#sixty eight rooms

[book--brackets]

[ljf613]

I’m on a bit of a book nook/bookshelf insert kick. (I like ones that show outdoors or have a window because it’s like a second tiny window in your room.) If you could get a bookshelf insert of anything, what would it be? (It’s a pretty cool Google image search or YouTube skim if you have no clue what I’m talking about. 😅 )

Ooh, yeah I've heard a bit about those! I love tiny things, and I love books, so if I had the money and space, I would totally get some.

I'm also obsessed with old-fashioned aesthetics (particularly anything from the Victorian-era), so I think I would go for something influenced by the Thorne rooms.

If you've never heard of them, they're a series of miniature rooms (on a perfect 1:12 scale!) designed in the 1930s and inspired by various interior design styles across American and European history.

(There are 99 still around-- 68 are on display at the Chicago Art Institute, 20 are in the Phoenix Art Museum, nine are at the Knoxville Museum of Art, there's one in the Children's Museum of Indianapolis, and the last one is at Kaye Miniature Museum of Los Angeles. I've haven't had a chance to see all of them in person yet, but someday.)

Here are some photos so you have an idea of what kind of aesthetic I'm talking about:

You get the idea. (I recommend doing your own research. They're amazing.)

Anyway, if I could get this exact aesthetic compressed into a narrow book nook and put on my self, I would be a very happy woman.

[theragamuffininitiative]

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[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"cold feet (literally)" - spencer reid x fem!reader

you wake up in the middle of the night to get a pair of socks

wc: 1k

cw: reader is described as wearing a bra, sickeningly sweet fluff, two idiots in love

Spencer keeps his apartment climate-controlled at a brisk sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. He likes to be cold, he says, and you generally don’t mind. You run hot anyway, so if, on the off chance you do get cold when you’re lounging around on his couch or perusing his bookshelves, you grab one of the throw blankets Garcia’s knitted for him and wrap it around your shoulders. 

Tonight is different, in that you were not planning on sleeping over. Your relationship with Spencer works so well, in your opinion, because you both like to be independent, so rather than be with each other every moment of every day that he’s home, you orbit around each other like planets. You spend many evenings over at his place, and he spends just as many as yours, but eventually, the other person goes home. 

Not that you didn’t like sleeping in the same bed as Spencer, of course, but the relationship was still fresh, and you both liked that you were taking things slow. Tonight, however, you started a movie with him rather late, and by the time it was over, you were bleary-eyed and your bones felt laden. Spencer was more than willing to offer you the empty side of his bed for the night. 

You arrived in sweatpants and a t-shirt, so you just took your bra off and laid down. Spencer splurged on a fancy orthopedic mattress, so you somehow both sunk into it and rested on top of it like a glass on a table. It was insanely comfortable, and both you and Spencer really were wiped out, so you went right to sleep. 

When your eyes flutter open a few hours, you’re laying on your side. The first thing you notice is that the room is not completely dark. No, in fact, there’s a stream of moonlight, or maybe a street lamp outside, creeping in through the curtains, casting a soft, gray-filtered glow over the room. 

You feel Spencer’s hand loosely on your hip, and his knee resting lightly against the back of your thigh. Your immediate reaction is not to move for fear of waking him, but your feet are icicles. The air around you is cold, too, but the blankets remedy that. You just need socks. 

I am molasses, you coach yourself, moving languidly and carefully to rise into a sitting position. However, you lack the FBI stealth training needed to rise out of bed without waking your boyfriend, because when you look over your shoulder, his eyes are very clearly open. 

There’s a tired yet playful little smirk as he sits up, leaning against the headboard. “Sneaking out already?” he asks, his voice still rich and thick with sleep, and you suddenly wish you’re able to see him like this more often. Maybe this whole going home to go to sleep thing is simply for the birds. 

“No, of course not,” you laugh softly. The mattress creaks as you finally stand up, your bare toes spreading against the soft carpet. As you pad over to his dresser, you shoot him a performative smile over your shoulder. “My feet are just freezing.” 

“Do you want me to adjust the thermostat?” Spencer asks immediately, shifting the blankets off of him so he can, presumably, get out of the bed. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you insist, holding up your hand. He stops in his place. “It’s just my feet, Spence,” you assure him. The cherry wood creaks when you tug the top drawer open, plucking the first pair of socks you see out off the top. 

Spencer’s mismatched socks are meticulously organized in their correct pairs, as it turns out. You smile to yourself when you realize this means he takes the time each day to couple up an incorrect pair of socks before putting them on his feet. 

You select a pair of purple ones with little kiwi fruits printed on them, affection for the ridiculous man in bed behind you bubbling up in your chest, making it feel as if it’s filled with helium. Like you could float up to the ceiling at any moment. 

You’re still smiling stupidly as you perch yourself on the edge of the bed. You slide his socks over your bare feet, wiggling your toes around for a moment. “Why are you smiling, angel?” Spencer’s asking curiously, and you feel his foot nudge your back. 

You lie back down in the bed, shaking your head softly as you lay on your side and place your head against Spencer’s chest. He takes a second to adjust, slinking down so he’s lying flat on his back, then he tugs you a little closer. 

Your cheek rubs against the soft, worn fabric of his t-shirt. You place your palm down against his flat tummy, and consequently feel his chin press into the top of your head. “What is it?” he asks again. 

“I just think you’re the bee’s knees, that’s all,” you say softly, earning a small chirp of a laugh from your boyfriend. 

“The bee’s knees, huh?” he rakes his fingers through your hair slowly. The action is lulling you like straight melatonin, making you even more tired. “Did you know that phrase actually used to mean something small and insignificant? Over time it developed to refer to something or someone that is greatly admired.” 

You close your eyes, your body relaxing against him as he speaks. “Do bees even have knees?” you ask through a yawn. 

“Technically speaking, no,” Spencer brushes his thumb along your temple, then across the top of your ear, as if he is charting all the smooth parts of you. “But they do have a ball-and-socket joint between their leg segments, which allows them the flexibility to move their little legs around. So when they dance to show their hive mates where the good honey is, they move their legs around.” He laughs softly at this notion, and you feel your weight sink into the mattress. 

“You make me want to dance,” you whisper, smiling with closed eyes against his chest. “So, you’re the bee’s knees.” 

Spencer hums fondly in response to this, then kisses your forehead. “That’s kind of a reach, angel,” he says. “But I think you’re the cat’s pajamas, so who am I to judge?”

[luca-street-chris-deacon-rp]

@ofmymanymuses

Since retiring crim SWAT and transferring as a detective, Dominique Luca had been a detective for the last six years and with his upcoming big birthday of turning sixty, he was unsure if he was going to finally retire from the force. But he hasn't told his partner of those six years that he was considering it, and he had no idea why because he loved his job, but it was getting harder and harder.

He had arrived early at their facing desks and he had been there since two in the morning because he couldn't sleep, so he was running up some loose ends on their cases. At eight in the morning, he spotted Fallon entering the detective's squad room. "Good morning."

[holylulusworld]

Seven Days

Summary: Alpine misses you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of a fight/argument, a lil fluff

It’s been seven days - one hundred sixty-eight hours - ten thousand and eighty minutes.

She steps inside the empty room and sits down on the ground. For a few moments, she sits there, looking left and right to find any trace of you.

“Alpine,” Bucky’s heart aches even more watching his cat sit in the empty room. “She’s gone, punk.”

Alpine stubbornly sits in the room. She lies down and meows loudly.

“Alpine…” Bucky tries to get his cat to leave the room. He places a bowl with Alpine’s favorite food next to his cat. “You need to eat something.”

His cat ignores Bucky. The white furball lies on the ground, still meowing.

“She won’t come back,” Bucky murmurs as he slowly sits beside his cat. He pats Alpine’s head, feeling even sorrier for his cat. “It’s all my fault.”

It was a moment of anger driving you away. He doesn’t remember how the fight began, only the end of it.

“If you are unhappy, maybe you should leave and never return. I didn’t ask you to love me or take care of me. You knew that I’m damaged goods.”

He sighs deeply making Alpine meow even louder. The cat jumps back up to nuzzle Bucky’s hand. It’s like Alpine can feel Bucky’s pain.

“I don’t deserve her, never deserved her. I should’ve stayed away from her. I knew that sooner than later she’d find out that I was not the man she wanted. If only I wasn’t so ruined.”

The cat sits next to Bucky, curling in his side to get more pats. “Did you ever believe that I was good enough for her?” He drops his head, shaking it slightly. “I guess not. Everyone told her to not fall for me. I heard her friends talk about me more than once. She was too nice to tell me the truth.”

Bucky buries his face in his hands. He chokes out a sob as the words he threw in your direction echo in his mind.

“I can’t give you what you want, and I don’t want to. Why drag things out? Let’s just face reality.”

He sniffles silently. “She will find someone better, Alpine. It’s better this way, believe me, punk. We shouldn’t have asked her to move in with us.”

