#love honey crisp but they expensive

[redvexillum]

Laughter and the warm, heady aroma of rich Cajun spices twirled in the air, wrapping around your senses like a comforting blanket on a crisp Louisiana evening. The slight dip in temperature heralded the arrival of autumn, a season that changed the vibrant landscape into a tapestry of oranges and red. Through the dusty window of Alastor’s cottage, a stark red light from the setting sun streamed in, illuminating the man himself: tall and lanky, with slightly curled brown hair that danced around his ears, and warm brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.  

“My love,” he said, stepping closer, his voice thick as honey and just as sweet. “I must say, I am absolutely ecstatic that you finally decided to join me this time.” 

His proximity stirred a mix of emotion within you, and you wrinkled your nose as a heavy metallic tang pierced the air – a scent so out of place amidst the inviting spices and laughter.  

With a playful smile mirroring his, you leaned in, feigning innocence as you whispered, “You know, it’s a bit challenging to ignore that…unusual bouquet you’ve got going on. What’s that, a new cologne?” 

Alastor chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that never failed to send a shiver down your spine. “Ah, that would be my secret ingredient,” he teased, the corners of his mouth curling into a sly grin. “I’ve always had a penchant for the hunting arts, you see. A little blood adds flavour, don’t you think?” 

You pushed aside the insidious whisper in your mind that noted how this man always seemed to carry an undercurrent of something dark and unsettling beneath his expensive cologne. You glanced over the pile of vibrant, red, raw meat on the counter – a testament to his hunting prowess.  

The meat gleamed under the soft glow of the cottage’s flickering light, an odd sight during these trying times of the Great Depression. But then again, Alastor was a popular radio host, and with fame came a certain indulgence in life’s luxuries.  

“Luxuries indeed,” you murmured under your breath.  

Suddenly, warm hands framed your face, pulling your gaze into the depths of Alastor’s whisky-brown eyes. His devilish, charming smile ignited a warmth in your heart that spread like a wildfire. At that moment, you were captivated by a man you knew you were forbidden to love.  

He was a man whose world was miles apart from your own.  

Yet… 

Yet, here you were, hidden among the thick, twisting trees of the bayou, far from prying eyes. Here, perhaps, the love that others labelled as deranged might find a place to breathe freely.  

Looking at him, a weight of guilt squeezed your heart. "I’m sorry I kept cancelling at the last minute, Alastor, I –" you began, your voice trembling with the heavy, suffocating shroud of unspoken truths. But before you could finish, his gentle finger pressed against your lips, absolving of your crime of almost abandoning him.  

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he replied, his voice smooth like dark chocolate, rich, thick, and silky.  

Your words of further apologies were lodged inside your throat. No matter what you said to him next, it wouldn’t change the truth of your current situation.  

You and him had different social standings, but moreover, there was the looming shadow of your engagement to another man, the one your parents had chosen for you. The one who was, by all appearances, a good match, a respectable future governor.  

“Let’s just enjoy this moment, just the two of us, darling,” he said, his voice resonating like the warmest notes of a jazz melody. He was truly born to be a radio host, whose words could make even the most stoic hearts flutter – if only they could overlook the darker undertone of his physical attributes.  

Reaching up, you clasped your hand around his, pressing your cheek against the warmth of his inviting palm. It felt like a small rebelling against the world, against your parents, a taste of freedom, a taste of love you longed for – hungeredfor.  

“Okay,” you murmured, inhaling deeply, the earthy scent of the bayou mingling with the intoxicating scent of the sharpness of his cologne. You exhaled slowly, releasing the anxiety and guilt that once clung heavily to your heart.  

Just for this moment, you wished to forget about propriety and the expectations of being the perfect wife-to-be. Just for this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be with Alastor, the man who adored you with all his heart, just as you adored him in return.  

“Now,” he said, slipping his hand away from your face and spinning back to the pile of bleeding, red meat. “I’ll handle this, and if you could be so kind as to peel the potatoes, my darling!” His voice was chipper and jovial, a perfect contrast to the weighty atmosphere that usually surrounded you. You watched in admiration as he wielded the knife with a master that only came from years of experience – his fingers moved with precision and confidence.  

Humming in agreement, you reluctantly turned your attention to the bowl of potatoes. Picking one up, you grasped a small knife, its blade glinting under the softer light. You began to peel the rough skin away while suppressing a giggle as you recalled telling Alastor that you’d never been taught how to cook. Alastor had looked at you as if you grew a second head back then.  

But, you had never told Alastor why you weren’t taught how to cook like other proper homemakers. After all, your sole purpose was to be given away like a prized horse to an affluent man. Your only duties were to remain beautiful in his arms and bear his children.  

You quickly pushed away the bitter feelings that crept up your throat and stung your nose. Instead, you focused on the memory of Alastor being shocked at your admission. “We simply cannot have that! I shall schedule us a date where I can track you my favourite recipe – my mother’s jambalaya!” He had said with his eyes twinkling with glee.  

The soft humming of a tune brought you back to the present moment, the sweet melody from Alastor floated through the air. You lost yourself in the rhythmic task of peeling the potatoes, focused on the repetitive motion of the knife gliding through the skin.  

But then, in a moment of distraction, your clumsy fingers slipped. The sharp edge of the knife sliced through your delicate skin with a sudden sting. “Ah!” You yelped, instinctively pulling your hand away as searing pain bloomed from the cut.  

Crimson rivulets flowed quickly down your fingers, staining the pristine white flesh of the potato. Food was a scarce luxury in these times, and you hated the thought of wasting it so carelessly. "I’m so-" you began, but the words faltered as you felt a wave of dizziness washed over you. Seeing blood had always made you feel a bit queasy.  

Alastor turned sharply, concern etching itself into his features. “What happened?” He asked, rushing to your side, the joviality of moments before replaced by urgency.  

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, though the pain pushed with every heartbeat. “Just a little cut.” 

He took your hand gently in his, his warmth enveloping you like a balm against the pain. “Let me see,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a soothing tone, lulling you into a state of momentarily calm.  

“Oh, my!” Alastor’s voice purred, his grin wide, yet his brow furrowed in playful concern. “My little clumsy girl, whatever will I do with you?” He sighed in an exaggerated tone, a mix of teasing and amusement lacing his words.  

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but endeared by his over-the-top theatrics. "Yes, yes, Alastor. I’m quite clumsy. As I’ve told you many times, I’m not exactly well-versed in the art of cooking–" 

Your sentence was cut short by a sharp intake of breath as his hand closed around your wrist, his grip firm but tender. He pulled your injured finger closer to his face. The suddenness of the touch sent a spark of warmth coursing through you, igniting a flush that spread across your skin.  

His eyes darkened, pupils dilated, as he inspected the cut with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “Quite a deep cut, indeed,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, as though the sight of your blood stirred something primal within him. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and the heat of the moment hung thickly in the air between you.   

“Alastor?” You whispered, your voice barely audible, the weight of his attention making it difficult to speak. He had never touched you like this before; usually, it was your hand that sought him, your fingertips that brushed his arm with hesitant affection. This shift in dynamic left you breathless.  

With a slow, deliberate exhale, he pressed your injured finger against his lips. The warmth of his mouth ignited a dizzying mix of sensations. The pain from the cut flared briefly, but was soon overshadowed by the soft pressure of his lips, the tender heat of his breath against your skin. His lips moved, painting themselves crimson with your blood, and your heart raced, overwhelmed by the strange intimacy of it.  

His eyes never left yours as he hummed softly, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver through you. His tongue, warm and wet, traced the length of your finger, slow and deliberate, as though savouring every inch of your skin. The soft sounds of his mouth moving over your finger filled the small kitchen, a rhythm that seemed to match the rapid pounding of your heart.  

You gasped when he gently took your finger into his mouth, his tongue curling wickedly around it with a slow, languid grace. The mixture of pain and pleasure was dizzying, and you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from the sigh of him – devouring your finger, alternating between soft, gentle sucks and firmer, more insistent strokes. The sensation was maddening, leaving you teetering between the sharp edge of discomfort and the intoxicating allure of his touch.  

Every flick of his tongue, every caress of his lips, seemed designed to unravel you, to make you surrender to the moment. The air between you crackled with unspoken desire, the heat of it enveloping you both, drawing you into a world where status, propriety, expectations all dissolved into nothingness.  

Nothing mattered but the press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the undeniable pull that connected you.  

Heat rushed to your cheeks, an overwhelming warmth that left your skin tingling as you watched the once-proper man before you indulged in something so…raw. His moans, barely audible, danced with the soft, wet sounds of his mouth working over your finger. His thick dark lashes brushed against his tanned skin, his expression serene, almost lost in the act. 

“Alastor…” Your voice cracked, surprise and something else – something unfamiliar – swirling low in your stomach, tightening with each passing second. You shouldn’t be feeling this. The intimacy of it was unexpected, almost forbidden, and yet…you couldn’t pull away.  

His eyes snapped open upon hearing your voice, piercing through the haze that had settled over your thoughts. Your finger was still between his lips, slick with warmth. His eyes arrested you as he let your finger slowly slide out of him, agonizingly slow, the wet trail glistening under the flickering amber lights in the kitchen. His hand lingered on your wrist, gentle but firm, holding you there as his gaze traced every detail of your face.  

The familiar grin curled at the corners of his mouth, the same charming showman’s smile you had fallen for, back when you were just another listener entranced by his voice on the radio. But here, now, something was different – darker, more…animalistic. A sense of danger, maybe, or hunger.  

You swallowed, your thoughts in disarray, but you forced yourself to speak, breaking the tension. “I thought we were supposed to be cooking, but…” you paused, feeling the heavy weight of his stare, the heat of his presence. “It looks like you’re ready to devour me instead,” you chuckled, the sound weak, betraying the nervous energy thrumming through you. 

Alastor remained silent, his grin frozen in place as his eyes darkened to near black, absorbing every flicker of light in the room. There was something unsettling about his stillness, the way his expression didn’t quite match the energy that pulsed between you.  

And then, in a voice that barely rose above a whisper – smooth, low, and stripped of the transatlantic accent you were used to – he answered.  

“Perhaps I will.”   

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[liz-allyn]

bittersweet: sugar + vice vol. 2 (pt 2) [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: "okay. about last night..." [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ] continued immediately from part 1 "Love on the Brain").

words: 5.6 k

tags: fluff and angst, my favs. food. stupid wealthy person antics, jealousy, boundaries, some world-building, PG-13 references to spicy memories from Pt. 1.

Part 2 - Bittersweet

The doorbell chiming yanked Honey unceremoniously out of her morning grogginess as she exited the bathroom. The bell tolled through her throbbing headache, causing her to squeeze her still-gummy eyes tight. She could only think of one word.

Peter.

Honey felt slightly guilty for throwing him out of his house last night. Even if it was an extravagant house. Even if it was at the top of an unconscionably expensive, 5-star hotel, where he could easily afford another place to stay. 

Very slightly.

Even if she threw him out immediately after the most outstanding sex of her life.

Worrying her lip, she debated her next move. She let out a long sigh, tugging on the lapels of the spare bathrobe she'd found. She forced her legs to move, retracing the steps buried in the lust-filled haze of her memory. 

Impatient, the door chimed again.

Her gait was more of a ginger waddle, and every muscle beneath her neck felt like it was made of jelly. Her body beneath the waist hummed. She could describe it as falling between a tender tingle after a deep tissue massage and the aching burn she'd imagined would follow a CrossFit session at the top of Everest. 

Images from last night flooded Honey's brain. How Peter had pleasured and defiled her. He bent her body deliciously, fitting her to and around all of his aching needs while elevating her toward a new stratosphere of ecstasy. 

She stowed those thoughts away. There would be a time for them later. Probably later that night. Maybe even in a week, after her body finally recovered.

For her own dignity's sake, she would not let the morning after Peter Parker walked back into her life be that time. 

She stepped towards the entrance and saw the tattered remains of the clothes she wore last night scattered in the dining area. Shredded like a wild animal had gotten to them. 

She averted her eyes, grinding her teeth as the door chimed again.

"Alright!" she hissed. "Hold your horses––!"

She gripped the doorknob and swung open the door, clipping her tone immediately.

A wide grin beneath a thin mustache and furrowed, silver, bushy eyebrows greeted her.

"Good morning, madam," the older gentleman stated.

He wore a crisp, fitted white uniform and a pleasant smile. She blushed immediately, gathering her bathrobe tighter at her chest, and gawked at the seven uniformed hotel staff in the hallway. 

The man who greeted her had a warm, olive complexion with bronze freckles. Sunspots dotted his face, blended together the tiny wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. "Pardon our intrusion."

Honey jumped out of the way without much time to react as the gentleman dutifully led the staff into the penthouse. Wide-eyed and tongue-twisted, she stared with wide eyes as the man motioned for his staff to follow. 

The scent of coffee filled the entryway as a young man rolled in a cart. It was stacked with an impressive display of cream, sweeteners, and tea bags circling two gooseneck, stainless-steel coffee pots. Her eyes followed the kid as he passed, her stomach growling at the familiar aroma of fresh Colombian coffee beans.

Honey opened her mouth to speak but hushed again as a middle-aged woman in a double-breasted white uniform pushed in another cart stacked with silver serving platters with cloche dome tops.

