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jungle-angel · 1 year ago

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The Full Moon (Admiral!Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Bob comes home one night from an event but the sight of something in front of you makes you a little hornier than usual

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN!!! Breeding kink, so much other shit I can't even list out here, you guys know the drill (lol).

Tagging: @bradleybeachbabe @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts

Events, events, events, one after the other with no real end in sight. Bob was sick and damn tired of it, one Navy ball or fundraiser after another and hardly any time to spend with you or the babies at home, something he really needed now that winter had hit and another holiday would be around the corner.

His head, his shoulders and whole body were so tired it was a miracle he could get through the front door of that big Victorian house he shared with you and the kids, let alone march up the stairs to the sanctuary of your shared bedroom. Thank God Rooster and his wife had offered to take the kids and let them have a sleepover with Nicky and Pete. He couldn't have imagined having to keep Auggie and Patrick from running wild before bed.

Up to the room he went and into the bathroom, stripping off his dress blacks and hanging everything up on the door-hook. Bob sank right into the hot bath, letting out a long breath that he had forgot he had been holding in. He scrubbed every part of him down with the Irish Spring body wash and even let it foam in the hot water to help him relax.

When he had enough, Bob stepped out into the bedroom, letting the water out of the bath and throwing the towel into the laundry basket on the other side of the room. Bob's skin pricked with goosebumps as the cooler air in the bedroom surrounded him, more so now that he was completely naked.

He hadn't even seen you standing in the doorway either.

He hadn't heard your feet padding on the floor nor did he sense you sneaking up behind him until he felt it, a sound, hard smack on his left ass-cheek which had been exposed for your eyes to see.

"Well ahoy there Admiral!" you exclaimed, delivering the hard smack to his ass.

Bob yelped, turning around suddenly, cupping his junk in his hand and an over-exaggerated scowl on his face. There you were, (Y/n) Floyd, his lovely, sweet little wifey looking all innocent in your low cut, lacy white nightgown and a laughing smile on your face.

"Stop grabbing my ass," Bob said rather flatly, the expression still on his face.

"But the full moon was out and little wolfy couldn't help but howl," you said teasingly.

"Yeah well, little wolfy did more than howl," Bob pointed out.

You giggled a little, still blushing at your husband's naked form standing in front of you.

Yet the expression on Bob's face seemed to soften as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, catching you completely off guard and drawing a small moan out of you.

"Shhh, not another word," Bob told you gently.

You moaned again, the tingling between your legs becoming almost unbearable as his fingers parted the front of your nightgown, never once breaking the kiss that kept you both together. You arched your partially exposed breasts against his gentle fingertips, moaning when they brushed against your nipples.

Bob drew you in close, your leg flung across his hip as he buried his face in your neck and rutted against you. His groans, though quiet, were still obscene, more so when his hand pushed up the filmy skirts of your nightgown to caress your bare ass.

"You've been hiding this pretty little ass from me, haven't you Mrs. Floyd?" he groaned.

"Oh Bob.....please!"

Bob trailed all the sloppy, open mouthed kisses he possibly could between your cleavage, wanting to draw it out as slowly as possible. He very carefully laid you down on the bed, slipping his already hardened cock between your legs and moaning at the wetness that had already gathered.

"So wet for me, aren't you sweetheart?" he mumbled against your skin.

You could hardly get the words out, wanting him to push his cock further in. You reached in between the both of you, your hand a little cold despite your body feeling like it was on fire.

"Ah-ah!" Bob chided gently, moving your hand aside. "No more grabbing, Mrs. Floyd."

You feigned a pouty look before he smiled and kissed you again, the softness of his lips just enough to make some of your slickness gush onto his cock.

Bob's hips began rubbing against yours, slowly at first but as you both began to reach your high, his thrusting grew more rigorous as obscene thoughts began to fall off his tongue and out of his mouth.

"Wanna give you another baby Mrs. Floyd," Bob mumbled, his hips rubbing against yours. "Can't tell you how pretty you looked with Deidre.......all round and full with her resting in your tummy. Wanna get you full again."

You hissed and swore under your breath as he whispered all that dirty talk into your ear. You felt the wetness between your legs getting worse as his lips nipped at your ear and down your cheeks again. You both let out something akin to a moan and a whimper as Bob's hips stuttered against your own, your lips grazing against each other's as your rapid breathing began to even out.

You felt Bob's lips curling into a smile against your cheek before he kissed you and his heart beating fast in his chest as he lay on top of you. "Gimme a minute and I'll clean us both up," Bob groaned.

You kissed the crown of his head, your fingers running through his curling dark blonde hair that was still wet from the bath. "No need to hurry Bob," you assured him. "We've got all weekend."

You both helped clean each other up as best you could but soon, the sleepiness had gotten to you both. You and Bob both lay against each other in bed, himself still naked as you rested your head on his bare chest, listening to the sweet sound of his heart beating in your ear. Your gentle kissing and caressing was putting you both to sleep, totally relaxed and at ease with each other.

"Did you mean what you said Bob?" you asked.

"About what?"

"About......wanting another one?"

Bob smiled sleepily. "Sweetheart," he said sweetly. "There's always room for one more in the family and so much love to go around."

You smiled and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips as you fell asleep in each other's arms, yet the smiles on yours and Bob's faces had said it all, those same smiles you wore on the nights that Auggie, Patrick and Deidre had been concieved and the same stirring you felt in your belly when it had took.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #admiral!bob #admiral!bob floyd #admiral!bob floyd x reader #dagger squad

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myownwholewildworld · 3 months ago

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acta, non verba - i. a badge of honour

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. synopsis: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all. a/n: well, here it is! the first chapter of my new series, set in what is now scotland, during the romans' conquest of the british isles in the 1st century. hope you guys like it! as always, all interactions welcome. thank you so much for reading! <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. death, aftermath of a battle, burial of family members. reader is an original character - female, has a name (callie) and a physical description, family history, etc. i'll try to keep the references to a minimum though. age gap (callie is 26, marcus is 48). mention of infidelity and becoming a widow. marcus’ and reader’s pov. i have taken some historical licenses for ease of writing (use of "clan" as synonym for "tribe", references to irish/celtic gods, the caledonian people speak modern scottish gaelic instead of a (proto-)brittonic language). w/c: ~4.2k. dividers by @saradika-graphics i'll be tagging some people at the end of the chapter who interacted with this post. dw, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you ask me to! also, if you want to be removed from this post, please send me a dm.

A light breeze whistled through the nearby standing stones. The dying sun provided no heat, and the ethereal landscape was cold with hues of blue and grey. Despite the shimmering wildlife that came with the first hints of spring, the meadow was uncannily silent.

The crows cackling in the distance broke such tranquil peace and woke you from your slumber.

Slowly you blinked, something wet and warm covering your eyelids. You felt it slide down your skin, pooling in the dip of your collarbone. Your limbs felt so heavy, you couldn’t lift a hand to rub your eyes clean. In fact, you were so tired that even taking a deep breath hurt.

Your orbs fluttered shut, shattered and defeated.

Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, was calling you to His side. His presence was soothing, so inviting, the most melodic sounds guiding you to Him. With the eyes of your dying imagination, He extended a welcoming hand towards you, a soft smile on His mythical features.

“Come with me, sweet child of the tribes.” A guttural voice escaped His lips, so dark and sombre it enveloped you.

You nodded, gaze down, submitted to Him.

“You can’t just take her, Dhuosnos. Callie is yet to avenge them — her purpose must be fulfilled first before she can greet you as an equal.” A second voice, feminine, otherworldly and reassuring, interrupted your exchange.

Morrígan, Goddess of War, placed Her hand on Dhuosnos’ forearm as to stop Him from reaching you. A stone of relief, but also of disappointment, sat low in your stomach when He took a step back, head bowed towards Her.

Steadily you undid your curtsy, your green eyes locking on Hers. They were black as the night sky, Her pupils and irises indistinguishable from one another. You looked into the abyss of Her sight and felt a deep-rooted longing, one you never experienced before.

“You are not done yet, mo leanabh (my child). Your people await your return.” Morrígan palmed your trembling hand, escorting you back to the earthly plane.

“But…”, you turned around to look at Her, ask for Her advice.

But She had already vanished, a sweet scent of lavander left behind.

You gasped awake, your eyes so widened, the cloudy, sunset sky above felt like it was crashing down on you. You were laying down on a pool of mud. A deep, raspy grunt escaped your lungs as you tried to move your arms. When you couldn’t, you looked down, confused.

Aengus’ lifeless body was resting on top of yours. Your father’s henchman had made the ultimate sacrifice by hiding you underneath him, away from the prying eyes of the Romans. The dense liquid caressing the skin on your face was none other than his blood. A trickle of thick red dripped from the gnarly wound in his neck on to your cheek. His eyes were staring at you emptily, his soul had already left this world when you regained consciousness.

Your father, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis, the Caledonian Overlord, had come to the aid of the Taexalian Overlord, whose territory was succumbing to the legions of Gnaeus Julius Agricola, a Roman governor with a high desire to impress his Emperor, Titus Flavius Domitianus.

Your father had gathered as many fighers as the Caledonian lands could give him. Both men and women were called to arms when the tribes were threatened. Being the daughter of the Chieftain would not spare you. You would not have chosen differently anyway, had you been given the opportunity. Fighting for land, clan and honour was your duty as much as your brothers’ and sister’s.

The journey from Inbhir Nis (Inverness) to Cala na Creige (Stonehaven) had been unforgiving, with illness and evil lying in wait. But you all had been warmly welcomed by the Taexali tribe and were fed copiously, the uisge-beatha (whisky) being served like water.

Your combined armies, shy of fifteen thousand folk, had been ambushed at Raedykes during a repositioning exercise by the Roman troops led by Agricola’s most trusted man.

General Marcus Acacius.

His mere name made you sick, anger crawling under your skin.

Fighting off your own opponents, you had seen the Roman General charge against your father like a beast, wielding a gladius over his head. The metallic impact of their swords rang loud across the landscape. The men looked into each other’s souls, an exchange of words shared between them. You were too far to listen, too far to fully see what was really happening as warriors from both sides danced through the grass.

Then you foresaw it before it happened: the heavy Roman sword fell on your father, who was struck to his knees with the General’s blade lodged in his belly.

You tried to get to him, screaming “Athair (father)!” at the top of your lungs. His eyes locked on yours before he fell sideways. You lunged forward but didn’t get to him, Aengus stopping you in your tracks.

“No, Callie, it’s too late now”, he had sorrowfully whispered in your ear before throwing you off to one side to fend off an attacker.

And then blackness swallowed you, an enemy hit you in the head so hard you lost consciousness.

That was how you came to be where you were — with your back flat on the silt and Aengus’ body blanketing yours. The grey sky above you sensed your pain, and, at Taranis’ command, it parted in the middle. The God of Thunder released a downpour to clean the blood, soot and woad’s blue dye off your face and hair.

You cried your sadness away, rainy tears sliding off the corners of your eyes — your anger, your loss, your torment, you purged it all, sobbing until you were devoid of all emotion. Taking a deep breath, which caused a needling pain on your ribs, you pushed Aengus to one side to free yourself from his weight.

The thudding sound he made almost brought more tears to your eyes.

“Sorry, uncail (uncle)”, you muttered, hovering your fingertips over his eyelids to shut them for him. Now he could finally rest.

You stood up, your knees trembling like a newborn calf. A searing pain stabbed your skull, dried blood and dirt gathering on the wound on your scalp. With a straight back, you dared to look around you. The bodies of your own men and women were scattered around the hills of Raedykes. So many lives lost, you heard all your ancestors screaming from above, their cries falling upon you in the way of rain. The green, long grass was reddened with blood, but the weeping sky had started to wash away the atrocities committed by the Romans.

Then you saw him. Your athair.

“No, no, please, no...”, you whispered as your sight became blurry again, dragging your feet towards the fallen body of your dad.

Your soul tried to tear itself apart, become its own entity. You had to summon the last drop of the royal blood that ran through your veins to keep yourself in one piece. You knelt before him, craddling his bloody hand between yours. Unconciously your body rocked back and forth until you hugged him, laying flat on top of him.

Time stood still, like a thread on the expert hands of a wool weaver. It could have been minutes, hours or days, your pain too great to bear, to comprehend.

And then you felt a hand lightly tap your shoulder.

You startled, your mind and body jumping back into survival mode, gripping your sgian-dubh (small knife) close to your chest.

“It’s okay, mo phiuthar (my sister). It’s me, Torcall”, a raspy, masculine voice forced you to focus on the man in front of you.

He was your father’s most important tacksman and also husband to your older sister Mairead — your sweet Maisie, as you always called her. She was the eldest of the four siblings while you were the youngest. Always so witty and quick with a joke, Maisie kept up the spirits even when the circumstances were dire — in fact, before your paths had parted during the battle, she jested about your H-shaped shield being larger than you.

When you turned around, Torcall flattened his hands on your shoulders, slightly shaking you so you would come back to reality.

His blue eyes pierced through you, the situation becoming clearer in your mind. Thousands of your tribesmen were dead. Your father too.

“Maisie?”, you asked in a hush. Your heart clenched when your brother-in-law shook his head no. You were afraid to speak, but you did nonetheless. “Aodh and Somhairle?”

Torcall stared at you, his silence speaking loudly. “They are all dead.”

The air evacuated your lungs, feeling as if a spear had run through you. Learning about the death of Maisie and your twin brothers broke something within you, something fundamental and primal. They were your everything, your most trusted confidants. Despite being of different ages, you all were so tight-knit it was difficult to find one of you alone.

A heart-shattering wail escaped your lips as you bent over yourself, your chest snug against your knees.

Morrígan had unashamedly claimed most of your family that day, except for your beautiful mother. Now Her words made sense: you were yet to avenge them, to fulfil your purpose. She had spared you for a reason, not so you could pity yourself, knees deep in the mud.

To avenge them, you had to kill the hand who showered this tragedy upon you.

General Marcus Acacius.

A raven’s strident, gurgling croak forced you to look up to the skies — a subtle reminder that Morrígan was watching closely. The massive bird was circling above your heads, like a vulture waiting to feast on a carcass. With resolution, you wiped away your tears, your sobs now silent, and nodded at Torcall.

“I understand. How many…?”, your voice faltered before you could finish your question.

“A couple of thousands. We have found cover in the Dunnottar Woods while we regroup and… bury our dead.” Torcall replied, his eyes averted with the last sentence.

You had lost a sister, but he had lost a wife, the mother to his now half-orphaned children. “I’m sorry”, you muttered, your lips pouting once more.

“She died fighting, the death of a warrior.” His proud voice did not waver. “And your father?”

Your heart wept at his mention but managed to control the anxious fluttering.

“The General killed him.” Your teeth gritted with hatred.

“Mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, one of your father’s retinue members bowed his head to you once you walked into the circle they had formed in a meadow between the trees.

A few dozen men were scattered around the area, fires lighting the dark night while shades of red and orange flickered, creating fiery, dancing shades. You held a torch and carefully waved it in front of you, looking at the faces who watched you back eagerly.

