#my cousin's prompts for this were:

[almondpiglet]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAREST REIGEN!!

everyone thanks you for entering their lives :')

[finemealprompt]

DP x DC Prompt #42

Billy's pretty pleased with his ability to keep his secret identity a secret from the League. The only ones who might know are Batman and his crew, but that was to be expected.

So, he's a little surprised when he spots a new hero who has joined Justice League: Dark who looks a lot like his cousin. Like, a lot a lot. Give him black hair and blue eyes, and that's Danny ... Oh holy shit Phantom's Danny! When did Danny become a ghost?

Billy hopes Danny won't tattletale to his mom. That'd be a nightmare.

[briwates]

when he gets the photo, he has to sit down. roly poly baby with the sweetest eyes staring at the camera out of focus.

from this asks game

Thank you for the ask !! i've thought all day about how to write around this prompt, and I finally found my answer :D it got a little long so fic under the cut

yohan was out of town for a work placement when isaac had called him. their much anticipated addition to the family was coming earlier than expected, shortening at once the number of days he was checking off the calendar since the big announcement.

An emergency c-section. heejin had been rushed to the hospital in the early evening, two weeks before the planned due date. yohan paces with frustration in the break room, wishing he could be there with his brother and sister-in-law to welcome this baby. The first yohan would get to see and hold up close. damned mandated overtime.

"i'll send you her picture" isaac had said over the phone. small consolation for missing the event. yohan would have to hold onto that until he could hold his niece, tiny and solid and real.

throughout the evening, he refreshes his email again and again, sneaking away from his colleagues on "coffee breaks" to the computer room, necessity of late afternoon work. the overtime was killing him even more than usual today, cases that usually piqued his interest now made pointless in the face of what he was missing at home. or at least, the closest thing he could call home.

the clock displays 10:03pm when yohan's phone rings again, right after the last of his coworkers wave him goodbye and shut the door. alone in the office, he jumps off his seat to grab the device, scrambles to pull at the charging cord and press the "accept call" button on his Samsung Eternity, fingers shaky.

"hyung ?"

"she's here" isaac tells yohan between sniffles when the phone is against his ear. "elijah is here. yohan-ah, i am a father."

"congratulations hyung" yohan manages to croak out. the excitement materializes like a ball in his chest that is about to burst. he feels ready to start bouncing off walls. "how is noona ?"

"she's tired, but happy. she's feeding elijah. nanny is with her" there is a pause, another sniffle before isaac adds sheepishly, "the emotion overtook me so strongly that they sent me to wash my face, i am calling you from the hospital hallway"

yohan chuckles. it is just like his brother to burst into tears at emotional moments

"who does she look like ?" he asks, curious to know. they had a bet.

"hmmf" isaac blows his nose "i think she takes after heejin the most, but you should see her for yourself"

the email. yohan runs to the computer room again with the phone against his cheek, praying, hoping no one has locked it for the night. the door creaks as he pushes it open for the nth time in three hours, the first desktop displaying bouncing bubbles as a screensaver.

"i have sent you her first picture." isaac's voice gets watery again "i will hang up now, yohan-ah. they both need me."

"okay" yohan breathes, hastily typing his password for the second time, urgency and and impatience making him fail the first. "take care hyung. say hi to noona for me. i will be home soon"

isaac hangs up shortly after, leaving yohan to stand over the computer again, clicking refresh incessantly.

when he gets the photo, he has to sit down. roly poly baby with the sweetest eyes staring at the camera out of focus. elijah is swaddled and wearing a hospital beanie, as pink as her pudgy little face.

yohan takes in her features. her bright eyes. her tiny nose. her round cheeks and sweet little pout. the ball about to burst in his chest only gets bigger, he cannot take his eyes off the screen. his niece. born into the world, precious and perfect.

yohan ignores the sting in his eyes and opens another tab to book the first train tickets to Seoul the coming saturday, the wait for the birth now replaced by counting down the hours to holding elijah in his arms, real and solid and forever his to protect.

[6okuto]

might do my nia goes to school/a summer event soon-ish... i think i'll open up reqs for it (along w other things) but if u have any thoughts let me kneow :3

[lesbianlenas]

i texted my friend at like 9pm abt the show i spent 4 hrs watching last night and i was like oh she has to wake up tomorrow at like 5am for her clinical so she’s sleeping already and i was like now i’m going to prob finish this before she wakes up bc there is 5ish hrs left (i have around 2 hrs left now lol) & i’m like this show is truly riveting to me so i might in fact finish it tonight 😭 so i am going to end up sending her like 20 texts between my initial telling her abt the show i was watching & then my thoughts when i finish it to and she will wake up at 5am and see i sent her these texts at 4am and she’s not even going to be surprised actually bc this is what she expects from me lol 😩

[ellecdc]

No Wine, Then

Sirius Black x fem!reader who thinks she's pregnant again [610 words]

A/N: one of the many talented artists I follow on IG posted a few sketches of this conversation between Ginny and Harry and it's been stuck in my head ever since so I just had to write it for Sirius <3

CW: reader + Sirius have an undisclosed number of kids already, at least one of them is a son, fluff

You’re not sure how long you’d been sitting in the tub of fragrant, bubbly water - sinking so deep that the only part of you not submerged was your face from your nose up - when you realised the house had finally fallen quiet. 

Sirius had taken charge of everything tonight; dinner, cleaning up, and getting the kids to bed. You’re not sure what prompted it, seeing as the two of you worked as a pretty solid unit most nights, but when he was patting your hip and pressing a kiss to your temple telling you to go run a bath and that he’d take care of the rest, well…who were you to argue? 

The door to your bathroom opened and exposed Sirius, still adorned in the white button up and pressed trousers he had worn to work this morning, though the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the top five buttons were undone, and you’re pretty sure you could see a cheeky sauce shaped handprint slapped onto his arm. 

He looked beautiful.

“I look like shite.” He argued when you said as much, though he was smiling as he moved to the sink and washed his hands.

“You look loved.” You countered, earning you a hum of acknowledgment from your husband. 

“Well, that I am.” He agreed as he kneeled by the side of the tub, leaning over the edge to press a kiss to your lips, pressing ‘one more for the road’ before he was pulling back to look at you with soft eyes. “I was too lazy to check but I’m pretty sure I have a note taped to my back that says kick me, and I’m going to ask you not to.” 

You let out a laugh as you lifted one of your hands to card through Sirius’ hair, having mostly fallen out of whatever bun he’d thrown it in. He closed his eyes with a pleased hum and leaned into your touch. 

“Do I have to ask where your son learned that from?” You chuckled, causing Sirius to let out a groan as his brows furrowed. 

“We need to find him new cousins; he’s not allowed to hang out with Harry anymore.” He offered simply. 

You hummed noncommittally. “Do I have to ask where Harry learned that from?” 

Sirius’ eyes opened as he scowled at you. “It was funnier when it was happening to James.” He complained, circling his hand around your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm.

“What about you, Mrs. Black. Hm?” He digressed, though the both of you grimaced when you realised exactly who that name made you think of. “Can I get you anything? Some wine, perhaps?” 

And you’re not exactly proud of the way it just came spilling out of you, but you would later blame it on the way you were sort of drunk off the warmth of the tub, the handsomeness of your husband, and the love you felt for the life you were living. 

And maybe also on the fact that you had sort of lost count of how many times you've had this conversation with him at this point.  

“I think I’m pregnant again.”

And Sirius - god love him - only let you know he’d heard you by the way his eyebrows jumped higher on his head in surprise. 

“So, no wine, then.” 

“I’d settle for a kiss, though.” You offered coyly, and Sirius didn’t hesitate reaching into the tub, wrapping his arms around your middle and pressing as good a kiss to your lips as he could around his megawatt smile. 

“That I can do for you, love.” He murmured before pressing another kiss to a smile of your own.

[entitled-fangirl]

A second wife and a poet.

Cregan Stark x second wife! Blackwood!reader

Summary: The North pressured Cregan to marry again. He hates the thought of it, but at least the reader is someone he's comfortable with.

Warnings: mentions of death, fighting, battles, arguing, cursing, smut (p in v), and all that other stuff

A/n: Based on an ask sort of! This thing is so long I'm so sorry😭

Masterlist

..........................................

Cregan did not wish to marry again. The thought terrified him.

But he understood that his wishes were not taken into account when he was born with the Stark name.

Now, he nervously stood outside of the Winterfell walls, awaiting the young woman that would become his second wife. 

Lord Samwell Blackwood's only daughter. 

Cregan was not a religious man, but he prayed that this marriage would be better.

It would help further the alliance. That's what he told himself. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat as her carriage came to a halt. 

She stepped out.

She was different than what Cregan had remembered.

The Blackwood hair was obvious, the dark curly locks running down her shoulders effortlessly. He'd seen that same shade atop of Benjicot's head. 

But the manner in which she carried herself was different. Very… un-Blackwood like.

She was nervous.

He'd never seen any of the Blackwoods ever hold an inkling of doubt to them. It was a strange sight.

Not that he could blame her.

She curtsied out of politeness, keeping her head down.

He shook his head, "Y/n."

Her head shot up to look at him. To really look at him.

She remembered him visiting Raventree Hall in their youth. Cregan had found a friendship in her brother, Benjicot, as did their fathers.

This had prompted lots of visits in the past.

Until Rickon Stark died and Cregan took the mantle his father left behind. He was only thirteen.

Now in his twenties, the permanent exhaustion shown in his eyes. The years had been hard to him.

He was nothing like the young boy that had once sparred with her brother.

"Cregan," she greeted back.

Their eyes met.

It was awkward. What do you say to someone you know and yet, don't know at all? Especially when both sides had endured such grief.

"Did-"

"I heard-"

They both stopped, not intending to interrupt one another. 

"Please," Cregan gestured.

"No, I insist that you do."

An unsure breath escaped him. "Did Benji not accompany you?"

It was strange to hear the formidable Lord of Winterfell still refer to her brother as "Benji" as if they were kids again.

"No," she swallowed. "He had… more pressing matters to attend to. I hope you understand."

"Of course," he offered. "I was saddened, you know. To hear of the loss of your father."

The Battle at the Burning Mill had left her father, Samwell, and her cousin, Davos, dead in the dirt alongside many other men who fought by their side. It was a victory, but with victory came loss.

"As I, with your wife, I mean."

He nodded. "Thank you."

Silence swallowed them whole, both at a loss of what else they could possibly say to ease the other.

He took the time to study her, making a note of the way she tapped the tips of each finger to her thumb. A nervous tick, he made a note of. Benji did the same when he grew angry.

"Did your journey fair well-"

"-Yes," she quickly answered.

They both cursed inwardly.

"Right. Perhaps I should show you… Indoors?" He asked awkwardly.

She nodded. "Yes, yes of course."

…

She sat at the desk, laying her head down onto the wooden surface. 

Judging by the way Cregan had only lingered in the doorway before, she had guessed that he hadn't entered the room since the passing of his wife.

Everything in it had remained the same. 

It felt wrong. Like an invasion of privacy to open her own closet and see another woman's dresses in it.

"Shall I get these out for you, my lady?" Her handmaiden tried to ease.

"Leave them," she muttered. "I'll get them out when I'm ready."

"And when will that be?"

She sighed in defeat. "I dunno."

…

What a lousy first impression.

Cregan felt like punching a wall.

What an idiot.

Perhaps he was destined to always have a wife estranged to him. For that's how this one had begun.

It should've been easy. It was Benji's sister, for fuck's sake.

He tried to rack his mind of memories of his time in Raventree Hall. He was a much younger soul then and the memories of it had faded significantly with time.

But he did remember her faintly.

She was always around, but she never bothered them. Never spoke up. She always was somewhere near with a book or a thread and needle. 

He just remembered the essence of her, but that was enough.

And the thought that war had broken the siblings up put an ache in Cregan's heart. He knew she'd be safe with him, but still. Benjicot couldn't even leave his duties long enough for a wedding ceremony. And she had just… accepted that.

This was his second chance. 

He had to do better.

…

At dinner, he tried to ease the tension. 

He cleared his throat, "You can write to your brother. If you wish, that is."

