#pink fantasy wallpaper

[wickedh0rr0r]

[skywstuff]

Coraline

if you saved like and repost pls

or both if u really loved this post!

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content source:

ellsoriaa coraline in vertically

[trainwreckrenegade]

[fairytaleprincessart]

Swirly Butterfly Wallpapers ✨

Find more @ https://www.etsy.com/shop/FairytalePrincessArt

[soadscorpion]

[blackpink-officials-blog]

Jisoo X Cartier X GQ korea Magazine Febuary issue 2023 ✨✨

[gabruwallpapers]

Pink-hued fantasy mountainous landscape

[sugurugetofavoritemonkey]

Hii girl since you said requests are open I was thinking about reader who loves to get Ethan hard in the most random situations, maybe while they're with friends or in class.

Ps: I love your writing

A/N : Hii ! 🩷 Thank you so so so much for liking my writing and sending me this fabulous request for our boy Ethan, it means a lot to me and I had so much fun writing this 🥰 Please send me your feedback to let me know how I did, it always helps me improve and I hope you’ll like it. Don’t hesitate to send me other requests for our lovely Ethan, love you and enjoy ! ✨

Reader who loves to get Ethan hard in the most random situations.

❦ When Ethan Landry is in love, anything can make him blush and get him hard, really just a kiss or a hug is already enough for him to want you and it annoys Ethan so much to be this weak for you. You could simply be looking at him with doe eyes and a pretty smile while he rambles about his day and the poor sweet boy would avert his eyes from you as he feels his cheeks warming up. Taking his hand in yours in the corridors, to intertwine your fingers, also works very well, Ethan doesn’t mind it, he loves it even, but he’s not used to receiving such affection, just like he’s not used to you complimenting him, as you softly murmur against his lips that he’s « so pretty » while you gently caress his face.

❦ Making out with your boyfriend in front of your friends, your lips pressing kisses on his jaw and neck literally makes Ethan’s head spin as he doesn’t know how to react between completely surrendering himself to you or keeping a straight face in front of Chad and the others.

❦ But obviously, what works best is just letting your hand wander up his thigh under the table and slightly brushing the outline of his cock that’s covered by his jeans that keep getting too tight to his liking, Ethan’s breathing becoming heavy while you act so innocently in front of the others as you all eat.

❦ Sending hot texts to Ethan during classes. That could go from nudes that force him to go to the restroom to take care of his hard-on, to just teasing him. « Do you think this table is sturdy enough for you to take me, Ethan ? », your boyfriend’s eyes are entirely focused on your text as he swallows with difficulty at the fantasy of taking you right here.

❦ Whispering dirty things in his ear while Ethan is in a conversation to make him lose his mind. The poor man doesn’t even know what he was saying seconds ago, as only stutters come out of his mouth now that your lips describe the sinful things that you would like him to do to you.

❦ Making sure you wear the sexiest and prettiest panties under a cute short skirt. And whoops what a strange coincidence, you have to bend down in front of your innocent boyfriend so Ethan can, by chance, catch a glimpse of the pink lace material. Though, Ethan will make sure he’s the only one to see that gorgeous sight, by correctly putting back in its place your skirt behind you when you stand up. What also really works to get him hard is gently asking him in the early morning if he can help you dress, when really Ethan perfectly knows that you can do it yourself. « Please baby, can you help me with the zipper of my dress ? » You bewitched Ethan in such a delicious way, that you can feel the way his fingertips shake a little as he slowly closes your dress.

❦ Considering that your boyfriend trusts you fully, he gave you his phone password ages ago. Little did he know that you would take this opportunity to set his new wallpaper with a quite revealing picture of yourself. At the sight of this, Ethan is debating whether to keep staring at it or to hold his phone pressed very close to his chest so that no one can look at it. « You really are a little minx, aren’t you ? », Ethan would corner you in the corridor as soon as he saw it.

❦ As Ethan helps you study, just like every evening, you make sure to sit on his lap as he explains to you the math exercises, wiggling your butt from time to time just to hear Ethan gasp behind you, his words cut by his own little moans and whines. « Did you u-understand everything ? », Ethan would ask in a stutter. « Yeah, thank you Ethan », you answered him as you kissed the corner of his mouth with a smile.

❦ Ethan reading a book on his own on a bench outside during lunch break as you go over to him with a sweet smile just to sit on his lap, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering in his ear. « What are you reading ? » Ethan doesn’t trust his voice and decides to show you the cover instead while his free hand tightens around your waist.

❦ Asking your boyfriend to accompany you when you go shopping for new sexy lingerie. Ethan shyly waits for you outside the fitting room as he hears you calling his name, hesitantly entering the cabin with you as you ask for his opinion. You slowly twirl around in front of him as his cheeks become red and Ethan knows that he won’t be able to hide his hard-on this time. « You like it ? », you ask him with an innocent smile. « I-I, fuck yes I do », Ethan mumbles as he doesn’t find the will to avert his eyes from your gorgeous body. « But don’t you think it’s a bit overpriced though ? », you ponder. Ethan is quick to make a decision for you, « Don’t care, I’ll buy it for you. »

❦ Watching a movie together at the cinema and there’s a random erotic scene appearing on screen as you ask Ethan in the most innocent tone. « Do you think we could do it ? ». And it’s enough for Ethan to lose his complete interest for the movie, his whole attention now entirely directed to the thought of him and you in the same position as the scene in front of his eyes. Ethan shifts in his seat as he prays for the movie to be over soon enough for him to show you how well he can make this scene come true, hell even in his car if he can’t wait to get back home.

❦ Asking Ethan in the middle of the night to help you sleep in his own way, as you whine sweetly into his ear to wake him up. « Please Ethan, can’t sleep, need you so bad… » Ethan rubs the tiredness out of his face as he takes you in his strong arms that create the most soothing embrace for you. The way you whined and wiggled in his hold was enough to feel Ethan’s hard-on press lightly against your tummy. « My poor baby…Need my help ? Want me so bad that you can’t sleep ? Don’t worry angel, I’m here. »

❦ Now, there’s just a subtle difference in how Ethan would react to this kind of teasing. And it’s simply linked with before and after he lost his virginity to his girlfriend.

❦ Before he made love to you for the first time, Ethan’s reaction would look innocent but really it’s just him trying not to look like a pervert that gets indecent dreams about his girlfriend almost every night and day. He would be a blushing mess that only tries to stop your hand as he fidgets a bit in his seat and stutters while looking elsewhere. « Please, s-stop it, sweetheart…That’s just m-mean… »

❦ After you both had sex for the first time, Ethan would obviously still get madly flustered at your teasing but he also knows that he’ll be able to get back at you when he has you alone for himself, as Ethan warns you about the possibilities which are now offered to him. « You do realize, love, that you’re gonna pay for this tonight, right ? » And Ethan never forgets about his little revenge as he let it all out on you, overstimulating or edging you, it depends on his mood but he, for sure, will tease you in bed as much as you did with him earlier that day. « Did I fuck the attitude out of you, angel ? »

💗 Ethan Landry Masterlist 💗

[sapphichotmess]

IBLBM

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x plus size!f!reader (Bonnie)

Semi-inspired by “Talk” by Hozier

18+ mdni

5k+ words

Warnings: horrendous writing with very little dialogue (bc idk how to human), dubious consent (both drink alcohol but are not drunk), oral (f! receiving), unprotected piv (pls be careful), unexpected feelings?? (i was feeling fluffy at the end ig, bc it wasn’t supposed to end happily). 

The sounds of mindless chatter and loud laughing ring in Soap’s ears as he sits on the bar stool that creaks as he fidgets, placed next to the wall in the far corner of the run-down bar he frequents after deployment. Soap sips his whiskey, trying to drown out the distracting thoughts that had invaded his mind, racing through his head as fast as the bullets that had been recently fired at him. His striking blue eyes seem sunken and his cheekbones more pronounced in the dim lighting; his rugged features turned more harsh. The memories of the recent mission weigh heavily on him, seeing as his usually upright posture is wilted and slouched. Still, the laughter around him seems to provide a temporary escape.

Leaning against the peeling wallpaper, he absentmindedly runs his fingers across the sticky bartop in swirling patterns. At the same time, he brings his glass of whiskey up to his pouty lips to take another sip of the burning liquor; his blue eyes focus on something other than the bartop: the bonnie lass with her head thrown back in laughter at something one of her friends said, chubby cheeks squished as she smiles widely causing her eyes to almost disappear. The vivid joy of her laughter contrasted with the dark thoughts that haunted Soap. His mind wanders, succumbing to desires and fantasies that watching the lass offers—a brief respite from the harsh realities of war that usually storm his thoughts.

Soap takes another mindless sip of the amber liquid in the glass in his hand; the burn of the whiskey provides a physical distraction, a reminder of something tangible amidst the war and chaos of his thoughts. His blue eyes, ordinarily sharp and focused, betray a hint of vulnerability, softening as they follow the curves of the young woman's body, fixated on how her ample body seems to spill out of her seat in the most tantalizing way. The contrast between his wandering mind's harshness and his yearnings' softness is lost as he gets lost in the pretty lass, pink tongue darting out to lick his dry lips hungrily. 

Steamin’ Jesus, how he wanted to bury his hands in the pillowy softness of her hips and ass, drag her malleable body against his firm, unforgiving muscles. 

Soap tried to shake off the intrusive fantasies, lifting his gaze from the enticing scene. With its peeling wallpaper, sticky bartop, and the influx of civilians and soldiers alike, the bar offers a refuge of anonymity, a place where he could momentarily forget the weight of his responsibilities. 

Yet, the pull of desire lingers, weaving an intricate web of softness around the hardened soldier in that dimly lit corner of the run-down bar. Shooting the rest of his liquor to the back of his throat, Soap stands, wincing at the loud creak of the stool. The Scot takes a second to breathe deeply, making sure his posture is straight, his brown mohawk is neat enough, and his rakish smirk is perfect before swaggering over to the lass he had his eyes on; he knows that he will have a distraction in the form of plush thighs and whimpering sighs tonight. 

Soap's army-regulated boots make a subtle, purposeful thudding sound against the scuffed floor as he approaches, stopping just behind the object of his affection. The hum of conversation around him seems to dull in his ears as the air charges with an unspoken tension. His piercing blue eyes focused on his objective. This is not unlike having to seduce a mark when he’s undercover. 

The bonnie lass, oblivious to his presence, continues chatting animatedly with her friends. However, the sudden pause in her friend’s response is palpable as Soap's tall, broad-shouldered presence commands their attention. Their curious gazes turn toward him, and a hushed silence settles over the immediate vicinity. Every eye is turned to Soap as you turn to see what had caused the interruption, the laughter lines around your mouth and eyes fading into wrinkles between brows as you meet Soap's eyes with a curious gaze. 

Looking into yout eyes for the first time is like an atom bomb exploding—something beautiful and dangerous lighting up his irises, blocking out anything else. Soap feels as though time herself has stopped for him to have this moment, looking deeply into the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen. His rakish grin has fallen from his face, a drop-jawed, open-mouthed, and wide, starry-eyed look taking its place. 