Alpine lifts her head, she looks at her owner and meows loudly before running out of the empty room.

“You too, Alpine?” Bucky huffs. “Of course, you’d love to live with her. I’d be the same if I was you. She always bought the best snacks and toys for you.”

He looks over his shoulder when Alpine begins to meow louder. Bucky slowly gets back up. He doesn’t want Alpine to suffer only because he fucked things up between the two of you.

“Punk, what’s wrong?” He calls for his cat. Bucky wipes his wet eyes to look around the apartment. “Alpine?”

He can hear his cat in the bedroom. Alpine purrs low in her throat, a sound Bucky only ever heard when you patted his cat. The white cat is a little bratty and believes she’s a queen most of the time, but he loves her.

“Alpine?” Bucky tiptoes inside the bedroom. He stares at the bed, eyes wetting with fresh tears.

“Aw, your fur is less shiny, baby kitten,” you coo while patting Alpine. The cat is currently curled in your lap and purrs loudly. “Did he forget to brush you daily? I bet he did.” You conclude. “I’m away for seven days and your fur looks awful.”

“I brushed her daily,” Bucky murmurs. He steps closer to the bed to watch you groom his cat. He smiles because you placed a bag filled with new toys and snacks for the cat on the bed. “She’s a little sassy lately.”

You look at the cat, not Bucky as he steps closer, and closer. “I was looking for a new apartment, a place to call home.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

“I went from one end of town to the other, searching for a perfect place but,” you shake your head and sniffle, “my home is where you and Alpine are and…” You get something out of the bag, pressing it to your heart. “I don’t know if you wanted to know or not but…”

Bucky sits on the bed. He holds out his hand for whatever you want to show him. He inhales sharply when you place a pregnancy test in his hand. “I…I thought…they said I can’t… they said I’m sterile…”

“Obviously, you can give me what I want,” you dip your head to glance at Bucky. “I just don’t know if you want to be part of this wonder.”

He chokes on his tears while pressing the test to his heart. Bucky got so mad because he believed that he couldn’t give you a baby. Now everything changed and he doesn’t know if you will forgive him.

“You’re my wonder,” he sniffles. Bucky moves closer to take your hand in his hand. “Always were.”

“So…can we turn the room into a nursery?” You look at him, tears in your eyes. “If you don’t—”

He cups your face with both hands to kiss you softly. “I want to. More than anything…”

Tags in reblog.

[romanoffsbish]

Sinful Practices

Natasha Romanoff x Reader (AFAB - No She/Her)

Tony Stark, a man of advanced science, gifted his friend Natasha with a special pill, and the woman humored the man by taking it. Then pleased her partner by taking it | WC: 1,652

18+ | Minors DNI | Warnings Labeled

Warning: Drugs (Weed) | Sex Enchancers | Porn (Minimal Plot)

Smut: Mommy (N) | Detka / Slut (R) | | Oral -> Fingering -> Fisting | Teasing | Choking | Unprotected (Nat has a penis) | Breeding | Overstimulation | Belly-Bulge | Cock-warming

The room reeked of sex, and there was a slight haze; Natasha finished off the blunt half an hour ago, and had been coaxing your pussy wide open ever since.

——

Her mouth was the first thing to touch your sweetest spot, the pleasure you felt as her tongue teased your hole was intense; she dipped the tip in then swirled up, parting and stimulating your slick folds. Then she had to go and moan, elated at the divine taste of you, that sent shivers straight down to your clit. It was less than thirty seconds before you loosened up for two of her skilled finger to slip inside, then just under sixty as your arousal gushed around her devilish fingers.

After the first orgasm she slowed it down, allowing your breathing to slow too, but with every sporadic curl or flick you would briefly hyperventilate and she'd suckle your clit that much harder. Then just as your walls would clamp down and suck her in further she'd let your bundle go with a loud pop; mocking you.

"Mommy please, need you inside" you cried, too under the influence of her touch and Mary Jane's to care about your kinky words. "Patience detka," she rasped and your walls trembled around her digits. Fuck, you never realized you had a vocal kink until you met her. Just her chuckle alone made you putty in her hands, you never tried to turn her down, or play hard to get.

You were hers in a blink, you are not ashamed and she was forever grateful for the privilege to have you.

Natasha's gaze shifted up some to lock in on your beautiful, fucked out face as her ridged teeth scraped over your clit just as her fingers swirled against your g-spot making your back arch and legs clamp shut, you couldn't see and you screamed in delighted agony.

After a minute your body stopped trembling, your bent legs fell down into the sheets and you sighed happily as the dots reconnected to show Natasha's frame. Then your face twisted as two more of her fingers, the pinky and pointer, slipped inside of you with some struggle.

The velvet warmth slowly stretched apart for her, she scissored them within just to see you thrash in reward as she pulled away and replaced her tongue with her thumb, swirling around your swollen clit like magic.

Sex with Natasha was that next level, fairytale shit. You saw the singing birds, felt the fireworks erupting and with each occasion you fell further under her spell.

Your hips jerked, and you moaned, "Oh god," as Natasha caught you off guard. She grinned in victory, her callous thumb had just ground into your clit before it swirled a seamless figure eight down that had her slipping into your stretched out hole. Her fingers were pinched together as they entered in and out of your sensitive entrance, the whimpers of confusion only spurred her need on to fuck you beyond dumb.

But she had to be patient, you needed her to be...

"Fuck," Natasha groaned, "Do you hear that Y/N?" You hummed incoherently, you'd felt it, that was for sure, her fingers spread inside of you and scraped against your walls. Your hips soon worked to meet her thrusts without thought. "Filthy bitch," she chuckled in mock disgust. There was nothing more deliciously vile than the way your pretty pussy stretched around her entire fist. All in preparation for her new length.

The redhead had taken a supplement to enhance the size of her cock, Tony had offered it to her one time at a party and she humored the man by taking it from him. You were entirely satisfied with her cocks size, normally she was four inches thick and six in length; perfect for you, but after a few hits of the blunt you'd teased an interest that she herself had been having. L

An hour later, mind (and body) altering substances had been consumed, and she was feeling incredible. Her shaft measured in at eight inches long and five and a half in girth, so she needed to properly get you ready.

Natasha enjoyed the way that your walls quaked with each slow curl into a fist, it had her oozing from her tip. She also loved the way your slick gushed and sounded every time she'd exit you, giving your body only a hint of peace before she stretched your hole with the tips of her fingers that entered you spread wider than before.

It was pleasurable, but then it became tedious enough for you to start to doze off. You were honestly numbed after her fist swirled and dug her ridges into your bored walls for a hundredth time. Natasha knew it was time to give the both of you what you needed most.

She felt the way her skin stretched taut as the veins in her enhanced cock had sizably thickened as well. It was painful, borderline unbearable but the way that your warmth enveloped and stained her hands appealed to her even more than getting her own sweet release.

"You ready for mommy's cock baby?" Natasha asked as her slick hand gripped your throat, both of you reacted to the sound of your arousal squelching beneath her tight hold; her cock spilled a sticky dribble that ran down your thigh and you cried. Your throat bobbed and her cock gravitated to your entrance, it dipped in and your walls clung to her tip before pushing it out.

Natasha's hips reared back, and she briskly humped her length against your slit, collecting the arousal and turning you on enough to loosen up for an inch of her. The stretch was something you'd never had before, and the both of you were taken aback at how you took her.

"Fuck, your pussy is desperate for a good fucking," she grunted as your cunt hardly resisted her, she gazed down to see about five inches had already made it in, "I'm fucking stretching you out like never before and you are taking me in with ease, like you needed this."

You whimpered, "I did, mommy I needed you so bad!" Natasha frowned softly, hoping you'd miss it and the festering insecurities could fade, but you didn't and were quick to reassure her, "Just like always mommy, nobody else could ever satisfy me like you do..."

"That's right," she grunted, her cock slammed in a bit rougher, and her face swiftly dipped down to nuzzle against your throat, "You're mine," her teeth nibbled around, pulling the thin skin beyond her lips and you moaned softly at the way her insecurities faded into, or more so, exploded into a bout of attractive jealousy.

"Happily," you sighed, voice trembling as your orgasm approached fast, the stretch had you edging the line of bliss but you always needed something more. It came in the moments like these where the redhead marked you up, not only claiming you physically, but she called you hers in every language that she spoke. A palpable love had roared to life, it had turned to rough grips and breathtaking touches to your breasts and pulsing clit.

Then she bit into your neck and came inside of you without the rubber, and the subsequent warmth that spread within quickly traveled all over your body as your orgasm crashed over you, sparking your nerves. Natasha's flow was cut off momentarily as your walls squeezed her tight enough to pause her bliss. It even flushed some of her seed out as you'd cum in tandem.

After a moment you'd loosened enough for her to pull out and continue to thrust back in, her hands pressed your thighs further into the sheets and your dilated, bloodshot eyes crossed as she pushed in rather deep, urging her lively cum closer to your womb, and that thought alone made a shrill moan fall from her lips.