She set her spoon down gently and folded her hands into her lap. "That's kind. It would ease his mind to know I made my journey safely."

He grunted and took another sip of his broth. He tried to think of anything else. 

But she spoke up again, "I was waiting to ask but… perhaps I should just ask."

He tilted his head down, "Yes?"

"Your son… he lived, didn't he?"

He could tell she shook a little as she asked. "He did. He eats in his room."

"Oh." 

"Did you… Did you want to meet him?"

She pauses and a genuine smile breaks out on her face. "I'd be hard to be Lady Stark if I didn't."

He hangs his head in mock shame and he chuckles. "Right. That was foolish of me to ask."

"No, I understand." She shifted in her seat. "You're hesitant to replace his mother. You don't have to explain that to me."

"It's not that," he countered. "Well, not exactly. It's confusing."

"Alright?"

"My…" he paused. "Arra was one of my greatest friends in this world. But she was no wife. Our friendship grew to duty, and the love we shared for other another faded quickly. We seemed to argue more than we got along towards the end. It was… disheartening."

"I see."

He looked up at her and pushed himself to continue. "I fear you and I are not an even match."

A sudden jolt was felt in the pit of her stomach. "What?"

His eyes widened as he realized his choice of words, "No. No. I just meant… gods." He rubbed his forehead. "I have… experienced all the wonders of a man and wife already and you have not." Cregan looked around in thought. "Just seems unfair to you. In many ways."

She considered his words. He was right, she couldn't deny that. "Do you believe my brother had any doubt in this betrothal?"

Cregan's brows came together in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Everyone thought him so eager to sign me away, but that's anything but the truth. He knows you, Cregan. If it were any other man wishing for my hand, he would have denied it. Not you."

That brought an unusual warmth to his chest. "Why?"

The ends of her lips quirked up into a smile. "He said he'd never seen an equal opponent such as you. And only an equal opponent would be worthy of something so precious to him."

"Do you agree with him?" Cregan's voice whispered.

"I'm starting to."

The silence that had once been full of tension began to ease into one of comfort. 

"All in your family are true warriors as well, my lady. Only a fool would deny that. Especially your father and… and your cousin, you said?"

She nodded, "Yes, yes, my cousin, Davos. Hard to think that we've considered the battle a victory with such a devastating loss."

He hummed, his interest shifting when speaking of something he may have insight on: war. "The Brackens lost family alike."

She scoffed. "All for a few more feet of territory? For stones?"

"Careful," he warned. "They didn't fight for stones. You're smarter than that. What did they fight for? Truly?"

She thought about it carefully before giving in to what answer she knew he was looking for. "Power."

"Exactly. Your father died for the chance of future Blackwoods gaining greater power. That's much nobler a death than stones, don't you think?"

"He died for Benjicot, then?"

"And you," he offered.

That struck a nerve in her. "Then why do I sit safely behind the walls of Winterfell when I should be fighting by my brother's side for future Blackwoods?"

There it was.

He knew she'd have Blackwood fire in there somewhere.

He only had to light it.

"Do you want to wage wars, sweet girl?"

"No," she countered. "But if it must be done."

"Spoken like a true noble," he chuckled. "It's not nearly the same, I know, but the Stark forces may appreciate your support. If you'll bless us with it."

She looked confused. 

"Please tell me you wish to become a Stark. I cannot bare to think I'm forcing you into a marriage you'll be unhappy in. I've done it before and I won't do it again."

She felt a twist in her stomach at the tough man's voice faltering. She breathed in sharply, "I… I think I do."

Cregan couldn't accept that. "Please," he urged her to continue.

"I… I've been caught on the idea of younger you." She tilted her head to the side in thought as she stared at her bowl. "I'd happily marry my brother's best friend. But… the Lord of Winterfell? I dunno."

"He is one and the same," he protested.

"Is he?"

Cregan had never been rendered speechless in his life, yet there was a first for everything.

She let the silence set before speaking up, "Cregan was a boy with the very essence of life in him. I always thought he'd become a brave knight. He had a fire to him that you so rarely see. But Lord Stark? He has duty written into his very skin. The fire seems to have been tamed by sacrifice. He doesn't want a second wife. Nor do I blame him."

"I never said that!"

"You and I both know if Arra had birthed you one more heir, you wouldn't marry again at all."

"Stop." He commanded.

She faltered, pausing her words at his tone.

"It is true that I marry out of pure encouragement from my council. But that does not mean the end of our friendship. Please don't let it be."

"Cregan, you and I were never friends. You marry me with the memories of friendship you have with my brother. You know I am not him."

"I do!" He yelled. He softened. "I do. You're not like him at all."

That weighed on the two of them like bricks. 

She stared down at her bowl again. "I wish you'd have known my cousin, Davos, closely. My father used to say that the gods placed twins in separate wombs to keep us from ending the world." She laughed lightly, "He and I were inseparable."

"I heard Lord Davos only loved sparring and getting into trouble."

"Do you believe he only managed trouble on his own?" She questioned. "He was fiery on his own, yes, but I only encouraged it. I should have been there. At the border. I could've… I could've kept the battle from starting."

Cregan scoffed lightly, "There was no way to keep an inevitable battle from beginning."

"But I might have prolonged it all further," she tried. "Kept the tension just a while longer."

"Until what? Until it is your brother losing his head? Or worse, you?"

"Yes."

She wasn't that nervous girl from before. No. She was indeed a Blackwood. There was no question about that.

He sighed and clenched his fist. "We wed tomorrow. I'd rather my betrothed sleep well tonight with hopeful wishes rather than regrets and guilt."

She stood. "Maybe you're marrying the wrong woman then."

He watched her walk out, completely stunned.

It reminded him too much of Arra.

…

The tension hadn't relieved itself if the glare in Cregan's eyes were any indicator.

It was a steady glare. More one that seemed to study her, trying to figure out what makes her tick. 

Seems she was the very thing that made him tick.

She had glared back at the beginning of the ceremony, insistent on giving back every look that was sent her way, but slowly, that had changed to something else.

Her nerves returned.

He didn't notice at first, but he saw the way her hand shook so violently she almost didn't get the cup to her lips without spilling the liquid inside.

He was wracked with guilt.

He had once again forced a woman to "love" him.

"I've called off the bedding ceremony," he spoke lowly. "If that's any help."

"It's not."

He was shocked by the way she had so easily pushed away his attempt to ease her. Like she'd kicked the last leg Cregan was standing on. 

"Get up."

"What?"

"Get up. We're going."

She stared in shock. "Cregan, forgive me. I was-"

"C'mon. I'm firm on this."

When she didn't move, he grabbed her by her bicep, yanking her up and beginning to pull her through the dining hall. Both ignored the cheers and chants of what the people believed would happen in the couple's private chambers.

Once dragged to his room, she pulled her arms from his vice grip and smoothed out her dress. "Is that what you wanted? A newly wedded wife in tears? Because you're awfully close to it, Lord Stark."

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. "I'm not sleeping with you tonight. I refuse."

"What?"

"I'm not sleeping with you tonight. I refuse." He repeated with more force. He ran a hand through his hair. 

She shrugged off his cloak that he had placed on her during the ceremony and threw it aside. "You won't even let me perform my duties because you don't want to fulfill yours?"

"Y/n," he warned. "That's not how I meant it."

"I can't read you. Do you hate me? Do you love me? Gods, you're insufferable."

"-and you're blind."

"Oh! Enlighten me, then, oh great Lord Stark."

"I loved you. I still do."

She spun around to face him.

Cregan stood firmly. His eyes spoke more than his words did. He was insistent on having her trust him. 

"I don't believe that," she scoffed.

"Oh really?" He walked to his bureau and pulled out a small wooden box. He threw it onto the bed. "Have a look for yourself."

She looked him up and down before hesitantly walking over to the box. Sitting next to it, she pulled it open and examined the contents. 

Letters.

"What is this?"

"Every letter I tried to write to you the day I became the Lord of Winterfell. I had… foolish dreams of maybe having you as a wife. I was only a boy then."

She sat straight. "Why keep them?"

He shrugged. "I'm sentimental, I suppose. I had tried to burn them- many times, in all honestly. Couldn't bring myself to do it."

"May I?"

He nodded, anxiety filling his gut. 

Her nimble fingers picked up the letter that sat on top.

"There's a few others in there," he informed her as he sat on the other side of the bed. "All regarding you, of course. Letters to your brother, your father, you know."

She unraveled the latter despite shaky fingers. 

My loyalist friend Benjicot, I heard of the passing of your father. You have my deepest condolences. I understand all too well the feelings of honor and duty that have now been placed on your shoulders despite the grief that already weighs them down.  Regarding your sister, perhaps she may find a home in Wint

The letter stopped there, and she looked up at him.

"Some are… more recent, actually."

She nodded. "I see that."

He leaned to her, reading the letter with a light blush. "I'm not very well-spoken in writing, so I make lots of drafts."

"And they're all here?"

"Yes. Yes, all of them." He tapped the side of the box with his large hand. "Well, most of them."

She decided not to press the matter, placing the letter back and picking up an older one from deeper in the box.

This one had much sloppier handwriting, the page evidently aged.

Lady Blackwood, As the Leader of the North, I want you and Benji to visit as often as possible. I might be a lord, but I will always have time for the Blackwoods. Perhaps I can even teach you archery like you have so desperately wanted. Everyone knows I'm better at it than Benji is. Cregan

"Why did you never send them?"

He scoffed. "Read that again and tell me that was ever appropriate to send as the Warden of the North."

"You were a child then, as was I. It's in good favor."

"It's unbecoming of a cold northern lord, though." He reached out to take the letter from her but she held it out of his reach.

"Only yesterday, you told me this boy and the man in front of me were one and the same."

"And they are," he urged.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"It's not!"

"Prove it."

He stared with an unreadable expression. 

She was insufferable, stubborn, witty, gracious, giving, honest…

He crashed his lips onto hers.

She let out a small yelp in surprise, but just as quickly melted into him, kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm.

"This," she panted again his lips. "This is a bad idea."

He kissed her again, then pulled away just enough to speak, pressing his forehead to hers. "What is?" 

"Loving each other."

He grinned. "I don't care."

She groaned and moved back to him, capturing his lips again. 

He pushed her onto the bed, throwing the wooden box onto the ground with a loud crash before getting on top of her. 

She tried to sit up at the sound, breaking away from him for only a moment, "you could've torn them."

"Why does it matter?"

"I want to save them."

He chuckled, "Lovely woman, you'd rather save scraps of paper from a man's youth than indulge in your desires with the very man that wrote them?"

She ignored the butterflies in her stomach as Cregan's thumb brushed over her cheek. "I never said that."

Cregan tilted his head in teasing disbelief. "Then tell me what you want."

"I want-" she paused. What did she want? Mere moments ago, she wanted to return to Raventree Hall and be rid of the northerner. Now, she wanted to bask in anything that he gave her. "I want Arra's dresses out of my wardrobe."

Cregan blinked, clearly taken out of the moment. He sat up. "What?"

She sat up with him. "You may keep them if you wish, but I'm tired of the reminder of her presence every morning, noon, and night."

"Consider it done," he urged. "I'll have them moved immediately. Any of it you want will be gone within the hour."

"No, I don't-" she sighed. "I don't want her gone, per se. She was a part of you, and therefore a part of us. She's given you a son. To rid Rickon of his mother's memory and you of your first wife should be considered a crime."

"But if I live in the past, I can't enjoy what's in front of me."

"Aye, but you're not doing that," she grinned. "You've got a pretty girl in your bed. Seems like you're enjoying the present."

He didn't grin back, only sighing softly and nodding. "I hope you do forgive me. For forcing this."

"Cregan, you did not force it. Benji gave me a choice." When he gawked at her, she continued. "He encouraged me to accept, yes. But he did not force my hand. I wanted to do this. I wanted to marry you."

"You wanted to please your brother and I or you wanted to be Lady Stark?" He questioned.

"I wanted to be the wife of the man I once knew when he was a boy."

He accepted her answer happily, kissing her once again. This time, it was soft and careful.

