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moonchildstyles · 9 months ago

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rosemary harry deserves to get his dick sucked! there! i said it!

wordcount: 6.4k+

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"'S okay, Rosie. We're almost inside."

Keeping his little cat tucked to his chest, Harry fumbled with the small peach tinted key on his ring. His still damp hair had begun to curl dry under the crisp morning air, his kitten surely feeling the same chill. Finally pushing open the door and stepping over the threshold, Harry did his best to stay as quiet as possible since (Y/N) was no doubt sleeping through her morning off.

Placing Rosemary on the ground, she tottered right past him and into the kitchen where (Y/N) had set up a small station of food and water for her since she visited so often. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched her tail flick behind her, lagging behind as he locked the front door. Kicking off his shoes under her foyer table, he hiked his duffle full of extra clothes higher up his shoulder before moving out of the small alcove housing her front door.

He intended to head straight for (Y/N)'s bedroom, eager to curl up with her and spend a quiet morning at her side after his long night, though he stopped in his tracks as he passed by what he had thought would be an empty living room.

Curled up on the plush green suede of her couch, (Y/N) was bundled in a knitted white blanket with tired eyes and a mug of something warm in her hands.

"Hi," she smiled at him, features lighting up some as she took him in.

"Hi, peach," he crooned, dropping his bag on her foyer table before stepping towards her with a pout on his lips, "I told y'not to wake up early for me—'s your day off."

"I know," she smiled, unperturbed by his gentle scolding, "But I wanted to see you—and Rosie. I also wanted to have breakfast with you, so."

Harry's shoulders dropped, the tense set to his bones settling as he listened to her. He could never be upset with her, not even for a second—especially not for something he would do for her. He missed her very much over the night, so he couldn't say he was very disappointed in getting to see her smiling face this early.

"We'll take a nap after we're done eating, then," he decided, nodding his head as if to set the plans in stone, "Thank you, peach."

Stretching from her spot on the couch, she left the blanket a puddle on the couch with her mug still warming her hands. "Of course," she smiled at him, "I have everything already in the kitchen, so we can just eat then lay down."

As much as he loved cooking with her, the idea of having warm food ready for him had his chest warming. He'd do the dishes today, he decided, his small thank you to her.

Taking her hand in his, Harry followed after his peach into her small kitchen. Still sitting at her mat, Rosemary was cleaning her small bowl of food as if she were starved (and she wasn't. Harry had even given her a scoop of her favorite wet food while he showered, so she shouldn't be this hungry).

"Hi, cutie," (Y/N) cooed to the cat, dropping to a crouch beside her while Harry went ahead without her.

Already doled out and portioned was their simple breakfast of fluffy eggs and hashbrowns with plenty of cheese atop them. Peeking at the sink to see a couple of pans and utensils sitting inside the basin, Harry decided he would let her get to sleep then he would be taking care of that for her.

"Everything looks alright?" (Y/N) asked, standing to the full of her height with Rosie circling her feet with a twitching tail.

"Looks really good, love," Harry commended, an easy smile touching his lips, dimples dotting his cheeks.

Harry led the charge this time, heading towards her living room where he intended to cuddle up with her and share warmth under her blanket. Rosemary had followed them out, picking her own spot on a folded blanket on (Y/N)'s armchair she chose every time over the plush bed by the television. Settling on the cushions, Harry draped the knitted blanket around his and (Y/N)'s shoulders as she sunk into his side.

"How was work?" she asked, taking the first bite of her cheesy eggs.

"It was alright. Long," he sighed, exhausted just thinking about the hours he spent at the grocery store. He had been thinking about switching to days since everything settled down, but he didn't like the idea of leaving behind the overnight crew he was beginning to grow comfortable with. Plus, he still wasn't that big a fan of strangers, so he wasn't too into the idea of being surrounded by them all shift long. "'M thinking about picking up one of Theo's shifts next week."

(Y/N)'s lips slanted into a precursory frown. "If you don't want to, you don't have to, H. You've been working a lot, lately."

He shrugged, picking up a bite of his hashbrowns. "I know, but I want to save as much as I can before I move. The apartment I was looking at, the rent went up another hundred per month again."

A beat of silence settled between them for a moment. "You know," (Y/N) started, the tone of her voice familiar enough that Harry knew exactly where she was going, "You don't have to find a new place if you don't want to—you can just come here, instead. It's not like we haven't pretty much lived together already."

Peeking up at her, he caught (Y/N)'s theatrical smile, big and bright on her features as her own form of small persuasion. She always gave him that look when she brought up this subject.

"I know," he said, the same thing he always started with, "Let me think about it, peach."