You saw in your men what was brewing inside you: despair, defeat, sorrow. All your souls grieving in unison — all of you had lost someone that day.

At six and twenty, you did not expect to be in this position. You were the youngest daughter of the Overlord — you were never meant to lead your people. The task ahead of you felt titanic, unachievable.

But you had no other option. General Marcus Acacius had forced your hand.

He came, he saw, he conquered.

And now you had to deal with the gut-wrenching outcome of his departure.

“We’ll go back home to Inbhir Nis. But before that, we must give burial to our people.” You had to make a herculean effort to infuse your tone with steadiness.

Torcall first, and then the rest, bowed their heads to you.

“As you command, mo bana-phrionnsa”, he replied, and quickly barked orders around in your stead.

Your chest felt heavy with responsibility and grief. What pained you the most was not being able to carry your brothers and sister with you back home. They would not be buried under the cairns near you family home with the rest of your ancestors.

And what was worst — thousands of lives now depended on you. The weight of your tribe's destiny heavily rested on your shoulders now, like Atlas carrying the heavens.

Maisie, Aodh and Somhairle had been lined up on a patch of wildflowers that you had picked yourself the night prior — their arms were threaded together with your sister in the middle. Your clansmen had also surrounded the makeshift burial pit with wood to aid the combustion.

As you placed the last stone on top of them, you also deposited a bright, bloomed thistle. The flower that blossomed in every nook and cranny of your beautiful motherland, despite the harsh winter or conditions it faced. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, it would always come back, stronger and more brightful than ever.

Devotion, bravery, determination, and strength — the thistle was a badge of honour for the Caledonians.

With a renewed brawn unbeknownst to you, you threw the lighted torch and watched as the fire consumed the bodies underneath the stones.

There were no tears left within you. Only purpose and resolution.

The way back to Inbhir Nis was tiring and soul-crushing. Hiking through the Cairngorms had been a difficult task with so many people behind you, but luckily you all managed to make it through without any losses.

With each mile covered, you saw the devastation left behind by the Romans. If this was any indication of what awaited ahead, you should start bracing yourself for what you would see. It seemed that the Romans were set towards the northwest — Inbhir Nis was right in their path.

You quickly recognised the landscape as you walked towards Loch Moy. A thick, dark column of smoke towered above the pine trees. Your heart raced as you picked up your dark green skirt and ran towards the loch, ignoring the calls of your brother-in-law.

You could run through those woods blindly — this was the land where you were born, the land you were named after. Your name was an unusual one — Caledonia, in honour of the earth beneath your rushing feet. Just a few people called you Callie, mainly your family and closest friends. With your bright, fiery red hair, green almond eyes and a face dotted with freckles, you were the epitome of your people. That was probably why when someone new learned your name, they always said it suited you.

Dodging the last few trees, you made it to the edge of the loch. In the shallows, the crannog of Naimh, your community’s healer, was burning down to its foundation. You covered your mouth with a sombre expression, your eyes itchy because of the dense smoke and unspent tears.

The Romans had gotten to your settlement before you did.

“Callie, wait up”, said Torcall behind you, struggling to catch up with you.

He halted right behind you, the silence between you was almost tangible.

“The rangers have returned from their reconnaissance mission.” His voice was plain, contained. You turned your heard towards him, slowly, hardening yourself for his next words. “Your mother is dead.”

The last glimmer of hope within you vanished. A single tear skidded through your cheek — angrily, you wiped it off.

You were alone in this world. Everyone you cared for had been taken from you.

“Is everything to your liking, Dominus (Master)?”, the male roman servant asked in a low hush, head bowed, eyes fixed on the cobblestone.

“Yes, now leave”, Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The General looked around him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. He was accustomed to much more elegant surroundings. Although the barbarians did try, their architecture was nothing in comparison to Rome’s.

The castle he was in was small and it only had two floors. It was mainly made of sturdy, grey rocks and dark wood. The design was not very sophisticated, all square and rugged edges. It had two towers and a barbican. The decoration inside was bare, with just enough furniture and no luxuries.

The only warmth was brought by the colourful tapestries adorning the cold, thick walls — one had caught Marcus' attention at his arrival when he first entered the dais. It told a story he had not heard before.

A dragon-like figure lurked beneath the rippling surface of a lake, attracting the attention of the villagers. At dusk it would emerge, a guttural sound echoing in the dead of night, as if it was calling another. Any bìrlinns (wooden vessel) left on the shore would appear destroyed the next morning. Fishermen were worried and called upon the town's druids, afraid of the Loch Ness monster. To appease the beast, every full moon, the druids would whorship the creature, bringing oblations and sacrificies to quench its thirst.

Marcus made a mental note of keeping his distance from that Loch Ness. As a devoted Roman, he was wary of the mystic creatures that skulked in the depths of human fear.

Although he missed his home, he had several debts to pay. The Emperor would not accept no for an answer, so he had to be a reluctant participant in this incursion — in fact, neither Domitian nor Agricola had really asked him to tame the highlanders up in Caledonia. They knew his skills would be most needed in combat, having been praised by bards and poets alike after his many years in the battlefield.

At eight and forty, Marcus Acacius had had his good share of tragedy and death, both personal and in war. His life had not been easy, having to forge a name of his own since childbirth and then having been recently betrayed by his own spouse.

The thought of Livia still angered him — she had had the audacity of blaming him for her infidelity, accusing him of always being away, of loving Rome more than his own family. Her cheating had been going on for as many years as their arranged marriage, throwing a doubtful shade on his paternity to both his children.

His life had come crumbling down in the last few months, so maybe coming to Britannia had not been such a bad idea. Female adultery was a crime penalised with death and that was a decision that Marcus had yet to make — outing Livia’s unfaithfulness would condemn her to Pluto's realm. Did he really want that for who had been his wife for more than thirty years?

Pinching the bridge of his hooked nose, Marcus walked towards the only window in the room. The roman took a deep breath and exhaled steadily — he needed to think of something else.

His mind went back to the battle of Mons Graupius. The spilling of blood never became easier with time — if anything, it had become harder, splintering his soul further. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the piercing, pained shriek of a woman as he imparted death on Murdoch of Inbhir Nis.

Her hair was dyed with black soot and tied back, her face covered in a blue paste and ash. He was too far to catch the colour of her eyes, but he thought them dark azure. The fierceness of her expression took him aback, her voice shouting a word he did not recognise. But his eyes did not have time to linger on the feral woman a few yards away, because a savage attacked him.

His hand stilled on the rocky window’s sill. The barbarians called this place Inbhir Nis. The stone castle was that of the chief’s family, atop of a hill with views to the scenery underneath. It was rudimentary and lacked many commodities — nothing comparable to his villa in Rome. The tribal settlement was formed of huts made of stone, timber and hay.

Agricola had decided to burn down the outskirts of the town and killed the wife of the clan chief making a macabre example of her, so the people would submit to the Roman’s yoke quickly, crushing any opportunity of rebellion. The message was clear: Rome would not tolerate being challenged. Anyone who did, would face the most painful of deaths. The governor left to go northward, leaving Marcus behind to rebuild the area to Rome’s standards. The emperor had deemed the location an important enclave for his empire, being the main town in the Moray Firth.

Marcus was standing in what he thought was the bedchamber of Murdoch. With the Overlord and his family alienated, the primitive people of the highlands needed educating and he had been given the task of doing so. Not a welcomed one, but he had a duty to Rome that had to be fulfilled.

With a heavy sigh, he undid the brooch at the base of his neck, relieving himself of the heavy, white sagum (cape) that was part of his attire. He threw it on the uncomfortable bed. He unfastened the golden, laurel-shaped bracelets around his wrists, and then proceeded to undo the tight knots that held his armour in place.

Then a knock on the thick, wooden door broke the silence of the room.

“Come in”, thinking it would be his male servant, he didn’t turn around.

“Dominus, dinner is ready”, a very soft voice with a very marked accent made him look over his shoulder.

A pair of very bright, almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes locked on his, framed by what he would describe as fire hair — so red it looked like a hellish aura crowning your head.

So bright were your eyes, he almost felt his soul being examined by your hypnotising gaze. Marcus had never seen eyes like those.

How dared he stand where your father did? Anger shimmered under your skin, but you kept it in check. When you realised you were holding his gaze for longer than what was appropriate for a servant girl, you averted your eyes, inspecting the stones under your feet.

Torcall called you mad for doing this, but you had made up your mind. If you really wanted to overthrow the Roman General and win back your family’s castle and land, you would need to sew yourself into his everyday life. Gain his trust, learn his secrets and use that information against him. Your people were counting on you for freedom, and you would not allow yourself to disappoint them. Even if it was the last thing you did.

“Who are you?”, his raspy voice filled the atmosphere as he resumed the task of undoing the ties on his armour.

Did he have no shame, undressing himself in front of a maid? Mind you, you were not an innocent servant, having been widowed recently. But still. The romans had no modesty, you assumed.

You had to think quickly. You had learnt that the governor and the general both thought the whole chief’s family dead, so you could not out yourself. A very few, selected people called you Callie, almost always in the intimacy of your home, when strangers were not around. Your nickname was precious to you because it was only used by those you loved.

“My name is Callie, Dominus”, you offered your nickname in a rusty Latin. It had been a while since you had to use a language that was not your native one.

“Callie.” The way your name rolled off his tongue gave you goosebumps. You didn’t like the way he pronounced it — it lingered in his mouth for too long, dragging each letter. You wished your words back, but you couldn't change it now.

Instead of clenching your jaw, you nodded. “Yes, my lord, I’m one of the servant girls who tended to the clan chief’s family before you.” You explained, your head still bowed.

You ventured your eyes up for a second, catching a glimpse of his naked torso. Unconsciously, you pursed your lips. The way your heart pounded loud for that one second made you furrow your brows in confusion.

He might be a gorgeous man, but he was a killer. And you had no taste for soulless murderers, that much you knew about yourself.

“Call my attendant, Atticus, to help me get ready for supper. I have no need of you. And ask the kitchen staff to heat some water and bring it up here.” His tone was emphatic, unwavering.

His rejection, in other circumstances, would have been most welcomed, but you needed him to trust you, to confide in you so you could plot his demise — to destroy him. This was not a good start to your plan, but you needed to play the long game.

“I could certainly help you with a bath now, Dominus, but your wish is my command.” You forced the words out, when in reality you wanted to spit them to his murderous face.

He just nodded in your direction, his movements stiff and measured. “Just my attendant will suffice, now go.”

With your fingers laced on your back, you curtsied, walking backwards towards the door of your father’s bedchamber. You could not seem too eager, or he would become suspicious.

When you were in the corridor with the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath and straightened your back.

You would not take no for an answer. Marcus Acacius would yield to you, whatever the cost.

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@hufflepuff-in-narnia @akumagrl @bobcatblahs @thepalaceofmelanie

@itsbrandy @voidofendlessdarkness @tardy-bee @pascalislove

@inept-the-magnificent @dianomite @thereisaplaceintheheart @fridays13th

@witch-moon-babe @amortentiaxo @holaputanas @kmmg98

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desperate-gay · 1 year ago

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Katie mccabe smut with reader having a praise kink because you know for sure she would be the absolute best in this case, and also you know that one clip of her “you can do what you want, baby girl” AHHHHHHHHHHHDJCIVIFCJDJCJDKCJCJSKDK

Dinner Rush

Katie McCabe x fem!reader

SMUT 18+

summary: you only have so much time

a/n- honestly this is half assed, im sorry if it’s bad😭

“Baby, when is the team going to be here?” Katie shouts from the other side of the house doing god knows what as you make sure everything is ready for dinner.

“In about 15 minutes!” You yell back, stacking all the plates and bringing them to the dining table before making your way back to the counter, wiping down the surface to make sure it’s all clean.

You jump when you feel two arms wrap around your waist, not hearing the Irish girl approaching you. Her chin rests on your shoulder, laying sweet pecks along your face and neck, but quickly her innocence turns sour when she bites at your ear lobe and whispers, “15 minutes is plenty of time.”

Her hand reaches under your shirt, dragging up to your bare chest, kneading at the skin. Right as you’re about to protest, the words die at the tip of your tongue when you feel something poking you from behind. The brunette feels your sudden stop, making her chuckle at your reaction.

“Surprised?” Katie asks, going back to kissing your neck while her hands remain under your shirt.

When her teeth sink into your skin, you’re out of your sudden trance, shaking your head. “Katie, we can’t do this right now. The team is going to be here in a few minutes.” You remind, continuing to wipe the counter, acting as if the defender’s touch didn’t turn you on even if you’re wiping the same spot you have cleaned over 4 times already.

“Please, gorgeous. These leggings you have on have been drivin’ me crazy!” She pleads while her hands trail back up to your chest, stopping right under your breasts. “You want to be my good girl, don’t ya?” Her words make you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath in.

“We have to be quick.”

That’s all it took for her to swiftly pull down her pants then yours, eager to fulfill her hourly daydreams. You gasp when the cold air hits your core, but you’re more focused on the way Katie’s fingers roll and tug at your nipples as she places sloppy kisses under your jaw.

A few minutes pass of her riling you up before she finally slides her finger over your slit, collecting your arousal to see how wet you are and taking it into her mouth, licking her digit clean. She lets out a hum in satisfaction while you continue to stay bent over, your arms keeping you stabilized on the top of the counter.

Katie rubs the tip of the strap over your clit, causing you to moan quietly. “You’re already drenched for me, darling. I bet you’re happy I asked.” You can hear the smirk in her voice from the cockiness.

“Baby, we’ve only got like 7 minutes, 5 if they plan on heading here early.” You pant, in a rush to cum and also to not get caught by the people you have to see all the time.

Without a word, Katie slips into you at a medium pace, shocking you and causing you to let out a moan mixed with a hiss. Her hands grab your hips and begin to move you back and forth, bottoming out with each thrust, the toy being bigger than you expected.

Once she hears your whines get needier, she speeds up, making the sound of your skin slapping together echoing through the empty house. Her hands leave your hips but she doesn’t stop her thrusts, instead, she grabs both your wrists and tugs your arms behind your back, causing your chest to fall on the cold surface of the counter. From before, your shirt remains held over your breasts so your hard nipples rub against the cold marble, dragging with each thrust and giving you more pleasure.

“Mm, you’re so good to me. Letting me use you when I need it even if it’s your fault in the first place.” She rasps, pounding harder but continuing at the same fast pace.

“K-Katie-“ Your sentence is cut off when a particularly hard thrust hits a good spot in you which makes a booming moan escape your lips.

“What was that, gorgeous?” Katie moves both of your wrists into one hand and uses her free one to tuck the hair falling over your face behind your ear. The defender almost falls apart when she sees your cheek smushed down onto the counter with drool leaking out your mouth from her fucking you dumb.

“I’m close. P-Please just rub my clit.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Her hand reaches down, pressing three fingers over the bundle of nerves, rubbing it perfectly for you to get off.