She reached her hands up into his hair, tugging delicately at the dark strands. His breath hitched and he brought one of his own hands up as well. His hand gripped over hers. He pulled his hand into a fist, forcing hers as well, and encouraged her to tug harshly on his hair. She took the encouragement, beginning to yank. 

He felt a shiver go down his spine and his mouth opened in a moan. She grinned and took that as an invitation to kiss down his jaw. He tilted his head up to give her room to do so.

"I… I lied," he whispered as his hands roamed over his waist. "I think I do want you tonight."

She nipped at a spot under his neck. "I think I want you too."

He grunted at that and pulled her away from him. "Tell me what you want. Truly."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "I've had a first wedding night. I want you to have yours the way you want it."

"I… I don't know what I want."

He absentmindedly rubbed at her hip. "Then perhaps we'll try things until you decide."

She nodded. "Th…things? There are multiple things to do?"

He pulled her head back a bit by her hair and kissed her pulse point. "Many."

"But how…"

He couldn't lie and say he hadn't been yearning for some kind of release these last few years. Between Arra's pregnancy, the birth, and the years after her death, Cregan had not laid with another woman. He found himself yearning desperately for touch, of any sort really.

And how lucky was he that hers was so soft. 

He pushed her down on the bed softly. "Trust me?"

"In every lifetime."

Overcome with lust, he pressed his lips to hers again, starting back up the heat in their stomachs that they had played with so eagerly. 

Cregan reached up the tunic on his back, pulling it over his head. He tried to connect their lips again but she kept him from doing so.

She trailed a hand down his shoulder and to his bicep, taking in the sight of his bare torso. Her fingers paused at the feeling of a scar on his arm. Her fingers faltered. 

"It's a rather nasty scar," he whispered.

"My brother gave it to you."

"Aye," His eyes lit up. "He pushed me into a stream and-"

"-and you fell on a rock. I remember my father being so angry with him."

He kissed her yet again, and the two continued as before with a deeper connection than they had thought.

He pulled her skirt up with one hand and caressed the inside of her thigh. 

She jerked at the feeling in uncertainty. "What d-"

"Just tell me how it feels, alright?"

When she nodded, he spoke again, "Sit up for me. We'll get this dress off of you."

…

"Cre… Cregan…"

"I know. You're doing good," he panted into her ear. 

"I… there's… a feeling…"

"I know. I know, it's alright."

He pushed down on her stomach as he thrusted deeper into her, making her moan and tears pull at her eyes. 

"Give in to it. It's okay."

"I can't… I… I'm scared…" she sobbed lightly.

The hand on her stomach moved around her body, arching her back up to him. He held her closely against him in an attempt to comfort her. "I've got you." He placed open mouth kisses on her neck.

She scratched at his back harshly as she reached her peak. A whine left her lips.

"I've got you," he panted as his hips slowed when his peak neared. "I've got you."

She felt overstimulated and exhaustion filled her body. She closed her eyes for just a moment. Just a moment.

…

She woke up to the feeling of sunlight on her skin. Her eyes creaked open.

She groaned at the ache between her legs, a slight shake in the muscles of her legs. 

But what caught her attention was the tray that laid on the other side of the bed. A full breakfast sat where Cregan had supposedly once laid. 

She sat up and picked up the note that lay on the tray. 

My beautiful wife,  I hope you'll take the words of a poorly worded poet to heart, for this is a letter that I finally am sending you. No more drafts hidden in boxes and no secrets to keep. My first draft shall always be my last when addressed to you. I dare say I despise arguments. I'm not as highly tempered as your brother, and I find that I don't run hot. I suppose that it's the chill of the North that has done that. Regardless, may this be our last fight for a long while. I have had Arra's clothing removed from all closets, and the traces of her are now few. Her portrait stays in the library and her remains in the crypts, but the greatest things she left behind were my boy and a gash in my heart. I believe you'll care for both of those things greatly.  But you'll not live in that room. You'll find your dresses in my wardrobe now. I don't believe I can part from you for too long now that I have you. This will be my first and last letter to you, for now you'll hear everything from my lips alone.  But I thought you deserved at least one letter after all these years. Your Cregan

"I told them to fetch me when you woke up," he commented from the doorway.

She gasped at his sudden appearance, "Good morning."

"It's after high noon, I dare say."

"Is it?" She looked at the window. "I'm sorry. It was not my intention to-"

"-Are you alright?" He interrupted.

Her brows furrowed. "I'm fine."

"I've never had a woman succumb to sleep like you did. Felt I did something wrong." He rubbed at his shoulder anxiously.

"No, it felt… it felt good. Quite good," she nodded. She took into account that she was still naked in his bed, but she was rather clean. "Did you…"

He flushed. "Oh. Um.. no. No, I didn't. Don't worry."

"Why not?"

"Well, it's not that I didn't want to," he tried to explain then backtracked. "I mean… you fell asleep and once I knew you were alright, I um… I couldn't do that to you."

"That's," she hummed. "That's noble of you."

He chuckled. "It's the least I could do for you. And the note?" He asked to change the subject.

She held it up and reread it. "Thank you. For… all of it."

He stepped to the side and kissed her head, "Anything for my beautiful wife."

"And you, my poet, Lord Stark."

He gripped her chin and forced her head up to look at him. "Don't let the others know," he teased.

"I dare not. This is something I want all to myself."

"Then you have me- heart, mind, and body."

.......................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123, @wangjiangelangel, @kamitargaryen, @aegonswife, @lv7867

[sayruq]

In February, Adham, a 20-year-old Palestinian, was visiting his family’s home in the West Bank. One night while scrolling through Grindr, the gay messaging app, he received a message from an anonymous user “hey,” the user wrote, before “tapping,” the platform’s function for expressing interest. The user, like Adham’s, had a blank profile that included only minimal information about his interests and whereabouts, specifying only where he lived. (Drop Site News has changed his name to protect him from retaliation.) They hit it off and were chatting for a few hours before Adham shared that he was a university student in the West Bank. That prompted the user to share his thoughts on several professors at the university who had recently drawn attention for voicing pro-Palestine views. “He wanted me to be disgusted by them,” Adham told Drop Site. “Why are you trying to convince me that this doctor is a bad person just because he's against the occupation? It feels weird at first. Just bizarre.” Adham chalked it up to a difference of opinion and the two continued to chat. Eventually Adham sent the user his number so they could message on WhatsApp. Once the conversation moved off-platform, the user revealed his identity to Adham. “That’s when he said he worked with Israeli intelligence,” he said. Using Adham’s number, the user had identified him and began sending him messages with the names and photos of his family members he had found on their Facebook profiles. Adham hadn’t even shared his name with the user, much less anything that could point him to his family members—he’s not out to his family. “I started crying and I didn't know what to do,” Adham said. Adham blocked the profile on Grindr, but soon began receiving SMS messages repeating the same threats. “It was a whole night from 12 to the sunrise,” Adham said. “He kept threatening me, saying he will expose me.” The user told Adham he sought intelligence on Adham’s cousins who, at the time, were in an Israeli prison, awaiting trial on suspicion of their involvement with the al-Qassam brigades, Hamas’s military wing. “He told me that I should go to their homes, search and question their parents and get as much information about them as possible,” Adham recalled. “He said that you can't run away from us. We, you know where you live,” Adham said. “So I just get the SMS card, I throw it, I turned off my phone.” In the morning, he checked his mother’s phone continuously to make sure she hadn’t received any messages. One of his friends had his Grindr chats and images sent to his friends and family after receiving similarly threatening messages from a user who claimed to be an Israeli intelligence official. Drop Site could not verify the messages to Adham came from an intelligence official. But a former official with Unit 8200, Israel’s signals-intelligence agency, confirmed the involvement of Shin Bet, Israel’s internal security agency. The Israel Defense Forces declined to comment.

[thebearer]

could use a push |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: sometimes carmen needs persuasion to finish his tasks. sometimes you have to persuade him.

part of the carmen x social media manager au. the two other works follow me and fall into me can be found here <3

contains: smut. slight voyeurism-ish?? oral male receiving. super sweet and smutty. social media manager!reader. carmen hates doing tasks lol.

“Carmen,” Sydney turned, carrying a large tray of vegetables that needed to be prepped, expertly dodging the other chefs working on the line. Carmen gave a huff of a grunt, not bothering to look up from his own prep, too in the zone. 

“Chef,” Sydney huffed, firmer this time, catching his attention when the tray smacked on the counter next to him. “Someone’s in the office for you.” 

“Me?” Carmen blinked, brows pulling in a deep frown. “No, not f’me-” 

“-Yes, for you, Chef-” 

“-No, that’s Richie’s job. Cousin,” Carmen leaned back, shouting towards the swinging doors. 

“Carmen, will you- there’s someone in the office for you. Ok? They’re here for you, not Richie.” Sydney muttered, shaking her head in annoyance. 

Carmen paused, looking at Sydney. “What’re you doin’?” He asked. 

“What?” 

“No, what’re you doin’?” Carmen repeated, eyes narrowed at her skeptically. “No-No one should be in my office. I’m not doin’ the interviews for bussers, that’s Richie, so who’s in the office? Hm? What’s goin’ on?” 

“Nothing’s goin’ on, jeez.” Sydney rolled her eyes. “There is someone in the office for you.” 

“Yeah? Is it-it’s Fak? Is he fuckin’ with me? Gonna walk in there and what? Gonna spray some shit on me like we’re fuckin’ fourteen-” 

“-What? No.” Sydney frowned. “I don’t- Look, I was told not to tell you who’s in there because it’s a surprise, ok? It’s not bad. Just- Can you go in there? I don’t know why they asked me to do this, but I’m clearly not good at the whole surprise thing, so just do me a favor and go see for yourself.” 

Carmen huffed, wiping his hands on the clean towel next to him, craning to see his office from his spot. He looked at Sydney with a deadpan expression. “If I get sprayed with some shit, Chef.” 

Sydney rolled her eyes in annoyance, turning to pass the prep to the chef beside her. Carmen looked carefully to see if anyone around him was lurking, hiding in the shadows to watch him get ambushed so they could have a laugh. He felt like he was twelve again, Richie and Mikey always fucking with him so he’d get red faced and embarrassed just so they could laugh at him. 

Twisting the knob to the office, Carmen let the door fall open before he stepped towards it. Thankfully, there were no signs of shit falling from the ceiling, nobody hiding in the shadows. Instead, sitting in his office chair was a much more pleasant surprise- you. 

“Hey,” Carmen’s face lit up, lips curling in a greeting. “What- I didn’t know you were comin’ today.” 

“I decided to surprise you.” You smiled back. “Ambush you, really.” 

“Ambush?” Carmen snorted lightly, shutting the door behind him. “What’re you ambushin’ me for?” 

You stood, letting your arms wrap around his waist in greeting, lips brushing his before he took your mouth in his fully, kissing you sweetly just like he had this morning. “Mm,” You sighed, pulling back quicker than Carmen would have liked. 

“I came to ambush you for content.” You batted your eyes sweetly at him, feeling his shoulders fall under your touch. “Because you were supposed to let me shoot the new menu items this week and you still haven’t.”

“Baby,” Carmen huffed, pulling a hand away from the small of your back to rub over his forehead. “I-I don’t- Why do I have to be in them?” 

“Because people want to see you, Carm.” You glared at him lightly. “They see Marcus and Tina and Sydney all the time, and they want to see you too. You’re the head chef.” 

“Yeah, but-but why? It’s so fuckin’ stupid.” Carmen grumbled, huffy already, the start of a bickering fight you’d had a million times before. To say Carmen was camera shy was an understatement. 

“Why is it stupid?” You put your hands on your hips. “People want to feel connected. They want an inside look. They want to feel like they know you and they’re a part of something. That’s what gets people to come.” It was the same argument, every time. Carmen knew it, he understood it, he just… Well, he didn’t like it. 

“I’ll prompt you on everything to say,” You grabbed at him, trying to coo at him, coax him into finally letting him do your job. It was easier before the two of you were dating, before he was comfortable, when he’d suck it up in the name of professionalism. 

“All you have to do is cook me a dish, and answer my questions, and that’s it! It’ll be done in no time, and you can pick whichever one you want from the summer menu.” You ran a hand soothingly down his arm, over his toned bicep, trying not to drool at the definition. 