She could feel the steam wafting off the cart and had just enough time to move as she saw two more women, each with their own cart of linens and sizzling serveware, following behind. 

Honey's stomach growled while her gaze followed. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut short again. Two more uniformed women walked in wearing matching steel-gray housekeeping dresses. The sleek dark fabric was contrasted with white cotton trim on the short sleeves and the high, Peter Pan collar of the dress.

They moved like a rising surf—fluid, swift, and unstoppable—as they crested and split in opposite directions. They were gone again in a flash. 

Honey barely had enough time to see them disappear before the heat of the subsequent presence was at her back. Her head snapped to the open doorway, and immediately, her face fell flat.

Peter.

His lithe form leaned against the doorframe, and she was sure he would've occupied the entire space had it not been an oversized 8-foot door.

Peter's presence came with a lightness Honey was unused to. Specifically, the light beige Ralph Lauren suit over a lilac button-up.

"Mornin,' sunshine," he drawled through a lopsided smirk. 

The sunshine seemed like it was radiating from him. Sun rays reflected off the linen of his suit. A quick coy smile revealed a flash of his white teeth. His eyes glowed warm amber hues, highlighting the roasted chestnut of his hair. Despite it being freshly cut and combed and his waves being tamed with hair product, a stubborn curl peeked over his forehead, like a flower leaning towards sunlight.

Like the flowers in his hand. He held a thick bouquet of mostly yellow daisies and ivory roses. In between the perfectly crafted arrangement, stalks of delicate, purple flowers protruded from the thicket. They brought out the lilac in his shirt.

She reexamined it again.

Not lilac. 

Lavender. 

"M'surprised you're up this early," Peter dreamily murmured, observing her with starry eyes.

Honey looked down at the flowers pressed against his chest, then back at the gold in his gaze. She observed the gentle curve of his smile.

Honey's face was the polar opposite, with icicles to prove it. "I'm surprised it wasn't the cops at the door." 

It was like popping a metaphorical bubble. Or one of his lungs.

Peter's eyebrows dipped as he pulled his lips into a frown. She turned her back to him smoothly, letting the door swayed open behind her. The door creak followed the sounds of her retreating steps.

Peter shot a quick glance toward the sky. He dragged in a breath and let his shoulders sag. Somewhere in his mind, the phrase 'Well, what did you expect?' echoed. He let the air out of his lungs, and turned on the unflinching charisma.

He followed her— because, of course, he did— meandering in with something of a swagger.

"Y'know, that's a good point," he said matter-of-factly, "now tha'cha mention it." He studied her from behind, watching her pad through his home, searching for the rest of her clothes. 

Peter continued, slyly. "I'm surprised they didn't show up last night. All that screamin' you did when you were ridin' me..."  He couldn't see the embarrassment on her face, but he noticed the way her back stiffened. "Surprised they didn't think a wild animal was on the loose," he added, lips curling with satisfaction.

"Congratulations!" she replied, her tone bright with feigned enthusiasm. "You went thirty whole seconds without bringing up your dick! What. An. Achievement." She pointed expectantly towards the dining area. "Are you hosting a party to celebrate your success?" 

She observed the kitchen staff curiously. They were in prime form, quickly and quietly retrieving plates, serve dishes, cutlery, and linens from the cart. They flowed through their movements, like synchronized swimming. Her gaze drifted towards the housekeepers spraying and wiping down the table surface with cleaner. 

Heat spread across her skin as she recalled how they had desecrated that spot just hours ago.

Blinking the memory away, she watched the servers step in place of the housekeeping staff. They tossed a linen tablecloth flat over the surface, setting the table for a fancy breakfast.

"Brunch for the Royal Family?" she commented.

Peter peeked over to see the flush on her cheeks, the way her skin heated up as she looked away from the dining table. Setting the bouquet down, he smirked. He knew exactly what was on her mind.

"A queen, actually," he shrugged, suppressing the faint curl of his lips. He wasn't here to gloat. "More of a date, really." He watched her next move intently.

"Well, that's my cue," Honey muttered. "I outta get going. Especially if you plan on eating anyone else out at the table." Her chin held high, she turned her back to him once again.

A strangely familiar sound— like a sharp, slick whipcrack— echoed from behind. She felt a tug on her midsection, then went flying backward. The force yanked Honey off her feet—just as it had the night before. She landed in Peter's arms with a shocked squeak.

"What the fuck?" she shrilled, grasping at the foreign substance on her back. It suddenly occurred to Peter that they hadn't discussed what Peter was using to reel her in, like many aspects of his complicated life.

He turned her towards him like manipulating a doll. Smugness and affection layered on his expression, like the cat that ate the canary.

"What is that?" Honey gawked. As she pulled her hand away, she inspected it closely this time. Shimmery, silver twine made from gossamer threads tangled around her fingers. "Jesus— is that... coming out of you?"

"No," Peter chuckled, amused by her horror.

She observed him, confused by his immunity to the web's stickiness as he casually tossed the string aside. While she was distracted, he gathered her close to his chest. At any other point, she would've fought him—because, of course she would. Her curiosity drove her attention.

Her eyes were on the black leather cuff around Peter's wrist. He'd worn it many times before. Honey just assumed it was an odd piece of jewelry. Maybe he didn't like the feeling of $30,000 designer watches on his skin. 

Now, the glint of a tiny metal device hidden beneath the leather caught her eye. Her eyes darted to his other wrist, spotting another device as his fingers enveloped her shoulders. 

She blinked curiously between the balled-up silk, to the leather cuffs, and to the hotel employees. They didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. They were likely instructed not to see anything.

Eyes still wide, she blurted, "Seriously, what the fu—?"

A fierce kiss silenced her. Peter smashed his lips to hers, capitalizing on the slight part of her mouth, and slipped his tongue inside. If he could've inhaled her into his lungs, he would have. He noticed faint pressure from Honey's palms against his chest, stubbornly resisting, as usual. The tension drained slowly as she succumbed to his grip. 

Maybe she quit wanting to escape him. 

Maybe she realized he was inescapable.

Peter was the one who couldn't escape Honey. Nor did he want to.

Seconds turned hazy. Peter was dragged deeper into a maelstrom. The longer he tasted her tongue, the more his blood surged like the swell of the tempestuous ocean against a sea wall.

Lust filled his lungs and his brain with gale-force winds. 

Peter remembered last night, too. God, he was already half-hard just thinking about it.

Before he melted from the memory, he pried his lips away from hers. The act took all of his power-of-will. The most he could manage to sacrifice was a couple of inches of distance apart. Peter was already a mess, chest heaving. Honey looked just as wrecked—swaying unwittingly with shaky breaths.

Peter whispered to her, his voice dark, "You're outta your mind if you think I'm lettin'ya walk away." 

A pulse-pounding shudder racked through her body. Peter swore he could feel her pelvic muscles flutter in response. It triggered a sick feeling of validation of the sinful desire polluting his mind. For a moment, he felt free to wallow in its toxicity.

That voice always managed to subdue her. Peter locked this information away for later. 

He was also aware that he needed to touch her. He craned his neck a little further until his nose kissed hers. The action grounded them both. A flicker of levity broke through the lust, and his familiar smirk returned. "And you're batshit crazy if ya think I'm here for anyone else but you."

Honey gazed up at him owlishly, still locked in a haze. She only vaguely registered the breeze as the staff rushed past them. Her cloudy eyes found their way over to the dining table, now fit for a queen. Or a Good Housekeeping magazine cover. 

The door slam pulled her back to the present.

"I thought I made myself clear last night." Peter bit his lip as he said it, holding the sides of her face as he oozed with charm. His sultry eyes fawned over her. "M'not lettin' you go. Not again."

"Let me go, Peter." Honey's voice was firm with a stone expression.

Immediately, Peter's shoulders dropped a full inch, and his voice pitched into a whine. "Will'ya stop being so stubborn—?"

"Let me go, Peter."

"Fine. You're mad at me—Y'made'ya point. Now, can we just talk about this? Like adults? Just sit down—"

"Let. Me. Go. Peter."

Honey's voice seemed to echo as she said it, charged with an electrical current threatening to fry him alive. It was more than a sneer; it was an ominous rattle before a bite. 

Instantly, the teasing nature of their banter evaporated.

Peter blinked several times, like he'd been sucker punched. He was unsure of how to respond. A tick formed in his jaw as he observed her, watching intently, gears turning. Lips pursed together into a thin line.  

Seconds stretched out uncomfortably as she just stared back.

Honey's spine as she stood in front of him—stood up to him—was steel. The little line between her brows popped out like a switchblade, her eyes skewering him just as deeply.

If she was afraid of Peter's unreadable expression, she didn't show it.

Seconds ticked on in their stalemate, during which dozens of scenarios played out in Peter's mind. At least a dozen of those scenarios were inappropriate ways of... making her do it. 

Didn't matter what it was. 'It' could easily be anything Peter wanted. 

He had the power—not just metaphorically.

Peter had enough strength in the upper half of his pinky to simply bend her to his will.

Peter's throat felt so tight it began to ache. A dry swallow rippled through his neck. Then, he made his choice.

His hands opened, releasing her with a forlorn expression. The moment he did, Honey took a giant step back—a recoil. He could've sworn he heard a faint gasp fill the gap they formed, like she'd been holding her breath.

In terror, he realized with disappointment.

Honey curled her arms around herself. His eyes dropped to the floor. 

That look cut him deeper than any blade could. 

"Honey," he said softly, emotions lodged in his throat. Burning mist clouded his vision. He wasn't here to cry, either. But his heart felt heavy all the same. "I just wanna talk."

"I thought you wanted to have breakfast with me."

"I do—!"

"Then ask me!" she snapped, frustration heating up her words. "Ask me! Instead of dragging me around like you're some…some caveman!"

Peter glanced up. The way she spat out the last word gave him pause. 

He studied the pout on Honey's lips. The angry scrunch in her nose. Arms crossed, jaw firm. She glared up at his tall stature, looking courageous and formidable. At the same time, her eyes betrayed her vulnerability. She was desperate to be heard.

Honey had demolished every obstacle placed before her. Even if the obstacle was him, she made it look (and him feel) three inches tall.

The ferocity of her gaze could intimidate a tiger.

Simultaneously, the butterfly wings of her lashes could charm a viper. 

The bow of her lips could force a king to his knees.

How can she not know this? Peter mused with wonder. How on earth was she unaware of how much power she possessed?

Significantly more than he could ever have.

Honey could make Peter do anything.

"If I had five minutes left on this planet," he began, eyes brimmed with an ocean of unspoken words, "I would want them to be with you."

A pause filled the room, consuming all of its oxygen. Peter held his breath in anticipation.

A surge of terror tightened in his chest, but it was tangled with something deeper—an overwhelming sense of adoration. To the outside world, they were two halves of the same sunset, golden rays that kissed a dark, cold earth. 

Honey gazed at him intently. "I would like that," she said.

And he finally could breathe again.

"—But I can't."

Honey stated it matter-of-factly. As if she didn't just reverse the planet's rotation. Peter's gaze dropped to the floor as his heart shattered. He was close to falling apart entirely.

"I can't… I-I…" her words trickled out, trying to support her stance with a lack of conviction. Or direction. Or sense. "I have things to do." 

That sassy tone of hers was back. Peter lifted his eyes to hers, "Oh?"

She shrugged, "Important things."

"Oh," he nodded along, furrowed brows in a serious expression.

"Yeah." She mumbled, almost too quiet to hear. She fidgeted with her fingers, threading them together, until finally, she grasped her arms into a comforting hug. "Like normal people."

The last part was meant to be a jab. "Normal?" Peter replied with decorum.

"Like… taxpayers."

"Hmm."

"—and moms…" she gulped dryly, "on TV." 

Peter nodded conspicuously as if he were fully supportive of her bullshit. His patronizing politeness only frustrated her further.

"Okay, like most people have things to do," she argued harshly, "like bills to pay, people to see—

"Bills."

"And chores! Tasks. Responsibilities."

Peter snorted with feigned enthusiasm, "Wouldn't know anything about that."

"Well, I have a job to get to," she blurted, solidifying her position. "I need to go home and shower and empty my dishwasher, bring my clothes to the laundromat—"

"Uh-huh."

Frustration carved out her tone. "And you know what else? You don't get to hijack my whole day just because you found a couple of hours in your schedule, Peter!" 

He had nothing to say to that.

"And before you ask," Honey pointed a polished fingernail at him, "don't get hung up on last night! You're still in the dog house." She turned to leave but stopped to add, "Or… people house!" 

A moment passed, but she still wasn't done.

"If I had a dog, you would be it!" she growled. "Outside, in the winter, in a tiny wooden shack of shame!" 

Then…

"–Not that I would ever do that to a dog, but maybe a-a cold-blooded— if you were a turtle, or…wait, that doesn't work— A fish! You'd be on your ass! Or fin— is that Portuguese linguiça sausage?" 

Her demeanor had flipped like a switch, from cold to curious, as soon as the smell of food hit her. It was as if the entire conversation had never happened until that point.

Peter couldn't help but smile. "From that place you like," he confirmed, his tone enticing. 

She paused, silent.

Mused.

Deliberated.