When she hears the noises coming out of your mouth get louder, she knows your close, so she somehow speeds up even more which tilts you over the edge. One of your legs pops up and rubs against her leg just from your orgasm making your muscles spasm. She lets go of your arms and kisses you all over your back, helping you calm down from the quick intenseness.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay?” You nod your head, signaling for her that you’re ready. Katie unbuckles the toy, dropping it on the floor next to her so she can help you stand up. When she does, your body flops into hers while your arms wrap around her, embracing her in a weak hug which makes her chuckle. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” She lifts you onto the counter, you flinching from your bare bottom touching the cold surface.

When she’s done wiping up the mess between your legs, she helps you down and brings you into her body. Her lips latch onto yours for the first time within this encounter, sucking at your bottom lip. Mid-make-out, you both jump away from one another when the sound of the doorbell and several knocks rumble through the house. You both look at each other with wide eyes and speed up to clean up all the evidence.

“One minute!” You shout, pulling up your pants and getting the cleaning rag and spray to clean off the counter while Katie grabs the strap and runs to put it in your bedroom bathroom.

When she rushes back over to you, you both take in each other’s appearances and start to fix the other’s hair and clothes. The sound of knocking gets louder while the doorbell doubles in pattern.

“I don’t know how you got me to do this.”

“Luck of the Irish.” Katie winks, heading over to greet the girls while you walk with her, trying your best to act like nothing happened.

#katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe smut #katie mccabe #woso x reader #woso fic #woso imagine #woso smut #woso

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year ago

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honestly i just have dbf!santi brainrot.

Precious Girl.

oh my GOOOOOOD everyone knows I see the words dad's best friend and go fuckin feral. thank you for this.

warnings - smut. cursing.

Masterlist. Inbox.

You're sat on a bench in the dark when he walks past.

"Santi?" you ask, squinting to see him.

"Hermosa?"

He stops and sits down next to you, his warmth instantly seeping into your skin where his arm brushes yours.

"What are you doing sat out here? It's 2am and pitch black."

You chew at your lip, playing with the rings on your fingers.

"I had a date. It was bad, so I left. Realised I didn't know where I was, so I sat down here to try and call an Uber or something."

"What do you mean, bad?"

"I don't know. He was cocky. Patronising. Immature. I don't have the energy for boys anymore, Santi."

He chuckles, deep and knowing.

"At least you know what you want, hermosa. I admire that."

"What I want doesn't fucking exist," you laugh. "Think I'll just give up."

"I know you. You've never been a quitter."

You exhale slowly.

"I hate that you're right."

A pause.

"What are you doing walking around in the dark at this time of night, Garcia?"

"Met some old college buddies at that Irish bar."

"Did my Dad go?"

"Yeah. We parked in separate places, so I was just walking back to my car. He left just before me."

"He loves those guys."

"I do too," he smiles.

You both sit for a moment, thinking. Santiago nudges your shoulder with his gently.

"Let's get out of here, hmm? I'll drive you home."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I know you love my heated seats, so..."

"It's true," you laugh. "They're the height of luxury, Santi."

"That car was my mid life crisis."

"There are worse things it could have been. Thank God it wasn't gambling. Or prostitutes."

He laughs, throwing his head back and knocking his body into your side.

"None of that shit. Just a nice car with heated seats."

"What more could you want?"

"Exactly."

He grabs your hand, pulling you up with him.

"Let's go home, hermosa."

Santi walks you back to his car, only ten minutes down the road. When you reach it, he reaches past you and grabs the handle on the passenger side to open the door for you. He leans in close, his nose brushing yours. Your breath hitches in your chest, not daring to move.

You don't know who moves first, but all of a sudden his lips are on yours, pressing you up against the car. You're moaning into his mouth, tangling your fingers into his salt and pepper hair, desperate to get as close to him as possible.

Santi's hands dance from your hips to the hem of your skirt and underneath. He pulls your underwear to the side and runs his fingers through your wet heat, groaning.

"Fuck, baby. This all for me?"

When you nod frantically, he smirks.

"Fucking filthy. Getting all worked up for your dad's best friend. What would they say if they knew, huh? If they saw their precious girl getting fingered in a parking lot..."

He trails off as he sinks two fingers into you, his other hand holding an iron grip on your hip to keep you still. His thumb finds your clit effortlessly, the ease of it making you moan.

"Think it's time you expand your horizons, cariño. No more boys from now on, yeah?"

You're babbling, agreeing mindlessly, willing to say anything to get what you want.

"You look so gorgeous like this. It's nice to see your attitude in check for a change."

You kiss him again to shut him up, practically begging him to be quiet. As much as his teasing gets under your skin, he's right. This was exactly what you needed.

"Close, baby? Can feel you squeezin' me. Like a fuckin' vice."

You grip at his jacket and pull him into you, resting your forehead on his chest to try and anchor yourself. When he leans down and sucks into the spot under your ear, you're done for.

You find your release embarrassingly quickly, boneless and shaking. Santi talks you through it, murmuring sweetness into your hair.

You pull away and rest against the car, catching your breath. Santi steals a kiss cheekily before smoothing down your skirt and brushing the creases from your shirt.

"Good?"

"Good," you giggle. "Very good."

"Let's get you home, huh?"

He leans past you to open your door, lips brushing your ear.

"My home. I'm not done with you yet, hermosa."

The anticipation makes you shiver.

#santiago garcia fic #santiago garcia fanfiction #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia imagine #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia smut #santiago garcia #santiago garcia fluff #santiago garcia x reader smut #dadsbestfriend!santiago garcia #dbf!santiago garcia #dbf!santi #dbf!santi smut #dad's best friend santiago garcia #dbf!santiago garcia smut #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader smut #triple frontier x reader #dadsbestfriend!santiago garcia smut

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ashs-nerd-den · 3 months ago

Text

Gearrscannán ar YouTube

Short films on YouTube

(Don't worry, everything has English subtitles in the videos themselves)

Fán https://youtu.be/e3xnvkMp_1Q?si=i-4pmljDbzA8bRtu

Created by the incredible @nibmoss, an absolute queen (Bánríon). It is a short sapphic story about 2 best friends who end up together and it is my favourite short story ever!!! It is also my favourite piece of Irish media in existence!!! I love it!!! It is incredible!!! BEYOND AMAZING!!!

Yu Ming is ainm dom https://youtu.be/JqYtG9BNhfM?si=jnZjP4LozqOhNxkI

This is a classic. Ive had 4 different teachers show me this over the years, and my first year Irish class studied it exam style. It was the first piece that we studied and everyone LOVED it, people were quoting it all the time. Every second conversation had someone using a line from it. It's a crows pleaser and simple to listen to even without the subtitles provided. It also has a great storyline about a man who is fed up with his life in China and learns Irish to move over here, and well (bhuel) , I won't spoil the plot twist for you

Lipservice https://youtu.be/4QP0eEhhTSo?si=1DLvo_ECRhwGI5s8

It's the day of the oral exams and everyone is terrified (bhí imní an domhain ar gach duine), people are rehearsing in the bathrooms and speaking French instead of English, the stuff that half of them come out with is absolutely gas, this one is such a bit of craic, I was in stitches. And the bit at the end is so sweet. Is breá liom an gearrscannán seo agus beidh mé mo scrúdú béil i dhá bhliain 🙈🙈🙈 (I loved this short film and I've my speaking test in 2 years🙈🙈🙈

Filleann ar feall https://youtu.be/Tay7eMxas2k?si=q3ksVJVYJ7E_xxoa

IT'S CILLIAN MURPHY AG CAINT AS GAEILGE!!! You can't beat a bit of Cillian, he's a national treasure. And this is 2000 Cillian, he's so young (this was before I was born) he's in the Gaeltacht for his holidays with a grumpy friend, on a job to sell some Putchín, and he is everyone's favourite sweetgeart, a bit of a himbo, and a respecter of old ladies. Agus deir duine sa sna tuairimí (a person in the comments said that it's like Breaking bad, but with an Irish teacher that instead of a chemistry one (I've never seen Breaking Bad, so I don't know how true that is, but I do know that this was AR FHEABHAS!!!

Rúbaí https://youtu.be/jjYx5v2BUWo?si=tFu1ektBvHNkoQFB

This is a short story about a little girl (cailín beag) who's class is about to make their 1st Holy Communion, but she doesn't believe in God (ní creideann sí i nDia). She's everyone is trying to convince her that god is real and she's just like "nope, read a bit of Darwin, he's great, I'm off to collect worms", even to the priests face and towards the end there's a bitter sweet twist which gives a LOT of background. This was a nice, easy watch, the little girls was so cute, there were a couple of laughs (cúpla gáire) and the vocab was nice and simple

Gaiste https://youtu.be/Xr-V7vg_Y2Q?si=cMMNqPLkmtugbg8t

Very simple vocab, good message, kind of like a fable, big "One of us is Lying" vibes. Nice short film overall

Fíorghael https://youtu.be/t3Kv4fZ2SOE?si=bHibiFJyRUcvZ-TZ

This ones a bit older, but it's still a good bit of craic. You need to wait a couple of minutes to get into it, but the end is brilliant (Caithfidh tú cúpla nóiméad a fanacht chun dul isteach ar, ach tá an chríoch go hiontach)

Sylvia https://youtu.be/fi_4aweOP4w?si=ZCfUAfYaD73IVn8r

There are plot twists, and then there plot backflips, this was the later. This is so weird, but I really enjoyed it at the same time

Ciúnas https://youtu.be/cGfuQ-HeTmk?si=WRPGmo-UNQ0bw9mA

There's not much dialogue, but all of it is very casual, so you still get to pick up a few words that you wouldn't find in a textbook. The storyline is quite sweet, but please be careful watching because it although it centres around her family's love for her, it is set on the way home from the hospital after she tried to end her own life

#ash’s originals #Gearrscannán #resources #online resources #free resource #youtube #irish langblr #irish language #ag foghlaim gaeilge #gaeilge #as ghaeilge #langblr #Studyblr #Adhd studyblr #Spoonie studyblr #This is such a great way to study when you have no spoons #It requires like 0.05% energy for me #So I love doing it

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idiopath-fic-smile · 1 year ago

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more Singin' in the Rain ot3, now on the honeymoon boat

part one

part two

The ship was a grand one. Cosmo, whose nautical knowledge began and ended with that Douglas Fairbanks picture about pirates, could tell that much. There was a majestic dining room and a wide, clean promenade and state-of-the-art engines that would get them to Europe in just a few days. The dining room even featured a four-piece band, who were a little stiff but not half bad.

His room, his island of privacy away from Don and Kathy and their combined magnetic pull, was bigger than he expected, well-appointed. It went a little overboard embracing an Egyptian theme, although the decorators had tastefully stopped short of including an actual mummy in a giant stone sarcophagus. He was grateful for that. The piano, as promised, sat in the place of where a desk might normally be, keys gleaming invitingly.

There was just one problem.

“How,” said Cosmo, dropping onto the bed, “did you manage to accidentally book us two adjoining rooms?”

“I’m sorry,” said Don, crossing his arms. “There must’ve been a mix-up at the offices.”

“Maybe the travel agent heard wrong on the telephone,” said Kathy. She rubbed Don’s back consolingly. Don shot her a grateful look. It was all very sweet, probably.

“How?” said Cosmo again. “Nothing sounds like ‘adjoining.’ It doesn’t even have a rhyme.”

“Are you certain?” said Kathy.

Cosmo nodded; he’d already run through the alphabet, twice. “The closest I can get to is ‘disappointing.’” Don was leaning into Kathy’s back rub like a cat, but his face was full of uncatlike guilt. “Don,” said Cosmo, “look, pal, I appreciate the free ticket, but please tell me you’ll fix this.”

“I already talked to the cruise director and there aren’t other rooms,” said Don. “We’re out in the ocean, what do you want me to do, alert the coast guard?”

“Alert the coast guard,” said Cosmo, “flag down a passing mermaid, strike a bargain with Poseidon himself!”

“Who?” said Don.

“The Greek god of the sea,” said Kathy, like that was the important part.

“I don’t speak any Greek,” Don replied, “do you?”

“I will swim to shore,” Cosmo said, to nobody in particular.

“We can swap over to a different ship when we get to port if we need to,” said Don, shoulders slumping uncharacteristically. He must’ve felt worse about his screw-up than he let on. “In the meantime, the door locks from both sides, so—”

“I’m not—worried that you’ll barge in at all hours pestering me for a cup of sugar,” Cosmo broke in.

Don blinked. Kathy went very still beside him.

Out loud, it sounded more suggestive than he’d meant. Why had he picked sugar, the sauciest ingredient of the baking world?

“Or flour,” he amended.

“Then what’s the trouble?”

“I.” Cosmo sighed. “Why am I the only person in this room who seems to know what a honeymoon is for?”

“Why,” said Don, wide-eyed, “what’s it for?”

“D’you think, if I jumped in the sea and started paddling now—” said Cosmo.

“Don’t worry,” said Kathy. “Don and I can be very quiet.”

And the trouble was, this was worse. The prospect of hearing them from the other side of a single thin door was one thing, and honestly it was plenty bad—Cosmo had played a role during several key moments of their courtship but at least he could say he didn’t know what they sounded like in the throes of passion—but for reasons that Cosmo did not feel like examining, the thought of them stifling themselves in the act, the thought of them naked in bed together, touching each other, biting down on a giggle or a moan, and whispering, ‘Shh, don’t wake Cosmo,’ made him feel like his whole stomach was a sore tooth.

“Don’t put yourselves out on my account,” he told them. Belatedly, he realized that was maybe the worst thing he could’ve said. He blushed, and then he stood, face still flaming—Damn his Irish complexion—nodded to them both, and fled to the promenade.

The ocean stretched in all directions as far as Cosmo could see. It was dizzying, and also strangely calming. He stared out at the waves and reminded himself, hardly for the first time, that it wasn’t Don’s fault how Cosmo felt about him. It wasn’t Don’s fault, and it wasn’t Kathy’s fault that she was maybe the most charming woman he’d ever met. You could certainly blame Don for booking the rooms, for not double-checking over the telephone, but there was no malice to it. They were both, at the end of the day, wonderful people who had decided to open this trip up to him for whatever reason, and besides, his bed was piled with any number of pillows he could jam over his head if they did make noise at night.

He stood there holding onto the railing for a long time. Eventually, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Feeling better?” said Don quietly, almost lost under the roar of the water. Without really trying to, Cosmo turned to look at him. Under his coat, Don was wearing a nicer suit than before, and the color had returned to his face. He looked—well, he looked like a handsome movie star married to a gorgeous starlet. Don took a few steps and rested his hands next to Cosmo’s on the rail.

“It’s the salt air, I think,” said Cosmo, nodding. “Feels like I could do anything. Why, I might write another musical, wear my trousers baggy, become a pirate.”

“Your trousers are fine as is,” said Don.

Cosmo shrugged. “A little change can be good.”