"You feel that detka?" Your moan was strangled, and borderline incoherent, "mhm, 'm full mmy," but she understood you. She herself felt her mind wandering into such a desirable subspace, but tonight she was in control, so she fought off the encroaching waves.

Her hips continued to ram into yours, building the both of you back up in seconds, and her into a mind blowing second orgasm. A scream left you as your pleasure was proving never ending, her thick veins pulsed for what felt like forever as she continued to spew her seed against your walls. It ebbed off fast as she pressed down into the bulge of your abdomen, taking your breath away, and you came some more.

If there were a world record for best lover on the planet you'd nominate Natasha and call it criminal if she lost. The both of you fell limp, Natasha atop of you, pressing your exhausted body firmly into the mattress. Her lips quirked into a smile against your neck as her breathing returned to normal. Yours followed and she moved to steal it once more as she kissed your mind thoughtless.

Her arms slid beneath your body, and she flipped your positions while her tongue explored your mouth. You shivered as you shifted but sank down on her at a new, more intense angle. Natasha pulled a blanket over you, and you nuzzled into her, instantly understanding. "Get some rest detka, we'll see how long the effects last, and if they do we'll have sex instead of training."

"Nat?" Natasha hummed, her lips softly moved against the side of your neck, tickling the skin enough to make you shiver as you spoke, "Tell Tony you want more."

Natasha chuckled, kissed your skin, and whispered a raspy, "I already texted him detka, don't worry..."

The only thing Tony forgot to mention to Natasha before giving her a bottle, was that a particular side effect came with the drug, increased fertility...

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Remus Lupin x fem!reader requested by anon 18+

The night after a full moon always came with consequences. 

They were bruise shaped. Violet and lavender and seafoam green, littered across skin like an unwanted reminder. Scratches that would fade to new silver scars and aches and pains deep in his bones that made Remus feel sixty eight, not twenty eight. 

It was the only time he’d soak in the tub instead of taking a shower, something he’d usually deem much more proficient. But a new night came round and the threat of the moon was no longer in the sky. It made the air feel lighter and the feeling of sinking into the hot water, honey scented and filled to the brim, was overwhelmingly good. 

It was even better when you slipped in too.

Without speaking, you stood in the doorframe to the bathroom you shared with your boyfriend, overgrown plants on the window sill, steam and condensation making the tiles on the walls glitter. Remus peered at you from under his lashes, strong arms braced on each side of the old claw foot tub, head resting against the porcelain. 

You raised a brow at him, a question. You touched the hem of his shirt you’d thrown on, bare legs underneath. An offer. 

Almost immediately, Remus nodded, sitting up and playing the water lap at the sides, the only sound in the room as you walked in, taking off your shirt as you went. The plaid joined Remus’ clothes on the tiles and you hissed on entry, scalding water licking at your calves as Remus watched your bare figure, eyes sleepy but intent on catching each curve before they disappeared under the bubbles. 

You hummed as the boy reached for you, not trying to hide his need as he coaxed you onto his lap. The tub was just big enough for you to settle your thighs on the outside of his, your arms winding around his neck as you let your bare chest press against his. 

Another soft noise from your lips as Remus nosed at your cheek, an overwhelmingly affectionate thing that made your heartbeat a little faster. You smiled, turning so he could kiss your jaw, your chin. You dipped your head before he could catch your lips, brushing your lips over the fresh bruise that marred his cheekbone, the scratch on his shoulder you cleaned the night before. 

Your boy was bloodied and beaten, but he looked as pretty as ever. 

“Lemme kiss you,” Remus complained without any heat, his wet palm coming to cup your chin. “Babe.”

Your nose brushed his, gentle with him like you always were after a rough transformation. Any transformation, really. “Your poor lip,” you reminded him softly. The split in his bottom lip hadn’t stopped bleeding, still reddened when he woke up that morning, causing him grief as he tried to sip his coffee. “I’ll hurt you.”

Remus shook his head. ��No, no you won’t.” His hands dropped to your waist, squeezing. He rocked his hips as well as he could under the water, in the small space. But it was enough to let you feel how hard he was, hot skin against yours, the slide and fizz of the bubbles between you. “Need you, y’know.”

You nodded, water clinging to your lashes where Remus had drawn a line across your brow, touch sweeping down the apple of your cheek, the slope of your jaw. He kissed each part, every bit of him warm, lips included. “I know,” you told him. 

So you rose onto your knees, one hand on Remus’ shoulders so you could steady yourself and the boy made soft gasping noises as you lined his cock up between your thighs, the head of him pressed to your cunt. You didn’t ask for his fingers first, none of the teasing he’d normally insist on before you took all of him. You wanted that stretch, the tight, hot burn of it. A little bit of pain clashed with the pleasure and you groaned as you sunk down, your noise levelling out to nothing, lips parted as you watched Remus fill you up. 

His hands were still on your hips, tighter than ever as he tried to keep himself together, head falling back to the rim of the tub, fighting to keep his eyes open. His thumbs were pushing circles into the soft of your tummy, his jaw clenching before his mouth dropped open in a punch out breath. 

When you were finally seated back on his lap, his cock snug inside of you, you swept a damp hand over his hair, pushing back the mess of curls so you could see his eyes. Full of adoration, an astounding amount of love that made you ache. 

“Yeah?” You asked him. You weren’t sure what the question was, but Remus seemed to understand, because he swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. 

The water sloshed around you when you moved, lifting slightly onto your knees again, only just, before you sank back down. Small waves on the side of the bathtub, water rippling around you both that would surely end up on the floor but you didn’t care. Remus let out a groan as you rode him, each movement slow and deliberate and you could feel every inch, every ridge of his cock. It made you teary, how full you felt and maybe Remus could sense it, ‘cause he sat forward and gathered you in his arms, ignoring the throb from each bruise. 

If he had you, it was fine. It was bearable. More than bearable. 

“You’re so good to me,” he whispered, ducking his head to mouth at your chest, tongue finding a nipple so he could lick broad stripes over it. “You’re so fucking perfect, sweetheart.”

On a normal day, you’d protest, bashful and hot in the cheeks. But you could only whine as Remus dropped his hands to your ass and squeezed, coaxing you to rock yourself over him. Water and bubbles spilled over the edge of the bath, but neither of you cared. The boy moaned into your neck, sucked bruises onto your skin that would match his, pulling at your ass cheeks until his wandering fingertips could feel where he was slipping in and out of you, the pink, wet parts of you that was stretched tightly around him. It made his hips stutter, it made him sink his teeth into the slope of your shoulder. 

“M’not gonna last,” he admitted, his energy was already gone. He’d hardly slept. But this? He needed this. “M’sorry, fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

You nodded, hands running over his hair, his neck, his jaw, holding him there so you could kiss him as gently as possible. You whispered, voice soft, “s’okay, handsome. Come for me, yeah? Come inside me, okay? Want to feel you.”

[suugarbabe]

Hi! I have a request, which is if you could write a post where mattheo and the reader goes on a a one week school trip and somehow got paired up together in the same room with only one bed. They’re kinda hate each other but the reader actually has a huge crush on him. Also I know this might sound kinda weird but could there be a scene when he wears grey sweatpants or like when he just comes out of the shower with nothing but a low waisted towel. (And reader happens to have brought nothing but cute small pjs/clothes)

Thanks for the request lovie 🖤

He rubbed his hands over his face while you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. Mattheo looked up, his eyes pleading, “Professor, please. There’s no way this is happening. Can we even stay in the same room? I mean…she’s a…she!?” You rolled your eyes, “I’m a she? You mean a woman, merlin, you’re unbearable,” you turned towards your professor, “there’s got to be another room or someone that can switch with us…I’m begging.” Mattheo snorted under his breath, “Never pegged you as one to beg.”

“Enough!” you both jumped at the volume of Professor McGonagall’s interruption, “If you did not want to get stuck in this predicament, then you both should have signed up for this extra credit when I first proposed it a month ago, not three days ago. Now. You are both legally adults, I’m sure you can manage with the arrangement. Cabin sixty-eight will be yours, here is the key. The class will meet tomorrow at 10am, hopefully you can both not kill each other by that time and we will see you down by the Diricawl pens.” She handed you the keys to the cabin before swiftly walking away towards her own cabin space.

You didn’t even attempt to hide the huff of frustration that slipped from your lips as you turned and started walking towards your assigned cabin. Mattheo followed quickly behind, “Too bad we’re not one cabin over, right?” You glanced at him slightly, one eyebrow quirked. He rolled his eyes, “Because then we’d be in cabin sixty-nine…get it? Like the sex position.” You groaned in frustration as you walked up the steps to your cabin, unlocking the door and walking in. “You’re the most immature out of all of your stupid little friends, I swear to Salazar.”