"Alright. First—sausage," Honey blurted out, 

decision made. The irritation in her tone seemed directed at herself.

"Then," she warned, "you're in the turtle-fish house!"

She spun on her heel and sauntered towards the buffet as if she'd dropped a mic.

"Okay, so hit me," Peter said.

Honey glanced up at him. The look she gave suggested she was willing to do exactly that.

They sat at opposite ends, so far apart at the dining table that it was almost comical. Only a few minutes had passed since they agreed to sit and eat together. It might as well have been years. Every moment was packed with awkward silence.

Straight-faced, he lifted his arms, extending them in a welcoming gesture. "Let's hear it. I know you got questions. I got answers. Let's go."

"Oh?" she lifted her eyebrow as she pinned him with a mocking glare. 

"Yep," Peter shrugged, maybe a bit too aggressively. "Let's hear 'em. Fire away."

A tension-filled moment of silence settled between them. The whole time, Honey skewered him with her glare. Then—

"Where should I start?" she spat hotly like lava erupting from a volcano. "Should we start from the top? Gimme three hundred words on how you spent your summer vacation." Each word sizzled off her tongue. "Or should we rewind a bit and talk about the ropes of glue shooting out of your body?!" 

An amused laugh burst from his lips, his teeth flashing wolfishly. "I mean… yeah—" he smirked. "When ya put it like that, I'd be willin' t'give you a demonstration—"

"Grow up, Peter!" Honey snapped, her fork clattering on the china.

The accused straightened his shoulders and mouth into a line. 

Contempt filled her incredulous glare. "Y'know what? Let's talk," she sneered, her anger releasing. "Let's talk about you since you're the center of everyone's universe. You, right now. Peter Parker, the Boss." She was flippant, each word intended to pierce his prideful armor. 

"What's been goin'on in your world, huh?" she questioned, pleasant in her tone. "How's crime?" She said it like referring to a common relative.

Peter shot her a brief glare, only encouraging her patronizing. 

"Must be good," she remarked. "What's the mortgage on a ten-thousand-square-foot condo in Manhattan nowadays?"

"Wouldn't know," he shrugged, picking his fork back up to take another bite. He pondered quietly as he chewed. "I bought the whole building."

The crassness of his declaration gave her pause. Honey hated how cocky arrogance looked as good on him as one of his Ralph Lauren suits.

"You bought— a hotel?" she asked in confusion.

Peter's eyes slid over to hers, looking like the devil as he brought a coffee mug to his lips. His eyes were twin flames, burning into her like he was trying to ignite a fire in her belly. Sipping a hot beverage seemed like a lewd act. 

Depraved thoughts filled his skull as he laved his tongue across his scorched lips. He pulled the mug away, and his mouth glistened. He watched Honey's reaction expectantly. 

"Yup," was all he said.

She stared at him, face unreadable. Not the kind of way she stared at his hands or his mouth.

"I suppose…" she crooned in a silky voice that edged on seduction and trepidation. For a moment, Peter's belly flipped with the excitement of a fisherman sensing the first slight tug on a lure. "The fact that Wilson Fisk used to own it had nothing to do with that decision?"

A bucket of ice water had been dropped on him. Coldness stabbed his heart and splintered his bones. 

That name.

The name that paralyzed him. Made his hair stand up on end, even after all these years. She exposed a nerve with just a couple of words.

"Oh," she said knowingly, reading him like a book. "Are we still afraid to say his name?" 

Peter's own words echoed back at him.

"...We don't say his name..."

Peter traveled to the day he rescued Honey from Fisk's men. He remembered inexplicably snapping at her, his hackles raised at the thought of what Mayor Wilson Fisk could do—what he had already done—to Peter's family. What depraved violation he would have done to this unassuming, bright-eyed girl. 

Unassuming, only because she had no idea at that point that she was his. 

The memory blurred and morphed into a twisted reflection of the current moment. 

Innocent. But smart.

Trying to ignore the sudden pulse behind his eye socket, he lifted a shoulder and dropped it. Peter's practiced indifference returned to his face. He returned to his plate, calm and collected. "I'm layin' down plans—"

"With Carol?" Honey finished, eyes narrowed into slits.

Peter's eyes shot to hers, and he looked truly confused momentarily. His expression only seemed to anger her further.

"Is that who you're 'layin' down plans' with?" she asked lividly. There was no concealing it. Honey's eyes were sharp enough to cut his throat.

"What?" Peter blurted out. "Carol??"

God, he hoped he didn't look as stupid as he sounded.

"Yeah!" Honey hissed back, hopping to her feet. The chair creaked loudly across the marble floor as she shoved it away. “Carol. Fucking. Danvers.”  Honey spat each word out like they were sour. "I believe that's her full name, no?"

Peter's brow arched, bewildered. Confused.

"'America's Sweetheart'!" she added through gritted teeth, pushing her fists into the table. The plate clattered at the impact. "Captain America?" she said as if to aid his memory. "You know?"

He blinked. 

She bordered on shrill. "The one with America's Ass?"

Of course, she referred to the former Air Force pilot who became a TikTok sensation, a pop star, a fashion model, and a feminist icon. Everyone's favorite.

Typically, Honey wouldn't resort to bashing another woman, avoiding the "cycle of patriarchal misogyny which pits women against each other," to quote her sister. But deep within her fiery eyes, jealous voices conspired against her rationality.

Meanwhile, Peter's eyebrows squished together, as if he couldn't quite grasp what language they were speaking. "Wha-What're we talkin' abo—?"

Her glare was razor sharp. "What's Carol laying down, huh? What's she like?"

Peter stared back with eyes like saucers and an empty thought bubble next to his head. "She's… Fine?" 

It took less than one second for him to deeply regret his answer. 

"Oh, I'll bet she is!"

Something wild sparked in Honey's eyes like a crackling bonfire. She rounded the table marching towards him. "Y'think I'm stupid? I follow Deuxmoi, asshole!"

Peter let out a long groan, practically dragging his fingernails down his face. "Honey—"

"Don't 'Honey' me!" she sneered, adding a mocking dramatization of his voice. She threw her hands up in front of her face as if waving them at an invisible breaking news chyron. "'Carol Danvers spotted at 1Oak last night with alleged Syndicate crime boss Peter Parker... Is Captain America About to Break Bad?'"

Frustration filled his tone, "That's—! That was noth—"

"Oh, don't gaslight me, Peter!"

"I'm not!" 

"Don't gaslight me about gaslighting me!"

"That was all TMZ bullshit, and you know it!" Peter shot back, now on his feet as well. She pursed her lips together, shaking her head in disbelief. Peter took a steadying breath. "Yes," he admitted, more composed, "I met her at a club, yeah. Because that's where she wanted to meet! I had a business proposition–"

"Business?" she bitterly laughed, crossing her arms. "You two goin' in on a new restaurant? Hipster gastropub called Peter's Cockpit?"

"Jesus Christ, Honey, I didn't fuck her!" he exclaimed in a near whine, waving his arms like a windmill. "It was—" he fumbled over his tongue. "Nothing else happened! No one is in anyone's… cockpit…" 

He winced at his own words. Raw memories from last night flared up in his chest. "Where d'ya get off accusin' me, huh?" he interrupted, suddently. "What about you and Pedro, eh?"

Honey's eyes bulged out of her head in shock.

Peter was referring to, of course, the sexy, hazel-eyed waiter that flirted at the restaurant the night before. Clearly, Honey didn't see the correlation. 

"Pedro!?" she bellowed in disbelief.

"Pedro!" Both of their voices echoed off the stone of the lavish suite.

Honey groaned so loudly, it was a roar. "Pedro's gay, you dunce!" 

Peter's brows furrowed as he considered this. "Come again?" 

"I've known him since junior high! He helped Becca get her first job when she was 15. At that very restaurant!" 

Silence.

Peter blinked, a trench forming between his eyes. 

More silence.

"So. You're... not... ...into him?"

Honey scoffed at the question with a rueful chuckle. He sensed she would've laughed if she hadn't been so furious. "Seriously? I've seen rainbows that were straighter!"

He felt his skin fluster. The thumping percussion inside of his chest leveled out to a dull thud. His heart ached all the same.

Peter's eyes rested on her. She stayed rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself in a way that reminded him of a tree fighting to remain upright in the wind. A cherry blossom braving an early-spring cold snap.

Her eyes were cast to the side, and filtered sunlight gave her an ethereal glow. Anxiety reflected across the color of her irises.

"Did it hurt?" Honey asked, barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head at her question, glancing briefly at the shimmer resting on her lower lashes. Her voice was meek but raw with unspoken emotion, like a wave of tears being held back. "Thinking I wanted him?" He recognized her attempts to look anywhere else but at him.

Peter's chocolate eyes softened. "Did you want it to?" he questioned gently. Not an ounce of judgment thrown her way. "Hurt me?"

His beautiful girl swallowed dryly, blinking the shimmer away. Her eyes wandered to the floor. "Maybe," she replied thoughtfully, discovering it herself. 

Peter hadn't expected her honesty but wasn't surprised. If anything, he found it disappointingly refreshing. 

He watched her fidget with her hands. "Regardless," she said, clearing her throat. "I guess now you know how it feels." 

Shame brimmed her gaze as it bounced off the walls and floor. Peter considered her expression, silently reading all the emotions she could not conceal.

"Carol isn't what you think she is," Peter said, matter-of-fact. His ferocity had calmed, and his arrogance had dissipated like a storm cloud. Tiredly, he ran his hand back through his hair. "Matt heard that she might be making the leap into politics. People are saying she could make a play for Congress. Maybe even the governorship." 

Honey stared at him in silence. Waiting.

"I was hopin' I could convince her to stick a little closer to home," Peter sighed with a half-shrug and a dim spark of hope in his smile. "Somewhere... maybe like City Hall."

Honey arched a brow, processing. "Mayor," she said, contemplative. "You want her to run against Fisk." 

He looked sheepish now, pocketing his hands. "Lotsa people think she could win."

Honey's eyelids narrowed. "Do you even vote?" 

"She'd have mine," Peter replied without hesitation, then his eyes snapped to hers. "And no," he added, muted but coy. "Before you say anything, that wasn't a euphemism. Or an objectification of any of her..." The words dwindled as he struggled to form the right word. "...Assets."

Peter cringed after saying it, and he could've sworn that her eye twitched.

"I wasn't lying, Honey," he added. His heart was in his throat. "Last night. When I said, 'There wasn't anyone else for me.' I meant it."

She was silent momentarily, but a million words bubbled up behind her glassy eyes. "There has to be something else for me," she whimpered, vocal cords tight. 

Her vulnerability was in plain sight. No further posturing. The heartbreak in her voice felt like a knife jammed between his ribs.

"I can't—I-I just can't..." Honey struggled, losing her composure. 

"I don't…" Peter muttered half-consciously. Terrified at the realization. "What-what are you saying, you-you don't wanna be with me?" 

The tears bubbled up again on her lower lash line. Her plea ground out miserably, voice breaking, "There has to be more to me, to my life, than just being… yours."

He blinked at her, confused.

"I can't belong to you, Peter," she replied. Tears glided down her cheeks, now flooded with raw emotion. "I can't belong to anyone else." 

His Honey shivered before him, choking back sobs. She barely looked strong enough to stand.

And that's when it hit him.

The sharp contrast between the woman who stared him down and the shivering girl before him became apparent. It was day and night, fire and fear.

Fear.

"Mari."

The word snapped her out of her downward spiral. Wide-eyed and caught off guard, Honey's gaze flicked up to his.

Peter gazed at her with a worried line between his brows. He focused on her eyes, made impossibly brighter from tears. The sight broke his heart.

Peter took a careful step forward, the way one would approach a wild horse. The slightest twig snap might send her running.

"I'm not trying to put you in a cage," he offered gently. Saying those words were painful, in a nauseating way. "Not again."

The gentle relief he spotted in Honey's gaze tore through his sternum. Peter couldn't decide whether he would rather bleed out or trap her away beneath his ribs.

Peter's hands itched, desperately wanting to close the gap between them, wipe away her tears with his thumbprints, and blanket her with his hold. Vigilantly, he kept his heels glued to the floor. He'd like to think he did so out of respect for her wishes and not with fear that she'd run away from him.

"I'm— I'm not," he babbled, dread filling him. Everything felt suddenly upside down. Reversed. He was a stranger again, with a frightened girl trembling in his bathtub. The thought terrified him. "If-if-if that's what you think—"

"I love you so much," Honey declared, clear as a bell. His heart was in his throat again. He swallowed it down, afraid he would empty his stomach in front of her. "I really do."

The opposite emotions tugging at his psyche felt like an ax swinging downwards, severing thick brush with a satisfying whistle. They culminated in a wet chopping sound—the split of his heart in two pieces.

"It's the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." She dabbed at her chin with the back of her hand, taking a measured breath. "Sometimes I think that it's all I have left."

His heart sank. "But it can't be, though. " 

The knowingness of his voice pierced her further. "It can't," Honey replied gently. Sorrow weighed down the corners of her mouth, though he could tell she was still trying to smile. "I need to love myself." The last word had her lip wobbling.

Peter tightened his jaw, trying to channel the energy of his agony into something other than tears.