You could feel Carmen swaying already, turning into your touch, teetering on relenting. “Does it have to be a video?” Carmen grumbled, looking at you with pleading eyes. “‘M already behind and I-I need to do some prep, and-” 

“-Don’t lie to me.” You frown at him. “I asked Sydney before and she said you were all caught up for the day. Ahead, actually.” You lifted a brow in challenge. 

Carmen huffed, turning to look over his shoulder, cursing Sydney in his head. “I know your games, Berzatto.” You poked his tummy lightly, trying to lighten his mood with playfulness. The last thing you needed was him to be so sulky during the filming, ruining the content. “Know all your tricks, so don’t even try them.” 

Carmen let out a half huff, lips pursing in a tight line in defeat. He was so pouty, petulant, really, but you decided against teasing him about it. 

“One video?” Your hand slid up his chest, cupping his cheek gently, pulling his eyes back to yours, heart fluttering when his gaze was on you. “One video and… and I’ll make it up to you.” 

Carmen’s heart stuttered, leaping with excitement he tried to swallow down. “Yeah? Make it up to me how?” He muttered, voice dropping low to a near gravel. 

Your lips twitched, pulling at the corners of your mouth in a wicked, triumphant smile. “If you do the video for me today,” You purred, slowly pulling away, slinking towards the door. “I’ll owe you something later. Whatever you want.” Your lashes batted in suggestive playfulness.  

Carmen’s palms itched with excitement, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat. “Yeah?” He tried to keep his voice steady, keep it from cracking to show his eagerness. “W-What’d you have in mind?” 

You shrugged sweetly, clicking the lock on the door. “Oh, that’ll be up to you, Chef.” You grinned, Carmen’s posture going rigid with thrill. 

“But if you promise after this you’ll do my video,” You stepped towards him, toe to toe with each other, though neither touched the other. “I’ll give you a little taste of what I had in mind for later.”  

Carmen swallowed, nodding furiously. He’d blame the blood rushing from his brain to his cock as the reason he agreed so easily, the reason he was persuaded without much fight. You lifted your brows in an amused question. 

“Yeah? You’ll do it for me?” You tilted your head to the side gently. 

Carmen nodded, a flush creeping up his neck. “Yes, fuck, yeah. I-I’ll do it.” 

You grinned, sliding your hands down his arms, towards his torso. “Thank you, baby.” You hummed sweetly. “You want me to give you a little sneak peek of what I had in mind for tonight? A little thank you for now?” 

Carmen bobbed his head furiously, swallowing a shudder when your hands slid over his lower belly, slowly towards his waistband. “You want me to give you a little taste then?” You whispered, a purr in your tone that had Carmen throbbing, aching behind the zipper of his jeans. 

“Please,” Carmen croaked, jaw tight trying desperately to stay quiet. 

You grinned triumphantly, hand sliding and cupping over his bulge, palming him through his jeans. “Alright, since you asked so nicely.” You batted your lashes at him, holding his gaze as you sank to your knees in front of him. “I’ll give you a taste.” 

Carmen’s head tipped back in pleasure, swallowing a breathy moan that threatened to escape, eyes darting around the small space of his office. The door was locked, the blinds shut, but still he had a nagging fear that Richie or Sweeps or someone would bust through the door, catching the two of you in the act. His veins pricked with tingling excitement at the thought, heartbeat thudding in his ears when he looked down at you through his lashes, watching you pull him from his boxers, pumping his length. 

“Mm,” You moaned quietly, soft lips pressing even softer, feather-like kisses up his shaft. 

“Do-Don’t tease me, baby.” Carmen whispered, voice tight in a groan. You looked up at him innocently, eyes rounded sweetly. “Please.” Carmen added. 

“I won’t.” Your breath ghosted over his cock, leaving him shivering at the sensation. The pad of your thumb swiping over his already leaking head, spreading his release around. “I’ll make it quick. Just relax, Carm. I’ve got you.” 

Carmen slid a hand over his mouth, muffling a moan when you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, tongue swirling around the head. His teeth sank into his knuckles, head tipping back towards the ceiling at the sensation. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fu-uck.” Carmen muttered, your free hand pumping his length, slowly taking his tip past your warm lips. Your eyes stayed on him the entire time, rounded and eager to please, eager to watch him be pleased. 

Carmen’s free hand moved to the top of your head, cradling it gently as you sucked him off, cupping his balls and massaging them. You’d always been so good at this. He’d told you that from the beginning, heart nearly exploding when you’d smiled sheepishly and asked him, “really?” in the sweetest voice he’d ever heard. 

From then on, Carmen had never failed to sing your praises- in anything you did, but especially when you gave him head. Now, he fought back the urge to groan loudly, to look down at you and say filthy, sweet things that would have you squirming, thighs rubbing together. Anywhere else but here, he would have, but he couldn’t risk the others hearing. 

Instead, he moved his hand to cup your cheek, hollowed and full with his length, thumb brushing over your cheek bone sweetly. “You’re makin’ me feel so fuckin’ good, baby. S-So fuckin’ good.” Carmen rasped, clenching his hips to keep them from bucking when you moaned around his lengths, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his core. He was close, you both knew it. 

You pressed the pad of your thumb gently down the seam of his balls, hitting a sweet spot Carmen didn’t even know existed until he met you, a breathy whine of a moan catching in his throat. 

“‘M close, baby. “M- Like really fuckin’ close.” Carmen whispered, brain beginning to fog, ears starting to buzz with a dull ringing that always came with his orgasms. 

You picked up speed, head bobbing at a fast rate, up and down his length, swallowing him further and further, gagging when you took him a little too far. You always looked at him with embarrassment, a little sheepish when you’d do that, like he didn’t beg for you to do it again, like he didn’t bust every time you did. 

“Shit, shit, shit, ‘M-” Carmen’s mouth fell open dumbly, eyes blowing and glazing with ecstasy, a strangled gasp and moan filling the room as he came, spilling his load down your throat. You kept pumping him through it, milking his length onto your tongue, hot release onto your taste buds while his body shook with pleasure. 

Carmen’s shoulders heaved, rounding with exhausted pleasure as he slowly came down off his high. You waited until he looked back at you, eyes meeting yours to swallow. Carmen nearly fainted right then and there at the sight. 

Thirty minutes later, you were set up with your camera, the two of you giggly and sweet in your own corner of the kitchen, while Carmen eagerly filmed your video. Even feeding you a bite when he was finished with the dish, beaming at your praise. 

[clovermoters]

santa, doesn’t know you like i do

ln4 x reader

summary: lando is meeting your extended relatives for the first time, when a harsh comment brings him to a panic attack, your quick to help him.

warnings: panic attack, kisses, hardly proofread or edited and probably some grammar errors

a/n: here’s my day late christmas fic that i wrote half asleep, enjoy beautifuls 💗

you stood in the mudroom of your london apartment carefully applying your new lip product lando had bought you as one of your many christmas gifts.

Lando appears behind you, looking sickeningly handsome in a dress shirt and pants. his hands find your waist as he rests his head on your shoulder, his signature smile on his face as he watches you work your magic.

“you ready?” you ask the boy. he dips his head to place feather light kisses on your neck before snuggling deeper into the nape of your neck. he replies a muffled “not really” before he moves to shove his feet into his air forces.

he holds your coat out to assist you, placing a light peck on your lips once you’re ready to brave the snowy outdoors.

Lando drove you two to your family home, his nerves practically radiating off of him. He had met your parents multiple times before but today he’d get to meet your grandparents and extended relatives.

“Lando, everything’s going to be fine, they’ll love you.” you take his hand in yours. He sighs as he slightly plays with your fingers on your lap while focusing on the road ahead.

“What if they don’t though?” he argued. shooting a worried look at you. you give him an ‘are you kidding me’ look.

“I don't think they can physically hate you, just be yourself and they will adore you, just like I do!” you stretch across the centre console to place a kiss on his cheek.

you pull into the driveway of your childhood home, the christmas lights your dad had hung since you were small still decorating the roof nicely. lando kills the ignition, taking a moment to breathe.

he is so fucking nervous.

you had briefed him slightly this morning, warning him of your relatives being slightly traditional, worried that they wouldn’t understand what lando does and how he’s perfectly capable of providing for the two of you.

and treating you like a princess.

“Alright, let’s go make our entrance” you chime, walking towards the door holding your family favourite casserole and Lando juggles 5 gifts in his hands.

you ring the doorbell, shooting lando a soft smile while he gives you his excitement-nervous smile before the door opens revealing your mother.

“oh don’t you two look adorable!” your mother said smiling wide and rushing to bring you two into a hug. your father close behind her prompting to free up your hands and take your coats.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆

while you exchange your hellos around the house, lando shadows you. his hand interlocked with yours refusing to part even when you hug your relatives. you and lando make your way around the house, introducing lando as you go.

Your aunts and uncles adore him, your cousins fanboy over him and don’t let you walk away until each and every one of them gets a picture with lando. the more people lando met the more outgoing he became. The boy was showing the playful, silly side you saw daily.

“socializing is going smoothly!” Lando jokes. you chuckle while leading him over to your grandfather.

“Grandpa, this is my boyfriend Lando,” Lando offers his hand to shake with him “pleasure to meet you, sir” he added.

your grandfather eyes him while they shake hands. you can tell the man is thinking, and you begin to worry about what he will say next. knowing the man, it won’t be something nice.

“So Lando, what do you do for a living?” the older man asks. jumping straight into the hard questions. Lando stands up a little straighter before replying.

“uh- i drive in formula 1, sir. for mclaren.” you softly squeeze his arm linked with yours, reassuring him of your presence.

“oh, you’re the guy who choked the championship aren’t you?” your grandfather said attempting to innocently tease lando. The man laughs and while Lando joins in the laughter, you can feel him tense up.

you swiftly move on to the rest of your extended relatives, lando slowly began to fall behind you again, regressing back to the shell of shyness from earlier in the evening.

you could sense something was wrong when you noticed how quickly he was zoning out.

He was fidgeting with your fingers while you held a conversation with your aunts who were keen to learn everything about your time spent in monaco. You tried your best to include Lando in the conversation but the boy was too focused on the floor to properly listen to what your aunt had to say.

You excused yourself and Lando, dragging him upstairs into the bathroom to give the two of you some privacy.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly. Lando sits on the edge of the bathtub putting his head in his hands.

He doesn't answer you right away, you stand in front of him, giving him a moment to collect his thoughts.

You silently watch him as his breathing picks up, he lifts his head and the moment his eyes connect with yours, you swear you can hear your heart shatter. His eyes are filled with tears that are threatening to spill onto his face.

You're on his level in a split second, taking his face in your hands. “baby, hey what's wrong?” you push, his breathing is rapid and uneven as he attempts to get the words out.

You wrap your arms around him “shh, it's okay, im here.” you rub circles into his back letting him take a moment.

After a few minutes, Lando's breathing slowed, he wiped his tears with his shirt while you handed him a glass of water.

You were no stranger to Lando having panic attacks, the recent season resulted in Lando suffering from multiple.

You knew what he needed and right now he just needed you to sit with him until he managed to calm himself down enough to communicate to you what he's feeling.

He looks up at you with tearful eyes “your grandfather's words really hit me, and it was just over from there.” he explains. If your heart already wasn't shattered, someone just stomped on it.

“Oh baby” you sigh, gently rubbing his tear stained cheeks. Lando leans into the touch, letting it ground him.

“Don't listen to him, he’s an ass who doesn't understand how your world works. He would just turn the tv on during Sundays and not actually take in anything he is watching” lando chuckles at that, you smile, thankful he's able to laugh.

“You are amazing, and you achieved so much this year. It is the world's fault that they aren't able to see all you accomplished this year and look to the future and see that you are going to kill it next year-”

he cuts you off by pulling you into a kiss, his lips moving in sync with yours as he gently cups your face. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, asking for access which you happily grant. Your tongues battle each other as the kiss becomes more heated. Lando softly groans into your mouth as you softly bite his lip.

Before the two of you could go past messily making out in your parents bathroom, the sound of your mother announcing dinner is served forces you to pull apart. Lando has a goofy smile on his face while he fixes your hair.