“Sure, unless it isn’t.” Don sighed. It was an awfully sad sigh to be having about the fit of a guy’s pants, Cosmo thought, but then Don turned to him and added, “You know, we really have missed you.”

“Don,” said Cosmo patiently. “I was at your house this Thursday. I stayed for three hours. I drank all your gin.”

Don didn’t make a crack about the gin, which was probably a bad sign. “And before that?”

Before that, it had been a while. Cosmo winced inwardly. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “you’ve been busy, Kathy’s been busy—”

“We invited you over, four different times,” Don interjected. “If I’ve done something, if we’ve done something, I wish you would just tell us.”

In front of them, the sea rolled and rolled. Cosmo thought about deflection, about twisting the moment into a joke, a sword duel where cold steel met only an outstretched rubber chicken: squeak.

He let out a long breath. “Why the Hell did you bring me along on your honeymoon?”

“We brought you along because we wanted you along,” said Don. “Whenever you’re not there, we wish you were. It doesn’t need to be any harder than that.”

“So it isn’t…” Cosmo started.

“What?” “You and Kathy aren’t having problems? Hoping for a buffer, or a distraction?” It was a very new theory on Cosmo’s part, and once the words had left his mouth, he realized how badly they fit the facts at hand.

Don smiled a private little smile. “Me and Kathy are doing just marvelously.”

“That’s splendid,” said Cosmo, because he had to say something, apparently. Marvelous didn’t bode well for Cosmo’s sanity at night, but it beat his friends being sad. “Lovely.” He let his cadences drift into a so-so British accent. “Capital show, old sport. Tip-top. Simpy spiffing.” Not his best work.

Don lay a hand on Cosmo’s coat sleeve, at the elbow. “Do you want to come to dinner with us?” he said. “It’s meant to be a formal affair but you’ve still got time to change.”

Whenever you’re not here, we wish you were. Obviously, Don didn’t mean “whenever” in the strictest sense—Cosmo got the feeling he was not present in Don’s mind, say, when Don was in bed with his beautiful wife—but the thought now made him feel warmer than the gin had. It would be enough. It had to be.

“Sure,” said Cosmo, “why not,” and Don thumped him encouragingly on the back.

“Cosmo,” said Don as they headed back into the body of the boat, “piracy, really?” Cosmo grinned. “Don’t blame me, blame that salt air. Makes a man feel like anything’s possible.”

Kathy and Don looked enchanting at dinner, and Cosmo cleaned up alright too, if he didn’t say so himself.

The food was good—salmon with hollandaise sauce and French beans, braised duckling with apple sauce, some fancy beef thing, salad Dumas and ice cream for dessert—and the band had relaxed a smidge and was playing something from this century, which was nice.

Over dessert, Kathy told them about how, one night several months before meeting Don, she’d been at a speakeasy during what turned out to be a police raid.

“What were you doing in a speakeasy?” Cosmo asked before he could stop to think about it.

“Why, drinking milk and reading Austen, of course,” she replied, a picture of guilelessness. Don snickered, and she grinned.

“I walked full-speed into that one,” said Cosmo.

“Buddy, you ran,” said Don.

“I was drinking,” Kathy acknowledged, nodding, “but really that’s where the best dancing is. The best music, too.”

Cosmo, who lately only drank at parties or at home because it was easier and safer, nodded thoughtfully.

“Hot jazz?”

“The hottest, at least in Los Angeles. Once we’re back, we should all go!”

“I could always stand to take in more culture,” said Cosmo.

“Oh no,” said Don, “don’t let her pull you into her sordid past. Did you forget the end of the story is ‘and then the police came?’”

“That’s more the middle,” said Kathy. “Well, middle-end.”

“So how’d you escape the reaching arm of the law?” Cosmo asked.

Kathy swallowed her ice cream. “I saw the police were all rushing in through the front door, and I dashed to the back and through the performers’ dressing room. I’d done makeup for some of my school plays, so I fought my way up to the mirror, grabbed a grease pencil—a few lines here, a few lines there—borrowed an old coat of the back of a chair, ran maybe half a block, and pretended to be an old lady.”

“Really,” said Cosmo.

“It’s mostly in the walk and the posture,” she said. “And it helps that a few of the street lights were out.”

“And the cops were fooled?”

“One of them asked me if I’d seen any young people running that way,” said Kathy.

Cosmo clapped his hands together with glee. “Don, you married a criminal mastermind! Never make her angry.”

Don wrapped an arm around her shoulders and flashed her a besotted look. “I don’t intend to.”

Kathy nestled into the half-embrace. “Tell me more about—was it Coyoteville? With the ventriloquist.”

“Dead Man’s Fang,” said Cosmo. “And your wish is my command, but I don’t know what else there is to say. We came, we saw, we lost our sleeping arrangements to a puppet.”

“He tucked it in that night, remember?” said Don suddenly.

“He did!” said Cosmo, delighted.

Sometimes when Don started in on the official line about how they’d studied at the conservatory and the rest of that baloney, Cosmo worried that some part of Don believed it, that it was Cosmo’s job alone to remember how long they’d traveled that strange, bumpy, often farcical road together towards some measure of success and respectability in Hollywood. But Cosmo had completely forgotten that particular detail. He had burned it from his mind.

“After he fell asleep, one of you might have moved the dummy and claimed that bed,” Kathy pointed out.

“He left it with the head turned facing us, eyes open,” said Don. “Neither of us were touching that thing.”

“So instead, Cosmo had to put up with Don all night,” said Kathy solemnly.

“So instead, I had to put up with Don all night.”

He could still recall the potent mix of resignation, terror, and guilty excitement he’d felt, huddling up on that mattress together. Their act at the time had involved being in close quarters a lot—at one point, the choreography had Cosmo leap onto Don’s back and then immediately continue playing the fiddle—so it wasn’t like touching Don was a novelty, back then. But doing it offstage, out of costume, away from any onlookers except for Esther Quill the ventriloquist dummy, it had felt like an entirely different proposition.

Don had been a real champ about it, though. When Cosmo had started shaking with withheld hilarity that this was his life, the punchline of all punchlines and nobody to share it with, not just Don’s best friend but his literal bedwarmer, Don had clearly assumed it was a simple case of the shivers, and so he’d bundled Cosmo close, tucked Cosmo’s head under his chin, and wrapped his arms around him, muttering warm in his ear about how if Cosmo dropped dead, Don was out a dance partner “and that whole routine wouldn’t work as a solo number, it’d go over like a brick.”

“Just imagine what barnyard animal they’d have you opening for then,” Cosmo had whispered back, because Oatmeal, Nebraska had already happened to them. “A pig who juggles. A cow acrobat. A chicken magician. Just a little sleight of wing, folks, nothing up my feathers.”

And Don had laughed, and held Cosmo tighter, and the ventriloquist had shushed them, which had made them both crack up again. It had been a long night, and not one Cosmo would forget in a hurry.

“Who runs hot as a Holland furnace, let me tell you,” he added now, in case his tone had shifted a few shades too close to dreamy.

“Oh, I know,” said Kathy, smiling.

Don raised an accusing finger at him. “Well, you were shaking like a leaf! You’re lucky I was there, especially when we didn’t have so much as a sheet of our own!”

“Wait, why didn’t you have any blankets?” asked Kathy.

“The blankets,” said Don airily, “were for the puppet.”

And so dinner had been a joy, and after that, Don and Kathy invited him back to their room for a drink or two, because they’d had the common sense to bring alcohol, which was of course not offered by the cruise. The three of them sat on Don and Kathy’s bed (much bigger than Cosmo’s—not that he was jealous, he didn’t need the space, but the sheer expanse of mattress really did rival a small country, and Cosmo was determined not to picture in any detail how the two newlyweds might make use of that) and passed a flask around and had some more laughs and when Cosmo next got a glimpse of his watch, it was three in the morning.

“I should go,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Kathy. She’d shucked off her heels at some point and now her stocking feet were in Cosmo’s lap. Don sat on her other side, head on her shoulder. He’d loosened his tie early on, and his suitcoat was draped over one of the bedposts. While they were drinking, it had all felt very natural. Looking at them now, Cosmo had the sense he was intruding on something private, something intimate.

Granted, they weren’t exactly trying to kick him out, but Kathy was drunk, or tired, or else she was both drunk and tired, and it was up to Cosmo not to outstay his welcome. They had a whole two weeks together, after all, and their rooms were barely a wall apart.

“My regrets, Cinderella,” said Cosmo, “but I can feel myself turning back into a pumpkin.”

He made as if to stand, but her feet were in the way. Very gently, he picked up her ankles, lifted them off his legs, stood, turned her like they were doing some sort of a dance move, and deposited her feet in Don’s lap instead.

“There,” he said to no one.

A long pause followed. Don and Kathy blinked up at him. He sorely regretted moving her. It had seemed like the most elegant solution. Probably he should’ve found one that didn’t involve taking hold of her legs, skin warm through the thin layer of nylon–

Kathy’s brow furrowed. “What makes you the carriage?” she said at last.

“What?” said Cosmo, who really did need to make an exit.

“Cinderella,” said Don, apparently reading her mind, which was swell for them.

“Better that than the mouse footman,” Cosmo told her. “Or the lizard coachman. Or the horse.” Or—who else? There were a lot of characters in Cinderella, he realized.

“There’s a prince in that story, Cosmo,” said Kathy. “A human prince.”

“Yes,” said Cosmo, patiently, “and you’re married to him, your highness,” He sketched a little bow but Don and Kathy weren’t looking at him. They were having one of those silent couple conversations, with mostly their eyes and eyebrows. A career in movies before the advent of sound had probably given Don a real advantage in that department, Cosmo thought, although Kathy seemed to be holding her own.

“It’s a made-up fairytale,” Kathy said at last. “Why, it can go any way you want it to.”

“The lady’s got a point,” said Don.

Cosmo blinked. He knew how it sounded, knew that to the untrained ear, it certainly—there were overtones, or undertones, or just plain tones that vibrated with suggestion. Cosmo had grown up in Vaudeville and now he lived in Hollywood; these things happened every now and then. These things did not happen to Cosmo. He was good for a dance or a laugh, and nine times out of ten, that was enough for him, but he wasn’t exactly fending off amorous advances—not like Don, and probably not like Kathy, either.

Also, Don liked women. Don only liked women, as far as Cosmo knew, and they had lived out of each other’s pockets for years.

The fact that a late-night ménage à trois rendezvous was increasingly the only explanation that held water in his head—it said more about Cosmo’s fragile mental state than it did about Don and Kathy’s true motives, he decided.

Don and Kathy who were still sitting on the bed, waiting for some sort of response.

“I wouldn’t, uh,” Cosmo started, and then realized with a stab of panic that for once, he didn’t have a joke in the wings, waiting to go. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.

“You said earlier today you might become a pirate,” Don offered. Kathy cuddled up close against his side, watching with bright, intent eyes. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Enter pirate, stage left.”

“I said I was thinking about it,” said Cosmo, trying not to sound affected and missing by a mile. “A fella can think about all kinds of things he wouldn’t do.”

Case in point: Cosmo was not about to climb back into bed with them, no matter how cozy that bed was, no matter how warm and inviting and beautiful the two of them looked together.

His hands were starting to shake, he realized, and if Don saw that, and past experience was any judge, Cosmo might spend the night being cuddled for warmth again. What was Cosmo’s life? He didn’t go in for horoscopes, but maybe he should’ve, maybe that was the key to understanding the whole puzzle: Cosmo Brown, born under the one constellation that resembled clown shoes. He swallowed back a hysterical laugh and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Why not?” said Kathy quietly.

Because he didn’t want to ruin his oldest friendship and his most promising new one, all in a single go. Because he hated rejection, and the thought of two no’s that close together made his head spin unpleasantly. Because then there would be no more innocent touches and smiles and nightcaps in Don and Kathy’s room.

That wasn’t what she’d asked, though. Mentally, he shook himself.

“If everyone who thought about being a pirate became one, the whole US of A would fall apart,” Cosmo informed them. “Nobody would work, or pay taxes, or go to see films. Not to mention the national parrot shortage—just try to get ahold of birdseed anymore! There’d be a run on eyepatches and tri-corner hats, and the price of a simple pirate earring would shoot through the roof, in fact—”

“It’d cost a buccaneer,” Don filled in. He sounded almost sad, which was a mystery because that bit was evergreen.

“That’s right,” said Cosmo. He rocked back onto his heels, at a loss for a moment. He’d really been counting on that joke to clear the air.

“Cosmo,” said Kathy. “Do you want to go, or do you want to want to go?”

Cosmo struggled to make sense of that. He struggled to parse it in a way that worked outside his own feverish imagination. His entire mind came up short. That was where it got you, going on the road with only an eighth grade education, he thought. His was a cautionary tale.

Maybe ninth grade was where they taught you how not to twist a moment in your head to the point where it really did seem like maybe Cosmo could’ve kissed either of them, could’ve kissed both of them, and it would’ve been fine, or even more than fine. Maybe it was that, and Dickens, and Geography; Cosmo still could not locate Siam on a map. Or Paris. Come to think of it, ménage à trois and rendezvous were the only French he knew besides bonjour. This time, he did laugh. It was that or scream.

“I am both too drunk, and not drunk enough for this talk,” he said, turning for the door that led directly back to his room.

“If you’d rather stay—” said Don.

“Of course I’d rather stay, Don,” Cosmo snapped, sharper than he’d meant to. “But leave me enough dignity to fill half a shotglass, at least.” Don and Kathy said nothing. When he got to the door, he sighed. “Sorry, that was—I’m sorry. See you at breakfast.” “Goodnight,” said Kathy.

Alone in his room, Cosmo closed the door and ran his hands through his hair. Pirates in Cinderella, he thought. Offers to stay, with his room not 30 paces away, at three hours past midnight. Maybe it would all make sense in the morning.

#singin in the rain ot3

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cillianhead · 1 year ago

Note

Anything about cillian with a beard!

Cillian with a beard... oh my god don't even get me started.

Anyway here you go my love <3

Three And A Half Months || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: SMUT, also a fluffy sweet fic, oral sex (f receiving), face riding, mentions of blood but nothing too graphic, general adult content ahead.

18+ Minors DNI

Last night you had reunited with Cillian. It had been three and a half months since you had last seen each other, the longest you had ever gone without seeing one another, he was away shooting for a new film and it was in the states so traveling back and forth between Ireland and America grew exhausting. Of course, as soon as you saw each other, you had no time to process the beard on his face, just the fact he was there. Nothing else mattered except him being there, right in front of you, to touch and to hold. So you went at it like rabbits, knocking over furniture, breathing each other in like feral animals, making love until you were sore and panting for air. No amount of late night phone calls could ever truly compare to the feeling of having his cock deep inside you.