"For now," Honey added. The soft reassurance flickered like candlelight, providing the only warmth he could hold onto.

Peter locked his jaw and nodded slowly, understandingly. The more he thought about the equation, the more sense it made to him. 

It wasn't about him.

He declared, resolved. "You're the boss."

A/N: Go ahead. Let's hear it. If you loved this, reblog. If you thought it could be better, give it a like. If you hated it, do nothing. Thanks to my muses, now and forever. 🦌 Back to S&V Masterlist • Back to Main

Thank you for supporting fanfic authors by reblogging and keeping the community healthy. ♥️

[e-dubbc11]

Leavin’ Early

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ please! Or I’m telling on you! I mean it! Let’s see, there’s a little bit of everything in here…fingering, oral (F! Receiving) unprotected P in V sex (just cuz, the end 😉) Billy being in complete control of you

Word Count: 3.1K-ish

Summary: You and Billy leave a wedding early because, well, you want him. In every which way you want him and you want him now and he wants you too.

A/N: This is for my lovely friend Lisa @music-indie-tv who sent in this ask from a smut prompt list I reblogged a few days ago. I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again, smut is NOT my wheelhouse but I wanted the practice, so please be gentle! The prompt was:

'take control of me, I trust you' With Billy sounds really hot 🥵

Thank you again for sending this in. I hope you like it! 💜

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

“Can we go? My feet hurt.”

Batting your eyelashes, you looked up at Billy to watch a sly smile appear across his handsome face. Never breaking eye contact, he took a sip of his bourbon and let it swirl around his tongue, you could tell he was really tasting the smooth tones of maple, oak, and nutmeg.

His top lip retreated back to reveal clenched teeth as he swallowed, watching as you took a sip of the same bourbon from your glass. The medium amber liquid had a gentle spiciness and a sweet oak aroma with a complex taste. Hints of vanilla and honey sprinted across your tongue before a long and smoky finish had your taste buds begging for another sip.

“It’s your friend’s wedding, baby. We can go if you’re ready though, just don’t let that bourbon go to waste. It’s pretty good for not being what we usually drink.” He said, raising his eyebrows, still gazing at you as he took another sip.

With one hand wrapped around his glass, the other pulled you in close by your waist, taking you a little by surprise. His expensive cologne floated past your nose as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“You have any idea how hot you look tonight, my love?” He asked.

Billy’s warm breath grazed the top of your ear while his crotch pressed gently against your core, causing your stomach to drop and the hair on the back of your neck to stand up on end. Your panties already had a wet spot on them from the wink he gave you across the room earlier tonight.

He always looked incredibly handsome. His suit always tailored to perfection, not a hair out of place, and his crisp white dress shirt was hugging his tight body in all the right places.

But there was something about the way he looked tonight that was driving you absolutely insane, like you wanted him to do whatever he wanted with you. If he wanted to fuck you in the bathroom or the elevator, you’d be more than willing to let him.

Red hot heat expanded across your cheeks and an intense shudder raced down your spine. The sharp tingle spread throughout your core and he only had a hand on your waist. Billy wasn’t even touching your skin when a low guttural moan escaped your mouth. Slowly, your tongue skirted across your top lip followed by a gentle hum.

“Hmmmmm…oh really?” You asked, shyly.

Billy brushed your collar bone with his long slender fingers as his gaze raked over you filled with concentrated desire. The primal need for him was becoming stronger as his half hard cock twitched in his pants against your black velvet dress.

He had been staring at you possessively since you started to get ready for the wedding. Leaning against the door frame and with a wide smile across his face, he stared while you sang along to the Rolling Stones in the shower.

The steam from the hot water fogged up the glass but he could still make out your silhouette, dancing seductively like no one was watching covered from head to toe in a rich soapy lather.

Billy let out a little chuckle but you couldn’t hear him over the music, so he gently cleared his throat.

Not bothering to turn around, you continued to dance while asking him “You see somethin’ you like, handsome?”

“Oh I always see somethin’ I like when I’m lookin’ at you, baby.” He said, stripping off his t-shirt and jeans to join you in the shower.

“You’re gonna make us late, Billy!” You said, laughing as his lips collided with yours and pressing you up against the shower wall. “My dress is open in the back, I can’t have tile marks on my back!”

He traced his kisses down your neck, to your breasts and making you whimper as he lightly flicked his tongue against your nipple. You didn’t want him to stop but there was no way you’d be ready for the wedding in time if he kept this up.

Billy watched intently as you put the finishing touches on your makeup and hair, while he adjusted his tie. He was so proficient at it, he could tie it with his eyes closed. It turned you on and made you so needy for him, watching him as he shined his shoes, adjusted his cufflinks, and combed his hair.

The same hair that had been in between your fingers an hour ago in the shower as he captured your mouth over and over again, your leg wrapped around the back of his thigh, making sure that you held him as flush as you possibly could to him because Billy loved your touches, he craved them like a man starved.

Physical touch was Billy’s love language and you made sure to always show him physical affection whether it’s lightly raking your nails against his scalp or aggressively digging your nails into his back while he fucked you.

He just loved being touched…by you and only you.

But right now, it was you who desired to be touched by him.

“Yes, my sweet girl. I’ve been eyeing you since you were singing in the shower.” He said. “Here…” Looking around, Billy guided your free hand down to his crotch. “This is what you do to me.” He was getting harder by the second. In the dim light of the ballroom, no one seemed to notice.

Billy took the final sip of his bourbon and set the glass on the high top table next to you. Again, you watched as his Adam’s apple moved up and down when he swallowed, and desperately wanting to taste the leftover bourbon on his lips.

He pinched your chin in between his thumb and forefinger and tilted it up to meet his stare, his eyes intense and dark like a dolls eyes but they were so beautiful.

His slightly wicked smile was all you could see right before he kissed you. Billy’s lips were soft, warm and tasted like vanilla with a little bit of honey.

“Well then take me home, Billy.” You whispered in his ear and taking the final sip of your bourbon. “Take control of me, I trust you.”

He barely let you put the glass down before whisking you out of the reception hall and out to the car he had waiting to take the two of you home.

The brisk autumn air brushed against the bare skin of your shoulders. He pulled you outside quickly after retrieving your coats and frantically looked for the car he hired for the night.

“Don’t you dare put that on.” He said firmly, extending his index finger to point toward you.

Billy practically had you naked in the car on the way home except for your thigh highs and heels. He hovered above you, gingerly brushing the hair away from your eyes, and cupping your cheeks as his lips crashed onto yours. He peppered kisses from your forehead, down your stomach to your knees which trembled at his gentle touch.

His proficient fingers teased your entrance as you arched your back off of the leather seat. One finger pushed inside you, hooking at just the right spot that caused you to sharply inhale and moan into his mouth as he fucked you with just one finger.

You were dripping down his hand as he inserted a second finger just as your walls started to tighten around him, your orgasm slowly building while he finger fucked you in back of the town car.

Each time he pushed his fingers inside, it brought you closer and closer to your release, but he was teasing you on purpose. He was controlling you, just as you had told him to do.

“You’re soaking my hand, baby. You wanna come, don’t you. But I don’t want you to just yet.” He said with a sly smile.

“B-Billy, please!” You choked out with a hitch in your voice.

He was enjoying this as he did every time you wanted him to take control of you. It made him so hard that his cock was straining against his suit pants, begging to be released.

“Ah, ah…not yet sweet girl. We’re not home yet.” He whispered harshly against your mouth with the sweet smell of bourbon on his lips and the fingers of his free hand ghosting over your lips. “Who’s in control here, me or you?”

“Y-you are, Billy.” The words stumbling out of your mouth like you had no control of what you were saying because you were unable see straight.

Moving rhythmically, his fingers felt amazing as you rocked back and forth against them but he stopped you when he felt what you were doing.

“Stop that or I’m taking my fingers away.” A devilish grin stretched across his face.

Through a soft whine, you pleaded with him not to.

“B-but feels so good, baby.”

His dark chocolate eyes stared intensely at you. “You gonna be good for me?” He asked, licking his thumb before drawing circles on your clit. “Or do I have to keep teasing you like this?”

“I’ll be good, Billy.” You whined.

He pushed his fingers inside once more. “That’s my good girl. We’re almost home and don’t put your dress back on when we get there…just your coat.”

You were thankful that your coat was long.

Billy was always very attentive to your needs, the man was not a selfish lover but you made sure to give him what he needed also because he always left you more than satisfied.

So it wasn’t a surprise that as soon as the elevator doors closed, he was on his knees in front of you, your body pushed into the corner of the elevator, and one of your legs draped over his shoulder. He didn’t waste any time parting your folds with his tongue, wanting to devour and taste you so badly, and enjoying every last drop.

A tremor of pleasure shot through your body when he began to suck on your clit. His once perfect hair tumbled into his eyes after you gently pulled on it, and scratching his scalp with your nails. The gradual intensity of your release building again as you pleaded with Billy to let you come.

All he said to you was “Soon…”

He rose to his feet and crushed his lips down against yours, pressing you so hard against the corner of the elevator you thought you might end up on the other side of the wall. The impressive bulge in his pants showed you how badly he wanted you.

With his eyes firmly locked on yours, Billy pulled you into a tight embrace that caused all of the air to escape your lungs while his rock hard cock compressed against you, which soaked the front of his pants.

Your feet still hurt from the shoes you were wearing.

“Billy.” You gasped against his lips. “My feet still hurt. Can I take my shoes off…please?”

“I do love hearing you beg, sweet girl…allow me.” He said sweetly.

Billy kneeled down in front of you, unfastened the straps on your shoes and slid them off your feet just as the elevator reached the top floor. Even though Billy was in complete control of you, he was still sweet, considerate and he would do anything for you.

“I want you to beg some more when we get inside, baby.” He said with a slight smirk.

As soon as the door closed behind you, the dress and shoes in your hand dropped to the floor along with your long wool coat. The only pieces of clothing you had on were your thigh high stockings. Still fully clothed, Billy threw you over his shoulder, carried you to the bedroom and gently put you down on the side of the bed.

The feral look in his eyes said he wasn’t going to make you wait much longer. You had been dying to have him since this afternoon in the shower and he had been teasing you ever since.

“Roll those stockings down and I’ll let you take off my tie.” He whispered in your ear.

“But Billy—“ You started to say when he interrupted you.

All teeth and tongue, Billy kissed you hard. “Roll…the…stockings…down, my love.”

You did as you were told, your hands trembling slightly as you rolled the stockings down your leg and pulled them off.

By this time you were overstimulated. You wanted him badly and you would do anything to get it. No one besides Billy ever made you feel like this, the flutters in your stomach were constant and never went away.

Every time he looked at you, delectable sparks ran along your spine, and your insides crackled with warmth any time he would flash that perfect smile at you.

“Need you, Billy.” You mewled.

He licked his bottom lip. “Help me undress, baby. And I’ll give you what you need.”

You loosened his tie first and unbuttoned his dress shirt, revealing the white undershirt. Slowly pushing his dress shirt off of his shoulders, you bit down on your bottom lip trying to stop yourself from ripping his clothes off of his tight body. Billy really was the sexiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on and sometimes it was still hard to believe that he was all yours.

Reaching for his belt, your fingers were wiggling impatiently. He could tell you were overstimulated so he eased back and softened his voice for you.

“Relax, sweet girl. It’s ok. Get in bed, I’ll do the rest.” He said.

Easing back onto the bed, you watched attentively as he removed his pants and boxer briefs. You could see his scars even in the dim light of the bedroom, remembering the night he told you about all of them even the scars that he didn’t get from being overseas.

You loved him even more for having the courage to tell you about them.

“Lie back, beautiful…and don’t move. It will just delay what you want most.” His stern tone was back.

Billy loved to tease you but you did ask for it. He would have fucked you hard and fast in the car on the way home but you told him “take control of me.” And that’s exactly what he was doing. He was controlling your actions, telling you what he wanted you to do, even telling you when you could come. You hated it and loved it at the same time. It just made your orgasms that much more intense.

He hungrily attacked your body like a wild animal attacking its prey. At times, his onyx colored eyes were locked on you, stalking you, figuring out where to tease you next. His lips and tongue painted your body like it was a canvas and you were a priceless work of art.

To him, you were priceless, you were perfect, and you were all he had ever wanted.

You reached out to graze his beard with your thumb and pull his face close to yours but he grabbed your wrist and pinned it firmly above your head.

That made you pout. “I wanna touch you, Billy.”

“No, baby…not yet.” He growled.

He leaned down to touch his forehead to yours, it was something that he always did to show you how much he loved you before his lips collided with yours. A loud guttural moan escaped your lips as he left little love bites down your neck and gently bit down on that spot on your neck that made you see stars.

For being as touched starved as he was, Billy really did have willpower when it came to him telling you “no” until he was ready. He loved having your hands all over him and you were very gentle when it came to touching his scars.

He loved your desperate, hungry kisses but when your lips would come in contact with his scars, those kisses were tender and comforting and he loved those too.

He was safe with you.

Gazing down at you, he released your wrist and you pulled down on his lower lip before brushing your knuckles across his cheek. His warm skin felt so good against your fingertips and you could almost hear his heart beating out of his chest.