“Lass” is the only thing he rasps out in a rough, accented voice, charming confidence washed away. 

Your friends giggle at the man’s loss of words, glancing at each other with smirks. 

One woman says, “If you keep your mouth open like that, you’ll catch flies.” 

This seems to break Soap from his haze, prompting him to snap his jaw shut with an audible clack of teeth. His cheeks burn like an inferno, red rising from under his shirt all the way up to the tops of his ears. The lass’ friends giggle more at his embarrassment. 

The bar, with its worn-out decor and the lingering scent of alcohol, resumed its normalcy. Sounds of creaking and conversation that had faded from Soap’s ears came ringing back. Soap, however, now stands on the precipice of a different kind of explosion—the unpredictable chemistry between two souls in a crowded, dimly lit bar, where a simple gaze has the power to alter the course of an ordinary evening. 

Shaking his head and sending his once-neat mohawk astray, Soap tries again, “Would ye dance with me, hen?” 

Your friends turn their attention back to you, who, by now, has lost the curious gaze and now adopts one similar to Soap’s from earlier—though you manage to keep your mouth shut. 

“I–umm…” is all you can stutter out in your confusion; what does a man like him want with a woman like you?

“I just…uhhh…I saw you from over there, hen,” Soap explains, pointing to ‘his’ corner of the bar, “and I just had to have a dance with ye. Yer body—steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie—ye could be a goddess just on looks alone. And yer laugh. It’s like faeries tinklin’ in my ears.”

Your face has heated to a nearly volcanic level because of the unexpected attention from such a specimen of a man; he wore a compression t-shirt that fit snugly around his arms and torso, bringing your attention to his hard, bulging muscles and black sweatpants that clung to his thighs like a second skin. Soap was pure sin, your mouth watering as you eyed him up and down. 

​​The vivid imagery of his words, combined with the genuine warmth in his eyes, sends an erupting flush of heat to your cheeks like a volcano boiling over. Soap's unexpected flattery, though eloquent, leaves you feeling both surprised and complimented.

Your friends exchange sly glances, perhaps recognizing the rarity of such a moment. Not only was a man asking you for a dance rare, but you reacting to a man with such awe was, too. 

Not above using his words—and his refined talk—to his advantage, Soap begins again, “Lass, ye ‘ave stolen my full attention. I’ve gotta ‘ave at least one dance with you. Please, Bonnie. I’ll get down on my knees and beg if that’s what ye want. Anything for just a taste of ye.” 

Glancing at your friends, who all give you looks telling you to go, you mutter, “Fine,” before getting out of your chair and standing before the behemoth of a man, “But I don’t even know your name.” 

Soap flushes darker at his misstep. “My name’s Johnny.”

“Well, Johnny boy, let's get dancing before you fall on your knees and beg.” 

Perking up like a dog whose just been given a bone, Soap squares his shoulders and runs a hand through his mussed mohawk, shuffling on his feet. He knows he has you in his grasp and will bring you home. He’s already got in mind all the things he wants to do to you, imagining the noises you will make as he wrings pleasure from you. 

Feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement, you allow Soap to take your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. As he leads you through the crowded bar, the familiar sounds of mindless chatter and laughter become distant echoes. The atmosphere shifts as you approach the small, rarely used dancefloor, a space that seems to exist in its own pocket of the world.

Soap's grip on your hand is firm yet gentle, guiding you with a quiet—though dominant—confidence. The flickering lights overhead cast a soft glow on the worn wooden floor, and the notes of an old, familiar song begin to play.

The dancefloor, usually abandoned in a corner of the bar, becomes the stage for an unexpected lust between you and Soap. 

Without a word, Soap places his free hand on your waist, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. The distance between you dissipates as he pulls you gently into his body, your plush softness smooshing against his stiff muscles. The warmth of Soap's hand on your waist is comforting and electrifying. Now softened by the dim lighting, his blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. For a moment, the world's worries outside the bar seem distant, and you find yourself captivated by the unexpected charm of the rugged soldier.

As Soap leads you into a slight sway to the music, keeping his body solidly on yours, the silence becomes even more grating. 

​​Soap breaks the silence with a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through your intertwined bodies, causing a slight shiver to race up your spine. "Never thought I'd find myself dancing in a place like this," he admits, lips lifting in a slight smirk, his voice carrying a hint of gruff amusement.

You manage a small smile, feeling a mix of emotions—surprise, joy, and a twinge of vulnerability. "Me neither," you reply, the music providing a gentle backdrop to the exchange.

As the two of you continue to move in harmony, Soap's gaze remains fixed on yours. "Ye know," he begins, his tone sincere, "sometimes ye find something good in the least expected places." His words linger in the air, prompting a thoughtful pause. "And sometimes," he adds, a playful glint in his eyes, "ye find yourself dancing with someone who makes even the dimmest corners feel bright."

In a fluid motion, Johnny leans down, his movements both deliberate and yet surprisingly gentle. The scent of whiskey and gun oil hangs in the air as his battle-worn hand glides from your waist to your jaw, cupping it with a rough tenderness. He can feel the heat in your cheek as he brushes his thumb across it. 

Johnny’s touch is commanding and caring, the callouses on his fingers a testament to his countless battles. There's a quiet assurance in how he holds your face as if trying to convey a depth of understanding beyond the spoken word.

Simultaneously, his other hand grips your hip firmly, sending a thrill through your body.

You and Jonny share a few breaths, looking at each other through lowered lashes. The dim lights cast shadows on your faces. Then, Johnny grabs your face tighter and pulls you up to meet his lips with yours. The first touch is light, just a graze of his chapped, cracked lips on your lips. The next is all heat and passion. 

Johnny uses his grip on your jaw to force your mouth open so he can slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugary drink you had been sipping on and the essence of your flesh. His lips tasted of strong whiskey, potent and intoxicating, something you could get drunk on. 

Johnny's movements are deliberate, each touch calculated to evoke a response. He slides his hand from your jaw to the back of your neck, large, thick, and calloused fingers fanning out over the back of your throat, possesively firm but gentle. Your gasp is swallowed into the greedy kiss. Johnny barely lets you breathe, pulling back to adjust his grip on your body before he’s diving back into your mouth. His tongue explores the contours of your mouth, leaving no inch untouched, licking behind your teeth and coaxing you into tangling your tongue with his. Slick pools in your underwear. 

Suddenly, almost as if he knows your reaction, Johnny pulls away with a slick sound, a string of saliva binding you two together until he swipes his tongue across his lips, drinking in your taste. His eyes are pools of dark blue, a raging sea of blue covered almost entirely by black. He looks crazed, like a hungry wolf; his mouth is set in a barely perceptible snarl, brows pulled down as he focuses on his meal: you.

“Bonnie, I’m gonna be honest…I gotta have you. Taste you. Worship you for the goddess you are.”

“Johnny, I’m not sure…” you trail off nervously, “I mean, my friends are here, and I didn’t drive here.” 

“I ken ye are worried, but you don’t ‘ave ta be worried. Ye're aff yer heid if you think I’d do anything to a Bonnie lass like ye” Johnny looks into your eyes before purring into your ear, “Imagine being loved by me.” 

His rough, accented voice right in your ear sends tremors throughout your body, slick soaking through your underwear as your lust grows. 

“Okay” 

With that breathy word, Johnny has his mouth on yours again, subtly grinding his erection against your midsection. You let out a breathy whine at the feeling of his length. 

Johnny takes a deep breath and steps away from you, “I would take you right here if I could. But I cannae. So, we should grab a cab to your place before I fuck you in front of everyone.” 

Drunk on lust, you can only nod your head rapidly, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the door. You only remember to wave goodbye to your friends right as you open the door and step outside into the chill of night, letting the door slam behind you. 

Letting you drag him into the cold night air, Johnny chuckles at your enthusiasm, his Scottish mutterings carrying a sense of amusement. "Ye ken that I havnae gotten a cab yet, right, Bonnie?" he remarks, the humor evident in his voice.

Your response is a content hum as you huddle into his body, seeking shelter from the biting winds. The warmth of his embrace starkly contrasts the cool night, and you find comfort in the proximity.

Amused by your eagerness, Johnny pulls his phone from his back pocket, his other hand ensuring you're nestled close to him. The desire for closeness is palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the connection forged in the bar. The faint glow of his phone illuminates his features as he orders a cab after asking for your address, the anticipation of what lies ahead adding an electric charge to the air.

As you wait for the cab, the world around you becomes a blur of dimly lit streets and the distant sounds of the city. In this pocket of time, suspended between the closing door of the bar and the arrival of the cab, the connection between you and Johnny continues to simmer, a flame that refuses to be extinguished by the cold night air.

Soon enough, Johnny is protectively ushering you into the back of a cab, climbing in right after you so as to not be too far from you. The warmth of the vehicle envelopes you both, a stark contrast to the chill you left behind outside—though it doesn’t hold the same feeling as being held in Johhny’s arms.

As the cab weaves through the late-night streets, the cityscape passes by in a blur of lights and shadows. Johnny sits close, the space between you minimal, as if he wants to ensure you feel his presence beside you. His hand holds the meat of your thick thigh, kneading the flesh there and teasingly dragging his fingers closer and closer to your core before sliding back down, a smirk placed on his lips. 

The cab comes to a smooth stop in front of your house, the engine humming softly as it idles. The quiet neighborhood surrounds you; the journey from the bar to this quiet residential street feels like a transition from one world to another. 

The glow of streetlights casts a soft illumination on the surroundings, creating a gentle ambiance. As he steps out of the vehicle, Johnny glances at your house, eyes filled with curiosity. You get out of the car and into the crisp night air is crisp next. The cab door closes behind you, the vehicle pulling away and leaving you and Johnny standing in the cool night air. The world outside is hushed, as if holding its breath, and the energy between you two remains palpable. The moment is pregnant with possibilities. 

You drag Johnny to your house by the hand, unlocking the door with only the moonlight to guide you. Leading him into your house, you take your shoes off in the entryway, waiting for him to do the same. When Johnny is done taking off his boots, you lead him to your bedroom in the dark, heart beating faster and faster the closer you get to your destination. 

Without bumping into anything, you reach your room, quickly running to turn on your bedside lamps. The few times you had a chance like this, you opted for the softer lighting of lamps over the harsh luminescence of the overhead lights. 

The ambient glow accentuates your soft, round features, casting a gentle radiance upon you. The warmth and subtlety of the lighting create an ethereal ambiance, turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. Johnny, momentarily caught in the beauty of the moment, watches you with wide, twinkling blue eyes. 

As his brain catches up to the visual feast before him, his eyes sharpening with hunger for a taste of you, Johnny rushes to you, pulling you into a searing kiss. He commandeers you with unspoken authority and leading hands, their touch firm and possessive as they steer you wherever he wants. And where he wants you is on your back, on your knees, and on top; he doesn’t mind as long as he gets to have you. 

He will have you. 

Pulling away from his bruising kiss that lingers as you move, you take one of his hands—the one he had gripping your waist—in yours, walking backward toward your bed. When the back of your knees hit the bed, you plop down on your plush ass, giggling as you bounce a bit. 