The next morning arrived, light pouring through the curtains and lighting a still sleeping Cillian in a golden light, the rays gave him a tiny halo, one you thought he rightfully deserved. You just smiled to yourself, the both of you still completely nude from last night's love making, you felt at peace, lying in bed with the love of your life, his arm draped over your waist heavily, the sound of his slow breathing, and the indescribable feeling of his warmth beside you. Every time you looked at him, a metaphorical slow romantic guitar would play, your heart would swell and overflow with love, and your eyes stung with the happy tears that seemed to always come. That was the thing about you, so incredibly emotional, Cillian always teased you about it. You'd cry at any chance you could get, whether it be because of hormones or because you saw a cute cat or because of the beauty that Cillian is. And when he had come home with that rugged beard that made him so handsome and so deliciously masculine, you felt weak in the knees, you cried but not from your eyes.

"Mornin' me love," The irish lilt of his voice mixed with the grumble of his morning voice brought you out of your daydreaming. "Lookin' so beautiful f'me." He leaned in, placing a soft sweet kiss to your cheek. You couldn't feel uglier with your messy bed hair and your puffy face after a long night's rest. But to Cillian you were the apple of his eye, no other woman could ever possibly compare.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," He chuckled at your confession. "Those three months and a half went on for far too long but I'm here now, lovie."

"No, no..." You shook your head with a childish grin. "I missed you while we slept... missed you for every moment... was watchin' you sleep."

Cillian laughed contagiously, you giggled too as you felt him pull you closer to him, your bare chests touching. He nuzzled your nose with his own, this moment so full of love, so intimate and private. You felt like the luckiest person in the world to be with him. The light painting you two in a golden hue, the moment felt so surreal, like something out of a wonderful dream or something you'd see right before you die, right as your soul becomes free.

"What've you got planned today, Cillian?" You hummed, you both huffed out hot puffs of air on each other's faces, neither of you caring that you hadn't brushed your teeth yet. Just relieved you could finally touch each other again, relieved your souls could finally reunite and recharge, that your bodies were flushed together, it wasn't possible for you two to be any closer (physically at least).

"Nothin'," Cillian murmured quietly, stroking your hair softly. "Just planned on spending it with my favorite girl, thas' all." You felt yourself grow flustered, nuzzling your face into his chest before glancing shyly back up at him, growing more flustered at the sight of him and his beard. That beard that made your heart race and in between your legs throb with desire.

"Cillian..." You whined, catching your bottom lip in between your teeth. He was so fucking pretty and even after all this time of being together, you could never get over it. It made you feel like a giddy little girl with a silly school girl crush.

"Hmmm?" He hummed. The deep vibration sending jolts of arousal straight to your core. "What is it, baby love?"

"Your beard..." You ran your fingers along the hair accumulating across his jawline and cheeks, clenching your thighs together. In all the time you and Cillian had been together, he had always been clean-shaven, of course there'd be the rare occasion where he forgets to shave for a day or two and has a bit of stubble but nothing ever this long. Cillian had that knowing look on his face, he very much knew the effect he had over you. Arrogant was not the word you would ever use to describe Cillian, in fact he was an incredibly humble and modest man but when it came to riling you up, teasing you, he was quite arrogant then, arrogant in the way he knew every little inch about you and would use that against you. He enjoyed teasing you, enjoyed getting you where you were weak because he enjoyed watching you squirm. "It's so...." You trailed off, biting your lip once again with that flustered look on your face.

"...So what?" Cillian grinned, a cheeky glint in his blue eyes as his hand slipped further down your back until it rested on your bare ass. "Go on, tell your husband how wet his beard's gotten ya, love." Well that was unexpected.

You let out a bashful squeal, diving your face into his chest to hide the look of desperation and embarrassment on your flushed face. You heard him laugh, amused by how easily aroused you were. "Cillian... don't tease me... it's been three months..."

"And a half!" He added.

"...Since I last saw you, you can't blame me... especially since you look sooooooo fucking good with a beard..." You were looking him in the eyes now, his own pupils blown wide and a small one-sided smirk on his face. You slipped your hand down his abdomen before your fingers wrapped around his already hard cock, he let out a small breath at the feeling of your gentle hand.

"C'mere, Y/N," Cillian groaned, grabbing you by your waist, picking you up like you weighed nothing and sitting you up on his stomach. "Wanna taste you... s'been too fuckin' long."

Your arousal pooled on his stomach, getting off on the slight friction against your clit every time he breathed in and out but it wasn't quite enough. "Cillian... baby..." You huffed, too shy to make the first move, he gave your ass a gentle slap.

"Go on, sit on me fuckin' face," He was growing impatient, licking his lips. "Show me how much you love my beard, know you're soaking wet 'cause of it, silly girl."

He wasn't wrong and so you meekly crawled until your pussy was aligned with his hungry face. You hovered your hips hesitantly over his nose and lips, your thighs on either side of his head. He roughly grabbed ahold of your plush hips and pulled you down until he was suffocating in your sopping cunt.

"Fuck!" You mewled, your pussy ached with how turned on you were. His tongue lapped up at you, his nose perfectly brushing your clit as he fucked his tongue in and out of your tight hole. You never understood how he could breathe with your weight fully on top of him, he'd always give you some form of punishment if you didn't sit on top of his face like he was just a chair so you did as you knew he wanted. He always reassured you that he loved it, that being under you with his face buried in you was heaven on earth. And who were you to deny him what he so desperately craved when it felt so unbelievably good? He especially loved it when you took control, when you gave into the pleasure and rode his face, used his face like it was just something for you to cum on. He also knew the consequences of growing out his beard, he knew it'd turn you on, and this was exactly what he was hoping for. He knew once you came all over his face, he'd smell you in his beard for days.

Cillian was in pure bliss as he felt your fingers interlock with his hair, holding onto him for support as you began rocking your hips back and forth on his tongue and nose, moaning so fucking loud that the neighbors could hear. It had been so long and the feeling of his beard scratching your thighs and sticky folds made the experience so much better. The new sensation was only making you moan louder and louder.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck... Cillian..." You were gasping, Cillian groans into your pussy, encouraging your rough movements. "Missed this so much! Missed your face..." Fuck. The feeling of his nose pressed right where you need him, right against your throbbing clit, it was like he was made for you. You loved his nose and you always told him so.

Cillian was breathing you in, feasting on you, like all there was was you. Well at the moment, that was true. All he could hear, see, taste, and smell, and feel, was you. He could feel cum leak slowly out of his cock, not being able to handle how turned on and rock hard he was, he needed some kind of release. But there was no way in hell he was going to touch himself, not when he could have his hands grasp onto your hips, holding you down on his face even further. He hoped one of these days that you would eventually become one. That he could have your delicious cunt permanently on his face, even if it meant suffocating to death.

"Cillian... I... fuck..." Your head was rolled back, hand gripping desperately onto the top of his head, too lost in the pleasure to think about how you could be hurting him but you knew if it was too much for him he'd tap out which he never does. You knew Cillian would take whatever you gave him. "I'm cumming!" You choked out, your hips that were previously fucking his face slowed down a bit, stuttering your movements as you came. You hadn't came this hard in months, your fingers could never compare, nor could your vibrator, or showerhead. You had fully collapsed on top of his head, thighs squeezing his head like a vice as you saw stars. Your vision going completely white. Cillian lapped up all of it, taking it gratefully, face completely drenched and well ridden as you pulled off of him with a gasp.

"Bloody hell..." He grunted, gasping for air. You sat on his chest, still too weak or sensitive to move. Cillian smiled up at you dopily, high off of feeding off you. It only turned you on further how he got off on your pleasure. "Tastes so good... missed that so much... think I know what I'll be doin' all of today, love." You shook your head at Cillian, giggling a bit.

His face was drenched and beard sticky with your cum. Your cum formed perfect little droplets within the hair on his face, looking like he had just dipped his whole face in some sort of body of water, your cum had made it all the way to his forehead somehow. You blushed as you hopped off of him, you always felt embarrassed afterwards.

"Oh my god!" You exclaimed, seeing a bit of blood staining his teeth, you looked down at your groin to make sure you weren't bleeding (maybe you got your period?) but your heart sank at the realization you had managed to bust his top lip with how hard you rode his face. "I'm so sorry, Cillian! I'm so so sorry!"

He sat up with a frown, rubbing at his mouth to see the bit of blood on his fingers. He grinned like a mad man at the sight, standing up to look at himself in the mirror. You didn't understand why he was so happy about it. Beard coated in your creamy cum, face flushed, and his top lip bruised and swollen from where it had been repeatedly rubbing against his teeth. Cillian was pleased with his appearance and the newly made wound on his face. You stood up on shaky legs, cupping his face, worriedly.

"It's okay, love," Cillian reassured. "I'm fine, just a bit of blood, it'll heal by tomorrow I'm sure."

"No! I hurt you! I'm sorry I wasn't thinking!" You felt so guilty, you felt like the worst wife in the world. You brushed your thumb along his wet beard with a sad look on your face.

"Y/N," He said firmly, grabbing a hold of your waist, giving you a soft kiss, giving you a taste of yourself. "I wish you could understand just how much I love it when you ride my face. Best fuckin' thing in the whole world, how many times have I told you I'd die a happy man if it meant I got to drown in ya? Hmmm?" He smiled, you still frowned up at him, feeling guilty at his reddened lips. "Fuck, I don't think I could look sexier right now, I mean look at me! I don't really care f'me on looks but c'mon... you make me beautiful, Y/N..." Cillian looked delicious, he was right, you wanted to pounce him then and there and sit on his face all over again. "If people ask what happened to my lip, I can make up some flimsy excuse about how I fell on my face or some shit like that but smile to myself... knowin' the real story..." He licked his lips before continuing. "Knowin' that my goddess of a wife got herself off on my face because she loves me so much..."

His voice was soft, his hands caressed your naked body as he leaned in and kissed you. His beard was the best feeling ever against your lips. "I am sorry though... Cillian... I should've been more gentle..." You murmured. Cillian shook his head, he loved it when you were rough with him.

"I know a way you can make it up to me, darling," He hummed with that mischievous grin before gently pushing you down onto your knees, face right next to his deliciously hard cock. He moved his hips so that the head of his dick pushed at your lips, slapping you gently across the face with it. "Can't promise I'm gonna last very long though..."

"That's fine, Cillian... love the taste of your cum..." You said smiling as you lovingly took him into your mouth. God he looked so pretty with his beard.

<33333

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy imagine #cillian #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #scarecrow

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florenceafternoon · 4 months ago

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━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

You know when you read a fic and love it so much that you want to find one exactly like it but different. Anyways, more Alternate Universe fics.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

These first few fics are all by elanev91 on ao3 (ao3 account required).

Force of Habit

Lily's been riding the same train back and forth to work for the last two and a half years and lowkey fancies the guy who sits one row up from her usual seat.

TW: parent death discussed

The fic that inspired the intro (I love it so much you don't understand)

Waffle Wars

There's only one waffle maker in the dining hall and it literally always breaks. So, naturally, the only reasonable course of action is to meticulously map out when it's working and, ultimately, do a heist.

every day I like you a little mower

Lily was JUST trying to be a good daughter and help her father with his yard work. Too bad the bloke next door is always outside and also the most annoyingly talkative person on the planet.

we could be gigantic series

Lily and James have been best friends since they were kids. Uni, a band, a trip abroad, a few tours and a couple of albums later, things start to change. Half an email fic, half a regular ol' narrative.

it wasn't a pity invite

Prompt: my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and omg i’m so sorry

The one where they’re both doctors - also Northern Irish Lily.

One Direction on the A4

James and Lily are having quite the morning. James thinks a little nonsense might fix it. Or James is a dork and Lily loves it.

Ye Olde Smut Fic

Student recruitment fairs suck, but never fear -- Professor Evans and Professor Potter have figured out how to make it a little less annoying.

Professor AU, Modern AU, Muggle AU. Smutty ridiculousness. Plot questionable.

The tragedy is that they live in America

The Yeast I Can Do

Dr Lily Evans had an absolute shit day at work. Luckily, there's a bakery nearby that offers a course that she hopes will take her mind off of things.

For my fellow jily & wolfstar enjoyers, go do yourself a favour and check out their other works on ao3.

Teenage Kicks by @arianatwycross

It all starts with Lily being hired to be the bands tour photographer, then she actually meets the band and she quickly becomes absorbed by their fast lifestyle, their pranks and the hot lead singer. But its not exactly simple to be crushing on a famous Rockstar, is it?

Foam Hearts by Sleepinghookah (on ao3)

Coffee shop AU. A story in which James and Lily are blind - both in entirely different ways.

I promise he's not a bad person. You've got to read till the end and it'll make sense

When The Skies Are Gray by @athenasparrow

“Carry me?” Lily scoffed, biting her lip so she wouldn’t laugh in his face. Because he was about to do something nice for her. “I’m not some damsel in distress who can’t walk! I just need a bit of cover to make it to the tube.”

OR: two strangers, one umbrella, and a little bit of fate.

Tranquil Solitude (Until You Came Along) by @thelighthousestale

Prompt: I thought I went skinny dipping alone but oh my god this beautiful human is also here naked and I am a fool

All Lily wanted to do was take a nice, quiet swim on a hot day. And then James Potter showed up. And Lily had already removed her clothes for the private swim.

it would have been sweet by @firefeufuego

‘Lily,’ he says in her ear, voice slurred and barely audible above the pulsing bass of the music, ‘is there a reason I shouldn’t marry her?’

She can taste the truth bittersweet on her tongue: Yes of course there is, you colossal, darling idiot, you’re meant to be mine. But there’s the ring on Charlotte’s finger and there’s the one Lily found in Eddie’s sock drawer, and how can she be this person? The one who steals someone’s fiancé on his stag night? That’s not who she is, that won’t be who she is. ‘Of course not, James. You’ll make each other so happy.’ She nearly chokes on the lie as it leaves her mouth, all the more so because most of it isn’t even a lie at all.

For my second chance romance girls

This Hope is Treacherous by @tinyluminaryzombie

Lily Evans and James Potter: Aquentiences, Academic rivals, and now, Friends.

Except "friends" doesn't exactly feel right but Lily's too scared to do anything about it. But as James and her keep acting like more-than-friends she's unraveling with the uncertainty of it all.

OR: Choosing to fall in love can be just as thrilling and terrifying as love at first sight.

The Viscount's Daughter by @ghostofbambifanfiction

The beautiful, vivacious, and decidedly redheaded daughter of the 16th Viscount of Rowena has stolen the heart of young Prince James. Trouble is, she couldn't be less interested in him.

Thought it was abandoned but the author posted a snippet recently so maybe not?

The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition by @elliemarchetti

Lily and Petunia read the Queen of the Quills' latest column on James Potter, while the bachelor announces to his friends that he intends to get married.

Quest for Camelot by the incredible @petalsthefish

After the legendary Excalibur sword is stolen, Lily and James embark on a quest to retrieve the lost weapon. Lily searches for the sword to prove she is capable of being a knight despite being a girl. James searches because his falcon, Marlene, is desperate to find it for her master, Merlin. Along the way, they attempt to outwit the sinister Ruber, navigate through magical obstacles, decode puzzling prophecies, and uncover surprising similarities between themselves.