“Thank you, i love you” he whispers before cheekliy placing one last kiss to your lips. “I love you too” you repeat before turning to head down to dinner.

Before you can open the door Lando softly grabs your waist and spins you to face him again. His eyes fall to your lips immediately and just when you think he's about to lean in, his thumb reaches up and softly swipes across your chin.

“You’ve got some lipstick smudged, love.” he teases before waltzing past you as you whip around towards the mirror, quickly fixing your lipstick while he watches you from the door.

Once your makeup looks perfect again, the two of you make your way back to the function, falling into simple conversations over christmas dinner. You watched lando come back to life, simply adoring the way he interacted with your family members.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆

you silently watched from the side as he was in-depth explaining to your aunt how the steering wheel of a car worked, when your small cousin ran up behind him and tapped him on the back.

the boy whips around with a smile plastered on his face “hey lily!” lando crouched down to the girl who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“hi lando! i just wanted to say i really liked your race in singapore” she said, lando couldn’t help but smile. he was slightly shocked your cousin had even watched his races.

“oh thank you!” Lando leans in slightly, “Tell you what, maybe I can sneak some passes for you and your family at silverstone?” Lando whispers in a mock secrecy, the younger girl gasps.

“So we'd get to see you race?” she asked excitedly. Lando smiled wider, “would you like that?” the girl nodded profusely before speaking

“yes please! your racing is so cool and you are so cool i want to try karting but my dad said i can't until i turn seven.” she pouts slightly and Lando chuckles.

“I just wanna be like you” she adds with a frown and Lando feels his heart swell in his chest. you had told him that your little cousins looked up to him, but hearing it come from one of their tiny mouths, landos worries from before fade into memories.

you were helping your mother finish the dishes while the house slowly emptied out. lando wraps his arms around your waist while he watches you clean the silverware from over your shoulder.

“your cousins love me.” he says smugly. you giggle softly at him before turning in his arms, “they do love you, i’ve had many phone calls asking if they could talk to you. you’ve replaced me as the role model.”

your hands find comfort in his curls, smiling up at him before he places a quick peck to your cheek.

“c’mon, let’s go home” he takes your hands and you both make your way to the car. As you drove home, Lando replayed the events of tonight in his head, he looked over at you sleeping silently against the cool car window.

realizing he can’t please everybody, he needs to focus on loving the people who do support him and look up to him. he smiled at the thought, turning back to the road as the light turned green.

maybe christmas at your parents wasn’t so bad after all.

tbh this is so bad but whateves MERRY CHRISTMASSSSS and happy holidays to all who celebrates 🤍

[demonic0angel]

OWO, you take prompts? How about this?

Danny was born a premature and with a heart defect. The Fenton's try to make a clone so they can get his heart transplanted without fear of organ rejection. But they end up making a full on baby and don't have it in them to kill another version of their son just to save their original boy. Danny ends up pulling through and the clone gets filed as a twin that no one noticed was still in when Maddie was in the hospital. So Maddie "had him at home" and went back so he could be medically examined. The new parents feel ashamed of what they initially were going to do and give the child to a cousin who couldn't conceive.

Tim Drake doesn't know he's adopted until a DNA test reveals that the 'Meta' running around Gotham is his 'twin brother'. And the babies he has, that he does babysitting gigs with, are his twin's 'children'.

(I don’t exactly take prompts, but I don’t mind if you send them. Also, I’m going to assume that the twin’s “children” are Dan and Dani, since that seems to be what people prefer.)

“… are you serious?” Tim asked through the phone.

“Yep,” Dick said, sounding like a mixture of amusement and concern, “How do you feel about it?”

Tim thought about it and then responded, “I guess it makes sense why my parents neglected me so much, since I’m adopted.”

“Awww, baby bird…”

“I’m fine, Dick,” Tim said. He picked Dante and set him on a baby chair. Said child stared at him with electric blue eyes, scowling with his pudgy cheeks as if he wanted to tear Tim apart with his nonexistent teeth. Tim rubbed his chubby cheek with a finger before moving away, still holding the phone to his ear as he picked up the other baby.

Dick continued, “Yeah… also, Bruce says that he’s sorry that he checked your blood without telling you.”

Tim snorted, “No, he didn’t.” Bruce was never sorry for that kind of stuff.

Dick sighed. “Yeah, I lied. Sorry. But he did look guilty! He didn’t want to tell you at first, but Jason convinced him so I’m the one telling you right now.”

Tim hummed, picking up little Ella, who was stubbornly holding onto a small cardboard box. Tim let her hold it and placed her onto the baby chair next to her brother, who immediately reached out for her. It was kinda funny seeing how clingy he was compared to his sister.

“We have more information too. We tracked down the new meta and we’ve been looking into his routes. We suspect that he’s living around here, in Bristol,” Dick said. “We think he’s living in an apartment, at XXX on XXXX street, possibly with a roommate named Jazz.”

Tim paused, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he was in the same building, babysitting a bunch of kids on the same street, who also lived with another woman named Jazz. “Uhh. What else?”

“We think he lives on the third floor and possibly also works at a pizza delivery place? Or maybe a fast food restaurant? He’s been flying back and forth between two places besides the apartment.”

Tim began to sweat. “Uh… anything else?”

“There’s a high chance that his name is Danny Nightingale, and Jasmine Nightingale is in on the fact that he’s a meta.”

Fuck.

Tim looked at his niece and nephew with a new light, eyes wide. Ella beamed at him, giggling while Dante just glared.

Welp. At least Bruce would be happy to be a grandfather now. Even if it was to Tim’s secret meta twin brother.

[gothcsz]

can we talk about javi angry fucking you? like for some reason you guys are having a HUUGE fight and something inside him just snaps and he takes you then and there, wherever you are. he sets a brutal pace and orders you to say his name but it's so much you can't!? ugh, excuse me, i am ovulating and this thought needed to be shared. I desperately need angry rough javi in my life

tags: f!reader, post s3!javi, established relationship, no use of y/n, reader has hair that can be pulled, reader understands spanish, term(s) of endearment (gatita), angst, cussing, break up, arguing, light dub con, smut, unprotected p in v sex (be safe irl), saliva as lube, a little bit of exhibitionism, creampie, hurt/no comfort i think, javi being an ass, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

~ 2.1k w/c - gif found on pinterest

a/n: me when i read that you're ovulating. but okay, this prompt was just so angsty and juicy. tyvm for that! i couldn't help but connect this to my fantasize series (you guys should clock in. let's stalk javi together)— but it can totally be read as a standalone! enjoyyyyy 🖤

Dinner with Javier’s family is always a lively affair, filled with chatter, laughter, and the steady clinking of forks and knives against plates.

You’re doing your best to keep up, smiling at the stories being shared and listening to the good-natured teasing from his relatives. But then, one of his cousins starts talking about how Javier’s taking on more responsibilities at the family ranch, taking charge now that Chucho is preparing to step down.

He beams as he talks about it. “You should see Javi. Got the whole thing runnin’ like a machine, and he’ll be takin’ full ownership soon, ain’t that right, Javi?”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. Your eyes snap to your boyfriend, searching his face for any hint of explanation, an acknowledgment, anything that might explain what you’re hearing.

But he just nods with a slight, almost bashful smile, as though this was something you should’ve expected, something he had already told you. Except he hasn’t.

Your heart thuds painfully as your stomach twists, an uncomfortable heat spreading across your face. It’s been months of back-and-forth, of what you thought were shared dreams about moving to the city together, finding a way to make things work while your career takes off.

You’d convinced yourself you were on the same page. But here he is, making other plans, without even thinking to tell you.

You try to keep your tone light, but there’s an unmistakable edge in your voice. “Taking full ownership, huh? Guess that’s news to me.”

Javier shifts in his seat, glancing at you with a look that’s half-warning, half-apologetic. “I am his only son. It makes sense,” he responds, very matter-of-factly.

His family’s already watching, sensing the shift in the air, and there’s no pulling back now.

“Funny, I thought we were still talking about our plans to move to the city,” you force a smile on your lips, but the sting behind your words is unmistakable.

He sighs, clearly getting exasperated, looking at you as if to say, Not here. You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes, the quiet confusion as they look between you both, piecing together the fragments of a conversation they aren’t meant to hear.

You swallow hard, unable to bear the mix of embarrassment and betrayal.

Pushing back from the table, you excuse yourself, your voice tight. “I need a minute.”

You make it inside, rushing up the stairs and into his bedroom, gathering your things with shaking hands. You know he’s going to follow you, and sure enough, a moment later, you hear the door creak open, then his heavy footsteps.

“What the hell was that?” He demands in a sharp tone, confusion and anger lacing his words.

You spin around, dropping your things onto the bed as you plant your hands on your hips. “Why didn’t you tell me about these new plans of yours, Javier?” 

He sighs heavily, hating when you use his full name, rolling his tongue over his teeth as he tries to find the right words. “Because I knew you’d be upset,” he says flatly, as though it’s an explanation that should satisfy you.

That’s his justification for keeping this from you? The anger inside you flares hotter, bubbling over as you let out a bitter laugh. “So instead, I get to sit there like a fool, blindsided, while your cousin tells me about the future you’re planning without even thinking to clue me in?”

“God, would you calm down?” he mutters, frustration tightening his features. “This isn’t something we need to talk about right now.”

You’re practically shaking, hurt clawing at you. “You don’t get it, do you? You said you’d try this with me. You promised we’d make this work together, that you’d support my career—our future.”

“This is me trying!” he snaps back, his voice rising in frustration. “Why are you being so damn selfish? I can’t just leave my pops to run this place by himself. He’s not getting any younger.”

You search his face, trying to understand, but all you see is irritation and defensiveness.

“He has other ranch hands. Other family. You promised.”

His eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer, his jaw clenched. “Why are you making this all about you?” he growls. “If I’d known things would end up like this, I would have left you back in Colombia.”

You’re stunned momentarily, speechless as the weight of his words sinks in.

You shake your head slowly, your voice cold as you look up at him. “You’re a piece of shit, Javier. I can’t believe you would say that to me.”

Your words strike a nerve, a phrase that’s been said to him by plenty of people yet hurting the most when you’re the one saying it. His eyes darken, expression shifting. “What did you just say?” he murmurs, cocking his head as he takes slow steps toward you.

“I said you’re a piece of shit, Javier,” you repeat, steady despite the tremor running through you. “And I’m done with—”

Before you can finish, his hand reaches up, wrapping around your throat tightly yet with careful pressure, and he pulls you close, lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s unyielding and bruising.

Despite the fury burning inside you, your body responds, helplessly drawn to the passion only he can ignite.

Your hands find his shoulders, gripping tightly as he presses you back against the wall, swallowing the soft gasp that escapes your lips when a few of the photo frames rattle.

His mouth is punishing and you can barely breathe with how tight he’s holding you, but there’s something undeniably thrilling about it that licks right through you, even as the hurt from before lingers.

When he finally releases his hold on your neck, his hands become fervent, moving roughly along your body as if claiming you all over again.

Harshly groping your breasts, moving down to cup your ass— you can’t pull him close enough to let this anger turn into the twisted relief you both need.

Clothes fall away in frantic pulls and tugs, shirts and pants pooling on the floor, discarded and forgotten. Between desperate fingers and tongues, you’re too aware that, if you part, the argument will bubble back up, and you don’t want that to happen yet.

His lips move over your skin, leaving love bites that blaze hot and brand you with the one of a kind feeling of him.

You grip his triceps, nails digging in as you drink each other’s breaths, tasting the tension between you, until you’re bare, and your bodies meet in a tangle of angry lust.

He maneuvers you toward the window, your hands bracing against the glass instinctively, the cold against your chest making you gasp.

He presses against you from behind, his body heat searing, grounding you in the storm of emotions that threaten to pull you under.

Your bare breasts flatten against the window, and the chill of the glass has your nipples puckering.

He spits into his hand, tugging at his cock, running it through the sticky mess of your cunt before thrusting into you, making you take every glorious inch all at once.

You gasp loudly, almost choking on the sound. It’s intense, too much, yet somehow exactly what you need, pulling you deeper into the unfiltered feeling pulsing between you.