The anticipation was almost painful, he was desperate for you too and knew you had been patient long enough. Using his knee, he pushed your legs apart and lined himself up before slowly pushing against your entrance.

Every cell in your body was on pins and needles, ready for him to move but he waited so he could easily stretch you out and completely bury his cock inside of you.

The noises he pulled from you as he began to move were sinful and became louder when he picked up the pace. Billy’s mouth slanted over yours, preventing the gasp that wanted to flee from your lips. The pleasure wound tighter and tighter inside you as his thrusts became faster and you pulled him in deeper.

Even though he had been controlling you, he was also controlling himself. He lived to please you and hated depriving you of anything especially an orgasm. Those sounds of pleasure were music to his ears and a smirk played across his lips every time he felt your walls flutter around him.

He was close, and felt the contractions in you core one last time before spilling into you…hard, still moving in and out to make sure he filled you up before collapsing on top of you. The sweat on his brow trickled down his temple as you brushed his hair away from his eyes, trying your best to catch your breath.

Billy’s lips found yours for a romantic kiss, his fingers winding around strands of your hair to move them away from your face.

“You alright, sweet girl?” He asked.

Your knees were shaking a little. “Y-yeah, Billy. I’m fine…well more than fine actually.” And you started to laugh.

“It drives me crazy to do that to you, y/n but it feels so good.” He said.

“Yes it does…I love you, Billy.” You said, lightly scratching his scalp.

He gazed down at you with his million dollar smile and said “I love you too, baby. Hey, do you think your friend will mind that we Irish-goodbye’d her wedding?”

You pulled him in for another soft kiss.

“Well it’s only fair, she Irish-goodbye’d ours.” You said with a warm smile.

See…sometimes it’s worth it to leave the party early.

Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @idek-what-to-put @anastasianeedstoread @ratsys @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @simple-lovebot @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend

If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[dasbrummli]

Types of People: Humans I love(d).

The Little Sister: Flared pants and platform Doc Martens. Delicate gold earrings, perfect skin and bright eyes. Flat white coffee or matcha latte. Bagels. Techno music and poetic folk songs. Paris. Polaroids. Quick witted and humorous. Dachshund. Shabby sweatpants and runway fashion. Floppy ears. Massages. Banana bread.

The Little Brother: Street smarts. Perfect driving. Anything but resentful. Stained sweatshirt and Burberry Trenchcoat. Photography. Basketball. Chill. Humorous. Infuriating but so so lovable. Teacher. Surprisingly insightful. Advisor. Confident and cocky. Beer and Barbecue sauce. Coffee mugs. South Africa. Spontaneity. Arrogant.

The Father: Golden morning light. Expensive camera equipment and cheap gas station coffee. Model trains. Thick wool sweaters. Cologne and scratchy cheek kisses. Blankets of snow. Hares. Holly Cole and The Boss. Hilarious. Anything but an experimental eater. Spaghetti Bolognese and Stollen. Vibrant forest. Red wine and milk chocolate. The Musician.

The Mother: Crime novels. Warm soft hugs. Silent laughter, red cheeks, tears in eyes. Surprises. Book smarts. Perseverance. Organised and focused. Strong black tea and dark seedy bread. Elephant whisperer. Insomnia. Open mindedness and indignation. So supportive. Manners. Nice porcelain. Hydrangeas and roses. Plum jam. Perfect pedicures.

The Older Sister: Long walks. Control freak. Forests. Fantasy worlds. Diving head first into a swimming pool. Daydreaming. Curly hair. Pretentiousness. Everyday magic. Books. Tiny handwriting. Long wool coats. Mind all over the place. Excitement. Cold hands and warm sweaters. Hopeless romantic. Owls. Greek mythology. Trivia. Ink. Details. Cappuccino with cinnamon and cocoa.

The Musician: Delicate fingers plucking at Cello Strings. White chocolate. Knitting. Sarcasm, emotionally distant. Squirrels. Autumn walks, rain, graveyards. Audiobooks. Norway. Engineering, technical drawings, ballpoint pens. Morbid curiosity.

The Fighter: Clean and crisp white sheets. Determined. Cold brew coffee. Fragrant white Hyacinths blooming on a windowsill. Toned shoulders. Emotional intelligence. Brutal honesty. Philosophical books. Lab coats. Excellent listener. Pep talks and feminism. Triathlon. Anything to achieve your goals. Knowing smirks. Moscow mules. Reading not for pleasure but learning (or the pleasure of learning?)

The Scientist: Obscure inside jokes. Freckles. Dancer. Questionable cook, decent baker. Physics. The Smartest. Elegant movements. Thrifted knitted jumpers. Multicoloured nail polish. Poetry. Eccentric. Debating society. Entire page covered in the tiniest notes. Funky coffee mugs. Books picked off the street.

The Scout: Strong moral compass. Scouts honour. Massive Fantasy novels. Guffawing. Tie dye T-shirts and shining blue eyes. Ships. Camping. Adventure. Overwhelmingly talkative, but not in a bad way. Carefree. Trinkets and bonfires. Dunes and seafoam. Orange.

The Travel Companion: Political. Volunteering. Singing flatly but passionately. French patisserie. Colourful felt. Opinionated. Exuding coolness on the dancefloor. Dark green. Finland, pine forests and smoked salmon. Tents. Virology. Hypochondriac. Experimental cooking. Mushrooms. Aromatic black tea.

The Oldest Friend: Books over books over books. Deep talks. Old friends. Yoga. Peppermint tea. Sky blue. Memories. Therapy. Snowboarding. Pixie cut. Relaxation, taking it easy. Veganism. Dog person. Gender Studies. Runner. Coming back stronger and gentler than ever. Gift exchange. Solo holidays. Empathy.

The Exchange Student: Fast talking, Aussie accent. Oversized sweatshirts. Oat milk. Glowing skin. Sea foam. Pearls and silver. Fresh tulips. Warm summer days. Sunny side up eggs, drizzled with golden honey. Pool balls clicking. Hot chocolate. Belgian beer. Dog person. Silver rings, one on each finger. Tan lines.

The Designer: Linocut. Wide pants, black turtleneck. Oat milk. Creativity. Graphic design. Nose ring. Mullet. Enjoying and celebrating the beautiful things in life. Analogue photography. Coffee is a science. Patient. An artist. Berlin. Tortoiseshell glasses.

The Certified Badass: Bouldering. Fine line tattoos and silver ear piercings, too many to count. Black velvet. Remote island. Catto content. Road trips, lush forests, sea waves. Platinum hair. Strong. Blue eyes, white liner. Island. Thick knitwear and combat boots. Tarnished silver jewellery. Dune grass.

[yevmarie]

Kiehl's Original Musk – Perverted Review

The perverted review you didn't ask for, but here it is. I feel the need to share it, so please don't judge me 🙈.

Well, I must confess my addiction – Norman Reedus, obviously, and my obsession with perfumery.

What if we combine these two? Bingo! Buying Kiehl's Original Musk.

The buying experience was amusing. Initially intended as a gift for my now ex-boyfriend (thankfully, I didn't go through with that). It was a challenge to find, as the brand had left our market. Eventually, I found it on a local eBay-like platform. Post-breakup, I decided to treat myself to the perfume. And this particular bottle became so special to me – a reminder to be kind to myself even in the darkest times.

The day arrived when the parcel with the perfume came. Excitement made my hands shake. I tried it on my skin, and… disappointment ensued. Norman, are you serious? I usually appreciate unique scents, but this was awful initially. It felt like I walked into an elderly lady's apartment, shared with several cats. I was frustrated. Despite being expensive, it failed to bring the satisfaction I sought. Attempts to wash it were a failure; I had to wait for it to fade.

After a few hours, a miracle occurred. I caught a whiff and exclaimed, "WHOA!" The animalic sillage not only hit my nose but captivated my brain. It was enticing, haunting, almost poisonous – impossible to ignore that it made me feel dizzy. I found myself sniffing my wrist for good ten minutes straight. No doubt, this man is a walking sex, and the thought of him wearing it did strange things to me. But I was still upset as it was too masculine for me, although it's claimed as unisex. Not if I bother about this much, I don't care if a perfume is unisex or pour homme/femme, but something told me that's not my cup of tea. I put it aside as a souvenir.

However, my perspective changed when I decided to give it a chance wearing it for a walk on a frosty day. That decision turned out to be a game-changer. The scent resonated with my brain cells, sending shivers of satisfaction down my spine. Imagine your beloved kissing your sweet spot for the first time – that's what the scent did to me every time it hit my nose. Changing my clothes later revealed another surprise – the scent had transferred, lasting the entire day. Unbelievable longevity.

The scent is ambiguous – warming, soothing, yet potentially abusive, intimate, and seductive. I'm no perfumery expert; I choose scents based on whether I like them, mostly disregarding the pyramid. I can't pinpoint the claimed notes of orange blossom, bergamot, etc.

It's akin to waking up in crisp sheets, your beloved offering breakfast in bed. Your attention focuses on the honey bowl on the tray. Still half-asleep, you make clumsy movements to taste the honey, leaving it on the corner of your mouth, threatening to fall. Then your love licks it off, leading to a passionate make-out session and then sex. I perfectly sense washed bedsheets, honey, and some sweaty/animalic notes, which surprisingly don't repulse.

In conclusion, I'll undoubtedly purchase it again. Like any perfume, it's not for everyone, as tastes vary. If you're intrigued, find a shop with a tester and try it on your wrist. Perhaps it's what you're looking for ☺️.

[minhosimthings]

Moots as a word in english!

Ahh this is saur fun I had a lot of fun with my english notes lmao also ignore my adhd brain's unability to explain shit

@heeliopheelia - Turquoise. Something about Carly just screams this word like the way you pronounce it and the vibe it gives you.

@astraystayyh - petrichor. One of my fav English words and it just sounds so beautiful just like Sahar.

@shoverse - Roses. Sho sho gives me the roses vibes ya know,

@frenchkisstheabyss - eunoia, it means a beautiful mind much like Ty has!

@jaylaxies - purpose. Everytime I think of Aria, the word purpose comes to my mind, it's so crisp and precise, much like her

@sjyluv - honey. I will never stop with my agenda of Mia is the human incarnation of honey I WILL NEVER STOP-

@angel1kisses - bewitch. Yes it's because Vampie is bewitching (and also the word just gives me the vibes of her blog)

@candewlsy - dewdrop. It's such an adorable word, much like my baby Mizu, and it's also such a tiny word like SQUISHY

@chlorinecake - opulent. Because my wife is ✨ expensive✨ just like the word hehe.

@amazzwon - my slut, melodic. Idk why A.D is just a melodic person to me, like the words reminds of me of her too much

@haecien - fawning. The word in itself is so delicate, and I firmly believe Harua is the human form of gentleness

@jaeyunluvr - nectar. Nectar and Kayz, like just IS idk how to explain it-

@14raeriluv - silken. Like silken threads, I love her personality so much

@minhypenalt - starlet. Although Selene is the moon, I firmly believe she holds all the stars with her

@heeslut4life - misty. I haven't interacted much with Aeri, but I still associate this word with her!

@deluluriddhi - twilight. We literally just met and I assigned this word to her immediately

@lovestay-channie - silver. The name Rae automatically just screams silver to me, and silver is shiny much like Rae's persona

[cold-heart-warm-writings]

What the Ouran Members Would Bring to the Gift Exchange:

Heads up, this is aggressively long at 1k words, but it was a blast and a half to write, so enjoy!

Honey - He’s been forever banned from bringing sweets because he either a) eats them all on the way home from the store, b) eats them at home in the middle of the night, c) eats them all on the way to the party, or d) guilt trips whoever gets his gift into giving him the tasty snack. Thus, Honey is NOT allowed to bring anything edible -  Honey brings the largest, fluffiest, and pinkest stuffed animal bunny that money could possibly buy. 

Mori - Baby chickens - this guy loves his animals, and assumes that naturally everyone else also loves animals, right? He hadn’t been watching his roosters and chickens as closely as he thought he’d had, and baby chickens hatched! So, he brought the joy of life to the gift exchange. This year it was held at the twins’ place, and Kyoya made the mental note to put in NO LIVE ANIMALS ALLOWED AS GIFTS OR IN MY HOUSE in the invitation note when it was his turn to host the next year.

Kaoru -  A collection of his favorite books, teas, and candies. He was hesitant at first because some of the books meant a lot to him, and he was sensitive about being teased about the things that truly meant something to him. He still went with this gift though because it would be fun to enjoy now that it was cold outside, and they all couldn’t go out as much as they wanted.

Hikaru - A giant chest full of magic and prank toys. Some are quite expensive and others are cheap, commoner ones that he’d been researching for a few weeks. It’s an odd gift for the exchange, but they are all odd members, and Hikaru actually put a surprising amount of thought into the gift. 

Haruhi - A bento box. Haruhi was desperate for ideas on what to give the richest people she knew, the ones who had just about anything they could possibly desire. As the day for their first gift exchange drew nearer, and was thinking of ways to get out of the event, she overheard the twins discussing how much they wanted to try her cooking again. Whether a planned overhearance or not, Haruhi thought that a bento box would be a great idea. When thinking it over, the only one who wouldn’t like the box would be Kyoya, and even though her luck in regards to the club was 50/50 for good or bad, she liked the 5 out of 6 chances that someone would be thrilled. She searched everywhere for a cute present shaped box, all green with a red bow. She carefully cooked the rice, rolled the omlet, and put the food together nicely. Haruhi also made some cookies and placed them in a pretty bag to go with the bento. It was a lovely gift, and, as expected, the most fought after gift at the exchange.