Your laughter is a melody that makes Johnny smile, his white teeth showing as his lips curl. As you settle into the bed, Johnny positions himself between your legs, his wide stance forcing them further apart. He forces your head up as you lean back on your hands, bringing your lips together once again. Johnny cants his hips into yours, thick erection tenting his pants and pressing against your core. The breathy moan you let out in response to the stimulation allows Johnny to slip his tongue into your mouth for the second time tonight, eager to taste more of you. 

Johny continues dragging his dick against your core while he releases your lips from his, sliding them down to your jaw. He begins licking and nipping at the juncture where your jaw meets your skull, pulling breathy moans from you. 

Johnny's lips trace a path from your neck to your earlobe, where he delivers a gentle nip. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and his warm breath against your ear makes your heart race.

"Keep making those noises, Bonnie," Johnny whispers, his voice a low, seductive murmur that resonates in the intimate space between you, "and ye won’t be gettin’ rid of me."

You let out a nervous giggle in response as your body rocks against his, following his easy movements. Your giggle gets cut off with a choked whine when his cock hits your clit just right. Johnny huffs hot air into your neck as he works to keep the angle just right so he can keep hitting your clit. After a minute of this, you shove Johnny back by his shoulders, sitting all the way up. 

As Johnny stumbles to keep his footing, you stabilize him by placing your hands on his hips. After he was steadied, you use your hands on his hips to your advantage by slipping them underneath his shirt to feel his scarred abdomen. 

The soft glow of the bedside lamps casts a warm hue over the room as you sit back, a smile playing on your lips. Johnny's muscles jump under your touch as you glide your hands up his torso, rucking his shirt up with them. Johnny allows you to slide his shirt off. His arms lift in cooperation, and the fabric is discarded, revealing his defined physique. The soft illumination accentuates the contours of his body, making his abs appear extra defined in the gentle light.

You glide your hands back over his stomach going down towards the low-sitting waist of his sweatpants. As you go to palm his erection through his pants, Johnny grabs your hands in one of his larger ones. 

“Not yet, Bonnie. I wanna taste you first.” 

After Johnny states this in his rumbling, accented voice, he releases your hands from his grasp and pushes you fully up onto the bed, your feet no longer dangling as your back hits the bed. Breathing heavier and your pussy pulsing with need, you watch with lidded eyes as he crawls towards you on the bed, a predator hunting his prey. He looks like a god as the lamplight illuminates the sharp features of his determined face, mouth shit in a tight line, and eyes focused solely on you. 

Johnny stops just before you, hands wandering up your covered legs. 

“Can I take these off, Bonnie?” he asks, fingers pulling at the waistband of your pants and underwear. When all you do is whimper in response, he tuts and shakes his head. 

“I asked you a question, lass. You best answer it.” 

You manage to breathe out a “Yes, please, Johnny” in response. 

Johnny nods his head in approval of your verbal queue, hastily fumbling with the button of your pants before tearing them—and your sopping panties—down your legs. He watches as your thighs spill from the fabric covering your lower half, the flesh jiggling slightly from the force used to rip the pants and underwear away from you. He is practically drooling and growling, desperate to get a taste of you, to get to see all of your soft body on display for him. 

Deciding he wanted you naked before he ate you out like a wolf starved, he crawls a bit farther up the bed to tug your top from your body with warm hands on flesh, matching your steps from earlier. When he’s got your top,  pants, and panties off, he leans back to leer at your uncovered body, laying so pliant in just your lacy underwear. 

All for him. 

Matching his thoughts, Johnny cups your breasts through your bra and thumbs your peaked nipples, purring, “Is this all for me, Bonnie?”

You nod your head with a shuddered breath before remembering his command. 

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” 

Johnny continues his assault on your nipples, tugging and tweaking them to total hardness through your bra while kneading the fat of your breasts in his large, warm hands. He doesn’t forget his objective, though—he never fails the task he is given; he stops the assault on your top half to slide under you, forcing your back to arch prettily, thrusting your covered breasts towards him. Johnny uses the space to unhook your bra with one hand, helping you remove it from your arms before diving head-first into your chest, nuzzling his nose into the crevice between your tits, and inhaling through his nose noisily. 

“Steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie, you smell so good.” 

His words cause your body to heat up, squirming in his hold. He opens his mouth and laps at your skin like a dog, groaning throatily at the salty taste of your skin. 

“Johnny!” you squeak. 

Johnny pulls back with a smirk, mockingly saying, “Bonnie!” in a high-pitched voice. Then, looking straight into your eyes with his stormy blues, he orders, “Be a good girl and open yer legs for me.”

You’re useless against his accented voice, following his order without thought. Your thick thighs part, making a slight sticking noise from the wetness left from your weeping cunt. The glistening sight and moist sound of your wet heat causes Johnny to groan deep in his chest, his dick throbbing in his sweatpants. If he wasn’t careful, he would end up fucking you sooner than he wanted. So, instead of waiting any more, Johnny scoots down the bed, his feet hanging off the side, and lays down flat. His broad shoulders force your legs wider until he has your chub squished in his hand, dented with the force he’s exerting, dragging your legs over his shoulders, hovering by his ears. 

“Don’t be shy, Bonnie. I like it rough,” he says with a wink before diving into his meal. 

The first hot, slick swipe of his tongue over you has you keening, hips bucking into the feeling. However, you can’t move far because Johnny’s got his hands fastened across your hips like a seatbelt, holding you to his starving mouth. He continues licking from the bottom of your pussy all the way to your clit, flicking his tongue once he gets there. His scruff burns against your thighs, but it only makes you hotter. Your head is pushed back into your bed, neck bared, back arched sensually, and one of your hands grips Johnny’s brown mohawk with trembling fingers, the other gripping your sheets tightly. 

Your breathy noises and tangy taste drive Johnny crazy, right along with the way you feel: soft, pliable, squishy in his hands, so malleable and willing. You submit to his every word, every touch, every breath, and he can’t get enough. Gripping you harder at the hips—probably leaving bruises, though he’s a little satisfied by the thought of staking his claim—he drags you impossibly closer, burying himself in the smell and taste of you, muffling his groans in your skin. 

Moving on from lapping at the whole of you, Johnny instead focuses on your dripping entrance. He drags his tongue over it several times before dipping into you, hips bucking into the bed at being able to taste you from the source. Johnny continues dipping the tip of his tongue into you until you’re whining loudly, pleading for more. 

He sticks his whole tongue into your pussy, swirling it around and scooping more slick into his mouth as his eyes roll to the back of his head; Johnny could die here, and he wouldn’t be mad. Shaking his head back and forth, he rubs his nose on your clit, making you cry out. 

“Fuck, Johnny, please!” 

Following your pleading cries, Johnny eases his tongue out of you, instead latching his mouth onto your clit and sucking hard. Your eyes close in ecstasy, completely missing the sly smile that graces Johnny’s lips as he—reluctantly—removes one of his giant hands from your waist.

Suddenly, your eyes are flying open, and you’re nearly screaming as you’re filled with two thick fingers. 

“Mmmm, Bonnie, yer squeezing me so tight, and yer so wet. I can’t wait to break you on my cock.” he mumbles against your skin. 

With the thought of you stretching around his cock, Johnny ups the ante, pumping while crooking his fingers to hit the spongey spot at the front of your tight passage just right and sucking on your clit like it was his favorite candy. He has you screaming in minutes. 

Johnny’s fingers slow down to a gentle coaxing, and the suction of his mouth becomes gentle licks, helping you ride your orgasm down. He has wrung every drop of pleasure from you, leaving you relaxed and breathing heavily on the bed, thighs twitching with his gentle caresses. But he isn’t done with you yet. 

Popping his wet fingers into his mouth and sitting up, Johnny moans at the taste of you. 

Slapping your red, beard-chaffed thighs lightly with wet fingers, watching them jiggle, Johnny says, “Damn, lass, you taste so good. I could lay between your legs until I die.” 

Not waiting for a response, Johnny slides out of his sweatpants and releases his erection. Your eyes widen, and a dull throbbing begins at the bottom of your stomach as you watch him slap against his taught stomach. He is huge—huger than you’re used to—not the longest, but certainly the widest; Johnny’d had to have the fattest cock you’ve ever seen, brownish in color with an angry red, drooling tip. 

Noticing your look, Johnny says, “I ken, Bonnie, I ken. I’m a lot ta take, but we’ll make it fit.” 

At this, Johnny shuffles back between your thighs, lifting your legs so they fit over his hips. Taking a hold of his dick, Johnny pumps himself a few times, smearing his pre-come around his cock. Then, he slides it through your wetness, teasingly bumping your clit as he does, just to see your pretty lashes flutter as your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

And then he’s telling you to “Kepp those pretty eyes on me, lass,” using one hand to stroke your overheated cheek.

Your eyes snap open at his gentle command; the air of confidence and authority lacing his gravelly voice catches your attention through your haze. You would do anything he said—jump off a bridge, go running into a house fire, or set your home ablaze—if he used that tone. 

Now that he has your attention, he can finally get to splitting you open. Looking down at where you two meet, Johnny places his dick at your weepy entrance with barely-there pressure, causing him to groan slightly. He shakes his head to clear it before looking back at your eyes. 

“Can I, Bonnie? I promise I’ll be gentle.” 

A weak “mhm” is all you get out before the pressure builds, and he’s slipping his thick cock inside your tight pussy. Your eyes slam shut at the burning sensation, hands latching onto his muscular thighs and leaving crescent moon-shaped indents. One of his hands comes up to tap your cheek, reminding you to keep your eyes open. Then he’s bottoming out, curving just so that his head hits a spot you didn’t think existed. 

Johny sits, fully embedded into your fluttering cunt, breathing through his nose so as to not cum already. He leans down, pelvis hitting your clit, and catches you in a searing kiss, waiting for you to get used to the feeling of him stretching your gummy walls. When you start bucking your hips against him slightly, he pulls back from the kiss while pulling his hips back slightly before he’s sharply thrusting back into your wet heat. Your sharp exhale spurs him on, eyes lighting up in victory and a smirk curling at his lips. 

You can barely hold on as he rapidly picks up a punishing pace. Johnny angles his hips just right to consistently slam into the spot that makes you see stars, his hips slamming into yours with loud slapping sounds. Your whole body jiggles with his movements, entrancing Johny with the subtle movements. He knows he won’t last long, being as pent up as he is. But you’re close, too; he can tell with how tight you’re squeezing him. 

“I can feel how hard yer squeezing me, Bonnie,” he rasps, “I ken yer close…cum for me.” 

Johnny’s words, along with his authoritative tone and the hand he snuck between your sweating bodies to rub at your clit have your back arching and eyes snapping shut. A primal scream of his name leaves your throat while you’re cumming so hard that all you can see is white, and you lose your hearing. 

You’re squeezing Johnny so tight he’s almost pushed out of your wet heat, walls spasming so hard and so frequently. Your almost unintelligible moans of his name are what send him over the edge, folding him in half so he’s growling his release in your ear. His eyes are shut tight, blue eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his hips twitch sloppily as he rides out his orgasm, painting your innermost walls white.  