Mattheo scoffed, “Am not, that’s Berkshire. It’s not like you’re much better. You…you’ve got to be fucking kidding me...” Mattheo’s sentence trailed off when you both entered the cabin coming face to face with your sleeping arrangement. “One bed, is she bloody serious?” Mattheo was quick to complain once again as you placed your overnight bag on top of the bed. “What are you doing?” He dropped his bag by the door. “I’m getting my pyjamas out, I’m going to shower and then I’m going to bed. Don’t know where you’re going to sleep but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You gave him a saccharine smile before heading into the bathroom to change.

Wiping the fog from the mirror, you looked at yourself, mentally berrading your choice in sleepwear. To your defense, you had not planned on staying in a cabin with a male student. Taking a deep breath, you opened the bathroom door only to see Mattheo cozied up on top of the bed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The sound of your voice made him jump slightly, “Oh, hi there, Princess. I’m just getting comfortable.” The smirk gracing his face only made more frustration boil in you, “Well get off, because I called the bed.” Mattheo only shook his head, “Yeah, and I also thought you grabbed your pyjamas, not your underwear.”

You looked down at your tank top and shorts, both of which could probably be considered smaller than average. But again, you planned on rooming with another girl, not the manwhore of Slytherin house. “These are my pyjamas, you wanker,” you walked to the other side of the bed, pulling the duvet down and climbing in, the blankets being slightly restrained from Mattheo’s weight. “Are you going to move or are you going to be a pain in my ass all night long? Get off the bed.” You pulled on the blanket underneath him only for him to laugh, “I’m getting up, calm down, sweetheart. But it’s only to shower. I’m getting back in the bed when I’m done.”

“Yeah, my ass you are,” you rolled over, your back facing him. Once you heard the door close you rolled back flat, staring up at the ceiling. You had nearly dozed off when you heard the shower turn off and the door unlock. Turning your head slightly you caught glimpse of a sight girls in your class would kill for. Mattheo’s grey sweats are low on his hips as water still trails down his abdomen. A towel covers his eyes as he dries the curls on his head and you take full advantage to gawk. “Like what you see, Princess?”

You huff out a laugh before rolling over, “Not even close, Riddle.” You feel the bed dip and the covers shift. “What are you doing?” You sat up, watching as Mattheo snuggled deeper under the sheets. “I’m getting comfortable, obviously,” Mattheo tucked himself in, clearly unbothered by the situation. “C’mon, Princess. I promise I’m real warm,” the smirk on his face only proved to irritate you further. You remained stubborn, turning away from him once more.

Trying to sleep seemed futile, despite the soothing pitter patter of the rain that started to hit against the cabin window. You heard the sound of soft snores come from behind you. Slowly turning over, as to not disturb him, you stared at Mattheo sleeping soundly. One arm rested above his head on the pillow while the other laid flat against his chest. You subtly moved a little closer to him, not quite touching him but getting fairly close. He wasn’t lying about being warm. You could feel the heat radiating off his body already and you couldn’t help the yearning in your chest to move just slightly closer.

Those efforts weren’t needed by you as Mattheo suddenly turned in his sleep, the arm laying on his stomach reaching out and encircling your body, pulling you flush to his chest where your cheek was now pressed against his bare skin. A gasp left your lips at the action, Mattheo’s voice low and gravely, thick with sleep, “You tell anyone and I avada you.” You hummed in agreeance, burying you face deeper into him and relishing in his body heat. The sleep you got that night was the best you had in months, curled up and nestled close to Mattheo’s body you’d nearly forgotten how much he frustrated you when you’re awake.

A flash of light is what jolts you awake, but Mattheo’s hold on your body seemed to adjust throughout the night, one hand holding the meat of your thigh close around his hip with his other wrapped around your shoulders, your fronts pressed together tightly. The flash of light seemed to disturb Mattheo as well as you heard a grunt and moan of complaint while his grip on your thigh tightened. A brisk feeling of cold ran up your skin as the duvet seemed to be ripped from your form. Another flash of light causing you and Mattheo both to groan. “For Salazar’s fucking sake what the-” you turned your head towards the foot of the bed to see Malfoy shaking two Polaroids in his hand while Blaise stood next to him, trying (and failing) to cover his smile with his hand, “McGonagall told us to come wake you, fucking Godric I’m glad she did.”

Mattheo sat up quickly, finger pointing at Draco accusingly, “I’ll kill you, Cousin, give me those pictures.” Mattheo jumped from the bed, chasing Draco from the cabin still clad in just his sweatpants. You turned to Blaise sheepishly, a small smile on your face. The tall boy only shook his head, twisting his fingers next to his mouth like he was locking his lips before leaving, closing the door behind him.

[book--brackets]

[bellaxgiornata]

List of Installments for Falling For the Devil

Warnings/tags: 18+; series contains lots of smut, fluff, angst, humor

Summary: This is a very long series/collection of one-shots about a nervous/awkward journalist Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock. Meant to feel like a realistic look into dating Matthew Murdock and all the sweet, vulnerable, sexy, and dark sides that come with him. Reader also gradually gains more confidence in and out of the bedroom as the relationship progresses.

List of Installments

Part One: "The Night You Met"

Part Two: "The One-Sided Pining"

Part Three: "The Time Daredevil Saved You"

Part Four: "The Night You Almost Kissed"

Part Five: "The Wedding Day"

Part Six: "The Wedding Night"

Part Seven: "The Post-Wedding Brunch"

Part Eight: "The First Date"

Part Nine: "The Pool Game"

Part Ten: "The Growing Insecurity"

Part Eleven: "The Night Together"

Part Twelve: "The Week You Tried to Avoid Matt"

Part Thirteen: "The First Time He Walked You Home"

Part Fourteen: "The Time Matt Got Jealous"

Part Fifteen: "The Vulnerable Side of Matt"

Part Sixteen: "The Time You Saved Daredevil"

Part Seventeen: "The Revelation in the Rain"

Part Eighteen: "The Visit to Fogwell's"

Part Nineteen: "The Time You Almost Told Him"

Part Twenty: "The 'I Told You So'"

Part Twenty-One: "The Time You Did Tell Him"

Part Twenty-Two: "The Night You Couldn't Sleep"

Part Twenty-Three: "The Day of Phone Tag"

Part Twenty-Four: "The Devil and the Baker"

Part Twenty-Five: "The Leather Couch"

Part Twenty-Six: "The Big Win"

Part Twenty-Seven: "The Grocery Run"

Part Twenty-Eight: "The Early Morning Wake Up"

Part Twenty-Nine: "The Questions Over Coffee"

Part Thirty: "The Introduction at Clinton Church"

Part Thirty-One: "The Flight to Chicago"

Part Thirty-Two: "The Night He Couldn't Sleep"

Part Thirty-Three: "The Thanksgiving Dinner"

Part Thirty-Four: "The Ex Encounter"

Part Thirty-Five: "The Very Bad Day"

Part Thirty-Six: "The Cozy Night In"

Part Thirty-Seven: "The Bad Dream"

Part Thirty-Eight: "The Black Suit"

Part Thirty-Nine: "The Secret Santa"

Party Forty: "The Secrets in Your Suitcase"

Party Forty-One: "The First Half of the Trip"

Part Forty-Two: "The Argument in the Hotel Room"

Part Forty-Three: "The End of the Trip"

Part Forty-Four: "The Christmas Eve Party"

Party Forty-Five: "The Christmas Dinner"

Part Forty-Six: "The Night of Christmas"

Part Forty-Seven: "The Devil in Need"

Part Forty-Eight: "The Perfume"

Part Forty-Nine: "The Cemetery Visit"

Part Fifty: "The Interview"

Part Fifty-One: "The Devil's Wrath"

Part Fifty-Two: "The Breaking Point"

Party Fifty-Three: "The Downward Spiral"

Part Fifty-Four: "The Impossible Friendship"

Part Fifty-Five: "The Disheartening Valentine's Day"

Part Fifty-Six: "The Nightmare"

Part Fifty-Seven: "The Rough Conversation"

Part Fifty-Eight: "The Aftermath"

Part Fifty-Nine: "The Necessary Conversation"

Part Sixty: "The Long Awaited Kiss"

Part Sixty-One: "The Things You Didn't Know"

Part Sixty-Two: "The Pinky Promise"

Part Sixty-Three: "The Dinner Party"

Part Sixty-Four: "The Lesson at Fogwell's"

Part Sixty-Five: "The Shower"

Part Sixty-Six: "The Night Out"

Part Sixty-Seven: "The Morning in Bed"

Part Sixty-Eight: "The Sleepover"

Part Sixty-Nine: "The Lunch Date Delay"

Part Seventy: "The Thoughts About the Future"

Part Seventy-One: "The Sleepwalking"

Part Seventy-Two: "The Belated Valentine's"

Part Seventy-Three: "The Easter Sunday"

Part Seventy-Four: "The Boy's Night at Josie's"

Part Seventy-Five: "The Hangover"

Part Seventy-Six: "The Request"

Party Seventy-Seven: "The Very Frustrating Day"

Part Seventy-Eight: "The Night You Cooked Together"

Part Seventy-Nine: "The Hell Day"