Kyoya - A crisp new dollar bill. There is a graph of How Recently have the Club Members Annoyed Me to How Much the New Bill Will Be constantly tallied up in his head. He even, out of boredom, created an app for that sole purpose of being able to show the chart to Tamaki when Tamaki accused Kyoya of going cheap on them all. The 25 recent calls in the span of an hour the week previously about a play by play of making snowman and then Oudette eating the carrot did not help in Tamaki’s favor. Kyoya also gets away with just giving money because, well, he’s Kyoya, and because he does actually go to the bank (or at least, sends someone), and he can make the argument that it’s essentially the same as going to the store. Really, Kyoya should have been a lawyer, everyone that has any other complaints about the money, eventually gives up.

Tamaki - A portrait of the entire Host Club smiling and frolicking while playing Kick the Can, painted by himself. He said he’d taken classes for months in order to perfectly capture the liveliness and love between all of the members.

Bonus: Who ended up with what?

Honey: Hikaru’s chest of pranks. He can’t wait to find more ways to torment his brother.

Mori: Haruhi’s bento box - He drew the last number, and used his Ultimate Steal to steal the bento even after it had been locked in by being stolen too many times. He ate a cookie at the exchange ever so smuggly, gave his compliments to Haruhi, and then finished the rest the next day while studying. It was by far the best food he’d eaten all week. 

Kaoru: Kyoya’s money. He was thinking of buying a new game with it. He’d seen one in the store, and it would be more enjoyable to play knowing Kyoya had bought it. But then Haruhi messaged in the group chat after the party to let everyone know she’d made it home safely (so they wouldn’t follow her home to make sure of it themselves, most likely), warned them all to be careful in the snow, and wished them once again happy holidays. Kaoru decided at that moment that he really didn’t need more money. He broke the bill down into smaller bills and placed them in Haruhi’s bag when she wasn’t looking throughout the next two months for her to find later. That was like a gift in itself to him when she grinned at having found an extra bit of money she hadn’t realized was there before.

Hikaru: Kaoru’s books, teas, and candies. Kaoru was puzzled because Hikaru could just borrow his, but Hikaru shrugged and took his gift quietly. He’d been feeling a little distant from Kaoru lately, and reading what he enjoyed might help Hikaru find that connection he was craving.

Haruhi: Honey’s bunny. She’s actually quite excited for it, and uses it as a resting cushion when she watches TV and studies. More often than not though, she falls asleep and has the sweetest, softest dreams shrouded in pink.

Kyoya: Tamaki’s portrait. He didn’t particularly want it, he claimed, but he knew it would go for enough money on their auction page to support club activities for nearly a month. The portrait is now hanging in a corner of his room.

Tamaki: Mori’s baby chickens. Tamaki is not known for his ability to think things through, restrain himself, or full picture thinking. He adopted the baby chickens and promptly made them his entire family’s problem.

[remusremorse]

A marauders type of love

C̺͆H̺͆A̺͆P̺͆T̺͆E̺͆R̺͆ O̺͆N̺͆E̺͆:

1st person

September 1st 11:15am 

I spent the first 15 minutes of the train journey doing my prefect duties, making sure the first and second years got on bord safely and happily. I have been spending the last 5 minutes looking for my best friend Regulus Black. We are currently in our 7th year at Hogwarts, so we have NEWTs this year.

'Petal over here' I hear my name being called as I turn around, I realise its pandora rosier. As I followed her to our compartment, I finally saw Regulus. I tackled him as he didn't realise I was there. 'You sure you can catch a snitch if you can't even sense me about to tackle you. Captain Black' I bit back a cackle, but the others didn't, they just laughed with no regrets. 'I will have you know Captain Grindelwald that I am an amazing seeker you on the other hand are a one-of-a-kind seeker' Regulus snarked back in an incredibly posh sarcastic voice

'Don't talk like that you sound like Dumbledore or my father' came the voice of Dorcas Meadows. We all burst into a fit of laughter. 'Oi, come on don't compare me to my father he's an asshole' my voice rang through the compartment. Followed by murmurs of agreement by my closest friends. Soon we all defused into our own convocations. Me and Regulus reading whatever book we bought each other last Christmas, Dorcas and Pandora catching up with each other and fawning over there crushes on Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans, Evan and Barty keep showering each other in compliments and kisses or are making out in the corner (them having been together since 5th year).   

1:30pm

The lunch lady mrs Parkason I believe her name is came past and offered us food. I bought a chicken sandwich with mayo in as well as some cheese and onion crisps but there was also a lot of different sweets and chocolate. So being the expensive bitch I am I bought the honey dukes chocolate infused with fire whiskey. We all continued to chat while we ate and after descended into a comfortable silence despite the smack of lips from Evan and Barry.

6:00pm

It was peaceful and quiet most of us reading either a book or the daily prophet. When suddenly a loud crash and James potter, Sirius black, Remus lupin and Peter pettegrew came bounding in. 'What the fuck' me and regulus screamed simultaneously. 'Sorry to barge in but where hiding from the prefects' was potters response. Then he turned around and realised that had just walked into a compartment with 3 prefects one being head girl as well. 'Shit,fuck,shit,fuck' we heard potter, black and pettegrew repeat. The look on lupins face was just 'I told you so'. 'I will refrain from giving you all detention because I can do that know as head girl if you tell me who you where pranking and why and also you find out who the head boy is and tell me' is how I responded. The look of pure shock on there faces as to why I wasn't giving them detention was hilarious. That's when Black pipped up and said 'well we where pranking snape as he called Lily Evans a mudblood again also James here is head boy.'  'By the ancients, Merlin help me' I whispered under my breathe as they left.

7:45pm

I checked my watch for it to read 7:43pm. 'It's quater to 8:00 we should probably start getting into are robes' I said with tone of hurry. There is a ruffling noise and the all proceed to change( her uniform is the second slide) the only difference between mine and Dorcas was the tie,robe and jumper colours. Mine and pandoras are the same as we are in the same house and share a dorm.

Once we arrived as head girl I had to make sure all the first years got to Hagrid safely. The only problem was the head boy is potter so that sucks. You see for some reason he hates me, it could be because he's Gryffindor quidditch captain as well as chaser so naturally we would be rivals but he's hated me since first year for some reason unknown to me.

[gothmiqote]

— B A S I C S

Name: Varha Naiarro Nicknames: N/A Age: Mid/Late twenties- Early thirties during the game timeline. Nameday: 5th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon Race: Miqo'te, Keeper Gender: Female Orientation: Bisexual Profession: Warrior of Light

— P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: Long & black with a bit of texture to it. Gave herself bangs after Heavensward and never looked back. Eyes: Red. Inherited the pupil shape more commonly found in Seekers from her father. Skin: Pale, greyish-blue undertones. She's got the Keeper marking on her forehead. Tattoos/scars: Surprisingly has no tattoos. She's got multiple piercings, though—several on her ears, one on her navel, & she got her nipples done sometime around Endwalker. Varha has an impressive collection of scars on her body. Most are from fighting, and there's a few notably nastier ones on her ribs & thigh that didn't heal as well as the others. After ARR, she added one on the left side of her jaw to her inventory. It's not particularly gnarly, especially when compared to some of the others, but you can still see it easily enough.

— F A M I L Y

Parents: Keeper mother, Seeker father. Both died in the last Calamity. Siblings: Third oldest out of six. The only other sibling who survived the Calamity with her was Rhaya'ra, the second youngest. Grandparents: Also dead, but 3/4 died prior to the Calamity. Other: Her relationship with Rhaya is... not the best, honestly. They were never the closest before losing the rest of the family, but after? It was worse, & she doesn't really tell people she even has a brother at this point. They happened to cross paths for the first time in a few years in Sharlayan, not long before her fight with [Redacted]. He left a spectacularly bad impression on the Scions. They're working on their relationship presently, even if it's not easy. Pets: N/A. The only 'living' things in her place are the fake plants; it's about all she trusts herself with to keep alive.

— S K I L L S

Abilities: The girl loves her guns, what can she say? Her go-to skillset is Machinist, but she typically fights with a blend of that and the projectile skills of a dancer. (Bit of a blend of the fight choreo from Kingsman and John Wick, actually.) More recently, she's discovered that she makes a fair gunbreaker too. Is she able to use magic? Sure, but it's never going to be the first thing she relies on in a fight. Hobbies: Like her partner Estinien, she has none Pre-Calamity, Varha held professional dance aspirations and would like to pick it up again sometime. You could probably count working out & travelling, even if they're incidental. She does like to keep up to date with the tech she uses though, and it's a genuine interest of hers.

— T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Determination, dedication to causes/people she believes in, the ability to somehow maintain an aggressive sense of optimism through it all. Most Negative Trait: Recklessness at her own expense, tunnel-visioned stubbornness, impatience.

— L I K E S

Colors: Carmine, black, ink-blue. Smells: Something faintly metallic, gunsmoke, mint, floral soaps, a crisp winter night. Textures: Leather, a fresh coat of nail polish, the feeling of blood in your teeth, lips against a fresh scar. Drinks: Sparkling wine, honey mead, citrus juices, cold spring water.

— O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: N/A. Needs those lungs in top-shape to fight, y'know. Drinks: Drinks socially & tries not to overdo it often but doesn't mind being drunk if she does. Varha does try to avoid drinking if she's already in a bad mood though; if she's trashed and feeling good, then she's great. Otherwise, she has a tendency to become a bit fatalistic & self-loathing. Drugs: Regularly? No. Will she have an edible here & there if she knows she has nowhere to be? Occasionally. They really just make her more relaxed and less awkward about experiencing the full spectrum of emotion. Mount Issuance: She'll ride whatever. A chocobo will do if there's nothing else, or the Amaro in the first. Been Arrested: Yeah, yeah, we all know about the regicide thing. She's never been to prison or been charged with anything, but she will die on the (very stupid) hill of 'spending the night in jail once or is not the same thing as actually being charged.' It wasn't for anything terrible, just being a bit of an intoxicated menace in public after a night out, but still.

tagged by @emotional-support-carbuncle, tagging @tellings @verpine95 @nabulsi

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Please tell me what you can about Break my Baby. I love a good Max.

Adira, my dear(a) 💖

This idea has had me in a chokehold for literal years but I've just never gotten serious about writing it. The gist is that Max sweet-talks his assistant into going to a corporate retreat with him, where forced-proximity shenanigans and budding attraction ensue. BUT on the way home they're in a car accident and the assistant is mortally wounded, so Max has to make the quick decision to turn her instead of letting her die. They navigate her new vamp life together and (of course) end up in fluffy eternal love.

A little piece of a scene under the cut (tbh I don't know why it's in first person. the muse wants what it wants):

***

Max looks up from his desk with a dazzling smile when I walk into his office juggling his coffee and mine along with my purse and laptop bag.

"There's my favorite little juice box."

"Stop calling me that, it was one time. When you were allegedly at... undeath's door."

He gives an exaggerated frown, swallowing a swig of the black coffee I’ve unloaded onto his desk. "Allegedly? Sunshine, you wound me."

"Don't tempt me. Home Depot has stakes, you know."

"Speaking of steaks, have dinner with me tonight."

"No, thank you."

"You work too hard. You deserve a nice meal, a glass of wine. Creme brulee for dessert."

The thought trickles through my mind, syrupy and comforting and a little fuzzy around the edges, like a drop of warm honey.

It has been a long day, and I am hungry, and that place two blocks over does an amazing creme brulee.

And Max isn't that bad, after all, and he'll be on his best behav—

Wait a minute.

I feel like I’m moving in slow motion as I dig my fingers into the tender flesh of my tricep and pinch, like my sister used to do when we’d fight as kids. The sudden clarity makes me shake my head.

"Really, Max?"

He only shrugs. "What am I supposed to do? You're no fun."

"You don't pay me enough to be fun."

"Well, let me get the paperwork to HR and I’ll call for a reservation."

"If there's nothing else, I have emails to answer," I say, turning toward the door.

"Oh, yeah." Max starts flicking through papers on his desk. "There's that thing this weekend, I need you to go with me."

I blink. "The thing? What thing?"

"You know..." He waves one hand in a distracted circle. "The thing for the company."

"No, I don’t know. Mind-reading is supposed to be your thing."

"I've told you, I can't read minds. This," he says, fishing a brochure out of the pile. "The sales managers' annual retreat."

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a sales manager. And I have plans this weekend."

Binge-watching the Great British Bake Off over takeout absolutely counts as plans.

"Cancel 'em. I need my trusty assistant, gotta impress corporate with how organized and efficient I am."

"You mean, how organized and efficient I am," I counter. "Again, plans."

“Just look at the brochure.” Max shifts tactics to turn the puppy-dog eyes up to eleven. “An all-expense-paid weekend at an exclusive resort upstate, how can you say no to that? You do work too hard, you know.” 