The world returns to focus as your hearing returns, and you flutter your eyes open blearily. The room, once a blur of shadows and soft glow, slowly sharpens into view. The sounds of heavy breathing and the rhythmic beat of your heart fill the air. 

Johnny, now pulling out and watching hiss cum dribble out of your fluttering cunt, is a silhouette against the ambient light, his features softened in the aftermath. A gentle calm settles over the space as the echoes of passion subside. The soft illumination bears witness to the aftermath of an unexpected encounter that unfolded in the shadows and soft glow of the night.

The night's warmth, both in the embrace of Johnny and the aftermath of shared intimacy, provides a comforting cocoon. As you lie cuddled up with him, the realization of how utterly fucked you are dawns upon you — you've grown attached in just one night. Unbeknownst to you, Johnny’s having the same thoughts as he cradles your soft body closer. 

As the night deepens, you and Johnny find yourselves entangled in each other's arms, sharing the same thoughts of attachment and connection. The soft glow of the room envelops you, casting a gentle light on the intertwined figures lost in the quietude of slumber.

The echoes of the night linger in each of your dreams. As you fall asleep in the embrace of shared warmth, visions of a life together dance through your subconscious. The dreams weave a tapestry of shared moments and whispered promises.

The room, once a witness to the intensity of passion, now cradles you both in the tranquility of sleep, the words once muttered by the Scot, “Imagine being loved by me,” ringing in your ears.

taglist: @tinygarbage @pamasaur @cool-iguana

[yuesgirlfriend]

awaken, my love!

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

warnings: AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, third person POV, oral sex, PIV sex, praise kink, shy!simon, first time (ambiguous)

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This is the end of us, Sleeping with the moon and the stars I know where you've been, oh You can see us far then near

Let me into your heart!

-Me and Your Mama/ Childish Gambino

“Well, this is the place,” she says, setting her keys and bag down on the counter. Simon is as noiseless as always, following behind her silent but for the soft shut of the door and click of the lock. 

Outside, the hum of traffic and sounds of the city are easy to hear through the thin walls. She glances nervously at him, barely able to meet his eyes as he takes her space in. He seems too big in her tiny flat, like by just walking in he made the walls shrink around him. God, was it always such a mess? The peeling wallpaper and dingy couch and perpetually leaky sink didn’t seem too bad that morning. Something familiar twists in her stomach, heats her face. 

She can’t even remember the last time she had company over. What are you even meant to bloody do?  

She settles for grabbing his wrist and leading him bodily to the couch.  “Ah, uh, please- take a seat.” He only looks a bit ridiculous, a huge tank of a man squished on an blue loveseat with frayed seams she found at Goodwill. What does he think of this little home she carved out of a mold ridden pocket of the city? Why does she care so much? 

The awkward hunch of his shoulders and untidiness of his blonde hair brings her back to herself. Laughing a bit, she sits down next to him. She can feel the heat of his body from where their thighs brush and shoulders press together. Something like anticipation coils in her stomach. 

Suddenly, she’s feeling brave. She takes one of his (intimidatingly large) hands in hers. Turns it over, traces the lines of his fingertips and the soft material of his fingerless gloves. 

She presses a kiss to the center of his palm. His eyes seem unfocused and- it’s not her imagination- trained on her lips. 

His hand is warm and surprisingly gentle when it cups her cheek. And his lips against hers even more so. Soft, slightly chapped, their mouths slide together, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, and all she can giddily think is we’re kissing, he’s kissing me, over and over like an idiot. 

She pulls away for half a second to catch a breath, stupidly sighing his name, and he crushes his mouth against hers with an unexpected vengeance. 

Their mouths work together, euphoria threatens to burst from her chest; But something keeps knocking at back of her head. A half dreamed, half baked fantasy. Simon breaks away from her lips and moves to kissing along her jaw and neck and- god, that feels nice- but she wants-

Out of nowhere, she jumps to her feet, startling him. Outside, cars honk and someone shouts. A train’s breaks squeal and rattle in its tracks. 

“I- are you alright?” 

Simon’s sitting on the couch, face flushed and scarred lips kiss bitten. His ears are pink. And between his slightly spread legs, something waiting for her. His hands clench into fists, like he can feel her eyes on him. 

“I’m doing lovely.” She sinks to her shaky knees between his. The nerves from earlier are coalescing into something white hot in her chest, between her hips. “Thanks for asking.” 

She runs a greedy hand along the inside of his thighs, feeling the heft and weight of the muscle there. Thick, strong- she wonders absently what the hell he does for a living to look like this. She wonders less absently what else must be thick and strong. 

He’s clearly feeling something- when she risks a glance up, his eyes are nearly all pupil, his mouth slightly parted, his chest barely moving. When she gives up any subtlety and nuzzles her face into the heavy, cargo pants-covered bulge, his breath hitches, but he makes no move to touch her.  He doesn’t grab her and force her down, or tug hard on her hair. The polite man takes whatever she will give him. 

His eyes close completely and his hips buck just a bit when she runs a hand over his clothed groin, gives him a gentle squeeze. “How’s this, love?” She asks, unable to stop herself from laying a kiss on him. “Feels nice?”

His answering  yes is so low she can barely hear it. Nonetheless she unbuttons, unbuckles, unzips her way to- at last, victory. 

Surprisingly thick and as flushed as his face, his cock rests in her hands quite nicely. She gives him a few gentle tugs, eyes trained on how he tips his head back, how his chest somehow heaves silently. What would she have to do to make him give up his control? How far would she have to go? 

She settles on swallowing him down as far as he can go in one full swing. It’s alot to take, but she’s no quitter. He’s thick and heavy on her tongue-and his answering gasp is music to her ears. 

Breathing through her nose, she lets drool gather along him, running her hands along his twitching thighs. One of his shaky hands grabs hers- the other holds on for dear life to her squished (also Goodwill) couch pillow. She smirks around his cock, humming, pleased. His hips jerk at the sensation.  

She releases him, just for a second, wrapping a hand around him to keep him company. His hips are making desperate little bucking motions into her hand, clearly against his will. His eyes are unfocused and trained on his cock in her fist, but when her other hand squeezes his, he meets her gaze- dark eyes hold hers for only a few seconds before it clearly becomes too much. 

He shakes his head, tipping his head back, hips jerking when she begins to move her hand. He seems a bit less restrained, but not quite there yet. She swallows him down again, sighing through her nose,  like this is just what she needed after a long day, to hear his helpless muffled sounds. 

 Suddenly a big hand is on her head, against her cheek, not helpless after all. Mouth still hugging his cock, she looks up through slightly teary eyes- his face is that of a man holding on by a thread, panting and flushed. 

But there’s a gleam in his wine-dark eyes that wasn’t there before. So she generously lets him sink down to the earth beside her and crush his mouth to hers. And lay her on the carpet. And fold his body over her, covering her like her own night sky. 

And she lets him kiss his way down her clothed chest and belly, hiking her blouse up to her chin and unceremoniously tugging down the waist of her skirt, like fully undressing her would take too much time. 

He won’t reach under her skirt though or pull it down all the way- he just laves kisses against her tits like they’re not in a faded beige bra. Wanted to do this for ages, she barely hear him as he mumbles into the flesh of her hip. She wants more, though, she wants it all- his white hot tongue on her nipples, his hands on her waist and neck, his-

“Simon. Simon, c’mon.” Her hips squirm against his thigh. For Christ’s sake, his cock is still out, flushed at the head and twitching with every unconscious rut of his hips. 

“Fuck. Like it when you say it.” His lips meet hers again, and its good, so good, but she needs-

“Simon, come on, put it in. Inside.” She pants against his lips, feeling out of her mind, unable to formulate a real sentence. “Come on.” Her hand moves with a mind of its own down to where he’s hard and wants her. 

“In- in a minute, yeah?” He’s breathless and moving down, hiking her hips up to his face and- oh. 

He doesn’t work her up to it or tease her at all; he just dives in with his mouth already open. She’s wet down to her thighs already, but at the feeling of his tongue where she’s sensitive and wanting has her burying a scream behind her palm. 

His tongue runs circles over her clit and slowly a finger eases inside her where she’s slick and already clenching with the waves of an approaching orgasm. She clings to the carpet, but its not enough. Her hand travels to his hair and clenches hard- and he moans where his mouth is wrapped around her clit. Groaning louder than he did when she had her mouth on him. She tugs again, and he moans again. 

The corners of her mouth twitch up. “D’you- ah, ah- like that?”

No response from him other than dark eyes meeting hers even as he doubles his ministrations on her cunt. “Oh- god-” She moans at the feeling of his eyes on hers and drops her head back, feeling the waves rise again, higher and higher, until her orgasm snaps through her body. 

She isn’t even finished twitching before he’s climbing over her again, rutting into her hip, and shoving his tongue into her mouth- she takes it all with the gummy high that comes on after coming. 

“Fuck, can I? Please, love?” He pants into her mouth, thread of control long broken.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mere,” she says, kissing him and pulling hum closer. Wrapping her legs around his waist. Feeling the length of him prod at and then slip inside her, one unrestrained thrust at a time. 

“Fucking hell-” he moans desperately. He’s so heavy inside her she could weep. 

Sighing into his hair, she tightens her hold on him as he presses his hips to hers and grinds. “-Ah- sweet thing-”

She floats somewhere warm and comfortable as Simon pushes out helpless ah ah ah’s out of her mouth, and as his groans get heavier and his thrusts get faster, sloppier. Unable to move from under his weight, forced to recieve his biting kisses and panting praise of feels good, feels so good, so tight around my cock- 

“That’s it, Simon,” she says, dizzy with the force of his praise and his frantic thrusts, when he mumbles m’gonna come, love, please- “come in me, oh- take what you need, baby, give it to me-”

A flush of white hot heat deep in her as he groans against her lips, some desperate grinding as deep as he can go, and he’s done. Trembling on his elbows, shoulders shaking when she gently runs her nails between his shoulder blades and rubs a palm across the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. 

He’s still for a good while. She can’t really fully breathe with his whole weight pressed on her, but she doesn’t mind- it’s comforting. Like a weighted blanket, or maybe a very large cat. Eventually, though, the situation between her legs gets too uncomfortable to ignore. 

“Simon. Hey. I can’t breathe.” She pats his shoulder. The kids upstairs stomp and shout, a car honks outside. 

He doesn’t respond beyond his shoulders shifting as he breathes deeply. She nips at his ear, tugs at a lock of his hair. 

“Hmph?” he lifts his head up, shifts a bit, bleary eyes meeting hers.

“Hi. Did’ya fall asleep?” Her chapped lips stretch around her grin. He just looks so soft. 

He shifts onto his elbows, taking some weight off her. “No, I- I think I just- blacked out.” 

She laughs and watches his face face change from punch-drunk to something like exasperation, but fonder. 

“There y’are again. Always laughing.” His voice is tinged with humor but still quiet, as always. He buries his face in her neck. Hiding from her, she thinks. “What’s so funny, hm?” 

Don’t go back to hiding, she thinks but doesn’t say.  Instead, she giggles- “If you don’t want me to laugh, don’t be so sweet.” 