Part Eighty: "The Revisitation of Moving In"

Part Eighty-One: "The Nighttime Visit"

Party Eighty-Two: "The Overload"

Part Eighty-Three: "The Really Bad Idea"

Part Eighty-Four: "The Late Night Snack Hunt"

Part Eighty-Five: "The Romantic Voicemails"

Part Eighty-Six: "The Moving Day"

Part Eighty-Seven: "The Week of Distractions"

Part Eighty-Eight: "The Birthday Brunch"

Part Eighty-Nine: "The Stray"

Part Ninety: "The Ring"

Part Ninety-One: "The Helping Hand"

Part Ninety-Two: "The Recurring Nightmare"

Part Ninety-Three: "The Unexpected Introduction"

Part Ninety-Four: "The Offer"

Part Ninety-Five: "The Evening of Insecurity"

Part Ninety-Six: "The Quiet Morning at Home"

Part Ninety-Seven: "The Rooftop" {Coming Soon}

[babydollmarauders]

WRAPPED UP IN A BOW — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which y/n welcomes Quinn home with a gift

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, praise, oral (f receiving), p in v (unprotected). (3.1k words)

notes: welcome to day 8 of the 12 days of kinkmas!

a week. seven days. one hundred and sixty-eight hours.

that’s how long my husband has been out of town.

four road games done and over with and now he’s finally coming home to me.

in retrospect, getting married at the very end of the summer wasn't the best decision Quinn and i have ever made. with no time for a honeymoon before he had to be back in Vancouver for training camp, and then hockey season starting, we've had barely any time to relax and bask in the joy of being newlyweds.

which may be why i'm feeling particularly in the holiday spirit. one more home game and then we get almost an entire week to laze around, celebrate the holidays, and just enjoy the life of being newly married.

i’ve spent the last three days decorating our apartment; a wreath on the front door, our tree with ornaments hung gently on the branches, mistletoe over every doorway. miscellaneous holiday themed trinkets are scattered throughout our home.

but my favorite part of the past few days isn’t the decor, or the music i’ve had blasting, or even the christmas cookies i baked. rather, it’s the idea that popped into my head while shopping for all of the said decor online; when i found a body bow.

and after numerous hours, which were impatiently waited through, and countless youtube tutorials, i sit perched upon the end of my bed, wrapped snugly in the red satin bow.

my breasts are tied high and taut, pushed together tightly by the soft fabric and half covered by the oversized bow; while a strip of the satin reaches over one shoulder and through my legs. technically, all intimate areas are covered, but with one tug of the bow, it would all unravel, leaving me naked and ready. a present for my husband to enjoy.

my eyes are glued to my phone, Quinn’s location dancing across the screen, getting closer and closer to our apartment with each passing second.

it’s not often that i would be awake so late, waiting up for him. often times, i’m asleep when he gets back from a roadie, only waking up when i feel his strong arms wrap around me in bed.

as his location pings at our apartment complex, my heart beat rises in my chest, excitement pulling at my every atom. i’m shaky, phone haphazardly tossed onto my nightstand before i get into position; legs crossed and my weight leaned back on my hands.

it feels as though time is dragging on, towing through metaphorical mud. seconds feel like hours as i wait to hear him enter our apartment.

all the lights are off leading into our room, adding to the illusion that he’ll find me fast asleep.

i’m so lost in thought, knees bouncing in exhilaration, that it isn’t until i hear footsteps bounding down the hall that i realize he’s arrived. blood whirls in my ears, my skin heating up at the mere thought of his touch.

“no, she’s probably asleep.” his words carry through the echoey hallway, “Jack, i’m not waking my wife so you can ask her relationship advice. just call her tomorrow.”

i bite back a laugh as i listen to the one sided conversation with his brother. Quinn’s voice turns hushed as he gets closer to our bedroom, obviously attempting not to ‘wake’ me.

the doorknob twists, the door creaking open to display my husband. his head is down, phone pressed to his ear as he carries his road bag into the room. even from here i can see the crease thats formed between his threaded brows, dark bags accentuated under his green eyes.

he turns, gently closing the door behind him with minimal noise, but when he turns back around, his eyes meet mine. his eyes widen, lips parting with a gentle huff of air before he mutters a quick parting to his brother.

“i gotta go, just call her tomorrow.” the call is quickly hung up, his phone set on the dresser with his bag, never breaking eye contact.

“welcome home.” i watch with a crooked smirk as his eyes rake over my figure, slowly dragging down my body before scanning his way back up.

“fucking shit.”

a giggle rises up my throat at his curse, his steps towards me hurried. he sinks down to his knees, eyeing the intricate bow that graces my body. with his hands finding my knees, he carefully pulls my legs apart so that he can fit between them.

“shit, baby,” he pauses, teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a moment, “this all for me?”

i nod, peering down at him with the most innocent eyes that i can summon.

“mhm,” my tone is quiet but sultry, “played so well, and i missed you so much.”

he stands, towering over me now with a dark expression, his pupils blown out in lust.

“yeah? you missed me?” he questions, coaxing a nod of my head, “how bad?”

“so bad, Quinny.” i whine, hands grasping at his tie.

“did you touch yourself? you push your fingers into your pretty pussy? imagine they were mine as you made yourself cum in our bed?”

his words elicit a broken whimper from my throat, my eyelids fluttering as he wraps a hand around the back of my neck, forcing me to tip my head up to him.

“did you imagine my head between your thighs?” his voice drops, “my tongue licking your wet cunt? making you scream?”

my legs are shaking to close, to clench together and bring some much needed relief to my soaked core; but his body blocks me from doing so.

“yes.” i breathe out, eyes closing as he dips down to capture my lips in a bruising kiss.

his tongue slips past my parted lips, the result of a sudden gasp after his fingers curl into my hair, tugging just slightly.

the kiss is messy and deep, tongue’s tangling and pushing against each other, and when he pulls away, saliva coats my lips.

“lay back, baby.”

i drop back at his demand, hair sprawling across the soft mattress behind my head, and watch as best i can as my husband lowers back down to his knees until i can no longer see him.

it’s not but a second later that i feel his soft lips brush against my inner thigh, kissing a path up my leg. an unignorable pulse sparks between my thighs, thumping harder with each kiss, as he gets closer and closer to my wet heat.

wanton moans break the silence of the room, my body quivering with lustful anticipation; but before he can reach the spot in which i need him most, he pulls back, steadily repeating the process on the opposite leg.

a muted whine pulls from my lips as he shifts his path, bypassing my covered core and kissing up my torso. our eyes lock in a heated exchange, neither set looking away, as his open mouthed kisses reach an end, the oversized bow blocking his path.

but just when i think he’ll back away, he captures one tail of the bow between his teeth, slowly pulling back to unravel the satin knot. the glossy fabric falls off my chest, pooling around my body, revealing my bare breasts. my nipples are peaked with desire, stiffened by a mixture of lust and the cold air.

Quinn stares down at me, admiring my exposed figure, before he continues his journey, pressing wet kisses up my sternum. as he reaches my throat, he begins sucking, teeth grazing against my skin before he presses his tongue against it, pulling away to blow cool air against the spot.

shivers travel down my spine, my back arching up into him as he finally presses his lips against mine once more.

“so beautiful.” he mumbles, his hot breath fanning across my lips, swollen and indented with the mark of my teeth.

dragging himself back down to his knees, my jaw slackens as his breath hits my core.

“you’re dripping for me, baby.”

his tongue darts out, licking a slow stripe up my cunt, and my head tips back further into the mattress, my legs pulled over his shoulders as he groans.

“you really are a fucking gift.” he growls, his fingertips tightening in a bruising grip on my thighs.

my breath catches in my throat, blood rushing to my head as his tongue flattens against my clit. he wiggles it back and forth, softly playing with the bud of nerves.

my hands fly forward, tangling into the fluffy waves of hair that fall onto his forehead. as his tongue tenses, trailing down to flick into my entrance, he spreads my wetness, earning a harsh tug of his hair.

my grip coaxes a laugh of confidence from my husband, his chuckles reverberating through my core, and a screamed cry of pleasure echoes off of our bedroom walls, his name falling from my lips like a solemn prayer.

“Quinn, please,” i whimper, a single digit swiping through my wetness and making my voice falter into a high pitched moan.

“doing so well for me, baby.” his praises set my skin alight, heartbeat thumping in my throat.

his middle finger delves slowly into me, curling up into my g-spot as his lips enclose gently around my clit. pumping in, he slowly gets me ready, slipping his index finger in when he deems me lubricated enough.

my thighs close around his head, his free hand snaking his way around to push my leg open, a choked sob of arousal leaving my throat.

i can feel my orgasm creeping up on me, my stomach tying in knots as my eyes roll back.

suckling at my clit, he rolls it softly between puckered lips, his fingers alternating between hooking upwards and scissoring my cunt, slowly stretching me out and preparing me for his cock.

as his fingers speed and his tongue begins to circle and flick against my clit, my legs shake, hands gripping tighter into his hair while curses fall from my lips.