You aren’t as wet as he usually gets you, and the burn from the stretch of fitting him inside your tight, wet cunt  mimics the burn you’d felt in your heart at his indifference towards you. His girlfriend.

Javier leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he growls, “If they look over here, they’ll see you taking this cock like a real selfish slut.”

The words have your shivering, shocking and exhilarating, just as he is, and your head tilts back as you let out a strangled, breathy moan.

“Causing a scene in front of everyone,” he tuts mockingly, “¿No tienes modales, gatita?” (Don't you have manners?)

Your fingers splay against the window, nails scratching down the surface, making a grating sound, as he thrusts harder, each punch of his cock against that one specific weak spot is sending you closer to the edge.

His rhythm is exacting and every bit of you is caught between the pressure of the cold glass and the heat of his body.

“Say my name,” he orders, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging it harshly, holding you firm against his shoulder as he glares down at you, eyes glazed over with need and his dark brows pulled together in a frown.

Your scalp stings at the pull, pretty eyes rolling to the back of your head and your throat tightens, making it impossible for words to escape you. Your pussy throbs around him, losing the fight against the sensations he’s overwhelming you with.

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice roughened with irritation, but the pace continues to be relentless, borderline uncomfortable, your body bending to his will.

He’s pushed you to a point where you’re nothing but a quivering, whiny mess. The friction of your nipples rubbing against the glass leaves them tender and raw, adding another edge of pleasure-pain.

“Got you all fucked out you can’t even say my damn name.” He chuckles humorously, but it’s drowned out by a low groan as his cock twitches inside of you, the sound of your ass slapping back against his pelvis echoing throughout the room. 

“C’mon gatita, tell me who’s making you feel this good even when you’re pissed off.”

The way he taunts you makes your blood boil, and you have half a mind to turn around and slap him—but it’s so fucking hot and you’re not going to lie to yourself about that.

Instead, you smirk and deliberately clench around him, watching him groan as his fingers tighten in your hair. 

“No seas asi. Say it.” (Don't be like that) He pushes you forward, cheek smushed against the window as his palm presses into your lower back, arching you even more, and that has his cock fucking you at a different angle that is much more overwhelming than the last.

“Ay Javi!” You can’t help but exclaim, some of your saliva landing on the glass from how you spit his name out.

He smirks to himself, that’s all he needs to let his own orgasm rip through him. With one last harsh thrust, he grips your hips, driving deep, a sharp cry breaks free as pleasure shatters through you, your body shaking with release, unable to form a single coherent thought except his name.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, burying his cock fully inside you, his heavy balls pressing against your swollen clit as he fills your cunt with his load.

His forehead falls against your shoulder, teeth then nipping at the damp skin until he’s kissing up to bury his face in your neck.

Your brain is foggy, and it takes a few seconds of you trying to catch your breath before your heart and mind are in sync again and the argument that led to this resurfaces. 

“Javier,” you murmur, your throat scratchy, and you swallow before you can go on, “we shouldn’t have done that.”

He scoffs, pulling out of you, making the both of you hiss. You feel his warm cum leaking from your spent pussy and your thighs twitch, inadvertently making more of it flow out. You quickly bend down to grab your underwear, using it to clean yourself, trying to clear both the physical and emotional remnants of him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already moving, pulling on your clothes. “I’m done.”

Fully dressed, you watch his expression shift, and it almost makes you second-guess the words you’re about to say. Almost.

“We gave it a shot and clearly, it’s not working. Nuestras prioridades no se alinean.” (Our priorities don't align)

“No seas ridícula,” (Don't be ridiculous) he waves you off and that makes you feel so small. “What’s best for us is to stay here.”

You laugh dryly at the sting of his dismissal. You’re tempted to pinch yourself to check if this is real—wondering if this is the same Javier that practically begged you to come back to the States with him.

He’s not acting like the agent you fell in love with.

“No, what’s best is for us to go our separate ways.” Finality settles into the quiet like stones. “We rushed into this, we let the chase and the sex take the lead without thinking it through.” You shake your head, haphazardly packing to keep from falling apart entirely.

“I should have seen this coming. I’m such an idiot.” Now I see why a handsome man like you was single.

You should have remained the woman you were before him, independent, career focused—the one that avoided relationships like the plague because they only ended in disappointment.

Case in point. 

He remains silent as he watches you pack the rest of your things and it really breaks your heart. He isn’t even trying to stop you.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @angiewatson . @sunshinefive .

[v6quewrlds]

❝ urge, c. sainz jr. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: you love your boyfriend, you really do. but it's hard to give him grace when he looks that good and denies you like that.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: not at all proofread <3 amazed that i got this up bc it was not looking good when i was trying to write last night, but we ball! day eight of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, my dreadful high school/south florida customer service osmosis spanish, bratty!reader, dom!carlos, exactly two spanks, unprotected sex, creampie.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: carlos sainz x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.4k.

You smoothed over the silk of your crimson lingerie, the fabric hugging your curves like a lover's embrace. You had picked out the set yourself, knowing that the deep red would make Carlos's eyes pop out of their sockets when he saw it. You had been planning this moment for days, each hour of November ticking away like a sadistic metronome, counting down the moments until you could finally have him again.

Carlos had committed himself, without prompting, to a ridiculous challenge: No Nut November. You, bless your heart, had tried to be supportive, but the lack of intimacy was wearing on you. You knew it was all about his "energy levels" and some pseudoscientific nonsense about testosterone that you couldn't bear to pay attention to. You rolled your eyes every time he brought it up, but deep down, you felt a smoldering resentment. It had been weeks since you had been intimate, and you were ready to set that shit on fire.

As you sailed into his office, your eyes gleaming with mischief, you caught him in deep conversation. He was gesturing wildly, the phone cradled against his ear, his full lips moving rapidly in a rush of Spanish that you didn't have the mental capacity or patience to decipher. He looked up at the sound of your entrance, his eyes widening in shock and then darkening with desire as he took in your attire. You bit back a grin, watching him struggle to keep his cool as you sauntered closer.

His thick eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his cheeks flushed slightly, the stubble on them standing out against the tanned skin. He was dressed casually in a white t-shirt and black shorts, which only served to highlight the muscular frame you hadn't been allowed to touch in weeks. Your heart raced, the thrill of the seduction sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

"Carlos, honey," you purred, your voice low with a conspiratorial whisper. If he had questioned your intentions before, there was no doubt now. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes devouring you. "Who's on the phone?"

He paused, the Spanish on the other end of the line growing more insistent. 'Carlos' he mouthed, his wide, brown eyes shooting you a silent plea for mercy, but you had come too far to give up. You placed a hand on the desk, leaning in so that your breasts, pushed up by the lacy bra, nearly spilled over.

"It's okay," you whispered, "I'll just wait."

The conversation continued on, and you could see the effort it took for him to keep his voice steady. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the phone tighter, the conversation the only thing keeping him from pouncing.

Taking a faux interest in a framed photo on his desk, you pretended to absent-mindedly fiddle with the strap of your lingerie, watching the tension build in the room as Carlos listened to his cousin on the other side. You could almost feel the energy shifting, the air thickening with desire and the challenge you had laid before him. His eyes darted down to the swell of your breasts, and you could see his pupils dilate, his jaw clenching.

A delicate hand reached out to play with the hem of your thong, teasing the fabric that barely covered your lower half. You could see Carlos's eyes flicker to your hand, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before shutting them in frustration. The conversation on the phone was winding down, and you could tell he was desperately trying to keep his focus. But the sight of you, the scent of you, the sound of your voice—it was all too much.

Finally, with a curt, "Tío, te llamo más tarde," Carlos hung up the phone, cutting off whatever his cousin was saying. The silence that fell was electric, charged with the buildup of weeks of unspoken need. He set the phone down with a gentle thud and leaned back in his chair, eyeing you with a look that didn't quite hide the hunger in his gaze. [I'll talk to you later, bro.]

"You think this is funny?" he challenged, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through you.

You couldn't hold back your grin anymore. "Maybe a little."

You stepped closer, your hand tracing the line of your lingerie as if you were the one in charge. But you knew the second you made that first move, you'd be giving up your power.

"You know what's not funny?" Carlos' eyes sparked with something that could only be described as determination. "How much I want to rip these off of you and fuck you right here on my desk."

Your smug smile only grew wider at the raw desire in his voice. "Oh, really?" You leaned in closer, your breasts grazing the desk. "What's stopping you?"

Carlos' nostrils flared, his gaze raking over your body with a hunger that made your core tighten. He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and closed the distance between you two in a heartbeat. He grabbed your hips and yanked you against him, your bodies colliding with a force that made you gasp. He kissed you hard, his teeth grazing your lower lip as his tongue delved into your mouth, tasting you like he had been starved for your touch. His hands roamed over your body, gripping your ass firmly, pulling you closer, making you moan into his mouth.

"You want to play games?" he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Fine. Vamos a jugar." He spun you around so you faced the desk, your heart pounding in anticipation. He stepped back, and you felt a moment of panic, thinking he might change his mind. But then his hands were on your back, pushing you down firmly. [Let's play.]

You felt the cold wood against your cheek, your palms flat on the surface. The scent of wood and his cologne filled your nose as you leaned over, your ass in the air. You looked back at him over your shoulder, your eyes gleaming with challenge. "Is this how you want me?"

Carlos took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on the curve of your spine, the way your hips jutted out in the lacy thong. "No," he said, his voice gruff. "I want you naked. Now."

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Make me," you taunted, your voice a seductive whisper that sent a jolt of electricity through him.

With a predatory smile, Carlos stepped closer, his hands sliding above your waist to unhook your bra. You shivered as it fell away, your breasts bouncing slightly from the sudden freedom. He stepped back again, his gaze lingering on your bare back as you slowly, deliberately bent to remove your thong. You straightened, tossing it over your shoulder, the fabric landing somewhere behind you.

Without breaking eye contact, Carlos stepped closer, his fingers tracing the line of your spine before he gripped your hips tightly. "I'm not playing games," he warned, his voice thick with need.

He pulled you back against him, the heat of his body almost too much for you to bear. His cock pressed into you, hard and insistent, and you felt your resolve waver.

"I've been waiting weeks for this," you murmured, your voice dripping with honey. "You've been torturing me, Carlos. It's only fair I get a little payback."

Carlos' hand slid down your body, cupping your sex, his thumb pressing against your entrance, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Payback, huh?" He whispered, his voice a dark promise. "Then maybe you'll enjoy this." He pushed you forward so that you were bent over the desk again, your hands gripping the edge, your breath coming in short, eager gasps.

He stepped back, and you heard the sound of his zipper. You couldn't help but look over your shoulder, watching as he freed his cock, the tip glistening with pre-cum. You bit your lip, eager for what was to come. He stepped closer, the tip of him teasing your entrance, making you whine with need. "Carlos, fuck me, please" you begged, your voice breathy and desperate.

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You're going to beg for it?" He taunted, his hand smacking your ass lightly. The sting of it only made you wetter. "I think I like this game."

Without warning, he thrust into you, filling you completely. Your grip tightened on the desk as you gasped, your body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. It had been weeks since you had felt him inside you. You felt a wave of pleasure crash over you as he began to move, his hips pumping into you with a force that made the desk shake.

Carlos groaned, his hands moving to your hips, gripping you tightly as he set a relentless pace. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, along with your ragged breaths and muffled curses. You couldn't hold back your moans, your body responding to his every touch, every thrust. You felt yourself getting wetter, your juices coating his cock as he slammed into you over and over.

He reached around you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much, and you felt the beginnings of an orgasm building inside you. "Fuck, Carlos," you panted, your voice strained with pleasure.

"Not yet, amor," he murmured in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. He slowed his movements, drawing out the agony. You squirmed beneath him, trying to get more friction, trying to push yourself over the edge.

Carlos leaned over you, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck, pushing you down onto the desk. His grip was firm but not painful, sending a thrill of excitement through you. "You're going to come when I say you can," he whispered, his voice thick with need.

The dominance in his voice had your pussy clenching around his cock, and you whined in response. "Please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled darkly. "You want it?" He didn't wait for your reply, instead speeding up his thrusts, his fingers working your clit with expert precision. The tension grew, coiling tighter in your belly with every movement. You felt your toes curl, your thighs quivering as you neared the edge.