He scoffs, avoids her eyes, but his ears are tinted pink again. “Yeah, sweet like sour milk.” 

She runs a hand through his short, mussed hair, and hums. “Hm. No.” 

He pushes up to his knees, rubbing her bare thigh. She scrunches her nose at the feeling of him finally leaving her body. 

“Will you stay for dinner?” The words leave her mouth before she can reign them in. Before she has time to worry about his response, he slips an arm around her back, tilting her up. 

“C’mon.” His eyes are gentle, something behind them she can’t name. “Lets get cleaned up for dinner.”

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 1: a deal, a deal, a deal!!

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: she said the words - "i wish . . . i wish the goblin king would save me." what is said has been said. nothing can take back a wish except for even more powerful magic - a fae deal. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, pg-13 themes with no explicit smut, world building!!, strong language, suggestive language, faerie lore!!, tension, enemies to lovers, unequal power dynamics, manipulation, faerie glamour, implied kidnapping, blonde, long hair hyunjin being a beautiful faerie king. word count: 4.7k -> next chapter series masterlist

Y/N was floating through life with no goal in sight. Except to wander home to her small childhood bedroom after college courses and her job at the local supermarket to read her books. Vanilla-scented and yellow-tinted pages felt like heaven under her fingertips as she fell into her books’ world day after day.

Pages of books kept her company for many years – as the world spun past. Fantasy worlds that were pretty and dangerous and wild and dreamy. Worlds where the heroine wins and the damsel finds her true love. Admittedly, she wished for it. Wished for something far away – someone to twirl her into their arms and keep her safe and sound. Fantastical but safe. A place to be herself while someone loved her. Instead of facing the world, invisible as she greets the next customer and walks the halls of a university as another face of the hundred-person class and returns home as the adult daughter locked up in her bedroom.

Never did she imagine it’d happen – late at night, on a rain-soaked Sunday. Her family was away from home, and Y/N left alone in the darkness of her childhood home. It hadn’t bothered her. Not as long as she had her books.

There was a clatter of rain against the doors of her balcony. Her eyes flashed away from her book to look over at them. A rickety branch scratched at a door like an old witch’s finger prodding at the glass, casting an eerie shadow onto her carpeted floor. It was frightening in the orange-yellow light of the slowly-dying incandescent fluorescent lights of her childhood room. The ancient lights aching to be replaced painted the room in a sunset nostalgia most days, but, tonight, it was painted her bedroom in a grimy film of age. Everything felt eerie and old and off.

The wallpaper, a fading pink and white with soft bears painted by the baseboards, rotted into a yellow tinged thing. Her bed was a hand-me-down full bed of fluffy duvets and old laced comforters with her bed posts holding a long sagging canopy of white tulle she insisted upon a tween.  She had always favored the fantastical and soft and, despite aging, she had to admit she forgot how long ago it had been when she had chosen the sets of softened bedding and moth-eaten tulle.

Her knick-knacks were of the same theme, gentle and girly of old childhood memories she couldn’t bear to toss aside even in her young adult age. Beloved stuffed animals (some that were soft to the touch while others had hardened scratchy fur from sitting collecting dust on long forgotten shelves), sparkling shimmering water globes (of places she had never been), paint-chipped jewelry boxes on a creaking overfull vanity (the wooden boxes were full of costume bracelets, rings, and necklaces of theatre days long passed), crafts and hobbies piled in a plastic bin in the corner (from bracelet making tools to dried-out paints and moth-eaten yarn balls), and old piles of high school notebooks peaking out from underneath her bed skirt (something she kept in the phantom fear that she may need them for college courses.) College courses that she felt empty when attending. Everything felt fleeting yet not. It felt stupid and overwhelming and – she wished things could be easier.

Easier like diving into her books. With her favorite book in her grasp, the yellow old book crinkling in her hands, she sighed as she whispered to it.

“If I could be any place but here…” she hummed. “I don’t want to work tomorrow – especially with the rain.” A deep sigh escaped her. “I wish…”

There was a pause in her words as she settled back into comfortable pillows. The rustling of her sheets disguising a murmured ‘she’s going to say the words’ from under her bed, from her closet.

“I wish the Goblin King would save me – steal me away to be his and only his.”

It wasn’t said in agony to a lucky penny or in plea besides a wishing well. She had simply laughed a little laugh as she curled up in her bed, hugging the book closer to her face as she read on. It was almost her favorite part – the royal ball!

Now, wishes don’t care for rhyme or even sincerity. (Both were lacking from her plea.) However, it was the perfect time for a wish to be granted - the words have been spoken at the stroke of midnight on the highest of full moons on the first day of spring.

There is a shatter somewhere; the branches of the tree outside her window scraaattcching the glass with a shriek. The wind made the house tremble and rumble as energy flooded the air, tangible enough it made her eyes look up, before with a snap - the lights switch off.

A crash of lightning and a roar of thunder clashed louder than ever. There was no settling silence of electronics and fridges and fans. No, the world growled as the storm grew. Until in a whirl of sparkling shimmer star dust and a burst of cold storm air, the balcony doors flung open to reveal a man. No, not an ordinary man. He was far too ethereal to be a normal man. (The idea of it being a robber didn’t even flicker through her mind. Though, the possibility of this being a dream did.)

The soft chimes of bell rang in her ears as he took a step into the room. He was near glowing like an angel, haloed by some shimmering light. Blonde hair that tickled the back of his neck in long strands fluttered in the storm wind. Dark thick brows pursed, partially hidden by strands of his golden hair that framed his angular face, and striking blue eyes lazily stared at her from within the dark shadows of his brow. Poutful raspberry-kissed lips that smirked at her. Gilded chains hung around his lean neck, displaying his collarbones with a sharpness. Elaborate piercings decorated both of his curved elf-like ears; all gold chained, red jeweled, and shimmering from the distant amber streetlight.

He wore fine tailored dark clothes as if he were part of the night storm himself; leathered pants that gleamed in the light, a lacy sort of shirt that curved tightly over rounded muscles and sinewy tendons and shadowed by a heavy cloak made of oil-slick dark feathers. Darker than night and covered in that sparkly dust that had brought him into her bedroom. His hands were adorned in many rings and one hand that had twists of dark silver that formed a sort of claw, covering his knuckles and fingertips like a gauntlet. He had tawny-tan skin that glowed from the nearby streetlights, with an unnatural. . . gloss of sparkle. As if his skin was made of crushed starlight.

Beautiful. . . tempting. . . frighteningly ethereal.

He stole her breath away and he knew it as he stared at her. The look in his eyes… it was like nothing  she’d ever seen in someone’s gaze towards her before. Dark and broody and yet something sharply cutting in his eyes. It wasn’t adoration. It wasn’t jealous or anger or frustration. Magnetic. Possession, yearning, power. He was powerful. He demanded attention, no – he demanded her attention. His head tilted as he looked on at her. Her gaze trickled down the fine tendons of his neck to realize he hadn’t taken a breath since entering – his chest did not rise or fall as he stared on at her with dark storm eyes. Her legs curled closer to her chest as the old book tumbled from her grasp, falling to the floor. Forgotten.

He didn’t move and, for a moment, she didn’t either. Her heart rushed in her head like the ocean; the rhythm a calling drum to his ears. She took a shuddering breath as she spoke.

“You’re him . . . aren’t you?” Y/N breathed. Realizing, he felt familiar. Not in the sense that she had seen him before– she’d remember someone so handsome. But rather it was like déjà vu. A familiarity with someone you’ve never seen before. But she had read of him over and over and over. He wasn’t what she pictured but maybe it was because she couldn’t imagine someone so hauntingly striking. She scrambled from her bed, almost tripping over the plentiful blankets and comforters.

“You’re the Goblin King.” she clarified.

That was the only explanation. He wore no crown, but she realized he didn’t need it. The power that radiated from him felt tangible like static before a lightning strike. She had read about him in her storybooks for years – folklore of faerie and the Underground something that had always intrigued her but. . . she had never thought it real. Not in reality. It was just a fantasy. A dream that she had wished upon many times before.

He didn’t smile at her, but his petaled lips twitched. His lips were so beautiful and soft looking (she wanted to kiss them, dedicate herself to making the soft flesh swollen and red from nips and kisses. She needed to. She had to.) The thought made her eyes widen in surprise at herself. Swallowing, she blinked glancing away from him.

He smiled then, the curve of his lips forming a sneer of sorts as he watched her with his engulfing eyes.

“Why are you here?” she queried out, hand reaching for the bedpost of her bed for support as she raised her gaze again.

Red-cheeked, she tried to maintain his hypnotic gaze. Was this a dream? She saw a man appear out of nowhere, so, maybe it was. She had been reading more romance books recently. . .

“Think closely, Y/N,” the fae finally spoke, voice low.

It felt like it shook her bones despite its strange gentility compared to the storm that still roared behind him.

Think closely. . .

She had been reading his book but… she had…

“I wished for you,” Y/N queried.

It wasn’t quite a question but it felt… not enough. How could a simple wish of him come true? If that was the case, wouldn’t fae be stealing women and men left and right? She had said those words before over the years (especially as a child)… so why now??

“I’ve come for you; to save you, dear thing,” he agreed.

“It was – I’m sor- I didn’t think you were real,” Y/N babbled, brows pursed almost painfully so.

“I am, just for you,” he replied as his hand rose to flick with grandiose. The balcony doors tumbled shut with a slam.

Silence. Darkness.. Just him and her…

“I don’t mean to be rude but—I can’t really, uh, go with you?” she said, still wrapped around her bed post.

His brows crinkled into a furrow beautifully like a Greek statue. Brows of agony and despair, beautiful despite its emotion. But just like a marble statue, his darkened blue eyes were inhuman. Like obsidian glass or a creature’s eyes, reflective and eerie. Angered. Betrayed even. Before they rose to meet yours once more. And like a façade, his eyes gleamed with light, sparkling and enchanting sea blue rather than the crashing waves before.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” he tempted instead, stepping closer into the room. Closer to her.  

His smile was one of sweet temptation, almost candy-sweet with his soft lips and pearly teeth, as he prowled closer. A part of her wished that if fae stories were true that other tall tales – such as the vampiric tale of the supernatural being unable to enter one’s home without permission – were true too. A chill climbed up her back as he inched closer to her.

(Little did Y/N know that she had given him permission. Not, just now with her conversation, her wish, but when she read her little Labyrinth book ‘til it was worn soft and yellowed from the oils of her fingertips. Devotion and curiosity were all the fae needed to make a link.)

He lifted something up between them – something that he hadn’t had in his hands before. An orb of some sort. Crystalline and faintly glowing in the moonlight that poured into the room. The metallic-claws that decorated his fingers in rows of rings didn’t graze the thing nor did they reflect in the perfectly clear orb. The man’s hand wasn’t visible through it either– like he was a ghost or a vampire in a mirror. A perfect bubble of gleaming light, crystalline and shining with chromatic aberrations. Her ears rung as she looked at it.

“What is that?” she queried carefully, stepping away from the safety of the bedpost to get a closer look.

“It’s a crystal – nothing more,” his voice was low as thunder, rumbling and grumbling like a tiger’s purr as she watched him.