“Quinn,” tears gather along my waterline at the immense wave of pleasure that rolls through my body, “oh my god, right there!”

the tips of his fingers push against my g-spot with every thrust, my back arching as i can feel myself get closer and closer to the edge.

my husband moans, vibrations carrying through my core and spurring me over the edge. my walls tighten around his fingers, trapping them inside of me, and my hips grind against his soft lips as i reach my release.

heavy breathing sounds through the room as i lay back in ecstasy, recovering from my intense orgasm. pulling his cum coated fingers from my dripping pussy, Quinn’s lips pull away from my swollen clit with a pop.

“you taste like heaven.” he hums, coaxing my eyes to open, watching him suck his fingers clean of my release.

“Quinny,” i breathe out, hands reaching out to pull him forward by his tie as he rises from his knees, “i need you.”

“i’m right here, pretty girl.” he gruffs, a hand resting on the bed next to my head, holding himself up as he hovers above me.

he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the spot where my jawline meets my ear. trailing up until he reaches my chin, he suddenly diverts, his lips meeting mine in a gentle kiss.

our lips dance together, his free hand grazing up my body until he reaches my breasts. his thumb rubs over my stiffened nipple, circling it lightly before pinching, the stark contrast drawing a moan from deep within my throat.

i can feel his erection pressing against my upper thigh, my hips jolting up into his in order try and relieve some tension.

pushing lightly at his chest, Quinn immediately backs away, worry filling his eyes, “what’s wrong? did i do something?”

rather than answer, i sit up, beginning to untie his tie. i pull it free from his collar before my hands push at his suit jacket.

“take it off,” i whine as my hands fumble, “all of it, Quinn. i need you. i need to see you.”

his hand cups my cheek, thumb rubbing over my cheekbone as he chuckles, eyes looking into mine.

“get up on the pillows,” he gruffs, watching with fervor as i follow his command, kicking the long forgotten satin fabric off the bed and onto the floor. “good girl.”

sitting with my back propped on the pillows, i watch my husband undress; his suit jacket tossed on the dresser, his button up dropped to the floor as well as the undershirt, before finally the clink of his belt sounds through the silent room.

i admire his upper body as he undresses, mentally praising all the hard work and training that’s led to his muscular arms and tight physique. my mouth waters and i yearn to press kisses to his pale torso, but i stay rooted in my spot, knowing better than to move.

fully naked, his cock stands tall, fully erect with a pink tip, precum beading at the slit, and i don’t think before my hand reaches out, wrapping around his length as he crawls over me.

i squeeze just slightly, my thumb running over his tip and spreading the precum, earning a hiss of satisfaction from my husband.

“stop,” he groans, vocal chords tight, “you want me to fuck you, right?”

i peer up at him with innocence, nodding my head quickly.

“then don’t be a greedy little slut,” my hand drops at his words, allowing him to take a deep breath, “hands and knees, baby.”

i scramble into position, craning my neck to watch his facial expressions as he grabs his base, guiding his cock through the lubricant of my residual cum.

my body shivers as he glides himself through my slick folds, wetting his dick thoroughly. he slides over clit, my legs instantly wobbling as i make a silent squeak.

“Quinn,” my voice shakes, but before i can continue, he’s pushing into me, my back contorting as he runs a hand over my spine.

“that’s it, baby,” he coos after i let out a loud moan, “take it like a good girl.”

i reach back with one hand, desperately grappling behind me for his touch. my request is granted when he grabs my hand, holding it in earnest as his other holds my hip.

“fuck me,” i cry, pushing backwards to sheath him entirely inside of me, “please, i need you to fuck me.”

Quinn clicks his tongue against his teeth, my head hanging forward as he stills, teasing me. i part my lips to begin begging again, but he silences me quick, pulling entirely out before slamming back into me.

he drops my hand in favor of gripping both hips, fucking into me with harsh and unforgiving thrusts.

my arms feel like jello beneath me, quivering with every graze of his tip against my g-spot, until finally i fall to my elbows.

his thighs smack against mine, each thrust pushing me further up the bed until i have to place my palms on the headboard, keeping me steady as my knees dig into the memory foam mattress.

“so fucking wet,” he grunts, pulling my focus to the lewd sounds of his cock sliding through my wetness, “my pretty fucking wife, so ready for me; so easy to please.”

i whine at the use of ‘wife’, the title still bringing goosebumps to the top of my flesh.

“yours,” i gasp, eyes rolling back as he slows his strokes, angling his hips for his cock to run over my g-spot, “all yours. your wife.”

“yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he breathes, “you like being my wife? you like letting me fuck you and call you mine? forever.”

his hand slides to my front, sprawling over my stomach before dipping down to let his finger apply pressure to my pulsing clit.

“yes!” i squeal, hips jerking from the pleasure, “yes, Quinn, yes!”

his finger draws circles on my clit, thrusts speeding as i clench around him.

“who am i?”

my stomach fills with pressure, toes curling as my hair falls into my face.

“my husband!” i scream, legs shaking underneath me.

his finger never relents, my overworked clit tingling, and i can barely stutter out that i’m close before he’s leaning forward, pressing kisses to my sweat coated back.

his soft lips against my heated skin send me over the edge, my eyes drawing shut as i let out an intense breathy moan. my walls clench but his thrusts never ease, only fucking into me with more intensity as he chases his own high, and within a minute, he finds it.

his hips falter, his grip tightening on my hips as he lets out a strangled cry, ropes of cum spilling out of him and mingling with my own.

it’s silent as he stops, nothing but heavy pants and the squelching sound of him pulling out, before he lays down, finally allowing me to drop onto my stomach beside him.

a breathy chuckle leaves his lips, my face buried into the pillow beside him, and he reaches over to scoop me into his arms, helping turn my body until my head is resting in the crook of his neck.

“what a welcome home present.” he laughs, still out of breath, and i giggle into his neck.

“figured you might like that.” i yawn, eyes fluttering shut as i rest a hand on his chest, “well worth staying up.”

“hey,” he coos, head back away in order to look at me. i pry my eyes open, staring up into his, “don’t go falling asleep yet, baby. you need a bath.”

i groan, attempting to burrow further into him, “but i’m so tired.”

he rolls his eyes at my drawn out whine, gently nudging me off of him so he can stand up.

“i’m gonna go draw a bath and get some wine. you don’t fall asleep.”

i nod sleepily, pulling myself up in a sitting position to keep myself from dozing off.

it’s not but five minutes later that Quinn returns, helping me into his arms and carrying me into the bathroom. he sets me down into the hot water of the bubble bath, grabbing the wine glasses off the counter and handing them to me before he slips in behind me, taking his glass back.

having out a deep sigh, i relax into his chest, his free arm wrapping around the front of my waist.

“so,” i start, making him laugh at my tired tone, “how was the trip?”

[sunlightmurdock]

anyway, don’t be a stranger | Bradley Bradshaw

one year after the hardest break-up of your life, you see Bradley Bradshaw again at your aunt’s wedding.

warnings : stand-alone. implied significant age gap (around 10-15 years). low-key dilf bradley except he has no kids. just angst really. this is based on scott street by phoebe bridgers and I felt like that deserved a warning in itself. reader is Penny’s niece. no physical descriptors of reader except brief mention that Bradley stroked their hair. post-break-up, kind of alluded to that the relationship was a secret. wc: 1.6k

…

“I missed you.” He whispers, all past-tenses nowadays. His lips brush your hair before he settles his cheek there instead, his left hand settled politely at the base of your spine while his right holds yours once again.

You miss him. Present-tense, as your make-up marks the white of his neatly steamed shirt. Your head on his chest and his stomach grazing yours.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, and behind your eyelids the floor plan of his living room is etched there. You know what steps to take to mind from bumping into the couch, or the coffee table, or the guitar he keeps by the lamp. You’re wearing his boxers and he’s telling you off with a grin on his face, for not knowing your nineteen-sixty-eight’s from your nineteen-seventy-four’s.

The records he gave you are nestled in the bookcase in your room. Your collection isn’t as extensive as his.

“You’ve been… doing okay?” even the way he speaks to you is cautious now. It wasn’t, once. Once he would have held both of your cheeks in his hands and you would have told him everything without him even having to ask.

He steps back, you step forwards, his hand on your back keeps your middle against his. The music rises and falls, his body keeping yours in rhythm.

“Yeah,” you guess. Okay is subjective, anyway. Your fingers skim along the seam between his shoulder and arm, careful to miss the ticklish spot at the back of his neck. “I got a new place.”

He had been constantly telling you that you needed to move out. That place was shitty in every sense of the word. Your roommates were useless, and rude. He was constantly fixing a leak in your bathroom, or a stiff window latch, or a blown fuse. Not to mention he hated the area.

It hadn’t seemed like too much of a pressing issue back when you spent most of your days at his place.