"Prove it," he demanded, his voice strained. "Tell me you want to come for me."

"I do," you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your skin slapping together. "I want to come for you, Carlos."

With a groan of satisfaction, Carlos increased his speed, his cock pistoning in and out of you with an urgency that made your toes curl. You felt yourself getting closer, your muscles tightening around him. He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as he whispered, "Dale, mi amor. Ven para mi." [Come on, my love. Come for me.]

Your entire body was alight with pleasure, your orgasm building like a tidal wave. You could feel it, so close, just out of reach. "Carlos," you moaned, your voice strained with need. "Yes, baby."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your neck as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. "That's it, mi vida. Give it to me." His grip on your neck tightened slightly, your face pressed into the desk, his hips moving faster, his cock plunging into your depths.

Your orgasm hit you like a storm, making your whole body convulse, your pussy clamping down on him as you screamed his name into the wood. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, making your vision swim and your legs threaten to give out. You could feel him tense behind you, his breath hot against your neck, his own release close.

"Good girl, haces un desastre, amor," he growled, his hips stuttering before he slammed into you one last time, holding himself deep inside you as he came, his warmth filling you up. The sound of your breathing filled the room, the only noise in the aftermath of your passion. [Make a mess, love.]

You had missed this, missed him, missed the way your bodies moved together like they had been made to fit. You felt his cock soften inside you, but his grip on your neck didn't lessen, his breathing still ragged in your ear.

"You happy with yourself?" Carlos murmured against your neck, his grip loosening to move your hair aside, bending over to press his lips to your sweaty skin. You couldn't help the smug smile that spread across your face, even as your breathing slowly evened out.

"Very," you replied, your voice still a little shaky from the aftermath of your orgasm. You felt him chuckle, the vibrations moving through his chest and into your back as he slowly withdrew from your heat.

"You're not going anywhere," he said with a growl, his eyes still dark with desire. You watched him stride over to his mini-fridge, his cock still semi-erect and glistening. He grabbed a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and took a long gulp before walking back over to you. He handed you the water, and you took it gratefully, your throat dry from your intense encounter.

"Thank you," you murmured, taking a sip before holding it out to him again. He took the bottle from your hand, set it aside, and then leaned in to kiss you deeply.

"Te lo dije," Carlos murmured against your lips, the smugness in his voice unmistakable. "You're mine. And I'm not done with you yet." [I told you.]

Your pulse quickened, your body already responding to his claim. You felt a thrill of excitement at the promise in his words. "What do you have in mind?" you asked.

Carlos' gaze was dark and intense, his desire for you written across his face. He took your hand and led you to the threshold of the office, clothing long forgotten on the floor. "I think it's time for round two," he said, his voice low and commanding. You couldn't resist the urge to giggle, but the sound was cut short by a sharp smack to your ass as he guided you to your bedroom.

[ace-turned-confused]

sickening desire

joel masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: stepdad!joel miller x f!reader summary: you and your stepdad don't have much in common, but you always try to keep things friendly. back home for college break, he's not making it very easy. word count: 2,7k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied & wears a skirt, big ol' age gap (reader is nineteen), food mention, joel is big & beefy, stepcest, cheating, fucked morals all round, pet names, joel's a disgusting dirty perv (i'm so serious), smut, grinding, mentions of m & f masturbation, unprotected p in v, cockwarming, 1 spank, creampie, dirty talk, sprinkle of daddy kink, praise kink, panty kink a/n: written for @beefrobeefcal's MARRIED JOEL SITS ON YOU prompt - i got to witness the birth of this on discord, and thought how can i make this cute idea deranged instead, so here we are. idk how all this happened. this is stepcest, you have been warned. if it's not your thing then pls scroll on, no hard feelings in here <3 not beta'd

After weeks of phone calls, texts and endless hounding from your mother, you caved and decided to come home for your college break. She was missing you like crazy, and apparently you had aunts and cousins who were just dying to see you after so long, no doubt ready to bombard you with questions about the life of a college girl as if you were the first of the kind.

So, you came home to your mom and her new-ish husband, Joel Miller. You can count the number of times you’ve met him on one hand, one of those occasions being their wedding. You’re not sure how they make it work, but then opposites do attract…

Marriage has been good to Joel, his mental health and financial stability have improved, and overall he seems a happier person — not that you could tell from looking at him, with a permanent scowl etched on his face. The only ‘drawback’ seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline — his jeans now too tight around his thighs, the seams visibly strained, and his tummy poking out past his belt. They no doubt add to his eternal pissed-off facade, but he’s far too stubborn to admit he needs to buy new ones.

Your mom reminds him, often, how much he’s filled out in recent times, and judging by the bitterness in her voice, she clearly doesn’t approve. You’re not sure why she disapproves, but you’d never admit that.

From what you know, he’s neither an overly good nor a bad guy, he’s just… Joel, and the two of you have nothing to talk about, so you keep your distance out of courtesy. At least, you try to.

Since you’ve been home, you’ve caught him staring a few times but pin it down to aged eyesight. Most days he greets you in the kitchen with a husky ‘mornin’ sweetpea’, and makes a point of brushing up against you, half hard and warm in his threadbare sweatpants. He’ll place a hand on the small of your back when he stands beside you, pinky wandering down to toy with your waistband.

You cover up the way your breath catches and stop yourself from clenching your legs together every time — either he doesn’t have a grasp on personal space, or he’s doing this on purpose. The way he watches you move around once he’s sat down says all you need to know. You try not to think about it.

-

You’re flicking between channels one night when the front door clicks open, the heavy stomp of workboots echoing down the passage and into the room. Joel waltzes in, dumping his keys and without a word, sits directly onto you.

“What the fuck?”

“This is my chair, sweetpea. Not my fault you’re in it.”

You try pushing him off you, a losing battle with the extra kilos he’s put on since tying the knot with your mom. He mumbles something to you, his words lost underneath the TV and your strained grunting.

“What?” You huff at him, growing more and more agitated.

“I asked, you gettin’ off on this like you did sittin’ on my lap?”

Your mind swirls as you try to pinpoint what he means. It’s just when you’re about to give him lip and ask him what the fuck he’s on about, that you remember — and suddenly you wish the world would just swallow you whole.

-

During Sunday’s roast lunch, you were surrounded by extended family, filling in the blanks and avoiding the painfully personal questions; Joel spent the day with his standard disgruntled look and your mom was overzealous in her storytelling — everything and everyone just how you remembered.

Everyone broke off into smaller bubbles after lunch, and you stared at Joel as he unbuckled his belt and slumped back on your aunt’s couch — he stared right back at you, head cocked to one side as he weaselled his way into your mind with just a slight smirk and a wink, large hand resting teasingly over his crotch. You left the room, intentionally distancing yourself from him the rest of the day.

It was late afternoon by the time you begrudgingly hugged each family member goodbye and settled in the backseat next to Joel, some extras tagging along for the free ride back to your neighbourhood. With your headphones in and all other passengers occupied, you tried to nap the rest of the way home and regenerate the energy siphoned from you throughout the day. You had no complaints, up until now.

You sat up when your mom stopped off at a different house with just over half the trip still to go. Her heart of gold meant she’d offered a lift home to too many people for her one car, so being the youngest, she suggested you just squash up or sit on someone's lap… Which is fine when you’re nine, not nineteen.

And not just anyone offered up a place, no, Joel lifted his hand in the air and said you could sit on him — with no other way to get home, you pinched your eyes and cringed, but did it anyway. You were fine for the first 15 or so minutes until the road became uneven, and you realised just how fucked this whole thing was — when you first sat down on Joel, he wasn’t hard. You took a breath to try to steady yourself without drawing extra attention.

It was just a… natural response? God, that doesn’t make it any better.

You shifted forward, tried to reposition your weight over his legs and knees and told him you were just getting stiff — wrong fucking choice of words as you became even warmer than before.

Your mom stopped off to refuel along the way, everyone climbing out of the car to stretch, and you made a beeline for the bathroom, splashing yourself with water to cool down.

Joel watched as you came back to the car and you tried not to stare when you saw he was fully hard in his jeans; you felt mortified when you saw the damp patch you’d left on the fabric.

Back on Joel’s lap for the rest of the trip, everyone else was asleep with your mom still driving, radio turned up and blissfully unaware. You’d be able to forget about this, lock the memory away and move on if you hadn’t been so fucking turned on.

What’s worse, you making your stepdad hard, or him making you wet?

-

Joel snuck his hands onto your hips and you tensed, caught off guard by his touch.

“Keep ya steady,” he muttered, fingers digging into your skin.

Holding onto the seat in front for balance, he felt you were trying to lift your weight off him. He tightened his grip on you, slowly pulling you down onto him completely. There was no going back — he was fully hard by now, so he may as well get the most from this.

He pulled you to lean into his chest, his voice quiet in your ear, “S’alright sweetpea, almost there.”

Your head was turned to watch your mom the whole time, and Joel should have cared, but he just couldn’t, not when you were all warm and sweet on top of him. You stayed taut the entire trip home, Joel’s hands on your hips and bulge pressed deliciously against your core. He shifted you atop him every so often, and you desperately wanted to hate how good it felt.

When you finally arrived home, you clambered out of the car and left everyone to fend for themselves, darting for your room. You were about to close the door when you caught Joel staring again, the front of his jeans damp and darkened from where you were perched. You unpacked your clothes, sorted out your washing, and even took a shower but the incessant ache was still there. You finally gave in and shoved your hand between your legs.

-

A loud advert plays on the TV and brings you back into reality, Joel still firmly on top of you.

“Don’t act all fuckin’ innocent on me now, I know those panties of yours were gettin’ all wet with you grindin’ down on me like that.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were real quick to run off to your room that night, you had to stick your fingers up in that cunt of yours to get yourself off?”

“Fuck you, Joel.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d love to. I know you dream of gettin’ fucked real good by your daddy, huh?” He twists to look at you, the motion pushing more of his weight onto you. “No point in arguin’ with me, I heard you that night… I’ve heard you on a lot of nights since you been home, always callin’ out for me.”

You don’t talk back as you keep pushing to get him off of you — he has enough leverage just from hearing you at night, he doesn’t also need to know that you are enjoying having his weight on you like this, unable to fight back or do anything about it.

“Now you got nothin’ to say?” He lifts himself slightly and gestures for you to get up, grabbing your wrist before you can walk away. “Did I say I was done talkin’?”

He faces you towards the TV, standing you between his now spread legs. Skating his hands up the back of your legs, goosebumps rise on your skin as he moves higher and higher, lifting the hem of your skirt as he goes. He kneads the swell of your ass, sliding his thumbs under the edge of your panties.

“These the ones you had on that day?”

“Huh?”

“Barely touched you and you already can’t think straight. Are these the panties you had on when you sat on my lap?”

“Uh, no? I don’t know, Joel.”

He pulls your panties up to expose more of your skin, smacking a hand down on the side of your ass. You jolt forward at the impact, a fresh wave of arousal seeping out between your folds.

“‘S a real shame, I bet they were soaked right through, huh? Soakin’ ‘em right now, the way you’re droolin’ for me. You wanna know somethin’, sweetpea?” You don’t bother answering, lost in the feeling of finally having his hands on you. “Never used to enjoy doin’ laundry before you came to visit, but now… Well, now I get to see all the pretty panties you have. And I always know when you’ve been thinkin’ of me, they get extra dirty.”

He reaches up to grip your hip, his other hand twisting to push in between your legs. Your hips jerk as he traces his fingers along your damp panties, pushing up into you against the fabric.

“Seems like you actually were gettin’ off on havin’ me on top of you…” You crane your neck at the clink of his belt buckle and watch as he drags his zipper down. He stares up at you the whole time. “But now you’re gonna sit on me again.”

Pulling you backwards by your waist, he keeps your skirt lifted and hooks a finger into the gusset of your panties, tugging them aside. He runs his fingers through your folds, already sticky with need. You clench your legs when he pulls away again, and he sighs, frantic and satisfied; turning around again you see he’s taken his cock in his hand, thick and hard, coating himself in your slick.