With grace, the orb danced upon his hand, rolling this way and that with the fae never dropping the thing. It didn’t even look difficult for him. Y/N kept her gaze on the crystal for a moment, getting dizzy as he continued to shift it over his hand like it was a boat fighting the tides.

“But –” he tossed the crystal up.

Y/N followed the orb’s trajectory only to be spooked when there was a presence behind her rather than in front of her. The King – through some sort of magic – was beside her, a hand outstretched to catch the orb right beside her face. Y/N startled jumping away a bit, into his chest. She felt caged in by him. His proximity was frightening tempting.

When she breathed in, his smell engulfed her; there was something ancient in his scent. Not like old perfume but something like earthly old. He smelled of fire-smoke, damp moss after a rainshower, something deeper like rosemary or thyme, and something sweet like. . . honey? She wanted to lean back into it, rub her face into his neck like a cat would preen against their owner. She wanted to decipher each scent, find its earthly copy and make a cologne just so she’d never leave its whirlwind of comfort.

Instead, she froze against his cold form.

She knew the Goblin King in her books was tricky - fae often were. There were a handful of types – from those who stole away women from their husbands, to those who caused mischief, and to those who would serve but at a price. It was easy enough to read, not easy to live. She couldn’t tell why she felt this way – sure, he was handsome but… she had control. She wasn’t some teenager. The fact she kept falling into these daydreams of him, him, him, him, him, him, him, him, him, him – it scared her. Not knowing where the faerie traps were and how to evade them was scary for her.

The Goblin King smiled; cold snow-sky eyes met crinkled before he raised the crystal up to her eye level.

“But, if you turn it this way,” his hand tilted the orb, as did her head as if she were a puppet on a string, “look into it; it will show you your dreams.”

There was a beat as a hand rose to rest on her hip, cold as ice through her white long-sleeved shirt.

“I’ve seen them.” He whispered tauntingly.

Y/N did not look into the orb. Her eyes remained locked on his. His cruel eyes. How could he have such a sweet smile, and yet the deep blue sea of his eyes felt bottomless, cold and dark?

“But this is not a gift for an ordinary girl.” He chided, tilting his head to lean closer to her. “Who works a job at the store and lives trapped in her childhood home.”

It was cruel – a cruel reminder of the words that those around her all say. How she is stuck in time, stuck in her hometown, stuck, stuck, stuck. Ordinary girl, ordinary town, ordinary job. Nothing like the faerie in front of her.

There was a snicker in her room, and her head whipped around to look about the dark space. It was empty.

He yanked his hand away from her, drawing her attention to him once more. Her eyes steeled at his words, and the king’s smirk grew. He hummed a melody, familiar and distant. It was almost a pleased tone before he stepped in front of her once more. He was taller than her – especially when she saw he wore heeled boots.

“Do you want it?” he offered, the orb held out once more.

The words were said almost kindly. Knowing if she took it, it’d be taking an apple from a serpent.

“It’s tempting. . . but what is the catch?” she finally said, swallowing as she looked at the crystal once more.

His smile was sharp then, and she saw fangs then.

“Your loyalty, your belief, you.” He listed. “You. Everything from you. Your mortality will be mine and you’ll never see this place again, these people again, this dwelling again.”

There was a tenderness to his face as he continued. “I’ll save you, sweet thing. You can live in your dreams with me – beyond this realm.”

“No.”

It was an easy answer. No. She would not devote herself to someone so wholly. A fae of a man especially. Y/N read all the fairy tales out there – all the romance novels and stories of love, deceit, devotion, and betrayal. This would take and take and take. She could see her future – a shell of herself. Hell, she had seen it in the moments of delusion tonight where she wanted nothing but him.

“Don’t defy me.” he warned, so gently. Almost helpfully.  

Defy. This was not being saved. This was no prince riding on a stallion and climbing to her balcony to steal her away. No. . . no, this man was no savior. She had read the fairytale he was from – read it from cover to cover more than she could count. The Goblin King – cruel as he is merciful - will grant your wish for a price.

“I do not want to be saved then. I take back my wish.”

“What is said has been said,” he stated with a chuckle.

He was laughing at her. In fact, she heard a chitter in her room like a guffaw behind her bed skirt. Her head whipped around to look.

The corner of her duvet swayed in the wind. Nothing was out of the ordinary again.

“I don’t care – I say no.” she claimed, glancing back him.

“The words have been spoken,” he claimed again as he bent down to whisper to her.

“You’re no match for me, Y/N. I will treat you well, little thing.”

Thing. It ached of ownership. Of possession rather than protection or freedom.

“I don’t want to be your thing.”

“You should’ve thought of that before making such a wish. What do I gain in saving you otherwise, hm?” he retorted, as if explaining something to a child. “I want you – or another human for my trouble.”

No way! She’d never sacrifice someone for a wish! Her eyes widened at the very thought before her brows furrowed. What could she do? What could she do?

“What if we made a deal?” She fought back.

Her question made a crack of thunder rumble the house like an electric field. It buzzed and hummed… or maybe it wasn’t thunder at all, but voices. She heard them then. Chittering and chattering. Low hums of interest and the haunting chants of “a deal, a deal, a deal!!” Little voices, squeaky and animalistic chant in excitement. It was then she finally saw a goblin’s head from within her closet. One and then another and another. Too many as if her room was nothing but a zoo to the creatures. A crowded room of voyeurs, an unknown audience to her and the King’s dispute.

Long limbed apparitions clung to her white and pink walls with spindly hands. A monstrous thing under her bed with glowing eyes heaved a rumble, the bed skirt fluttering. A winged creature on her tulled canopy swayed with the buzzing excitement of a cicada. Little things peering out at her with wings and horns and fangs and yellowed eyes and radioactive red pupils.  

It was a thing out of nightmares. She yelped a bit, eyes widening in fear.

There was a tsk from the King, and the creatures disappeared into their hiding spots in a rush and a huff. Like they were playing hide and seek. Her room looked normal again but she could feel their pupils trained on her back now. Her gaze settled back onto the Goblin King. Annoyance lingered on the corner of his mouth, the pouty thing twitching faintly before he asked: “You’d like to make a deal instead of seeing your dreams come true?”

A faerie deal never meant anything good. But neither was losing herself for a man, no, a creature of another world with far too many secrets as shown by the creatures prowling under her bed and in her wardrobe.

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Any way to have this wish be forgotten.”

The King sneered. The flash of emotion so quick she almost didn’t spot it.

He was insulted by this human. How dare she be so outlandish… special but if she so wished to be rebellious. He’d give her a challenge fit for such insult.

“A faerie deal is serious matter, Y/N.” He warned before, with an air of nonchalance, he moved aside.

Circling her once more like she was nothing but a soon-to-be carcass and him a vulture bird.

“The terms shall be this. If you can defeat my labyrinth and reach my true throne in the castle beyond the Goblin City within 13 hours, you will no longer be mine; my claim will be relinquished. Your will shall be your own once more. You will be a human.”

He said the final words like they were sickly – he couldn’t imagine wanting a human life when high fae have everything. (But she wouldn’t be a high fae, would she? No, a human became a changeling if caught or stolen away. And that was different.)

 Y/N had no choice but to agree. She had read faerie tales. Humans and faeries didn’t mix – they weren’t meant to. If she followed her wish, if she went with him, she really feared what would become of herself. The idea of forever as someone’s is only good when there is trust. And she couldn’t trust him. A stranger, a king of magnetic power, a faerie. Someone who wished to own her for his own gain. Not out of affection or respect.

“And if you do not succeed,” he continued on with a laugh at the tips of his words. (The goblins echoed him with chortles that crawled up her spine.) “You are mine – as promised by the power of the Wish. All of you. Soul, mind, and form.”

He was behind her again, his words soft in her hair as he brushed it aside observingly. His fingers chilled her throat; his touch felt icy cold.

“Do you agree, Y/N? If you break this contract by your own will or demise,” It was formally said as he placed his hands on her shoulders. Caging her in his arms as she heard the hum of anticipation from the ghouls and goblins in her room. “You shall be mine.”

She didn’t hesitate even as her form shuddered. “I agree.” Y/N said.

There was a change in the wind outside; a flash of lightning blinded her as a deal was struck.

“Pity,” he murmured, low in his throat as he let go of her.

As he passed her, she saw the world in front of her melt away in a wash of watercolor blurs. No longer was she in her childhood bedroom with the comfort of her novels and objects. No, now it was a desert. An orange-purple atmosphere like a distant fire roared over the sea of sand. Rolling sand dunes tumbled towards a grand darkened maze. The Labyrinth. A twisting series of winding paths that seemed endless, all leading to a far-in-the-distance castle. It looked impossible. Dead-ends galore and sections that seemed to be completely unrelated to one another. 13 hours. How was she to get through this in less than a day! A clash of despair rattled her bones – especially when a damp chill danced over her skin. A suffocating heaviness was in the air, as well as the realization, she was underground. Dust and dirt and old air from centuries past lingered.

Looking up, there was no sky, no stars, nor moon above but a darkened cave ceiling full of stalactites and in some cases large sky lights – or cracks in the ground. These cracks let spots of sunlight in, shining over the desert sea in pools of light. Where there was no sunshine pouring down on the maze, there was a haunting golden glow from roaring fire pits high above the maze in watch-out points and floating candles she noted. Squinting her eyes, she could make out thousands of candles decorating the rocky labyrinth. It made everything look orange-red hazy. Shadows cast into the maze making it look even more confusing.

In each of these sunspots away from the Labyrinth, there were different things flourishing outside the maze she noticed– some sunspots were home to a jungle of vegetation; others were conveniently where rain-water ponds appeared; most had small huts and communities.  

She and the Goblin King were in one of those sky lights’ brightness now, sunshine cascading over the pair of them. Half dead foliage and trees curled up from the barren sand, with long tendrils of rotting vines and branches twisting out. The bark and rockwork, despite its dead nature had the same type of glimmer to them as the fae man. It sparkled in the sunlight like someone dropped glitter on it. Magic thrived here – even in the dead and inanimate.

The King looked out of place in such a desolate land – his desolate land. Something beautiful around such emptiness and darkness. His form seemed to glow in the natural light, especially when shadowed by such darkness in the Underground, but Y/N’s gaze focused on the daunting path ahead instead of his angelic beauty.

How could he be so beautiful? It was unnatural.

Her eyes tried to map out a path, only to find no true path to the distant grand castle. The world seemed to curve and prevent her from following a straight line to the grand dark castle. It seemed hopeless. Surely there was a way to plot a way onwards, but the Labyrinth didn’t deal in kindnesses it seemed.

“Turn back,” his voice startled her as he encouraged from her side. “While you still can, my dear Runner.”

Biting her lip, she swallowed as she looked between him and his castle.

“It doesn’t look that far,” she commented, her back turning to him.

(Bravado.)

The King lurched forward, his own back bending to be beside her ear once more.

“It’s further than you think,” he taunted, almost sing-song in tune. “And time is short.”