A part of him wanted to see if he could cut it by himself without using the methods he was used to, but, as (Y/N) had reminded him once, he'd done this whole thing by himself for a very long time—and his shortcuts often made things harder on himself than he cared to admit. He didn't have to be alone anymore, he had her.

(There was also a whole thing he was still fighting off, the feeling of being a burden on her and taking things that shouldn't be given. That was also something he was trying to work on, even if a bit fruitlessly).

"What did y'do this morning while y'waited?" Harry asked, attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Swallowing down a bite of her breakfast, (Y/N) shrugged. "I started some laundry, but I was too tired to fold everything so I just made breakfast and then sat down. I had the weirdest dreams last night, though."

"Yeah?" Harry smiled, looking at her with raised brows, "What were they?"

With that, (Y/N) launched into a vivid description of her latest dreamscape. Harry listened intently to every turn her story took, forgetting about his food at points in favor of listening to what she had to say. It wasn't necessarily the nonsensical dream that had him so entertained, it was the way she told it. He still reveled in learning her mannerisms, the gestures that made her who she was. There was always something new he could glean just by listening to her.

Before long, empty plates sat before them and the knitted blanket draped over their shoulders had morphed into a cocoon. Harry curled (Y/N) into his lap, draping her legs over his thighs with his arm wrapped around her back to keep her tucked into his side. She talked to him about the shift she'd had the night before and the book she had finally ordered, and any little thing Harry could get out of her. (Y/N) didn't mind doing the talking, more than happy to have him be her listener, though he was still learning that it was okay to have a listener, too.

The sun was beginning to paint the sky a warm orange over the horizon by the time (Y/N) settled into Harry's chest, her head on his shoulder. The blanket was warm around their forms, reflecting heat back. Harry had it tucked up high under (Y/N)'s chin, allowing her to melt back into the sleep-sodden state he'd found her in.

A companionable silence settled over them, leaving Harry's own eyes to shutter in contentment. Huddled under the fleecey blanket, sharing warmth with her, he allowed his hands to wander over her pliant form.

His hand on her back made spanning circles over the planes, the pads of his fingers skimming the bumps of her spine and cradle of her ribs. She was still awake, that much he could tell, but her breathing was an even pace he could feel both under his hand and the puffs against his shoulder. Skating over her form, his hand landed on the curve of her waist, reuniting with the familiar softness with denting fingertips.

Without meaning to, his subtle squeeze had (Y/N) jumping in his lap, a huff of laughter pluming from her lips.

"Sorry," Harry murmured, dropping an apologetic kiss to the top of her head.

(Y/N) snuggled closer in response, his mistake forgiven. Leaving his hand still on her waist, he instead focused on the span of thigh under his left hand.

He had previously pressed his palm into her hip when she had swung her legs into his lap, though now he grazed his touch over the plush of her thigh. Despite the chill in the air and the handful of times she complained about the cold while snuggling into bed, she still couldn't seem to ditch her sleep shorts, leaving a length of her bare skin on display. He worked a soothing circuit over the skin, the blunt of his nails dragging along here and there as he felt goosebumps prickle over the surface.

She keened into his touch, pressing her body that much closer to his own. The soft contours that made up her form reflected against the hard angles of his own, sharing their warmth under the knitted blanket. All night he had missed this.

The last time he had seen her was two mornings ago, just before she had left for her shift at the bakery. It was a quick goodbye, Harry blinking awake just enough to catch her lips in a quick kiss before she was telling him she'd see him later and that she loved him. He didn't sleep much after that, barely dozing in and out of restless dreams before he deigned himself into properly waking and heading home to ready for his own shift. He had missed her, missed the warmth of her touch, the caress of her voice, the wisp of her presence.

To have her now was both exhilarating and relieving. He wanted to stay awake so he didn't miss a single second with her, even if it meant only watching her sleep. But seeing her so relaxed and feeling her melt against him comforted him into his own contented state, as if tonight would be the night he would float away on his own pleasant dreams.

Harry kept running his hands over her body, soothing himself with the plush of her skin and the line of her form. Maybe it was the feel of her warmth, the safety under the quilt with her, or even the feel of the huffs of her breath against his neck, but before he even realized, he felt a stirring in his lap. Under the pillows of her thighs, his cock was much more awake than the rest of him, suddenly piquing to attention with her as his target.

Folding his bottom lip between his teeth, Harry attempted to shift under her in hopes of concealing the stray effect her presence was having on him (truly, he couldn't be too surprised. He'd gone years without any kind of physical relationship with anyone other than himself, and now he felt like a teenager again, aching every time he caught a whiff of her attention). He was sure her cuddling was not something she expected to entice him, especially given how close she was to edging on falling asleep in his arms.

In an attempt to keep himself in check, he stilled his wandering hands, keeping them stationary on the outside of her knee and the safety of her waist. He would hate for her to think he was taking advantage of their position when this was supposed to be a tender morning together after she went out of her way to welcome him home.