Begrudgingly, I open the glossy brochure he’s shoved into my hands. Rolling green hills surround a hotel that looks like a French chateau. Smiling people are playing golf, swimming in a massive indoor pool, relaxing in a sauna, clinking champagne glasses in a gold-trimmed dining room. A bed as big as my studio apartment is dressed in crisp white linens, with mints on the pillows.

Binging the Great British Bake-Off in a free fancy hotel room wouldn’t be too bad, as plans go.

I look back to Max, watching me expectantly. “You drive and pay for gas,” I start.

Victory sparks in his dark eyes. “Fair enough.”

“During free time, I get to do whatever I want. No meetings, no spreadsheets, no fetching extra ice for your drink.”

“You won’t even know I’m there.” He lays a hand over his lifeless heart like he’s taking an oath of office or something.

This is going better than I expected. Might as well shoot for the moon.

“And I get a clothing allowance. I don’t have any resortwear.”

“You need any help shopping? I drove past the mall the other day, and Victoria’s Secret had this little red number in the window—”

“What do you think?” I ask dryly.

A grin dimples his cheek. “You drive a hard bargain, Sunshine. Deal.”

“Seriously?”

“Eh, why not? I’ll expense everything, anyway. Just have to get creative with the codes.”

This is probably a mistake. 

Best-case scenario, I’ll have stories to tell at cocktail parties. If I’m ever invited to one, that is. Worst case, I end up in prison for staking my boss.

“Fine,” I sigh. “What time are we leaving?”

“I’ll pick you up at 7:30 sharp on Friday morning. Can’t miss the welcome breakfast,” Max says cheerfully.

“Your turn to bring my coffee, then. I want a—”

“Decaf caramel latte with almond milk, extra whip. I know.”

I frown. “Yeah. That.” 

“Well, don’t let me keep you. Those emails won’t answer themselves, am I right?” Max dismisses me with a wink and a flourish of finger guns.

Finger guns.

After two years of working for Max, my eye roll is a reflex. He’s so corny, it distracts me from the weirdness of the most self-focused person I know paying attention to my coffee order.

***

Thank you for asking!

[revnah1406]

I'm bringing back the Isobel and Sparrow bet regarding stealth.

Izzy: *in her natural soft lilting southern accent that slips out once in a while* Oh honey bless your heart, but you're as stealthy as an alligator wearing a bell on a crisp fall night going through a pile of leaves. Sparrow: *visibly confused* What the fuck are you saying, L.t.? Isobel: *zero accent* Sparrow...you are built like a brick house. I will buy all your drinks for a night if you can make it within 9 meters of me without me hearing you. Sparrow: BET! *Sparrow gets within 30 meters* Isobel: I can hear you. Pay up.

HHAAHHAHAHA OMG I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!! 😂😂😂❤️❤️❤️

Sparrow is like a fucking tank, you can rely on her strength and her stamina. But when it comes to stealth... Oh sweet Lord... ISOBEL IS RIGHT HAHAHAHAHA Sparrow is like an Elephant inside a pot shop. HAHAHAHA

That night, Sparrow paid Izzy's drinks. And I'm sure Izzy got the expensive ones.

*Sparrow looking at Isobel while she orders another round of that expensive scotch that Soap recommended to her, a few weeks ago*

Sparrow: I hope you're enjoying this Lt.

Izzy *smiling and taking a sip*: Oh very much sweetheart.

Sparrow: I am still thinking about how I could fall into that... I already know that you're the expert in stealth.

Izzy: Because you're easy to tease, il mio uccellino (my birdie)

I love their friendship so much 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️

Thank you so much for the Ask!! It made my day!! 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️

Love ya!

[andaniellight]

Top 5 ask:

Foods

Current Songs

Shows

Flowers

Cereals :D

Nein!!! 😆😂🤣 Sorry, I had to take my sweet time for this one sdjshdfkhsdf this is going to be long, BUT I LOVE IT.

Top 5 Food: (MY MOUTH WATERING RN, but I won't include photos because my signal is HORRENDOUS </3)

Sop Daging Bening (it's a generic soup with carrot, potato, leek, fried onions, boiled in beef stock along with beef. I have no idea what's the English word for this meal tbh, but it's my comfort meal / ultimate go-to sick meal)

Korean Crispy Chicken with hot rice holy shit I love chicken cooked like this help

Cumi pedas asam manis (sweet and sour stir fry spicy squid??? Again, idk what's the English name for it but it's literally the most mouth watering dish ever.) (not the crispy kind, though it's just almost as good!)

Chicken noodle soup, chicken chicken noodle soup- (please don't ask why I love so many dishes with chicken so much)

LMAO honorable mention: INDOMIE GORENG. It makes me stupid, makes me crazy in love- I have to stock it every time I go to do some groceries, monthly or not 😂

Top 5 Current Songs: (THIS IS HARD. AND, again, I don't think I can include some links? But I'll try my best :'))

Beat Goes On by The All Seeing I

Angela by Flower Face <3

Every Summertime by NIKI (back to it. AGAIN.)

Made You Look by Meghan Trainor is a good mood booster song tbh

Past Lives by BØRNS or Sapientdream version (good to imagine for ships 😌)

Top 5 Shows:

The Bear FX

The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty (aaayyy 😌👉🏻👉🏻)

THE MANDALORIAN!!!

Gravity Falls, obviously :")

Spy x Family babeeeeeyyy

Top 5 Flowers 😲✨🤍

Lily of the Valley (THEY'RE JUST SO DEADLY AND CUTE, OKAY??? I would give my life away for them tbh)

Hibiscus, because i grew up with them 🌺

Orchids! Because they're the only expensive thing in this world that I can associate lovingly with my mom

Sunflower because of that tumblr comment about them facing each other as their sun.... no need the sun if you're my sun bro... bro...

Peonies, because they're my close friend's favorite flowers and she's SO DRAMATIC ABOUT IT-

Top 5 Cereals (I'M CACKLING, THANKS):

HONEY STARS! HONEY STARS! HONEY STARS! HON

Milo cereal 👍🏼

Corn Flakes honey crunch! mwah

Honey nut cheerios ;D

Cookie Crisp 🤔💭

TOP 5 ASK GAME!!!

[reapxrs]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL  NAME.     Genoveva Dulce Adelina Cardozo NICKNAME.   Gardenia, Denia, Den, Veva, Genie (Poppy only) GENDER.    Cis woman HEIGHT. 5’10” AGE. 24 ZODIAC.   Aquarius SPOKEN  LANGUAGES. English, Portuguese

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR  COLOR.    Dark brown-black EYE  COLOR.    Dark brown SKIN  TONE.    15 BODY  TYPE.    Almost model-perfect curves, wider hips and thighs to match VOICE.    Low and sultry, a little gravelly, almost always on the verge of purring, with a melodic accent DOMINANT  HAND.    Right POSTURE.    Easy and open, inviting, almost beckoning SCARS.    A faded line on her right cheekbone, a matching one at the corner of her lips, old faded abrasions on her wrists TATTOOS.    Backseams down both legs, topped in ribbons, scythe on the back of her right calf w the backseam wrapping around it, garter on left thigh BIRTHMARKS.    none MOST  NOTICEABLE  FEATURE(S).   lips, full and pouty, always tempting to kiss

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE  OF  BIRTH.   Fortaleza, Brazil HOMETOWN.   North Bay Village, Florida SIBLINGS. Vicente Cardozo, older brother PARENTS.   Luciano Cardozo, father. Samara Cardozo, mother.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION.   Sex worker CURRENT  RESIDENCE.  One bedroom apt on turf CLOSE  FRIENDS.   Poppy RELATIONSHIP  STATUS.  Perpetually Single; fwb with Chey Kalle FINANCIAL  STATUS.     A lot more comfortable than she was before the Reapers DRIVER’S  LICENSE.  no CRIMINAL  RECORD.   Long and varied, and she’s proud of every one of them VICES.   Lace, satin, expensive clothes and high heels

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION. Pansexual demiromantic PREFERRED  EMOTIONAL  ROLE. submissive |  dominant  | switch. (n…none?) PREFERRED  SEXUAL  ROLE.    submissive  | dominant|  switch. LIBIDO.    Reliable and constant TURN  ONS.    Crisp money, expensive perfume, cufflinks, designer ties TURN  OFFS.     Anti-sex work rhetoric, men who think lesser of her because she does sex work but have no problem buying her services LOVE  LANGUAGE.  receiving gifts RELATIONSHIP  TENDENCIES.    None. No relationships. The fewer strings the better. She’s always down for sex though, paid or not

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S  THEME  SONG.   Don’t Play, Halsey HOBBIES  TO  PASS TIME. Shopping, honeypotting with Poppy MENTAL  ILLNESSES. none LEFT  OR  RIGHT  BRAINED.     left PHOBIAS. none SELF  CONFIDENCE  LEVEL.  Oh, honey. VULNERABILITIES.    She worries about Poppy sometimes, but she wouldn’t call Poppy a vulnerability.

[ozarkthedog]

summary — your car breaks down so you call the first person that comes to mind. your crush and grade a dilf, Marc.

warnings — alt universe. dilf!Marc Spector x afab babysitter!Reader. first kiss. sexual tension. grinding in the front seat of a car. filth. panty stealing. illusions to a threesome. no beta.

word count — 2.4k

author’s note — this fic is part of my ongoing series, Slow Like Honey, but it could be read as a stand alone. idk anything about cars lmao

☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☾

❦ 𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ❦

— 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 - 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈. — 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝/𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦. 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

You flip through the radio in your beat up car, singing along to whatever song distracts you from the horrid day you had just endured. As you drive through the small town, the sign from the little bakery that always tempts Layla with its baklava gleams brightly in the dusky atmosphere.

Layla. 

Your mind instantly summons an image of the beautiful woman. You saw her yesterday and yet, you miss her. She radiates warmth and verve. It makes you giddy just thinking about her. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when the minor attraction to the curly haired woman grew into a bonafide crush.  

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the check engine light flick on until it’s too late. The engine begins to sputter, forcing you to carefully pull to the side of the road.

You slam your hands on the steering wheel with a shout. This is just what you needed to add to your spectacularly shitty day.   

Without a thought, you dial the number of the first person who comes to mind. The father of the children you babysit for and who just so happens to be Layla’s husband, Marc.

With looks that could kill and a body that actually can, he made you nervous the first day you met him. It wasn’t until you got to know him and saw through the rough, hard shelled exterior that you fell head over heels for the man.

Marc’s a kind, stoic man who works hard to support his family. Running a body guard protection business is tedious work and requires long hours, hence why he and Layla hired you as their babysitter.

What you didn’t expect was to develop a serious crush on the couple. The more time you spent with them, the more you saw how much love and tenderness they had for one another. They supported each other’s endeavors and would go out of their way to make sure the other knew it. 

You went about your job though, taking care of the kids and household whenever they needed you. You did well not drawing attention to the silly infatuation you had on the husband and wife. 

Or so you thought.

The side road was quiet; aside from crickets that sing into the night as you exit your car. The late fall sunset cools the air to a crisp temp. You hug yourself in an effort to keep warm and kick a stray rock into the brushes that line the road. 

Marc pulls up behind your car less than 10 minutes later.

“Hey.” He greets you with a concerned smile as he steps out of his black Audi. 

He looks like he usually does, a devastating mix of suave and rough around the edges swagger. The dark button up he’s sporting is open and loose showcasing a clean, white t-shirt beneath. Jet black hair is combed back in waves and the familiar shadow of a scratchy beard frames his jaw.

As you lean against the trunk of your car you can’t help but smile in return. Your knight in shining armor. 

Marc steps closer, inspecting you even though you told him on the phone that you were alright. 

He smells like home. Well, his home with Layla.

“Do you know what happened?” He asks, walking towards the front of your car.

“Not a clue.” You shake your head as you watch him prop open the hood.

He inspects the engine before his jaw molds into a grimace. 

“It’s your alternator. Thankfully, it’s not too expensive to fix, but you’ll need to call a tow truck and have them drop it off at a shop.” he slams the hood and nods toward his car. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

You chuck your backpack onto the floor and sink into the leather passenger seat with a defeated sigh. This day just wouldn’t end. You rub your temples and wish away the headache that pounds lightly behind your eyes.

“How was your day?” Marc asks as he starts the engine and turns the wheel, driving in the direction of your apartment.

“Oh, just peachy.” You snort sarcastically and sink deeper into the seat. You couldn’t wait to wash off the hellish day and crawl into bed. Thankfully, you lived in a small town and your car died only a couple miles from home.

Marc side-eyes you with a raised brow. “That so?”

You try to change the subject wanting nothing more than to forget about the day but he doesn’t give in.

“Come on. What’s wrong?” He softly pushes with that concerned fatherly tone that always makes you turn to jelly.

Try as you might not to give in, it’s a lost cause. It always is with him.

“Ok, just remember you asked.” You grumble before taking a deep breath. 

“1. I overslept. 2. I got a B- on an essay I worked on for 2 weeks.” You continue counting the numbers on your hand. “3. I had to watch my roommate and her new boyfriend suck face all during lunch and now my car breaks down.”

Your blood boils as you suck a heavy breath into your lungs and you hold it until it burns, forcing yourself to calm down.

Marc nods silently, keeping his eyes trained as he drives.