With a flick of his hand, a grand clock appeared floating in mid-air. She startled, jolting back. Her back settling into his broad chest. His smirk was in her hair as a metal claw-tipped hand steadied her.

The clock – the grand clock of the Underground - was haunting as it was magical. It was a golden shade of wood and its clockface made of intricately ornate stained glass. Its numbers were curled and elegant, counting from 1 to 13. As of now, it was at the top of the 13th hour.

“13 hours, as promised,” he cooed. “13 hours and, then, you are mine, dear Y/N.”

And in an icy rush of wind and soft chimes in the air, her hair was pushed forward, blowing into her eyes, and his form, once lurking over her shoulder, was gone.

“Such a pity I must wait for you,” his voice hummed in the cold.

Then, Y/N, the Labyrinth Runner, was alone in a different realm she heard of in storybooks, but, unlike her many books, she didn’t know how the story would end.

[witchyfashion]

Photographer and stylist Christine McConnell transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary—from everyday dinners, to desserts for all occasions, to the walls of your kitchen, and even some over-the-top creations just for fun.

Taking inspiration from the likes of Tim Burton, Wes Craven, Alfred Hitchcock, and Vincent Price and mixing in a dash of Stepford Wife, McConnell’s baking and home DIY projects are a league above and beyond anything you've seen before. In Deceptive Desserts, each dessert is a work of art—some a little twisted, others magical—but every recipe inspires readers to create their own rules without spending a fortune. Why can’t crab cakes be a delicious pink-frosted dessert? And if you’re stuck hosting a bridal shower, why not create an actual Bridezilla cake to match the bride’s ego? Nothing is sacrosanct in the wonderfully weird world of Christine McConnell and nothing is what it appears to be—even a classic dinner can be transformed into something decadent, with doughnuts that look like chicken drumsticks, green beans made of candy, and ice cream mashed potatoes. A master of illusions in baking, McConnell shows readers how to create their own secret hidden gems in the kitchen.

In her follow-up book, McConnell will go outside the kitchen to show readers how to incorporate magic and fantasy into their home decor and personal style without breaking the bank. Using the renovations of her own house as a guide, McConnell walks readers through easy DIY projects such as hand-painted wallpaper, refinishing wood and tile floors, and adding storage space, along with inexpensive decorating tips.

A dazzling collection of photographs, stories revealing her one-of-a-kind character, and helpful tricks for doing it all yourself, McConnell’s book will inspire readers to be more playful, and just a little bit wicked, with the food they create and the space they inhabit.

https://amzn.to/4d7Lxus

[sorrowflattershim]

Lestat panty sniffer fic pleasee

Under the cut. Word count: 486.

The house was a mess. Lestat had let the servants who came and cleaned the house during the daylight hours go. With Claudia gone and Louis frigidly withdrawing from him, Lestat thought a worsening state of household management might rouse his companion's attention… It did not.

Thus, their house was left in total disarray and increasing filth while Lestat remained ignored or antagonized.

A sorry state of affairs, by any count.

But there was a singular bright spot! Admittedly, one that was sorry enough to make Lestat want to laugh (or weep) but nonetheless a glimmer of joy in a sea of misery. What? No, of course it isn't Antoinette. Don't be stupid.

It was an overflowing hamper. With the staff dismissed and Louis trying to fuse into the wallpaper (barely leaving coffin, hardly even feeding, acting for all intents and purposes like—! Nevermind), there was only one person who could be expected to do the laundry.

Lestat still mostly remembered what you scrubbed with what from his mortal days in Paris. He could do it. He did it.

But one garment he couldn’t bring himself to wash. He stared at it. Diaphanous lace drawers, once part of a full set of expensive women's lingerie including chemise and corset that Louis had bought and worn for their fifth anniversary. Recently worn again. He could smell Louis on it. Lestat hadn't seen Louis wear the full set for years, and now that the lack of clean underthings had driven Louis to wearing the drawers on their own, he had missed that sight as well. Lord God! He could easily remember the sight from all those years ago, and even more easily imagine his Saint Louis in just the drawers; hints of his brown skin visible through the white lace, his little cock weeping precious pearls into the delicate fabric.

He could practically smell it on the— no. Lestat could actually smell it on the garment. Louis’ scent, moss and library dust and misery, all over the garment; more importantly, the nearly forgotten pleasure of salt and copper from Louis’ bloody cum. He held the fabric ever so gently in his hands and buried his face in it. Sucked at the open seams of the crotch, where there were telltale pink stains. The thought that Louis had found enough passion for this and not so much as tried to seek out Lestat— nevermind! Everything is already so miserable, Lestat would rather focus on the good. In this case, the taste of Louis’ dried cum on his tongue and the smell of Louis’ sweat filling his nose, all the while seeing that beautiful vision of Louis in the full set inside his mind's eye.

He may have jerked off with the piece. Certainly, he didn't wash it! Lestat was not one to waste unexpected gifts such as this one; he kept it, and he used it until Louis' scent had faded and only memory still clung to it.

… Really, the particulars of what he did weren't nearly as exciting as his fantasy of those earlier days of marital bliss.

[emeraldbabygirl]

It’s been awhile since I’ve done this so lock screen and home screen

Btw the lock screen I colored on an app I didn’t draw it but I def thought it was wallpaper worthy cause is cute! And let’s do song I’ve been listening to a lot recently, let’s go with Poison by Pink Fantasy. Tagging @excindrela @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @moonlight--cafe @atinystaypixie @chrismequick @elenilote @halalhyungwon @thistaleisabloodyone @the-moon-baby @yuta-the-mountain-man @yovibeispretty @seoulmates98 @boxyg28 @wh0sthe5pecial0ne @wheezing-pterodactyl @despairvb @adaamazing @cherryeoo @witchy-weve-monbebe @dreamlesswonder86 @aesttheticgirlyy @ithinkilikeit-reactions and anyone else who wants to do this you can but you don’t have to. I just missed doing the wallpaper reveals and tingz ✨

[gyllenhaalstories]

CHERISH — CHOCOLATIER!JAKE 🍫

summary: is this the real life or is this just fantasy a hallmark channel movie? it’s neither of those, actually.

warnings: food & eating, smut (food play, aphrodisiac, fingering, orgasm control). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 3325

gifs credits: me (@/gyllenhaalstories) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: happy valentine’s day!!! i hope you enjoy your lovely date with jake. for the people who hate chocolate... i am sorry xo. YOU CAN READ THE PART 2 HERE! 💗 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

You took a deep breath, and another, and another... You could not blame yourself, it smelled absolutely divine outside. Judging by the smile the other pedestrians had on their faces, you were not the only one who enjoyed the scent. You followed the map displayed on your phone and, funnily enough, the scent got stronger and stronger until you were standing in front of a glass door.

The store was small, squeezed between a law firm and some residential building, the windows were decorated with all sorts of heart shaped, red and pink decals. The flowers beds were empty at that time of year, Spring had yet to make an appearance, but plastic ones were neatly arranged instead. From behind the counter, Jake was putting away boxes and bags that were not used during the work day. He was ticking things off from his mental to-do list while he closed the store.

You pulled on the door although there was a sticker that clearly instructed you to push it forward. You blamed it on the nervousness of this first date, and definitely not on the fact you had a bad track record when it came to understanding the basic functioning of doors. Your mistake caused the small bell to ring, indoors, notifying the man who was taking off a pink apron that you had arrived.

His smile spread from one ear to the other when he recognized you. His first thought was to tell you that you looked even prettier in person than you did on the photos the two of you exchanged and even on video call. It would be a waste, since you were still locked outside facing the ‘closed’ sign that he painted himself after hours of binge-watching calligraphy tutorials on the Internet. “Glad you could make it.” He spoke, once he finally opened the door.

The bell rang louder than the sound of his voice, but you still heard what he said. You apologized for being a few minutes left, which he dismissed by explaining you spared yourself the last clients who were a group of kids let loose on a sugar high spending their weekly allowance on lollipops and other sweets he sold along his chocolates.

The small talk was awful and painful, even. It felt strange to be thrown back on square one of your dating situation when neither of you could make it past beyond asking how was the weather and what was in the plans for the day. But, eventually, you broke this cursed spell of awkwardness. “I know everyone must say this when they visit you but it smells so good in here!” You were reassured when you heard Jake’s laugh. “I mean it, I don’t think I’ve smelled anything this delicious before.”

The hint of shyness that persisted through his smile disappeared. A light smirk lit up his face at your last few words. “I come here every day, but I try to cherish it like it’s both the first and the last time I’ll smell chocolate. Unless I accidentally burned it,” you both chuckled at the same time. “That’s a whole other story.”

He had shown you around the small boutique where the front counter and displays were basically squeezed against a few tables and mismatched chairs. There was an assortment of different wallpapers on the walls, covered by chalkboards that listed the different flavours and offers of the day. There were plants, real and fake, some photos displayed here and there, and upcycled barn doors that led the the kitchens. Everywhere you looked, there was a new detail to appreciate. It was almost overwhelming.

Jake caught you staring at his decoration and, while he grabbed a pair of clean tongs from the counter before him, explained the origins of some of the pieces that could your attention. He paid close attention to you, trying not to bore you or talk your ear out, although he was not sure he could stop himself even if he tried. This was his passion and his entire life, pretty much. His entire days consisted of running the shop and falling asleep while he came back home, often with his phone in his hand while he was texting you.

“Nice suit, by the way.” You pointed out. Although it sounded like mockery, the compliment was genuine. Not everybody could rock a brown suit, you thought to yourself, but it was quite fitting for someone who was surrounded by varying shades of brown all day long.

His cheeks turned a pale shade of red while he slid the door of the display closed. He offered you could try a few pieces, so you pretended to play the client although he was the one doing all the work. “Brown clothes are not the uniform, believe it or not. I wanted to dress up. Look nice.” He walked around the display and pointed his chin towards the table that was the closest. “For you.”

You smiled back at him. It was a sweet gesture, but you expected no less from someone who had proven to be quite thoughtful during the several weeks you spent texting and calling since you two had met on a dating app. You realized you could have put even more effort into your outfit, although nothing could have prepared you for your date looking like a chocolate bar on legs. “I matched my socks! That counts for something!”

He set a small tray on the table, between the two of you. There was an assortment of different chocolates. Some were heart shaped, some had a brushing of edible glitter or colouring on them, others looked plain and unassuming. Especially the last one, it was a quite large square of chocolate, nothing more nothing less.

You reached for this square first. You could get the boring one out of the way.

“Oh!” Jake exclaimed, rubbing his hands together with excitement. “That’s the best one. You have good taste.”

You refrained from explaining your reasoning behind your choice. “What makes it so special?”

He refrained from giving you a philosophical explanation about how what could make someone special resided on the inside and not on the outside, hence why the piece of chocolate looked unassuming. “You’ll see.”

You squinted your eyes quizzically at him, then you brought the square of chocolate to your mouth. You smelled it, quickly, before biting a corner. It smelled good, classic. It felt rich, coating your tongue with a chocolatey flavour unlike anything you had ever tried. You grinned and took another bite, trying to savour both the taste and the feeling.

