I'm hoping yes is still your answer because... I just can't hold back anymore." He speaks heavily against the skin, his hands splaying out to push your thighs apart more, his kisses moving closer and closer to where you need to feel them.

"Yes," you breathe out, fingers now burying in his hair, "yes, Sylus. I haven't changed my mind." You reassure him, tugging at his hair as he teases his tongue against your clothed center. 

"Good." He responds, his breathing becoming heavier with each passing second, his nose brushing along your inner thigh, biting down harshly, making you gasp as he massages your leg almost as if he's apologetic. 

"I need you." He whispers, tugging down your underwear until it's completely off, "I need you." He repeats, tone gravely, hands squeezing your hips tightly as if that's the last of his control. 

And when you pull him into a kiss, whispering the same words. 

"I need you, Sylus." You kiss his lips.

"I need you so fucking badly," you emphasize, peppering kisses along his jawline coupled with a soft whine as you roll your hips to meet with his.

And when he finally enters you, his hands immediately finding yours and he practically feels himself floating from the way your fingers willingly intertwines with his, he whispers into your ear in between his moans from how tigh you feel around him. 

"Finally. Finally, I have you."

[rohirric-hunter]

Ooooh time for my horrible little theory about all that -- I have a thought that trying to burn Faramir alive, from Denethor's point of view, was love.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, because he was crazy," some of you are saying, but no, you're wrong, it makes perfect sense actually. See, Faramir always had to come as Denethor's second priority, despite being his son. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, to Boromir," some of you are saying, but no, you're wrong. Not to Boromir. To Gondor.

Boromir was the favored son because Boromir's wants and desires rarely if ever conflicted with what Denethor had to do and be for the sake of Gondor. Boromir's motivations and interests were what Denethor believed Gondor needed. A strong military affinity. A modern mindset that would also always put Gondor first in the way that Denethor believed it needed to be put first. Faramir of course also put Gondor first, but he looked to the past for wisdom, and Denethor, not even unreasonably, if we're honest, didn't like that because the past had not protected Gondor. His comment about Faramir desiring to appear "gracious and merciful like the kings of old," combined with something Tolkien wrote about how if Gondor won the war and Denethor was in charge he would have demanded very unforgiving tributes from Harad and the east in retaliation for the role they played in the war despite the fact that they likely had little if any choice, combined with Faramir's willingness to consider issues from all angles and make exceptions to the rules when he believes it necessary paint a rather ugly picture about the specific points upon which Denethor and Faramir likely clashed -- Faramir was more than willing to fight in the service of Gondor, but not ruthlessly so. He embodies pity and mercy, the traits that Bilbo showed when he chose not to kill Gollum, and the traits that in many cases were the only reason the Ring got destroyed at all. But Denethor did not value those traits. He demanded ruthlessness, because ruthlessness was, he believed, the only thing that was going to save them. And so Faramir was the less favored child, not necessarily because Denethor didn't love him, but because he was something that Denethor didn't believe he could afford to love.

So when the enemy comes, and the city is surrounded, and Denethor sees in the Palantir the black ships (but not who is on them), and he sees in the Palantir the empty road northward (but not the secret roads through the Druadan that his allies were actually taking), and he sees in the Palantir the dead body of the messenger he sent to Rohan, still holding the arrow that he sent in a plea for help (but not the fact that Theoden received the message already and gave the arrow back), and when he sees in the Palantir Frodo captured, lying in a prison in Mordor without the Ring (but not Sam carrying it himself), Denethor assumes, quite reasonably, that all hope is lost. Minas Tirith can only last a few days against this assault. He has been led to believe that no help is coming. Despite everything he sacrificed for it, Gondor has fallen. There is no point in loving Gondor anymore. There's about to be nothing left to love.

So in those last moments, Denethor is finally able to love Faramir first, before Gondor. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, and then he lights him on fire," some of you are saying, and I mean, okay, you're right, but hey quick question, do you think being an important political prisoner of Sauron is fun? Do you think being the guy who led innumerable guerrilla assaults against Sauron's allies and weakened his forces and largely held Ithilien and Osgiliath against him for quite frankly a ridiculous amount of time all things considered would be a nice thing to be, if you also happened to be Sauron's prisoner? Do you think the captain who commanded the loyalty and admiration of all of Gondor's army, inspiring them to stand up and fight in the face of overwhelming odds would be having a good time in the dungeons of Barad-dur? And what is the point in asking Faramir to endure that? Gondor has fallen. Gondor is gone. Boromir believed, and Denethor almost certainly also believed, that Gondor was the one thing holding Sauron back from taking over the whole rest of the world that he hadn't already conquered. And he thinks Sauron has the Ring. The whole rest of the world is, from his point of view, just as doomed as Gondor. As far as Denethor knows, this is the end of the world. There's nothing after this, only eternal darkness and suffering. Why should he ask his son to endure that?

I'm not justifying any of Denethor's actions. I'm not even saying he was a good person. But rest assured that if it was Boromir and not Faramir lying injured and dying but still alive, Denethor would have done the exact same thing. He loved Faramir. He knew he loved Faramir. And he was showing Faramir love in the only way he knew of. And yeah it's awful, but you have to remember he was in regular direct contact with Sauron for 30 years. WHICH by the by, Sauron had Numenor doing human sacrifices to Morgoth in less than one year. The best he could get out of Denethor after thirty years was killing his son while he was unconscious because he loved him too much to allow him to suffer. So. There's that.