As their journey progresses, they both cannot deny the feelings growing between them with each passing day. Will they make it out of the quest alive, or will one of them perish in the ever-growing darkness that threatens to swallow the entire realm if Ruber gets his hands on the sword?

Based on the 1998 movie Quest for Camelot, but with more plot and less singing

Fearlessly Red also by @ /petalsthefish

Red. It was such an interesting color to correlate with emotion because it was on both ends of the spectrum. On one end there was happiness, falling in love, passion, all that. On the other end was jealousy, fear and frustration. Maybe that's why James thought the nickname fit Lily so well.

or Bodyguard!James/Celebrity!Lily

Get A Room bt @chierafied

The long-awaited trip to London goes awry when Marlene chooses to spend time with her boyfriend - forcing Lily to share their room with none other than James Potter.

you don't know me (but I know you) by @emeralddoeadeer

Lily has a crush, she knows his face well but can only imagine his name; until they meet that is.

About Time by heartablaze (on ao3)

Before his final year started, James Potter offered to be a resident advisor for a first-year dorm. What he didn’t count on was dealing with a confusing redhead across the hall, hospital visits, hallway parties and writing his thesis the night before it was due. Blimey. (Muggle Uni AU)

Unexpectedly in Love by jamespotters_exgirlfriend (on ao3)

When Lily Evans entered her final year of uni, she certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with James Potter. And well, let’s just say love isn’t the only unexpected thing to come out of their relationship.

Far Post by @eastwindmlk

James Potter and his friends are very serious about their pub football league. So, when the new roster comes out and there is a new team on there, an all women's team, he and Sirius set out to investigate.

You Know How To Ball, I Know Aristotle by @wearingaberetinparis

Now that the global superstar, Grammy-winning singer-songwriter Lily Evans and professional football player James Potter are together, they have to juggle the difficulties of a relationship in the public eye. Fresh off her World Tour, Lily Evans arrives at Wembley Stadium one year after James Potter first attended her show, to perform there for one final weekend before heading to the studio to record her next album. Her boyfriend, in the meantime, is off to Germany to play at the Euros for England. How will they ever make their relationship work when Lily is - so the press loves to imply - the least supportive WAG of the tournament?

sequal to And You Heard About Me (Ooh, We’ve Got Some Big Enemies!)

It's been a long time coming and it did not disappoint

I've recommended Three Swipes, You're Out by @naireides before, but I recently came across it's sequel making spirits bright

Sports star James Potter tries to pick Lily up on tinder. Lily Evans, a dedicated not sports fan is offended by the idea that someone thinks she wouldn't recognize James Potter's face. She laughs about it with her friends at a bar, until James Potter, who also frequents that bar, comes over to clarify that nope, he's on tinder, and he's definitely hitting on her.

...

She should have expected it to be hard, dating a celebrity, but somehow she and James make it work.

#lily evans #james potter #jily #lames #jple #jily fic rec list

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elenamegan14 · 10 months ago

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Yandere One Piece - Irish/Nordic Fae Folk Myth X F!Reader - Pookah!Luffy

PROLOGUE Pookah - a mischievous yet friendly fae, capable of shapeshifting into any form as they please - malevolent ones included. Legends have told that anyone lucky or unlucky enough to get a ride from Pookah will experience the wildest travel of their lives.

—

You barely have the time to calm yourself when the Pookah circles you around like a wolf waiting for its prey to move. You’ve been here for a few minutes and already you encountered a fairy folk! Fortunately, luck seemed to be on your side - Pookahs are not relatively dangerous unless you treat them with care.

However, Pookah’s personality is proven to be quite a challenge, considering this one has the childish personality of a hyperactive boy, drunk with too many candies. Also, he seems to be the talkative type too, jumping around whenever you tried to side-stepped him.

“A human! Sweet! Haven’t seen a human for a while! I mean, on my side anyway. My brothers saw humans all the time because they got permission for it, but I don’t!” The Pookah grumbled, “They said that I need to practice more on my human transformation, but I think it’s perfect!” He gestured towards himself, forgetting about his longish furry ears and tail.

“I… see. That’s very nice, but I have to go.”

Frustratingly, Luffy seems to follow you around, not giving you a moment of rest. It did not help that he had no sense of personal space, always coming in inches close to you - a new toy that he had never seen.

“By the way, my name is Luffy! What’s yours?”

You are about to instinctively answer but a particular warning from your parents hit you on the head. An iron-clad superstition rules that any good children must follow to survive Grand Line if they happened to stumble upon it.

Never tell them your real name, Y/N. That’s how they control you - words have more power in the fairy world than in the human world.

Frowning, you turned your head away from Luffy, “You don’t need to know.”

“Aw, you’re no fun! What am I supposed to call you then? Seaweed? Meat-girl? Oh! I can call you… ‘Wet Blankie’! Because, you know-”

“Alright, I got it! Call me any way you like but you’ll never find out what my name is!” You boldly asserted, keeping to yourself that you can endure the humiliation of being weirdly dubbed for now.

“Fine!” Luffy stuck his tongue out, “...wet blankie.” he added the last part with a laugh, earning him a scowl.

Hurriedly, you walked at a faster pace, hoping to leave the Pookah to his ministrations

“So, whatcha doing here? Are you going somewhere?” “No, I’m lost! I don’t know where I am, what time is it…” You trailed mournfully, “I even started to lose my way around this place.”

“Oh well, Grand Line can be a maze sometimes. Heck, even my friend, Zoro got lost here plenty of times… and he’s a native!”

A certain name from Luffy’s speech puts you into a standstill horror, “Grand Line? As in… THE Grand Line? I’m here in THAT Grand Line?”

“Dang, no need to say three times. But yeah, you’re in Grand Line! You’ll love it! There are so many fun places here - there are so many interesting things happening around here-”

A shudder of panic courses through your body, “No, no, no, no, no! I’m not supposed to be here! My parents told me to stay away from this place! That’s where the fairy folks live, I’ve heard stories of what they’ll do to humans! I have to get out of here!”

Unbeknownst to you, Luffy studied you a little more carefully than the first time he met you. As if he can sense something beyond your appearance.

“That’s… an interesting way to put it,” Luffy droned, “Somehow, you felt different than other humans who fell here.” “You mean there are other humans besides me here?” “Great!” You raised your hands exasperatedly, “I’m lost in this god-forsaken forest, I can’t find my classmates, and I’m supposed to be home right now! But I’m stuck here! This sucks!” You sobbed

“If you like to… I can give you a ride,” Luffy smiled gently, “I know my way around Grand Line, I can take you to the entrance.” You gasped indignantly at his idiocy, “Are you mad? I can’t trust fairies - that’s the third most important rule that everybody knows!” Luffy’s eyebrows raised in confusion, “Really? Then what’s the second one? I mean, you did tell me the first rule is-”

“-not to reveal my real name to a fairy, I KNOW. You KNOW,” You repeated the rule as if you were schooling a first grader, “The second rule is not to eat and drink anything that the fairies offer.”

“What?!” Luffy jumped in horror, “That’s a terrible rule! You can't do that! Everybody has to eat! Who made that? This is the first time I’ve ever heard it!”

You rolled your eyes in irritation, “Not if you’re a human. They’ll be bound to the fairy world forever if they eat anything in here, and I still want to go home.”

“Not if I can ask the bigwigs to change it!” An optimistic grin burst from Luffy’s face, “I mean, I managed to change a few rules after causing some trouble from time to time again. Which reminds me - I need to hide from my grandpa - he is so pissed off after I destroyed the palace’s garden the other day.”

“You do that while I’m searching for any entrances here,” you murmured, slipping by Luffy.

“Alright, suit yourself!” Luffy shrugged nonchalantly.

Time passed, and you still need to find an entrance. You felt as if the forest was keen on making you even more lost on your path - each shrub seemed to change, pebbles moving out of your marked gaze, not giving you the slightest hope of any exit. What makes matters worse is that you estimated that the sun will set soon. The risk of falling under the clutches of the fairy folk increases with each second you have wasted.

Just as you circled anguishedly around the rock for the fourth time, Luffy popped back again, keeping his irritating grin at your hopeless attempt. “You know, I still can help-”

“Oh, alright!” You snapped, realizing that it’s futile to rely on your own… for now, “But be warned - I have ways to kill you if you break your promise. Got it?”

“Sure thing! I can still take you on if you do! Shishishi!” Luffy innocently chuckled - you felt tempted to smack his head at his indifference.

In just one breath, Luffy transformed himself into a creature that wasn’t a horse but not a mammal either. It was more of like… a rabbit-horse. You were hesitant to approach him but Luffy casually grinned again, lowering his back before.

“Hop on! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that you won’t fall!”

“I’ll make sure of it too.” You murmured, climbing onto his back.

Luffy is proof that all legends about Pookah giving their passengers the wildest ride of their lives are true. As you let yourself settle in, Luffy sprints at a breakneck speed - so fast and rough that you must hang onto his neck for your dear life. You didn’t even try to utter a scream, only small whimpers in fear of biting your tongue.

So many thoughts ran through your head. Is it a mistake to trust Luffy? How much time had passed - hopefully you would only miss a day or two. And will you make it out of here? You can almost imagine yourself running through the exit out of Grand Line, ignoring any of Luffy’s farewells and just stomping straight to Stelly and Sarie, giving them the beating of their lifetimes at the dining hall. There was also a huge hope that you would be reunited home again with your parents, maybe you could explain why you had lost your iron earrings and being in the Grand Line in the first place-

Luffy suddenly came to an abrupt stop. Before you can recollect yourself, Luffy turned back into his default form, unaware that he let his occupant fall behind his back.

You quickly rose to your feet, nursing your sore arm, “W-Wha? Why did you stop-?”

Luffy’s eyes grimaced, “Someone’s in our path. Look.” Luffy pointed towards a figure in a near distance.

It was a male fairy - an intimidating one at that. Build impressively in a visage fit for royalty, but contains plenty of rebelliousness on the side. Freckles adorn his face like stars and black, wavy hair frames his fiery visage. Behind his back are a pair of transparent, fiery wings that almost resemble that of a hawk. By mortal standards, he is… magnificent.

Your blood ran cold. You recognize the mark on his wings from the illustrations that your mother once drew. She is an impressive artist, painting one bestiary after another with near accuracy. There was no doubt that right in front of your mortal eyes was the son of the Fairy King himself, Portgas D. Ace.

The very same one who thinks burning mortals who pissed him off can be considered normal in Grand Line.

“Wha- what is he doing here? H-H-He’s not supposed to be here-” You stammered.

“Who’s not here who?” Luffy stared at you in question.

“That fairy! Ace! I heard stories about him - he’s dangerous! We have to go!” You furiously shook your head, already searching for a hiding spot.

Upon looking at the fairy in question, Luffy’s face lightens up, “Oh, yeah! You’re right! That’s my brother! OII! ACE-!”

You felt your heart drop at this revelation. Brother. He just has to be Luffy’s brother - why not? It didn’t help that Ace’s attention was stirred by Luffy’s ruckus. Rushing to Luffy’s side, you grabbed his arm as tightly as possible.

“No!” You pleaded, shaking, “Don’t let him see me! I can’t be seen by a fae folk, especially him!”

“What? Why not? I know Ace very well, he won’t hurt-”

“Luffy, please.”

There was a slight hesitation when Luffy analyzed the fear in your voice. It was a gamble, whether or not Luffy would listen to you. Pouting always works, that’s how you got a leeway from the authorities if you happen to be in any sort of problem - like that time you accidentally broke Mayor Woodlsap’s window for a lighter punishment from him. You put your best one yet, coupled with a doe eye that made you seem helpless and innocent.

A few seconds later, Luffy solemnly nodded, “Okay, I won’t tell him that you’re here. Just hide wherever you can, alright? I’ll come and get you when he’s gone.”

You didn’t think twice and made a run for the nearest bushes and rocks that concealed your entire body. Your head peered out upon the two fairy brothers conversing after Ace made his way to Luffy.

Everything about Ace is breathtaking. His beauty is every bit as true as the stories told by swoony-eyed village women. You also have to remind yourself - thanks to your father’s stern warnings time and time again - that Ace is also well-known for his trickery. He is a fairy that would burn humans into a pile of dust or turn them into trinkets if he fancies.

The fact that Ace is unpredictably harmful.

It felt like forever when you counted until five minutes passed by, trying to make out what Ace was saying to Luffy. He seems to whisper something into Luffy’s ears, but the distance is far too wide for you to listen. So you rely on your eyes instead, observing Luffy’s face slowly form into an enthusiastic expression as Ace conversed excitedly with his brother.

You silently breathed in relief when Luffy waved goodbye to Ace, gently coaxing you out of the hiding spot, “He’s gone, don’t worry.”

“What are you talking about with Ace?” You brushed off the dirt in a hurry and climbed to Luffy’s back once more.

“Noooo….thing?” Luffy innocently answered - you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, fine. How far are we to the edge of the entrance?”

“Won't be long now. We just need to make a BIIIG dash straight there…” Luffy pointed straight at a cluster of trees.

“Alright,” you nodded, “Let’s go.”

You barely notice a sliver of Luffy’s dark grin as he runs with all his might towards the clearing. You ignored all the branches, the leaves, and the force of the wind that blinded you - all you care about is reaching the end - to home.

A bright light blinded you at the end of the path. When Luffy stops and lets you off his back carefully, you slowly adjust your eyes to the new surroundings.

But it wasn't the entrance as you might have hoped.

It was a lakeside.

A lakeside that is also full of various fairy folks - bathing and playing and hanging around one another.

It dawns on you that Ace had persuaded his brother to lead you to a trap.

“Hey, guys!” Luffy shouted, dragging you towards them, “I brought a new friend!”

A green-haired demon-like fae folk sighed exasperatedly, getting out of the water, “Luffy. How many times do we have to tell you not to bring any more weird people-”

That’s when his eyes landed on you.

Everything went quiet. Several eyes gazed upon you in interest for a few seconds.

And then it exploded into elated chatters.

Oh no.

“Luffy…” A blonde nymph-like man with swirly eyebrows eyed you as if his birthday came early, “You didn't tell me that you caught a human girl.”

His statement brought an ominous wonder to the rest of the occupants in the lake.

“Somehow, you know how to lighten our day, Luffy.” A fae with a top hat chuckled, already getting up from his position, and making his way carefully around you.

“Come little human, would you like to join us…?” A pretty maiden with long dark hair and piercing blue gaze, a Huldufolk, she recognized, put down her book, and extended her arm at her.

“Listen up, I want her first.” A large troll with red hair quipped, taking in your fearful form.

“Mind your turn, Eustass-ya,” Another fae, dark and attractive, scanned your visage, “It’s been a while since I have a human to play with. The last one didn’t last long on my table.”

An overwhelming sensation flooded your brain - the fae folks sauntered towards you closely, each with every step you took back. Luffy’s reckless decision had earned you a cold, hard target from every fae folk on your back. In a split second, you did the only thing you could think of.

You ran.