“Told you, it’s the best one.” Jake reassured you and crossed his arms, leaning on the table. It brought him closer to you, in a way, so you leaned forward as well while you finished eating. There was pure excitement written all over his face, curiosity as well. He was looking forward to experience all of the chocolates through you, through your senses.

You could only describe the piece you ate as being delicious. Words failed to explain just how good it was, and how good it felt, strangely. You relaxed on your chair, as if the warmth that appeared in your mouth while eating started to spread all over your body. It must be the quality, the craftsmanship. Yeah, there was nothing more to it than the fact it was a product of fine cuisine and of luxury.

Jake explained the flavours of the rest of his selection. Cinnamon, raspberry, vanilla bean... He watched you as you tasted one after the other.

As good as they were, they could not even come close to the experience of your first taste. You wondered if it was just the sugar flowing through your veins, but it started to feel really hot in the boutique. It seemed like the lights were dimmed, too, or maybe the light bulb above your table was slowly dying. Or maybe it was getting impossibly darker outside or maybe... Maybe you had trouble making sense of the moment.

Jake’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. His smirk resurfaced but only grew darker after he licked his lips. He would never get enough of witnessing such a beautiful thing, and it was even better when it was you experiencing the growing euphoria of his work. “Just like anything else in the world of bakery, there is science to it.” He began talking, but it sounded, to you, like he was slurring his words and they barely made sense while they echoed in your mind. “You need the perfect conditions to temper chocolate properly. You need to be careful while pairing different flavours together while creating a new assortment. You need to preserve chocolate well, it cannot be too cold nor too hot, not even too humid or too dry. There is science in each step of the recipe.”

You nodded, but you did not catch any of the information he was throwing at you. You were too busy looking at him with heart shaped pupils, too busy biting on your own lip while you watched his move as he spoke. You looked down at his exposed neck, how the veins bulged and disappeared. You felt warm. Very warm.

“However, science has failed to accurately explain one tiny little detail about chocolate. That detail is, well, what you’re feeling right now.” He winked at you.

If you had full control of your senses, you would be able to tell this was taking a different turn than the sweet, both figuratively and literally, date you expected. But you were lucid enough to like what you were feeling. After weeks and weeks of texting and saying how much you were dying to meet. Of sensual phone calls and texts, of muffled moans and breathy wishes to finally be reunited so you could explore each other’s bodies. This felt right.

“Chocolate is presumed to contain chemicals that toy with certain parts of your body.” His eyes fell down to your lips, slowly getting swollen from the biting and licking you were doing. Then he looked down at where the table met your body and hid, only partially, how much you were squirming on your seat. Thighs closed tight, even tighter, or parted open, you were wiggling on the chair like you were unable to find comfort. “I care about what science says so that my chocolate reaches the right temperature to do whatever I want with it.” He marked a pause. “But I don’t care about scientists that deny just how good of an aphrodisiac chocolate can be.”

He asked if you agreed. You’d be a fool to lie, with how your body and mind were reacting to the delicious dessert he fed you. “Can we,” you took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes, where you could read even more lust and desire than on your previous video calls. “Go in the back?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

It made you laugh, seeing Jake display excitement that matched yours.

He jumped to his feet and walked towards the door that lead to the kitchen. You snaked your way around the fridges and counters, all the way back to a tiny room that felt similar to the rest of the boutique: warm, cozy, but extremely squishy. There was no space to hide in there, it was designed for an employee on a break or for someone to snack on discarded pieces of chocolate after hours. “Do you mind if I...?” He arched his eyebrow, playfully, then looked down at the skirt you were wearing.

“Yeah! I mean no, just do something.” You were getting impatient, your body burning from the inside and craving some kind of release that you seemed unable to put into words.

Jake’s hands rested on your hips, the sudden and first touch you shared made you squeal. “Wait till we get to the good part.” He winked at you while you helped him scrunch up your skirt. He took a deep breath in and locked eyes with you. He wanted to make sure he was seeing nothing but approval for what was to come.

That was what he saw, but the way you brought his hand to your core confirmed it even more. You sighed audibly while he pressed his hand against your covered pussy, the fabric felt soaked and he could feel your warmth through it.

His mouth dropped open while he rubbed his hand in small, slow circles against the fabric. The more he moved, the louder your moans were getting. “Jesus, it really is working.” Reacting to your confusion, explained. “I didn’t make it all up on the spot, but... I wanted to impress you.”

He pushed your panties to the side and the first feeling of his fingers on your your pussy lips felt amazing, like hours of teasing and dirty talking and doing whatever you could to feel as turned on as possible. Except, it did not take hours, all you needed was a few bites of chocolate.

“Guess what?” Jake’s middle finger dipped between your lips and pressed against your clit. “I did impress you.”

You still had your hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping his fingers against you before he could even think of removing them. “I don’t think, oh my God,” you were caught off by Jake suddenly starting to rub your clit fast. “I can handle anymore talking.”

He understood and focused on making you feel good. It did not take long for you to feel a familiar knot in your stomach tightening the more he rubbed over your incredibly sensitive clit. You were standing somewhere between the pain of being touched so roughly while all of your senses were on high alert and wanting it to just keep going until the aphrodisiac wore off, or your body reached its limit. Both, you wanted to keep going until you tried both options.

When he teased your entrance, you threw your head back and felt your legs start to get wobbly. He guided you a few steps backwards to press your back against the wall so you felt just a little bit more stable, just enough for you to focus only on the sweet mixture of pain and pleasure.

He pushed a finger inside your hole, slowly, at first, but his own need to feel more of you took over and soon enough he was stretching you out with two fingers that he started to scissor inside of you, trying to stretch you out even more and let some of your arousal drip down his hand.

You could feel how wet you were, how his hand slipped against your slick folds so easily and how he had no trouble fucking your pussy and curling his two fingers inside you. It felt amazing, yet strange, yet it kept getting better.

“Getting close, baby?” You nodded at him before you tensed up at the feeling of his fingers on your clit again. “I know you are, but not yet. Yeah? Think you can hold it a little longer for me?”

You wanted to tell him you already did hold it, you waited to meet with him for weeks, you waited for the moment you would finally be reunited with him for so long. It was unfair to make you hold it any longer, but it felt so good.

You wrapped your arms around Jake’s neck, bringing him impossibly closer to you, sharing the same rushed, shallow breaths as he kept rubbing your clit. Harder, faster, tighter circles, he was doing everything to make your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He enjoyed it too, so much more than you could even imagine. He was hard, it was getting painful to stay restrained in his pants. He would take care of that later, reminiscing of your moans and mumbled incoherent begging. What mattered, for him, was to cherish the feeling of you as you were just about to explode on his hand. He was coated in you, his fingers pruned by your wetness. He loved how you leaned on him and used him to keep your balance, to keep standing up until he finally blessed you with the release you so desperately wanted and rightfully earned.

“Oh!” You screamed, the knot in your lower belly grew so big that it was exploding before he could pull away and edge you longer. “Oh my God!”

“Cum for me, baby, give it all to me.” Jake talked you through your orgasm, but the ringing in your ear and the sudden emptiness in your head made it impossible to listen to his words.

It felt amazing, stronger than anything you had ever felt before. You stopped breathing, eyes shut and face tensed up with pleasure as you grunted out, orgasm still going strong while Jake did not even let you catch your breath.

He fought through the growing pain in his wrist and rubbed you until you basically climbed off his hand, which took a little while longer to happen. He was truly impressed now, too, by just how much you could take until your instinct kicked in and let you process the pleasure you had just experienced. When you did slide off his hand, leaving the two of you messy and dripping with your juices, he was more impressed with the look he saw in your eyes. You were not finished. You wanted more, he could see it. He could feel it.

“Jake, please.” There was so much despair in your voice that it cracked as you begged him for more. You tried to press yourself against his body, now that he had moved his hand away, silently telling your date that you needed to feel him inside of you. And you needed it badly.

“No, sweetheart.” He licked his fingers clean, one after the other, like he would lick melted chocolate off them after tasting one of his creations. “I don’t do that on the first date.”

You whined and that made him laugh. You were so overwhelmed by all of the sensations you were experiencing, stuck somewhere between needing a break to recover from the incredible evening you were having and never wanting it to end so you could let Jake spread fireworks all over your body with his magic touch again and again.

“Come on, don’t be sad.” He brushed his thumb over your pouting lips. “That’s my way of asking you out on a second date, silly.” When your face lit up before his eyes, he reciprocated the relief and joy with a wide smile. He leaned closer to you, pressing chaste, open mouthed, kisses along the side of your neck and up to your ear. “No need to worry, the magic chocolate will be coming with me.” He whispered, his voice deep and low.

You would cherish whatever had happened, hoping you could remember any of it. Your mind was foggy, your vision was blurry but you could see that derpy smile of his so clearly. You would cherish this first moment you physically spent time together. You could not figure out if it was the aphrodisiac speaking, or perhaps the sugar rush, but you were already looking forward to another moment like this you could spend with Jake.

[positronicdream]

Fizzbin's Fabulous Cabin, part 1

My bard character Fizzbin just hit level 13 and picked up the spell Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion - or rather, Fizzbin's Fabulous Cabin! Finally I can add the finishing touches and unveil my big project:

I built it in the Sims 4 :)

The group has had the in-character tour, but there's a lot of OOC design stuff I want to ramble about, and I've decided to do that here.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

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First up, I needed size parameters so I could work out a floor plan. The spell allows for 50 cubes measuring 10ft on a side, thus a footprint of 5000sqft (handwaving the height of the ceilings). Estimates of the length of a standard Sims floor tile vary from 2ft to a yard, but 2.5ft is a good middle ground and most convenient for my calculations. My budget would be 800 floor tiles.

I was able to fit in 5 individual bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a foyer, a small sitting room, a dining hall and a kitchen; and had space left over for a library, arboretum, and recreation room (and some balcony spaces - more on those later). I stacked these up on 3 floors plus a basement for the kitchen. Here's an early draft of the shell!

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Next, I had to work out the aesthetic. This is Fizzbin's mansion, so it has to be somewhere she would feel at home. Fizzbin's favorite colors are pastel purple, yellow, blue, green, and pink, and she likes fancy swirly shapes. Add a touch of cute & cozy gnomish farmhouse with lots of flowers and natural light, and you have the Fabulous Cabin aesthetic.

I used loads of stuff from the Realm of Magic DLC (actually, this project was half the reason I bought it). It provided almost all the windows and doors, multiple wallpapers, the swirly wooden furniture, the crystal lamps, and more! The lighting options came in real handy, because I wanted to avoid electric lights (where they couldn't be concealed, anyway).

The house has loads of fireplaces, because that's how you keep a house warm in fantasy medieval times. Each one has a different decoration attached because I thought it'd be cute.

I started building this when the platform feature was new & shiny, so there are a few places I used it just for fun: the stairs are all L-shaped, the arboretum is sunken down, the library steps up, and the rec room has a little stage. The round wall update came out after I had locked in the floor plan and modifying it would have been a nightmare, so the "round" rooms are still octagons. Then the ceiling update was very exciting! It looks so much cozier with warm wood ceilings!

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In the next part I'll go over all the exterior design. Warning: roof nightmares!

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)