“Really? She was making out in front of you?” he questions, vexation dripping from his tongue.

“It was infuriating! Why would I want to see that!? It’s bad enough I’m single and have a crush on two—” 

Your brain screeches to a halt. 

You almost let your secret slip to one of the two people who invade your thoughts on a daily basis. Damn your emotions and damn Marc for being so sympathetic and comforting.

“What’s this about a crush?” Marc quips as he briefly flicks inquisitive eyes at you. His tongue pokes his cheek as you groan and shove your face into your hands.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s a pointless crush.” You tell him flatly, also reminding yourself for the millionth time that day.

“Ok. I get it.” He says, raising a hand in surrender.

His eyes flick to you every so often during the rest of the silent drive. You don’t think anything of it aside from him making sure you weren’t about to break out in a fit of tears. 

Soft, yellow hues illuminate his handsome features and you can’t help but be mesmerized whenever you steal a glance at him.

The car finally comes to a stop in front of your apartment and you couldn’t be happier. You unbuckle your seatbelt and pick your backpack up off the floor ready to exit when Marc holds your attention with a sober stare.

“I’ve seen the way you look at Layla.” Marc murmurs, breaking the silence and forcing your heart into your belly.

“I– I don’t know what you mean.” Your backpack tumbles from your hold as you deflate into your seat and sputter around the tightness in your gullet.

His chin drops to his chest and he laughs under his breath. “You can’t fool me, Honey. It’s written all over your face.” 

You play with the hem of your skirt, anxiously tugging the material between your fingers. You press your eyes tight gathering the courage to come clean.

“Yes. I think she’s beautiful inside and out. Ok?” You admit quickly with a bit of a bite. 

Your shoulders no longer feel the immense weight they were used to carrying. Still, your body burns with humiliation and you hide your face in your hands, no longer strong enough to face him.

Marc rests an arm on the back of your seat with a sigh. “I don’t blame you. I did marry her after all.” 

He tugs your hands from your face and cradles your jaw, softly thumbing at the apple of your cheek as his eyes dip to your parted lips. “It's ok, Honey. There’s no need to be embarrassed. You’re not the only one who has a crush.” 

Marc tilts his head and leans in so slowly and cautiously it feels like he’s moving in slow motion. He places a soft kiss on your lips and your eyes flutter as you selfishly groan into the affection. 

Eventually, your mind catches up and you pull as far away as the hand on your jaw will let you, which isn’t far at all. His nose bumps yours as he teasingly licks your parted lips. 

He tenderly kisses you again. The tension in your jaw fades as he deepens the kiss, slotting his lips over yours with possession. 

Marc groans deep in his chest when your tongue experimentally slips between your lips and smooths along his own. 

His fingers press into your jaw and open your mouth wider so he can taste you completely. A sinful mewl falls from your lips as he licks into you with abandon. 

Your pussy floods with heat, pooling arousal in the gusset of your panties as he hums with satisfied approval. His fingers press firmly into your cheeks like he never wants to let go. 

A thin strand of spit connects you to the older man when you finally come up for air. He searches your eyes for hesitation but all he finds is adoration. 

“Come ‘ere.” He commands as he sits back in his seat and reaches for the lever that slides it all the way back. “Wanna feel you against me.”

He helps you over the gearshift with steady hands before seating you in his lap. He locks his arms around your hips, fitting you snugly against his burly buttoned up chest. 

With your knees stretched on either side of his expansive thighs, your barely clothed pussy has no escape from his rough jeans and the solid mass that hangs between his legs.

Your brain fogs drastically when you feel his cock pulse against your mound. He’s half hard but already he feels massive. You wonder what it’d be like to have him stretch you open and mold your core around his impressive girth.

You yelp when he nips the sensitive skin of your neck dragging you away from the filthy thoughts. The slight sting makes you instinctually grind down on his straining length. You chase the pain with pleasure forcing illicit moans to tumble from both sets of lips.

“Shit– that felt good didn’t it, Honey?” He purrs into your collarbone, scratching your soft skin with his beard and laving at the burn.

Your pussy glides smoothly across the material of your ruined panties, rubbing your clit up and down his hidden cock. Wet squelches and flustered moans fill the small confines of the car as a thin layer of dew begins to grow on the windows.

He furrows his brow, squinting at you. A large hand cradles your jaw and he shoves his thumb between your parted lips. “Atta girl, grind that needy pussy on me.”

Your eyes flutter as you suckle and circle your tongue around the digit. Your pussy weeps profusely as you drive your hips harder, frantic to ease the ache that pulses steadily between your thighs. 

“Bet you’re soaking.” He grunts, shifting his hips until his cock glides against your core and a pathetic whimper tumbles from your lips. “Fuck- You’re gonna make a mess all over me aren’t you?”

His free hand molds to the shape of your ass and he shoves his hips in time with your hurried thrusts. “Just like that. Shit– wanna feel you come.”

Your grip on his brawny shoulders tightens as the tension builds higher and higher. He forces you to the edge so quickly that you have no choice in the matter but to come. 

“Come on.” Marc grunts feeling you shake in his arms.  “Be a good girl and cream those panties for me.” 

At his command, you tug the curls at the base of his neck as you shatter and careen over the cliff. A wrecked yelp forces its way out of your tight throat as your body quivers from the overwhelming pleasure.

He hums sweetly into the column of your neck, kissing the tender flesh and holding you fiercely in his arms as you come down from the exhilarating high. 

“Are you—? Did you?” Your eyes flick down to his lap when you notice his cock is still hard and twitching beneath his jeans. “Cause I can—”

Marc shakes his head. “Nah, I’m ok. I’ll take care of it later.” He nudges your nose before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is slow and deliberate as he drowns you in affection. 

You’ve never felt so safe being in his arms. You never wanted this to end but you feel his eyes check the clock on the dash and you know your time has run out.

He helps you maneuver the center console again and you settle back into the passenger seat. You timidly gather your things and move to open the car door when he stops you with a raised finger.

“Give me your panties.”

The shock of his request makes your insides burn like hot coals. “What?”

Marc bites his lip. “I’ll give ‘em back tomorrow night,” His eyes drop to your skirt in a silent command. “I promise.”

“O— ok.” You whisper and wiggle the drenched scrap of material down your legs. The gusset is absolutely soaked. A shiny, wet trail stains the inside of your legs as you slide your panties off and do your best to not cower when you hand them over. 

Marc grins like a fool as he inspects them. “God damn. You made such a mess.” He moans while palming his cock with a hard squeeze.

He folds your panties carefully and pockets them but not before giving a deep sniff. “Layla will love to suck on this while I fuck her tonight.” 

You gasp at the admission and from the fresh wave of slick that floods your pussy. Images of the couple fucking flash before your eyes making you woozy.

“Best get a move on. It’s getting late.” Marc states before adjusting his seat and starting the car. 

All you can do is nod and robotically gather your belongings. 

The idea of Layla mouthing your ruined panties while Marc fucks her breaks you. You barely squeak a goodnight to him before stepping onto the sidewalk.

He clears his throat prompting you to turn and face him one more time. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow night.” Marc declares with a sly grin.

You smile dumbly at him and somehow make it up the steps to your apartment before locking the door behind you. The sound of the engine purrs to life as he drives away leaving you in a state of shock and filth.

What the absolute fuck.

[madame-wilsonn]

Cold hands, warm heart

MASTERLIST

Summary: you’re outside, it’s winter and you’re cold but thankfully, your knight in shining armor black leathery gloves is here!

A/N: this is loosely inspired by my own experience in the cold…except I didn’t have Tommy. I am also strangely in love with people’s hands especially when they wear gloves so I decided to mix these two ideas together and write something about it! Enjoy!! 🤍✨

Warning: idk…winter? cold weather? fluff?

You sighed, rubbing your hands together. You couldn’t feel your fingers anymore, your skin was burning due to the frosty weather, your feet numb as you made your way through the crisp land. Winter had finally arrived, the first snow of the season shrouding the country in its sparkling, silvery coat in the early hours of the morning.

At the sight of the white scenery, you had begged Tommy to come with you on a walk, your voice filled with such a pure, innocent enthusiasm he couldn’t even think about refusing.

You waited until after lunch when the sun was higher in the sky, the temperature slightly warmer than it was in the morning to put on your wool coat, your scarf, a hat for your ears but in your precipitation, you happened to forget about your gloves.

It was fine at first, you felt like a child all over again, enjoying the somehow sweet breeze brushing against your face. Fond memories of you tracing angels in the ground, making snowmen and having snowball fights with your cousins rushing through your mind. Tommy couldn’t help smiling as well, he loved seeing you so carefree and relaxed.

You walked on the mansion’s grounds, talking about your day and the upcoming family dinner you wanted to plan as Ada was coming back from Boston.

However, you quickly realized that you were beginning to not feel your fingers anymore, no matter how many time you tried to warm them up by blowing on them. And the further you went from the house, the less you could feel any of your limbs.

But you insisted to go out so you chose to stay quiet, try to focus on something else than the arctic cold gnawing at your feet, your hands, your ears, your-

“Everything alright, love?” Tommy’s hand came to rest against your back as he noticed you becoming more and more silent.

You hummed in agreement but slowly leaned into his body, the warmth emanating from him welcoming you into the softest embrace. You couldn’t resist it, it was so cold, too cold for someone as delicate as you and he…oh he was like a nice fireplace smelling like very expensive cologne with a hint of tobacco.

Your husband sighed when he noticed your bare hands.

“Where are your gloves?”

You hid your face in the crook of his neck and whispered you left them home.

“How can you forget your gloves, eh? You have at least ten different pairs!”

“I know, I know, I am so…so stupid” you replied absentmindedly as you found some extra warmth in his heavy winter coat, your hands sliding around his waist. It was funny how his voice seemed far, far away in the pleasant envelope of his coat.

Tommy sighed again, grabbing you by your shoulders. You pouted, the cold hitting your body again and before you could tell him he didn’t have to be so mean just because you forgot about your gloves, you felt a soft fabric around your hands. Looking down, you saw his black leather gloves, shielding your delicate fingers from the cold.

You smiled, your heart growing twice its size for your sweet husband. Sometimes you really wondered how you managed to get so lucky. You leaned in again, and put your lips against his cheek, silently thanking him for his thoughtfulness.

“I love you, Tom” you said in a honeyed voice, close to his ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now, come on, let’s get you home. I’ll run you a bath.”

You were beaming at him, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles.

“Will you be joining me?”

He brought you closer, kissing your temple.

“If I ever say no to that question, I want you to use my revolver against me and shoot me with it, alright?” he replied with a smirk.

You giggled as the both of you made your way through the snow back to Arrow house, your head resting against Tommy’s shoulder. Forgetting your gloves didn’t sound so bad now, did it?

[random-imagines-blog]

Imagine Tom Cruise surprising you with a new bag.

The house was clean, the soup that you had made was staying warm on the oven, the candles were on and all that you were missing was your Tom, who should be coming in any - second -

“Hello?” He called out loudly as he came in through the front door of the house that he shared. He was very much a loud man when he felt comfortable, really making sure that the house was his own and that he wouldn’t go without your attention for very long. “Wow, it smells great in here. Where are you, honey?”

“In the kitchen,” You called.

He comes in and joins you, leaving all but one bag near the door to put away after dinner. He never could resist your cooking. He was like a cartoon dog floating in, enticed by the smells of it all. Usually everything waited until after he had your homecooking but - this one shopping bag, paper and crisp, apparently was the exception to the rule. “Do you got a minute?” He asked, taking in the sight of you, stirring the large pot that was on top of the stove.

“A minute,” You nodded. You ignored the bag entirely as you returned to your safe place, your favorite place, inside of his arms. He gave you a real long hug and then a kiss hello, an I Missed you Kiss, an I’m glad you’re home kiss, and many more that meant a variety of things. You thought that was all that he wanted at first but when you tried to go back to the soup to make sure that it wasn’t burning, he didn’t let you go right away.

“I got you something,” He said, tapping the top of the bag.

“You didn’t have to," You said, playfully. A little suspiciously. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate presents, it was more so that you didn’t like him spending a bunch of money on things that a cheap substitute was obviously fine for. Like this. An expensive looking handbag that was absolutely gorgeous, no doubt about that, it was far prettier than anything else that you had owned. A fifty dollar bag worked just as well to carry around your things as - however much this was. Tom was smart enough to take the tags off and no receipt so you wouldn’t be able to see how expensive it had been. “Tom....”

“I know, I know,” He said, putting up his hands, expecting this kind of reaction. “But on the plane ride home, I was watching Parks and Rec. And it was a Treat Yoself episode,” He said, trying to say the catchphrase in the enthusiastic way that the characters did. “And it made me think about how you never do. Treat yourself. So I thought I’d do it for you. Come on, you know you like it.”

You held it up to the light and had to admit, it was exactly your style. If you were given free reign in a shop, it’s the one that you would most likely be drawn to. He knew your tastes, your Tom.

“Fine,” You said with a sigh. “But I’m counting this as my next Christmas and birthday gift, so don’t you dare try to get me anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” He said with his million dollar smile, the one that showed you that of course he would, because he loved you so much. You eyed him, but laughed and put the bag down to stir the soup. There really was no changing that man of yours.

Requested by: Anonymous