“Oh,” He murmurs, turning his face toward your hair once more, like he had all of those nights you spent in his bed. If he was an honest man, he would admit to you that he had always figured you would move into his place next, once he finally got you out of that shitty shoebox apartment. “That’s great. By yourself?”

He does everything by himself.

“No,” You answer. It would be far too lonely, far too empty, to have stretched through the winter by yourself. “With a friend.”

He’s glad to hear that. He knows you hate coming home to an empty place. Almost as much as he does. “It’s near the park?”

“No,” You wish. You wish, too, that he didn’t remember how much you wanted to live near there. You wanted a lot of things a year ago. “By the river.”

The smell of him makes the hole he left in the middle of your ribs throb with a painful emptiness. His thumb strokes the space of an inch, top to bottom and there again, on the small of your back.

A year ago, slow-dancing in a packed room, in a pretty dress with Bradley Bradshaw would have made all of your dreams come true. Him spinning you the way he did when you were alone in his kitchen, kissing you with a grin on his face.

It’sforthebetterit’sforthebetterit’sforthebetter. It’s for the best. Your fingers skim along his shoulders, turning your face toward his neck as you had so many times before.

“You could… come see it.” You don’t want him to see your new apartment. He’ll see that it’s everything he wanted for you and it isn’t enough. That his missing shirts are strewn between either your laundry hamper or your closet. His favourite Eagles record on the player he bought you. The stuffed animal he won you so proudly that night on the pier laying on his side of the bed.

He’ll see all the ways you’ve let him down after swearing that you would move on.

You want to see his place. It gnaws at you as he holds you in his arms; to know if pieces of you linger in his life the way he does for you.

Maybe you haven’t held onto the way it ended the same way he has. Bradley remembers, every day, the look in your eyes when he told you that it was over. The way he hurt you. He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t ever meant to.

He’d hoped to see you here tonight with a new boyfriend and a big smile on your face. He’d hoped to be walking out with a knife in his side about how happy you were without him — at least that would mean he’d done the right thing.

“Is that what you want?” Maybe if he had taken the time to ask you that thirteen months ago you would have washed a few less mascara stains out of your pillowcases this past year.

The band slows and the music fades until the song is gone all together.

“No.” Comes through the resounding silence. His hand pulls away from the small of your back and comes to rest against the back of your neck, hugging you closer as an instinctive gesture.

His fingers squeeze softly at your nape.

This isn’t a very platonic way to dance together. Your arms reach around his shoulders and squeeze. Without checking to see if anyone’s watching, Bradley presses his lips to your temple.

Just like that, it’s over again. He drops your hand and unwraps himself from you.

“Alright,” His adam’s apple bobs as he takes a step back. He tries to offer you a smile. You don’t even attempt at the same courtesy, your eyes trained on him. He reaches out, grazing his fingers against yours as a parting gesture. “You take care of yourself, baby.”

And you’re expected to watch him walk away again.

He swallows thickly, weighted by the all too familiar glassy-eyed look you’re giving him. The dance floor swirls around the two of you, something gravitational that keeps them from getting too close. There had always been a certain level of privacy that came with being his, it lingers even in this vibrant room.

The song slows to a finish, and Bradley feels a familiar sinking feeling. He has to be the one to do the difficult thing, here. He straightens just a little and reaches for you once more, tapping platonically at your forearm.

“Have a good night.”

Don’t. The word almost spills right out. You bite down hard on the inside of your lip to keep it to yourself. He takes his first step back.

He opens his mouth, then. Lights twinkling above him and that look in his eyes, such strong regret— the kind of look that always comes before his best apologies. His eyes snag on the figure behind you.

Pete Mitchell leans against a support beam with a glass in his hand and a waning smile on his lips. His head is cocked with a vague curiosity, his steely irises flickering between the two supposed strangers before him.

Nothing more than passing ships.

No one will ever know how Bradley’s heart had thundered when you had kissed him. How he misses the way you’d tangle in his bedsheets, smiling at him while he got ready for work.

Pete’s dark brows start to pull together just slightly under the dance floor lights, illuminating him in a brash violet while you’re passed into the shadows.

Bradley closes his mouth, and turns away.

Your timeout is over, and the game is back on. As you have been for the past year, you’re invisible. He isn’t, he couldn’t be and you couldn’t even pretend that he is. Your gaze lingers on him through the passing shadows and lights, watching his gleaming smile spread around the room.

Charming the masses, he seems okay.

Your gut twists.

All day, all year, you have picked yourself up and carried on like normal. Like he hadn’t ever stroked his fingers through your hair and told you all the things he hadn’t been brave enough to tell anyone else.

All of those insecurities, and dreams, linger between you like a storm cloud in the sky. No one in this room has the sense to look up and see what’s there.

No one knows exactly what time you leave. It’s just passing conversation that they haven’t seen you in a while, that maybe you had gotten a ride home.

Bradley isn’t surprised, somehow, when he stops at the end of his driveway. The taxi pulls away behind him. His cheeks are flushed and warm-looking, his curls tangled over his forehead and his unfastened tie resting in his hand rather than around his neck.

Sitting on his porch steps, you’ve never felt quite as small. He watches you shrink further, pulling your knees closer and huddling yourself away from him. Memories of the times he would come home to you here and you would throw yourself into his arms flash across his mind.

Wordlessly, Bradley puts one foot in front of the other. He digs his house keys from his pocket as he passes you by, unlocking the door with a familiar jingle. You push yourself up from the steps and hug your arms around yourself while he flicks on the entryway lights.

[seat-safety-switch]

Sometimes, when I'm feeling flush, I like to go to this little restaurant near me. It's a sushi joint, and in my part of the world that always has to come with some additional kitsch. For this restaurant, it's "bullet train sushi." You order on a little iPad, and then a train comes out of the kitchen, bringing your sushi behind it. Clean. Efficient. Antithetical to my morals and values.

See, I'm from North America. In case you're unfamiliar, it's very popular these days. You can find it on the north end of America on any map, except for that weird one that is about Pangaea. One thing we love in North America is cars. We spend a couple of hours stuck in one so we can go to an office we hate, then spend a couple of hours going home so we can spend a few more hours taking our kids to a soccer game. If we had a train, then we'd be able to do things like check our text messages without running over a pedestrian.

Being presented with this totally viable transportation alternative, albeit in miniature and towing little pieces of raw fish behind it, troubles the mind. If we had made better choices, put monopolists to the torch, could we have a utopian society where you order things on a little iPad and then gleamingly efficient tubes fly you out of the kitchen and into a glorious new world? I love the food, but I hate the frantic cold sweats it gives me as I ponder an alternative civilization that doesn't care quite so much about heated steering wheels. That's why I had to do something.

Welcome to Switch's Highway of Sushi – the only sushi restaurant in town that's sponsored by General Motors Corporation. Here, each table is actually a fully-equipped Chevrolet Blazer. Diners are commanded to get their own goddamn food the way our forefathers once did: in four-wheel-drive. The eight-storey parking garage in which the restaurant is housed features many stalls, containing highly trained chefs making delicious food that's just a complex parking job in tight confines away.

Sure, it makes the restaurant fairly space-inefficient having to make room for sixty 6000-pound SUVs. Our insurance is through the fucking roof because our customers keep backing over the waiters and their own families (why not look at the award-winning ClearView Surround Backup Camera, idiots?) And the air quality inside the place could be defined as "not great," even with the really expensive oven vent hoods you get at the restaurant supply store.

All this doesn't matter. Freedom is what matters. The freedom to not have to occupy the same space as any other member of your civilization, unless you are currently backing over them because you forgot to check the backup camera again. Come on, table four. If you're going to keep this up all night, we might think about giving you some demerits.

[londondungeon2]

thinking about you and floyd getting a dog after graduating night raven college. sure, you two have grim but grim’s more like a roommate that skimps out on rent. so you two start looking for a dog through adoption centers.

you two go through a couple of breeds. floyd’s insistent on a puppy that is going to grow big; you don’t mind as long as the dog isn’t going to shed.

an alaskan malamute would shed too much, english mastiff maybbbe, you two consider a doberman and a cane corso too. then, at another one of your weekly visits to the local shelter, there’s a new puppy brought in, kept behind the biggest glass cage in the shelter.

great dane. seven weeks old, coming soon. birthday: Mar 13. name: Moose.

“cool name,” floyd comments while looking down at the dog who is solely entertained by the bone in his mouth. kneeling down, he taps the glass, “hey moose, ya got a good name there, buddy.”

the dog finally turns away from his bone, looking up at whoever is tapping the glass. floyd’s lazy smile kinda plummets off his face. curious, you peer down.

moose — cool named moose — has a blue and brown eye. you would almost misinterpret the blue as being a blind eye but no, that’s just pure heterochromia.

when floyd looks back up at you, smiling wide, you know you are walking out of there with less money than you walked in with.

“shouldn’t we have waited till he was eight weeks old? just to play with him in the play-pens and make sure we get along with him.”

“nah,” floyd says, flipping in his hand the confirmation slip that you two get to pick moose in a week. “we’d get along.”