He guides you down onto him and a gasp slips from you as he drags the head of his cock through you to line himself up. Your gasps turn to a strangled moan as he pulls you to sit, sheathing himself completely — it’s a delicious stretch without any prep, and again you find yourself wishing you could hate this, hate him for doing this.

He lets your skirt drop down again as you settle on his lap, and picks up the TV remote with one hand, the other a vice grip on your waist. He flips through the channels, ignoring the fact you’re sitting firmly on him.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? We’re watchin’ TV, sweetpea. And you’re gonna be a good girl for me and sit still. With all the starin’ and whinin’ you do, this was only a matter of time.”

“And all the staring you do?”

“As if you don’t fuckin’ love it.” You clench around him at his words and he sniggers at you. “You’re real tight, sweetheart. Now sit still.”

-

You’re not sure how long you sit like this — Joel staring deadpan at the TV with his hands wrapped around your waist, and you aching for relief as you hold back from squirming on top of him. The initial sting has subsided, replaced now with a steady and simmering burn as you leak around him.

Your breathing deepens as you fight with yourself — do stay composed and try to win, or give in and let Joel make you feel good?

“Won’t lie, sweetpea, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you.” His low voice draws you from your inner conflict. “‘Specially now that you got me in you.”

You can practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face, and he punctuates himself with a lift of his hips, rolling you on him. Fuck it, just give in. Whimpering as he repeats the motion over and over, it’s the most he’s done the entire night.

“You wanna know somethin’ else?” He keeps grinding your hips against him, the stretch of his cock and the strain of your panties against your clit bringing you closer and closer. “Dunno if you’ve ever noticed your panties go missing? S’cause I took ‘em, sweetpea. I take your pretty panties and I use ‘em to jerk off, dirty or clean, doesn’t matter to me, s’long as they’re yours. I smell ‘em, I wrap ‘em around my cock, I picture you wearin’ ‘em when I come all over ‘em.”

At some point in his rambling, he’d snaked a hand around to your front and under your skirt, and shoved his fingers in your panties to circle your clit. Just like a lot of things lately, you’re trying to hate how much you love it.

“That’s it sweetpea, come all over your daddy.”

Your legs tense, trapping his hand as he works you through your high, murmuring praises in your ear as you writhe on top of him — unfortunately for you, it’s the hardest you’ve ever come. He doesn’t give you time to think, wrapping his arms around you to lift you up and bundling your arms behind your back.

“Stay there, ‘m not done with you.”

Steadying yourself by leaning on his jean-covered thighs, he starts pistoning up into you, over and over as he uses you for his own high. Squeezing your hips, he pulls you down to match his thrusts, the room filled with his grunting and your whining and the obscene squelch from between your legs each time he fills you. It’s not long before he starts shuddering underneath you, pulling you down hard as he spills into you with a groan.

He holds you, almost affectionately in his arms as he relaxes, warm breath being puffed into your neck as he nuzzles against you and his hands smoothing over your clothes. Turning to look at him, his lips are just parted and his pupils are blown wide. You try to discern the emotion behind his eyes, surging forward to press your lips to his instead, afraid of what the truth might be.

It’s soft, it’s sweet, it’s almost pure, the way he kisses you back, the hairs of his beard and moustache prickling your skin as a hand comes up to cradle your face, the other still held around your waist. You pull back from him, and he has that usual deviant glint in his eyes when he opens them again.

He stands you in front of him, just like you were before this, and he pulls your panties back over your core. He waits and watches as his spend starts oozing out of you and gets absorbed into the already damp cotton.

“Definitely gonna make good use of these ones, sweetpea.” He winks as he stands up, tucking his softening cock back into his jeans, still sticky from both you and himself. “Next time you can wear ‘em, just like I told you.”

tagging some friendos from the wip wednesday snippets, Imk if you'd like to be taken off <3

@luxurychristmaspudding @whocaresstillthelouvre @milla-frenchy @clawdee @burntheedges

@greenwitchfromthewoods @yopossum @evolnoomym @mountainsandmayhem @bubble-pop-eclectic

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[pygmi-says-hi]

writing tips - sick/poisoning fics

so since you guys ate up the injury thing like holy fuck 1.5k notes in 24 hours??? hello?? I thought I'd do a semi-related one about sickness.

disclaimer because you guys thoroughly reminded me of this: medicine is fucking weird and everybody reacts differently. this is blanket statement information, not the mayo clinic. idc that 'oh my cousin had that disease and he didn't have that symptom' okay whatever like sorry but that's not the point of this post. this is just to eliminate egregious mistakes. I'm not looking into every possible way this illness will show up. chill your tits. the comments on the last post were just like. dude. chill.

aurkay so.

poison-related illness.

okay poisoning is such a cool concept and there are literally so many cool effects it can have. Idk why everyone goes with the holy trinity of hallucinations, fainting and nausea. like yeah those are good but there are so many other things???

like internal bleeding. literally the best. I love it. It's slow but hella deadly and sometimes people can't even feel it/don't know what's happening. that's such a great option for whump or some angst. like they didn't know until it was too late. gold.

also - some poisons are not dissolvable in food or drink. Like certain medicines, they lose effectiveness if digested instead of injected intravenously. obviously you don't have to know that but if you wanna get into it, do a lil bit of research. could bring up some intriguing scenarios.

infection or sepsis

yoooo. sepsis is lowkey terrifying. infections are similar to actual illness but are caused because of an unsanitary wound. lots of interesting symptoms to browse here:

fever, cramps, fainting, hallucinations, dehydration, delirium, nausea, sores, sepsis, organ failure and on and on and on.

infection happens so fast too. like forget to change a bandage once and boom it could be infected. (is that a whump opportunity I hear...?)

sepsis is like the point of no return pretty much. Unless you've got crazy medical technology, sepsis is really really bad. basically, it's when the body overreacts and starts to damage its own tissue. leading to organ failure and then eventually death. spooky.

regular illness

this just means like a virus or something. a key point of viruses is an elevated temperature and dehydration; the body's primary responses. burn the bug out and dehydrate it.

depending on the illness, symptoms will vary. respiratory infections or viruses involve congestion, coughing, sore throats, a rattly breathing sound, and productive coughing (phlegm and mucus). Stomach illnesses include cramps, nausea, dehydration, dizziness, low blood sugar, weight loss, and diarrhea. these can overlap but mostly those are the groupings.

with fevers come achy joints and sensitive skin. fever is inflammation, like mild swelling everywhere because of how intense the antibody reaction is.

dehydration sets in really quick. really bad dehydration induces dizziness, nausea, diarrhea, delirium, lethargy, and fainting. great motivation for a whumper to possibly restrict whumpee's water intake...?

just some prompts! kinda low energy today sorry I haven't been posting, xox

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: I'm Smarter Than The Devil, I'm Smarter Than the Devil! [Yandere Demon Chrollo x reader]

Title: I'm Smarter Than the Devil, I'm Smarter Than the Devil! [Yandere Demon Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You should always read the rulebook before committing to a deal with the devil.

For Horrorfest request:

Hi! This is my first time sending in a prompt, so please forgive any formatting errors :) the prompt is "Reader doesn't read the fine print and accidentally sells soul to demon!Chrollo" (hxh)

Word count: 1024ish

notes: yandere, bad decisions

It isn’t fair. It simply isn’t fair. It is oh so, completely, wholly, utterly, entirely unfair. 

“I didn’t know–” you start, and stop, and hate how childish you sound. Whining and petty, and this is no petty thing. 

After all, you’ve sold your soul to the devil.

Well, correction. You’ve sold your soul to a devil. 

A devil you hadn’t seen in years, and hadn’t expected to see ever again. Not after the night you made the trade, a trade which had seemed simple enough at the time. 

Everything seems simpler, doesn’t it, when you’re not looking back with the unwelcome clarity of hindsight?

–

“And… all I have to do is sign your book?” 

How weak you must look–how human, how mortal–to the demon standing in front of you. The bandage he’d wound around his head when he first showed up is gone, and underneath it, imprinted on his skin, is a mark that is sure to mean nothing good. 

He’s not bad looking, you suppose. For a devil. Dark hair and eyes that seem to see right through you. Part of you wants to ask about the coat–doesn’t it get hot, where he comes from, with the fur collar?--but now that you’re soaking in the reality of it all, mostly you’re focused on the book in his hands.

A book that glows, a book with pages whose words swim around when you try to peek at them. 

The demon smiles politely, with no teeth. If he were to grin, would he have fangs? 

“And agree to make a trade.”

You swallow. Right. The book said you would have to make a trade with the demon you summoned. This could be anything, as long as the demon wanted it. Someone else’s life; a precious object, usually sentimental; or well. Your stomach squirms at one of the other things the book said a demon may want, and you hope it doesn’t come to that. 

“What… do you want to trade for?” You want to smack yourself on the head the moment the words leave your lips. Giving the demon an open-ended opportunity is a rookie mistake–and yeah, it was your first time summoning a demon, and maybe some of the online articles you found were a bit sketchy, but the guide book seemed solid enough. Given by a friend of a friend who swore his cousin used it and it worked out just fine.

The demon snorts.

“Didn’t your little book tell you not to leave it up to me?”

“Um.” You shrug, feeling stupid, and human, and very, very pathetic. “Yes. But I just–well.” You turn out your pockets, empty as anything; that’s why you summoned the demon, after all. You need your big break. A way to make money, to be successful, to finally have the lucrative career you always wanted. “I figured it’d be better if you just tell me what you want from me?”

The demon’s gaze narrows. 

“What makes you think I would want something from you, little human?” He takes a step forward, and a warmth fills the air. Not a comforting warmth, but something unpleasant, like the smell of gas when you open a stove. “How arrogant.”

He’s going to kill you he’s going to kill you he’s going to–

“But there must be something you don’t have,” you blurt out. “Even demons must be unhappy like we are, and want something different. Right?” Oh, it’s stupid, and unbearably human, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Honest, dumb thing that you are. 

The demon parts his lips–and then closes them abruptly. He tilts his head at you, gazing at you with a curiosity just as unpleasant as the bitter warmth around him.

“What an unusual thing to say,” he murmurs.

He’s going to leave. He won’t make the deal. He might kill you, at worst. At best, you’ve done all this for nothing. 

“All right. I’ll make a deal.”

You can’t hide the surprise on your face.

“You-you mean it?” Giddy, awful hope bubbles up inside you. “But–what will you trade for?”

The demon smiles primly. “Something you can’t even feel.  You won’t miss it once it’s gone, I promise you.”

Your head is too full of anticipation to think about it further. The bitter air around you doesn’t help, adding an almost hazy feeling to your head. Something you can’t feel and won’t miss… maybe a talent you didn’t know you had? Or one you did, but won’t miss after he’s taken it. You always did like singing, maybe he’ll snap up your singing voice and shove it in his pockets. Or he’ll walk away with your favorite genre of book, forgotten in your emptier head, no worse for the wear.

“Deal!” You blurt. 

He does smile wider then, a grin. He doesn’t have fangs, but that doesn’t make it less unnerving.

The book’s pages glow when he holds them out to you, and they’re warm when he presses a quill in your hands and bids you to sign your name.

You do. Shaky, uneven. But your name, there, forever in the pages.

The book snaps shut.

You have only a brief glimpse of the demon before he disappears in a wisp of black smoke. As he vanishes, he says something, but you don’t quite know what it means–

“Chrollo.”

–

You can’t feel a soul, and who knows when it’s gone? Not you, certainly. Though there’s something jittery about the realization that you’ve been walking around for years with nothing underneath your skin but your brain and bones and blood.

Did anyone else notice? Was some light gone from your eyes, never to return?

All because some demon had lifted your soul like a pickpocket. Through deception, through misdirection. 

“Don’t be so sour with me, dear.” The pet name makes your stomach roil. 

That bitter warmth from so many years ago, the unpleasant hit that feels like it’s coming from a furnace, seems to rise up from behind you, pushing you into his arms. He still wears his coat, after all these years; an impractical looking thing, considering how hot it must be where he comes from.

How hot it must be, where you’re going.

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“It’s not my fault you didn’t read the fine print.”