Several cries of “Come back!”, “Play with us!” rang all across the field. But you did not listen. No, not when every mere form of danger is right by your footsteps.

Hurt. Sickened. Betrayed. These are the only things that are in your mind. Oh, how foolish you are - no matter how good his intentions are, Luffy is still a fairy who plays tricks upon humans - and now you are his next victim.

Your mind is made up in determination when Luffy springs before you again, trying to explain something. By now, you have already pulled out the cross from your bag and brandished it upon Luffy who backed away.

“I shouldn’t have trusted you,” You growled dangerously, hovering the cross like a weapon.

“Wait! What’s-your-name, I can explain-!”

“Oh, you have already explained enough! Now begone!”

Luffy drew a wicked grin, “Yeah, I was planning to take you back…” Luffy circled you in a predatory manner, “...but my brother Ace had better plans.”

Luffy effortlessly dodged the cross that you had swiped at him, “GET AWAY FROM ME! I wasted enough time with you around! I’ll go home myself!”

“I like you, you’re interesting. Join my pack.” You gasped - Luffy’s arms started to stretch like rubber, coiling onto your other weaponless arm.

“I refuse!” You hissed, trying to escape from his bond.

“Then I refuse your refusal!” Luffy starts to lose his calmness, and he holds you even tighter, “Please Wet blankie! What’s-your-name! I promise you, they are not going to hurt you-!”

“Go away!” You screeched with all your might, pushing Luffy away and hoping that your cross might make a nick on him. You kept running, you could care less if Luffy begged you to stop, you can't simply look back. Perhaps you assumed that Ace summoned himself right next to Luffy, his eyes boring at your running form. He grabbed Luffy by his shoulder, in a regality fit for a king.

“Don't let her go, Luff,” Ace spoke, honeyed and full of dark intent, “All of us had waited years to have her back. We can’t lose her now.”

“No…” Luffy nodded, “I won’t. We’ll get her.”

There is nothing worse than to run from fairies and get lost again in their forest. Exhausted as you are, there is no willingness from you to yield from their relentless pursuit. You are going home, and that is final.

Then your nose picked up a salt-like scent. The ground is becoming more coarser as well. You finally realize that as you are busy fleeing for your life, you end up on a sandy beach. Not too distant from you is an ominous cave on the seawater, far too eerie to enter.

And yet, as if curiosity overrides your logic, you decided to take a closer look at it instead.

“Come here…” You jumped. There was a faint voice coming from the cave. So you know how to play this game. You firmly planted your foot into the sand, ignoring the voice that keeps persistently trying to coax you inside.

You crossed your arms and looked away.

The cave lets out a guttural growl - something comes out. You kept your fingers clenched onto the cross as a creature, a merman-like being, swims out, and reaches near you. Aside from his long hair, a striking feature of him is his strange triangle-shaped eyebrows that frame his sharp eyes.

“Must you be so stubborn, child? I know what was going on here, and I am here to help.” He drawled.

Basil Hawkins, the Marmennill, is here to lead you.

#one piece #one piece fic #one piece reader fic #yandere one piece #yandere monkey d. Luffy #yandere portgas d. ace #yandere x reader #one piece x reader #fairy folk #yandere one piece fae folk #one piece x y/n #yandere basil hawkins #yandere trafalgar law #yandere imagine #one piece writing #nordic mythology

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joffyworld · 2 days ago

Text

Kalokagathia Ágnoia

Written in 3/4 signature at 145bpm in an Irish accent to be performed as a Sea Shanty (Sean Dagher as a reference)

O' Kallamar, O' Kallamar,

Our lord and saviour Kallamar!

Please grant us clemency from harm,

Amidst these tricksy waaves!

O' Kallamar, O' Kallamar,

Our lord and saviour Kallamar!

I beg of you my gentle lord,

Please forgive us - if we straay!

We hoisted sails on our fateful trip.

Into these dark seas we slipped,

O' how our God nary permits,

Our sinful, blasphemed waays!

We sailed for a month or more;

Landed on these war-torn shores;

Set foot upon the lands of yore,

Taking refuge from the waaves!

O' Kallamar, O' Kallamar!

Our mournful patron Kallamar;

We beg of you don't lose your mind -

To the lust that fills your braain!

O' Kallamar, O' Kallamar,

It wasn't your fault sweet Kallamar;

You had no choice but to climb aboard -

Your sinful siblings waays!

We built our homes squat down and strong;

It wasn't long before our king had come,

Drew a great dark plague down on our lands -

There was no running awaay!

We felt our number dwindle down,

Heavy lies the head that wears the crown;

His hearings gone but he can sense the sound -

The rumble of our waails!

O' Kallamar, O' Kallamar,

Your brutality is felt near and far,

Your followers feather and tar -

Those who oppose your godly reeign!

O' Kallamar, O' Kallamar,

He of Majesty and Wealth Galore,

We fled your lands, you followed far -

Revenge was your only aaim!

Such wrath belies your true condition;

You've lost all of your composition!

Been made a tool of the God of Wisdom -

You'll never drown the shaame!

No matter how much decomposition,

You bestow upon these mere children,

We'll fight and die against these grieving villains -

The sheepfolk won't die in vain!

O' Kallamar, sweet Kallamar,

You've ran away, just as we are,

You shirk your duties as a God -

Bloodied fleeces cover the plaains!

You're cowardly and unorderly,

You sing a beautiful symphony;

Ballads of beauty and grace you see -

They don't reflect your faate!

Here lies those souls now long since gone -

Lost to the whims of the fickle God,

O' how they're mourned; Those sullen sods,

Their deaths we will avenge!

Rumour says there's one that's left,

One more Lamb, they'll snip it's neck -

O' how the gods aren't ready yet;

The prophecy porteends!

That one little Lamb will rise from death;

One little hero forged from their last breath,

O' he is below, the One Who Waits for them;

The end of the spider's paaaaaiins! (Ah!)

(Massive massive thanks to @bash-js and @loullipopx for their help in getting the music theory down! I suck at music lmaooo)

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl fanart #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl Kallamar #cotl bishops #cult of the lamb Kallamar #cotl kallamar #JoffyWrites #Hope you all enjoy it!#I'm pretty proud of this one #THANKS AGAIN B&B <3 #Love you all <3 #Poetry!au

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corrupte3d-mindz · 5 months ago

Note

Heyy I absolutely love your writings! I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to write something with young Cillian and older, more experienced fem reader.

Ageless Beauty

(27) Cillian Murphy x (40) F! Past Model Reader Summary: Cillian just has a really amazing girlfriend, who loves him so~ Wordcount: 5.3k Warnings: She’s like 6’2 btw

smut, sub! Cillian, sloppy kissing, jerking off, handjobs, edging, moaning, whimpering, whining, begging, lap sitting, teasing, dommy mommy?!.

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the cozy living room. Cillian lay sprawled on the couch, his long limbs comfortably stretched out as he held a book in his hands.

It was one she had recommended to him a week ago, a captivating novel that had quickly drawn him in. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his blue eyes moved swiftly across the pages, absorbed in the story. In the kitchen, the sounds of breakfast being prepared filled the air. The sizzle of bacon, the gentle clatter of pans, and the aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee created a comforting symphony that blended perfectly with the quiet morning. She moved gracefully around the kitchen, her tall, statuesque figure a testament to her past as a runaway model. Despite her glamorous history, she was down-to-earth and sweet, qualities that Cillian adored about her.

"Honey~..." Her voice was a melodic call from the kitchen, cutting through the tranquil silence.

"Hm-?" Cillian peeped his head over the back of the couch, his curiosity piqued. He saw her in the kitchen, now plating their breakfast with a practiced ease. She turned her head to look at him, her high sitting-bun bobbing with each movement, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

She gestured toward the dining table, where she had already set out the plates. "Breakfast is ready, come on over."

Cillian smiled, dog-eared the page of his book, and placed it carefully on the couch. He quickly walked around the couch, his movements fluid and eager. As he approached the table, he took a moment to appreciate the sight of her already sitting down and taking a bite of her breakfast. She looked stunning, almost ethereal, her natural beauty enhanced by the simplicity of the morning.

"God, you look so pretty," he thought to himself, marveling at how she could look like a model even in such a casual setting. Well, after all she was one some years ago. Her hair, tied up in a high ponytail, swung gently with every little motion she made, adding an element of playfulness to her elegance.

He took his seat across from her, his eyes still drinking in the sight of her. She had made an impressive spread – homemade pancakes, crispy bacon, perfectly cooked eggs, toast, and of course, the freshly brewed coffee that now filled the room with its rich aroma. The sight and smell of the breakfast made his stomach growl in anticipation. She suddenly remembered something. "Crap- the coffee..." She got up swiftly, her movements graceful despite the urgency. She poured two cups of coffee, making each to their own liking – his with just a splash of milk and a touch of sugar, hers black and strong. She walked back to the table, balancing the cups with ease.

Cillian reached out for his cup, his fingers brushing against hers as he took it from her. "Thank you, love," he said, his Irish accent giving the words a soft, musical quality.

She smiled softly, her eyes warm with affection. "Sorry for forgetting it, truly," she said, her voice filled with genuine contrition.

He took a sip of the coffee, savoring the perfect balance of flavors. "No need to apologize, it's perfect," he assured her, his eyes meeting hers with a look of gratitude. "You always make the best coffee."

She chuckled, a light, airy sound that filled the room. "I try my best," she said, taking a sip of her own coffee. She watched him as he began to eat, noting the way he seemed to relish every bite. It made her happy to see him enjoying the meal she had prepared. As they ate, they chatted about the book he was reading, about how the characters and plot had gripped him. He animatedly described a particular scene, his hands gesturing as he spoke, his blue eyes bright with enthusiasm. She listened intently, a smile playing on her lips, loving how passionate he got about things that interested him.

He paused for a moment, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "I love mornings like this," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Just you and me, a good book, and an amazing breakfast."

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. "Me too, Cill," she said softly. "It's the little things that make life special."

He nodded, squeezing her hand gently. "Absolutely," he agreed. "It's these moments that I treasure the most."

They continued to eat in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery and the occasional sip of coffee. The comfortable quiet was a testament to their deep connection, a bond that didn't always need words to be felt. After finishing their breakfast, she leaned back in her chair, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "That was delicious," she said, a satisfied smile on her face. "I think I might have outdone myself this time."

Cillian laughed, a rich, warm sound that filled the room. "You always outdo yourself," he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Every meal you make is a masterpiece."

She blushed slightly at the compliment, her cheeks tinged with a delicate pink. "You're too kind," she said, her voice soft.

Cillian lay comfortably on the couch, the soft blanket enveloping him and his girlfriend as they watched a show together. Her long arms wrapped around him, making her the big spoon—a role reversal he found endearing and comforting. He nestled closer, feeling the warmth of her body against his back. The flicker of the TV screen cast a gentle glow over the living room, but his thoughts began to drift away from the show.

"Hey... uhh, do you still have those modeling photos of you?" he asked, his voice low and casual, with a hint of curiosity.

She looked at him with a playful smile. "Yeah, Cill...? Where are we going with this?"

"I just wanted to look at them again... is that okay?" he replied, his Irish accent softening the edges of his words.

"Oh, it's okay most definitely," she said, her smile widening as she gazed into his eyes.

He smiled back, a dreamy expression on his face as he found himself lost in her beautiful brown eyes. She always had that effect on him, pulling him into a trance with just a glance.

"Cill—hello..." she called out, breaking his reverie.

He snapped back to reality, blinking a few times. "Yeah, sorry for that, kinda got lost in your eyes again..."

She blushed heavily, her cheeks turning a rosy shade. It was easy to make her blush, but with him, it was like she melted in his hands whenever he complimented her, even with the corniest lines.

"Well, scoot over so I can get up to go get the photos you wanted to look at," she said, nudging him gently.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he murmured, shifting to give her space.

She stood up gracefully, her height and poise evident as she walked away from the living room and into the hallway. She headed to the closet where she stored the photos, in a big old shoebox. Opening the door, she didn't even have to stand on her tiptoes like he did; she simply reached up and grabbed the box with ease. Closing the door, she turned and sauntered back to him, her model's walk still as seductive as ever. Cillian watched her with a mixture of admiration and longing, his eyes tracing the graceful lines of her body. She sat down on the couch, crossing her legs in a crisscross applesauce position, and he quickly moved to sit in her lap. She rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck as she opened the shoebox; Sending shivers down his spine.

Inside were polaroids and glossy photo cards, some signed by other models she admired at the time. Cillian picked up a photo, his fingers brushing lightly over the image. "Drop dead gorgeous... truly," he said, his voice tinged with awe.

He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit he had whenever he felt overwhelmed by his emotions. She noticed his unease but couldn't immediately tell why. She stroked his arm soothingly, her touch gentle and reassuring.

"You okay, love?" she asked softly, her concern evident in her tone.

"Yeah, just... it's incredible, y'know? Seeing these photos, how beautiful you are... it's a bit overwhelming," he admitted, his eyes still fixed on the picture in his hand.

She smiled, her heart swelling with affection. "Well, I’m right here, Cill. You don’t need to look at photos to see me."

"I know, but... it's like seeing a different side of you. The confident, glamorous model. It's mesmerizing," he said, finally tearing his gaze away from the photo to look at her.

She chuckled, a soft, melodious sound. "You’re sweet, you know that?"

"Only for you…" he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

They spent the next few minutes going through the photos, each one sparking a memory or a story. He listened intently as she recounted the moments behind the images, her voice a soothing background to the vivid memories. His fingers traced the edges of the photos, feeling the texture of the glossy paper, each touch grounding him in the reality of the moment. As they delved deeper into the box, Cillian came across a particularly striking photo. It was a black-and-white shot of her in a high-fashion pose, her eyes fierce and captivating. He held it up, showing it to her. "This one... this one's my favorite."

She looked at it and nodded, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "That was one of my first big shoots. I remember being so nervous."

"Didn't look it. You look like you own the world," he said, his admiration clear.

"Thanks, Cill," she said softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

He turned his head slightly, catching her lips with his. The kiss was tender and slow, a gentle reaffirmation of their love. When they finally pulled apart, they both smiled, the connection between them stronger than ever.

Cillian's head leaned back against her chest, the cool touch of the glossy photos lingering in his mind, each image a stark reminder of her breathtaking beauty. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a soft sigh, trying to calm the stir of emotions and the physical reaction her presence provoked. The photos, scattered and half-organized in the box, told a story of a time when she was the center of every room, every catwalk, every camera’s eye. The allure of her long legs, the confidence in her eyes, the elegance in every pose – it was almost too much to take in all at once. She reached out with her long, graceful arms, gathering the remaining photos, her movements fluid and almost hypnotic. Her fingers delicately traced the edges of the glossy prints, her touch gentle yet decisive, a testament to the control and poise she’d mastered over the years. As she slid the box across the couch, the subtle rustle of the photos inside was the only sound breaking the silence between them. Her presence, her scent, the warmth of her body enveloping him – it was overwhelming in the most intoxicating way.