“hah, and i tricked myself into believing this wouldn’t be a spontaneous decision.”

you are suddenly pulled into a side hug and kissed on the head, “yeah, you’re really dumb for that, shrimpy.”

so, in a week, moose comes home. floyd is loving every second of being a dog dad.

you have the apartment pup-proof which proves pointlessly when the very big puppy you two adopted manages to knock down any obstacles. it’s like having a tiny horse in the house!

yet, in a month, you have managed to organize yourself to accommodate a puppy with floyd’s help. moose does a really good job at keeping floyd in a constant good mood. a dog is always happy to see its owner, and that infectious happiness brings a dumb grin to floyd’s face without fail. and! you don’t even have to worry about exercising the dog, floyd has a big handle on it.

at nights, your 150 pound eel and 45 pound — and growing — moose falls into bed with you. kissed by your bf and licked by your dog. life is wonderful and full of bliss.

(life gets more wonderful when jade and azul visit because floyd is set on making sure moose is well socialized. and coincidentally, floyd just happens to have bought a new toy for moose — a blue octopus with purple tentacles.

moose is about eleven months old now and still very energetic which means he loves to rip up stuff. floyd lost one pair of shoes to moose and you haven't seen your boyfriend so stern towards your dog until then. you two have managed to trained him to only rip up toys now, nothing else.

so, as you are catching up with your friends, drinking tea jade has made, you are startled when a blue something is launched into azul’s lap.

“moose, toy!”

you watch sixty pounds of dog follow the toy’s crashing descent and jump into azul’s lap. then, leaping from loveseat to couch, starts tearing up the toy so fiercely that tentacles and stuffing starts to fly.

“i knew you didn’t buy that toy for pure purposes,” you scold as floyd laughs his heart out.

the rest of the night, you watch azul’s legs lift off the ground whenever moose happens to trot back and forth, following floyd’s every movement - kitchen to living room.)

//inspired by the fact my local shelter does actually have a dog with heterochromia and my own dog does have an octopus squeak toy <3

[last-herondale]

Almost Pt. 2

Bucky POV (W/ FemReader)

Angst, heartbreak, sadness

Tw: some mild curse words

AN: Hellooooo. I had an idea for a part two! Two fics in one week? Who do I think I am? 😳 anyway here is Bucky’s point of view on what happened after part one! Will link below! Maybe this will be a new series? Idk feeling ambitious 🤣

Part 1

Part 3

Enjoy 🤘🏼

It had been six weeks since Steve’s party. Six agonizing weeks of silence. Forty-two days of not hearing your voice. One thousand and eight hours of not seeing you smile at my stupid jokes. Sixty thousand, four hundred, and eighty minutes of not seeing the light dance in your eyes whenever you saw me enter the room. Three million, six hundred thousand twenty eight, and eight hundred seconds since I saw you walk away from me during that party after confessing your love for me.

You said you needed time. I respected that. I understood that.

After you bared your soul to me, I told you what I thought you needed to hear. That I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better. It was difficult to stand there and see the light die from your eyes as I said these things. It was painful to see you cry, knowing that I had been the one to cause you that pain. But it was devastating for me to realize that despite how much I loved you, how much I cared for you, that the words I said were still true. Agonizingly so.

I expected that this type of honesty would destroy our friendship. Even though I still held out hope in my selfish mindset that we could continue on like we had in the past. Spending our free nights together, laughing, joking, having fun together, sharing memories, crying, hugging, everything we used to do…

But of course, those dreams had not come into fruition.

When you volunteered to be shipped out of the country for a mission the day after Steve’s party, I knew it was to get away from me. And despite my frustration and worry about you leaving on some dangerous mission without me in the state you were in, Steve assured me that you would be fine. He didn’t know the extent of what happened, but Steve being the inquisitive son of a bitch he is, he was able to connect some of the dots at least. Surprisingly he didn’t lecture or judge me. I was expecting to get an earful from him about how I treated you, led you on, and hurt your feelings, but in return I got nothing.

The mission was only supposed to last for two weeks, but as the days grew longer, the whole team was on edge when the two of you didn’t return. Steve kept communications with Tony, and he would pass along the messages to the rest of us. “They hit a snag. They are safe but they are bunking down for a bit.”

I felt like I was on pins and needles. I just needed to know you were safe, that you were okay. I must have looked worse for wear around the tower, because even Nat noticed and had a conversation with me in my room. It was a little strange. Having her back in my apartment, alone, her fiery gaze still as piercing as it was when we were together. But those feelings I held for her were gone. Something else lingered there, a fondness for the time we had, but nothing more.

I knew she was your best friend, so I assumed you told her everything about what happened at the party, but when she came into my apartment with a stern gaze on me, arms crossed and all, all she said was.

“I don’t know what happened the other night at Steve’s party, but you need to stop moping and get a grip.”

“I’m fine. Stay out of it,” I said with an icy tone.

Nat just rolled her eyes and jabbed a finger at me. “If you don’t feel anything for her, then stay away or get your shit together. She cares about you too much to walk away from you, Bucky.” Nat’s voice grew softer as she thought of you. “Whenever she comes back, and she will come back, she needs to heal. She cannot continue to be your emotional support puppet. It's draining her, James. Every time she returns from hanging out with you I see less and less of her return. She cannot continue to give you all of her heart when she is receiving none of it back.

“So for her sake, please, let her go.”

It was a hard thing to hear, but it was necessary. I stopped driving myself mad with when you would return. It was difficult, maddeningly so, but after another week I was able to distract myself enough with other things… other people. I did a few missions here and there, nothing that took me out of the country, but it filled some of the time I had to think about you.

I spent time with Nadia, the girl I had gone on a few dates with, the girl I had broken your heart over. Our relationship was purely physical. She was another distraction, someone to pass the time with. She didn’t seem to mind the distance I put between us. We weren’t exclusive by any means, and she was free to explore all of her options, but that was as far as that would go. Not that I could ever tell you this, even though I wanted to.

That was the shittiest part of it all. I missed you. Constantly. I missed talking with you about every single part of my day. I missed hearing about your day, or the silly little thoughts that swirled in your curious head. I missed spending my weekends with you, staying up until the sun rose, seeing you curled up in a ball on my couch, sleeping so peacefully. The ache in my chest never ceased, but I was able to drown away the thought of you for moments at a time.

And then you returned.

It was like a blow to the heart, seeing you standing in the kitchen, casually making yourself a bowl of cereal. Your skin seemed tanner than when you left. Clearly you had been somewhere where the sun kissed your skin for long periods of time. You looked beautiful, even just in your morning casual wear. You hadn’t noticed me yet. I was frozen in the entryway, trying to think of something intelligible to say to you, when Steve walked in through the other way. He too had not noticed me yet, his skin also sunkissed and a bit long.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before any sound could come out, I watched as my best friend slid his arms around your waist, turned you around in a swift and gentle motion, and kissed you. Ice filled my veins and it felt as if a rock had dropped in my stomach. I staggered backwards a bit, hiding myself more in the darkness of the archway as I saw the scene unfold.

Steve was kissing you. His hands were gentle around your waist, and although you were taken by surprise in the moment, you stood on your toes to be more on his level. You cupped his face and smiled. You were smiling. You looked…happy.

I slipped away back down the hallway and into my room before I could see more. The image of my best friend kissing the love of my life was burned into my mind. I sat on my bed in a disgruntled mess, fighting the strange waves of feelings that were swirling in my body.

You were finally back. You were safe. At that I was able to release the tension in my chest that I had been holding since you left. And then… Steve. What had changed during those six weeks you were gone? Was it serious? Did you love him? Did he love you? These questions paced back and forth inside of my brain until I was nearly dizzy.

It was the memory of Nat’s voice that stuck out amongst my own thoughts. “Let her go.”

You had been happy in that kitchen. Steve was a good man, too good to play with someone’s feelings if he didn’t truly feel something for them. Steve was good for you. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? The reason why I broke your heart in the first place? To set you free to find someone that would love you in all the ways I was incapable of doing. Why was I mad that you had done that? Why did I want to punch Steve for kissing you?

I clenched my fists as I sat on the bed. My body shook with so much emotion. In the torental storm that was my mind, I tried to focus on one memory. The only one that mattered. That night on the balcony. You had stood there, hair swirling in the breeze, more beautiful than the night sky. And you said it.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words calmed me. The memory of that night grounded me. Your tears. Your sadness. Your anger. I caused that. “I’m in love with you.” That is what you told me. And even though I wanted to scream it back, to shout it from the roof that I loved you too, instead I denied you. I threw it back in your face to save you from what I am. I hurt you, and this was my punishment. Seeing you pick up the pieces of that love that I shattered and give it to someone who would nurture that love.

I sat there thinking and thinking, until my head was pounding. I laid down on my bed, the image of you kissing someone else burning in my head.

“I’m in love with you too,” I muttered to myself.

Then, as tears began to silently fall down my face, I began to laugh.