Cillian shifted slightly, trying to adjust his position on her lap without drawing attention to the growing discomfort. He clenched his jaw, his breath hitching as he felt a flush of heat rise to his face. "Fuck... fuck..." he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible, a desperate attempt to release some of the tension.

She tilted her head, her eyes softening with concern as she looked down at him. "What’s the matter, baby?" Her voice was soothing, a gentle caress that only intensified the turmoil within him.

"Nothing—" he started, his voice faltering as he tried to brush off her question, the lie hanging heavy between them.

"Don’t lie to me because it doesn’t sound like nothing," she insisted, her tone firm yet tender, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, grounding him with her touch.

He turned his head away, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. His hand instinctively moved to cover his crotch, a futile attempt to hide the evidence of his arousal. "I didn’t think it would have this bad effect on me," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Last time it wasn’t as bad; but you get the idea..."

Her eyes widened slightly in understanding, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Ohhhhh—sorry...?" she offered, a mix of amusement and empathy in her voice.

He couldn’t help but chuckle softly, despite his discomfort. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly making it easy, love," he replied, his Irish accent thickening with the hint of a smile.

She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, her breath warm against his skin. "You’re too sweet, you know that?" she murmured, her lips brushing against his ear. "But you don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s just us."

Cillian felt a wave of relief wash over him at her words. She had a way of making everything seem less daunting, her presence a calming balm to his frayed nerves. He shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the heat between them was undeniable.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on his arm.

He shook his head, letting out a sigh. "Not much to talk about, really. Just... you’re stunning, and it’s a bit overwhelming sometimes."

She smiled softly, her fingers gently brushing a lock of his dark hair behind his ear. The intimacy of the gesture sent a shiver down his spine. Her eyes, filled with tenderness and a hint of nostalgia, met his. He could see the memories playing out behind those eyes, the life she had lived and the stories those photos told. She took a deep breath, the rise and fall of her chest a soothing rhythm against his back.

"Do you want me to help get rid of it?" she asked, her voice soft but steady.

Her question hung in the air, the implications of it settling heavily on his mind. His breathing quickened, heart pounding in his chest like a drum. It was as if a bomb had been set off inside his mind, the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had been grappling with his own dirty demons, the weight of his thoughts becoming just too much to bear. Her offer was both a lifeline and a challenge, a way to confront the painful arousal that had been gnawing at him.

"Pl-please..it hurts..like a lot," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. His beautiful blue eyes, usually so calm and composed, were now filled with a painful arousal. The vulnerability in his gaze was a stark contrast to the confident man the world knew him to be.

Her gentle chuckle broke the silence, a melodic sound that reverberated through his chest as she leaned back, pulling him with her. Cillian’s head came to rest against her collarbone, his eyes closing as he savored the comfort of their closeness. Her fingers traced idle patterns along his arm, a tender touch that sent shivers down his spine. He felt her lips, soft and warm, press against the crook of his neck. The sensation was electric, a sweet torment that made his breath hitch. She started slow, her kisses light and delicate as they traveled from his neck to his collarbone. Each touch of her lips was a promise, a silent declaration of her affection. Cillian’s body responded instinctively, a low, throaty sound escaping his lips. She loved these moments, the intimacy of their connection, and the way he surrendered so completely to her touch. His reactions were always genuine, unfiltered, and today was no different.

“A-ah… d-don’t tease me like that…” he murmured, his voice a blend of plea and desire. His Irish accent thickened by the urgency of his words. He fumbled with the strings of his sweatpants, the double knot proving to be a stubborn obstacle. His fingers, usually so deft and capable, now felt clumsy and ineffectual.

She watched him with a mix of amusement and affection, her kisses never ceasing even as he struggled. Her breath was warm against his skin, each exhale a caress that left him trembling. The sound of his frustration, tinged with longing, was a melody to her ears. She reached down, her fingers brushing against his, and gently pushed his hands away.

“Let me help you,” she whispered against his skin, her voice low and soothing. She took the strings in her hands, deftly untying the knot with practiced ease. His eyes fluttered open, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked up at her. There was gratitude in his gaze, but also something deeper, a reflection of the bond they shared.

Cillian's breath hitched as he felt her delicate fingers curl around his throbbing cock, the thin barrier of his boxers doing little to diminish the intensity of her touch. His head leaned back against her shoulder, exposing the sharp line of his jaw and the column of his throat. Each breath he took was ragged, labored, as if she were stealing the very air from his lungs with every deliberate stroke. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the warmth of her body enveloping him as he sat nestled in her lap. Her soft chuckle vibrated through his back, sending shivers down his spine. Her fingers danced over the vein running the length of his shaft, the touch maddeningly light, yet electrifying. His body reacted instinctively, a guttural moan escaping his parted lips as he grunted, the sound echoing through the quiet room. His right hand clung to her thigh, nails digging into her flesh as a means of anchoring himself to the reality of the moment. The sensation was almost too much to bear, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and pain. He bit down on his lower lip, the sharp sting grounding him momentarily. But it wasn't long before he was lost again, drowning in the sensation of her hand teasing him through his thin boxers.

"Jesus Christ, love," he muttered, his voice a gravelly whisper, thick with his Irish accent. "You're gonna be the death of me."

Her laugh was a melodic counterpoint to his rough voice, a sweet sound that only heightened his arousal. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, "Would that be such a bad way to go, Cillian?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at her teasing, his hand tightening its grip on her thigh. "No, darlin', it wouldn't be a bad way at all." His words were barely coherent, each syllable strained with the effort to maintain some semblance of control.

Cillian’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing quickened with anticipation. His usually composed demeanor was replaced by a raw vulnerability, a stark contrast to the confident, enigmatic persona he often displayed. He tilted his head back slightly, feeling the gentle yet firm pressure of her thumb as it brushed against the damp spot that was from the tip of his cock, it had been enough pre-cum to soak through the boxers fabric. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine, causing his breath to hitch momentarily. His eyes fluttered closed, the intensity of the moment overwhelming his senses.

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. The faint brush of her lips against his skin made his heart race even faster. “Come on, pretty boy, let mommy hear that pretty voice you have~” Her words were a soft murmur, a blend of teasing and command that sent a jolt of desire through him. Her voice, smooth and sweet, carried a hint of an accent, a reminder of her past, exotic and alluring.

A low, involuntary moan escaped his lips, his body responding to her touch and words in a way that he couldn’t control. He felt her smile against his ear, a satisfied hum of approval vibrating through her chest. She loved drawing these reactions from him, reveling in the power she held over him in these intimate moments. Her thumb continued its slow, deliberate movements, each stroke eliciting a new wave of pleasure that coursed through his body. Cillian’s hands clutched both of her thighs, his nail’s digging into her soft flesh, as he tried to anchor himself. His mind was a whirlwind of sensations and emotions, the line between pleasure and torment blurring with each passing second. He let out another soft moan, his voice cracking slightly. “Ah… please…” His accent thickened, the desperation clear in his voice. He wasn’t sure what he was pleading for – release, more, or perhaps a moment to catch his breath – but he knew he needed something from her, something only she could provide.

Cillian's breathing was ragged, each exhale a shaky sigh as he felt her fingers tugging at the waistband of his boxers. The anticipation was electric, his body buzzing with a mixture of nerves and desire. He tilted his head back, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he closed them, trying to steady his racing heart. His usually composed facade was stripped away, leaving him vulnerable and exposed under her gaze. She pulled his boxers down, then gently but painfully slowly, pulling down his sweatpants; the cool air hitting his throbbing cock and causing it to twitch in response. A low groan escaped his lips, the sound raw and unfiltered. He opened his eyes, the intensity of the moment reflected in his stormy blue gaze. She wrapped her hand around his cock, her touch light and teasing, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. His breath hitched, his body tensing with anticipation. His breath stuttered, a soft gasp escaping his lips as he glanced down at himself. His cock, rigid and throbbing, was a testament to his arousal, the tip glistening with pre-cum. The sight was almost embarrassing, yet intensely arousing. Her soft, amused hum reverberated through him, a sound that both comforted and tantalized.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that sent shivers down his spine. "Such a mess, my sweet boy." Her fingers wrapped around his length, her grip firm but not tight, just enough to make him keenly aware of every inch of his arousal. She wrapped her slender fingers around his length, her touch light and teasing at first. The initial contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, his hips instinctively bucking towards her hand. She began to stroke him slowly, agonizingly slowly, her movements deliberate and controlled. Each stroke was a tantalizing mix of pleasure and frustration, the pace just enough to keep him on edge but not enough to push him over it. He bit his lip, trying to stifle the whimpers that threatened to escape his throat, his body trembling with the effort.

Cillian's head fell back against her shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to steady his breathing. Each stroke was a maddening tease, a promise of more that was always just out of reach. He could feel his body responding to her touch, his hips bucking involuntarily in an attempt to increase the friction. A low, desperate moan escaped his lips, his voice thick with need. "Please... please, faster..." His accent, thick with desperation, added an extra layer of rawness to his plea.

"Shh... mommy knows what she's doing, baby," she murmured, her voice a soft, soothing purr in his ear. The words sent a shiver down his spine, his mind spinning at the mixture of affection and dominance in her tone. He could feel the corners of her lips curve into a smile against his neck, her breath warm and tantalizing.

Her thumb brushed over the sensitive tip of his cock, eliciting a sharp gasp from his lips. "Patience, pretty boy," she cooed, her tone a blend of affection and command. "You'll get what you need, but in my time." Her words were a balm and a torment, a reminder of the power she held over him in this intimate exchange. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging into the softness of her skin. The sensation of her skin beneath his touch grounded him, a tether in the storm of his arousal. Her strokes continued, each one a deliberate, calculated move to bring him closer to the edge without letting him tip over. The pleasure was intense, a slow burn that spread through his entire body, leaving him trembling with need.

"Please..." he whispered again, his voice cracking with desperation. "Please, I need you..."

He felt a mix of frustration and exhilaration, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and sensations. The need for release was a constant, throbbing ache, yet there was a thrill in surrendering to her control, in knowing that she held the power to give or withhold pleasure at her whim. His breathing grew ragged, each inhale a struggle as he fought to keep from begging outright. His hands clutched at her thighs, fingers digging into her flesh as if seeking an anchor.

"God, you're beautiful like this," she whispered, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. "So desperate, so needy... my perfect little slut." The words sent a jolt of arousal through him, his cock twitching in her hand. He let out a whimper, a sound that was part plea, part surrender. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, the precipice of release looming ever closer, yet she kept him suspended in that exquisite agony, her touch never faltering.

Her free hand trailed up his shirt and his chest, fingers dancing lightly over his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She pinched his nipple, the sudden spike of pain mingling with the pleasure, intensifying the sensations coursing through him. "Such a good boy," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm even as her actions drove him to the brink of insanity. "Just let go, Cill~ Let mommy take care of you." He was trembling now, his body a live wire of sensation. Each stroke of her hand, each whisper in his ear, was a step closer to the edge, a step further into the abyss of pleasure and surrender. He could feel his muscles tensing, the heat pooling in his core, building to a crescendo. His moans grew louder, each one a desperate plea for release. "Please... I can't... I need..."

"Not yet," she chided gently, her pace slowing even further, if that were possible. The denial was exquisite torture, his entire body screaming for the release she denied him. He could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, the intensity of the need overwhelming. "Trust me, love. Trust that I know exactly what you need."

He did trust her, implicitly. Even in the throes of this agonizing pleasure, he knew she had his best interests at heart, knew that she would take him to heights he couldn't reach on his own. Her strokes became a fraction faster, a fraction firmer, each movement a promise of the release that still eluded him. "That's it, baby," she murmured, her voice soft and sultry. “You're doing so well. Just a little longer." He could hear the affection in her tone, the pride in his submission, and it spurred him on, gave him the strength to endure. Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity as she continued her slow, torturous rhythm. His body was a live wire, every nerve ending alight with sensation. His moans were a constant stream now, a symphony of need and surrender. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, the precipice of release looming ever closer, yet still just out of reach.

"Please... I need... please, just a little faster," he begged, his voice cracking with desperation. " I can't... I need to cum... please, let me cum..." His words tumbled out in a frantic stream, each plea more urgent than the last. He was beyond pride, beyond any sense of dignity, reduced to a quivering, needy mess in her hands.

She smiled, a slow, predatory smile that he could feel more than see. "Not yet, love. Just a bit longer. I want to see you break for me."

His eyes squeezed shut, his mind a haze of need and desire. He could feel the pressure building, a relentless force that threatened to consume him. Every fiber of his being ached for release, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. "Please..." he whispered again, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I need it... I can't take it anymore... please..."

"Shh, just a bit longer," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "You're doing so well, my love. Just hold on for me." Her words were a mix of praise and command, the authority in her tone making his cock twitch in her hand. He could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled and strained under her touch. It was a beautiful sight, a testament to the power she held over him.

"God, please... I need to cum... I need it so bad," he moaned, his voice breaking with desperation. "Please, I'm begging you... let me cum.." His accent was thick, the desperation clear in his tone. He was on the brink, the edge so close he could almost taste it. His body ached for release, every muscle straining with the effort to hold back.

She smiled, her hand finally quickening its pace. "That's it, baby. Let go for me." Her words were a command, a promise, a lifeline. He could feel the tension in his body snap, the coil of desire unraveling as his orgasm crashed over him. His moans filled the living room, a symphony of pleasure and relief as he spilled into her hand.

With a final, forceful thrust in her hand; Cillian cried out, his voice a mix overstimulation and pleasure. His body convulsed, the release hitting him like a tidal wave, washing over him with a near blinding intensity. Ropes upon ropes of hot, sticky cum spilled out from his twitching cock, coating her pretty hand, his stomach, his boxers & sweatpants and I bit of the couch. The once well put together Cillian Murphy was now a panting and groaning mess, a stark contrast to his own otherwise calmness an hour before. His hands and nails had practically dug all the way through her thighs; He probably broke skin as well, he couldn’t help it the way she had a hold on him; was a death sentence but he didn’t mind dying a couple of times.

"Are you okay, Cillian?" Her voice, soft and caring, broke the peaceful silence that just blanketed them after the very intimate moment, they just had. Her fingers gently stroked his hair, a gesture of reassurance that grounded him in reality.

He tilted his head back and he looked up at her with a faint smile, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of gratitude and awe. "I think I just died and came back," he admitted in a hushed tone, his Irish accent coloring his words with a touch of poetic charm. His thumb trembled slightly as he raised it in a shaky thumbs-up gesture, a playful attempt to lighten the mood.

Author's Notes:

We love same day delivery! Also yay, I love getting requests! TYSM I LOVE YOU POOKIE!! 27 is like young right? but hey he’s 48 and looks 38; idk man

But the funniest thing is, is I dead ass had a dream that somebody was gonna ask for a request! I guess I have intuition.

BTW I CANNOT REALLY SEE HIM AS A DOM UNLESS ITS IN CERTAIN SITUATIONS..HE’S EITHER A SWITCH! OR A WHINY SUB!!

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