Shifting his hips, he tried to gently remove his lower half from the warm body without disturbing her, or landing in an awkward position.

"Where are you going?" (Y/N) grumbled when his movement didn't stop, her arms clinging to his neck.

Harry figured he might be more intoxicated than he thought when just the glaze of her voice was enough to have the muscles in his thighs tensing. His mind immediately went to a different place, remembering all of the breathless words he'd heard wrapped in that voice and the many he still wanted to hear.

"Nowhere, jus'—" he strained, finding a less than comfortable position with his tailbone low on the cushion and his back stretched long, "getting comfortable."

"Oh," she sounded, waking some as she peeked her head up, "I can move if you need me to."

Before Harry had a chance to stop her, tightening his hold on her, she was shifting herself on his lap following the way he was sprawling out. Soon enough, he could feel the plush of her thighs brushing against the familiar hardness in his lap, something that had her stopping in her own movement for a breath.

He loosened his hold on her then, allowing her space if she wanted off of him. "Peach," he started after a beat, sighing out the pet name.

Popping out of her hiding place against his neck, (Y/N) looked to him with still sleepy eyes though they were definitely brighter than he would have guessed given how close to sleep she had been.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Blinking, Harry matched her eye contact. She looked to him with a pair of pinched brows and a clear gaze, no hesitancy behind her perplexing question.

That was not the kind of reaction he had thought he would garner. Extra information was not one of the routes he saw this conversation needing.

"I—" he started, cutting himself off a syllable later, "We... We're cuddling, peach. I didn't want to ruin the morning. You're too tired, anyway."

As she listened, Harry got a view of the soft smile that took over her features, lighting up the sleepy corners of her eyes.

"I'm not too tired for you," she crooned, her voice quiet for just the two of them. Dipping her head down, (Y/N) pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, the tip of her nose skimming his cheek. "You worked hard last night—you deserve something nice."

A heavy blink weighed down his eyelids as he lent into her kiss, cock stirring in his lap. Was he always this easy to get turned on? Or was it just (Y/N) who knew how to push all of his buttons so perfectly?

Dropping his head back against the backing couch cushion, Harry allowed (Y/N) to shower him in her kisses, his mouth in a soft gape. He could feel her gentle smile with every planted kiss against his skin, touching down his neck and over his cheeks and nose. Every bit of his skin she could reach was warmed with her kiss.

One of her hands on his shoulder drifted down, grazing over the blocks of muscle that made up his chest and abdomen, she trailed down until she hit his lap and the bulge that rested between his thighs. His lungs stunted at the soft pressure she applied.

"(Y/N)," he started, voice strained as he blinked his eyes open to match hers, "Y'really don't have to. I know you're tired."

Canting her head, she chanced a glance down towards his lap before she floated her hand away to sit on the middle of his abdomen. "I'm okay, though," she reminded him, looking more awake every time she insisted, "But, if you're too tired, we can go to my room and cuddle instead."

Folding his bottom lip between his teeth, Harry scanned his eyes over her features. There was no way he was going to turn her down in favor of sleeping, especially if she was offering so earnestly.

"'M awake, if you are," he murmured, matching her eyes with his own intensity.

Her smile was too cute, Harry decided, for a moment like this—negotiating over sex. "I think I'm a little too tired for everything, but I've been wanting to do something else for you if it's alright."

Harry's head swirled with whatever this something else was that she had in mind. "Whatever y'want to do, peach. I'll take anything y'want to give me."

(Y/N) dropped a short kiss on his lips, looking a bit too excited before she began slipping down his body with a chirped Good! falling from her lips.

Instinctively, Harry wanted to curl his fingers around her body, keep her where she was against his chest, where she was keeping him warm. Still, he refrained, allowing her to coast down his form until she was settled on the floor between his legs, her knees tucked underneath her with the blanket draped around her shoulders (sneaky thing took the blanket with her before he even had a chance to notice).

His heart thumping in his chest, Harry took in the sight of her on her knees before him. Her eyes suddenly appeared wider, lashes fuller, cheeks warmer. He's never seen her like this before, never had the privilege of having her knelt before him though he had a muscle-squeezing idea of where this may be going.

Spreading his thighs that much more, (Y/N) shuffled between them until she was fit against the edge of the couch with his knees on either side of her. Reaching out, he passed a hand through her hair.

"You're so pretty, peach. You know that?" he murmured, affection dripping from his tender words.

She turned bashful under his praise, resting her head on the inside of his thigh as she gazed up at him. "Thank you," she told him through a small smile, "Is it okay if I try this? I know we've never really talked about it, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately."

Attempting to not get sidetracked over the idea of (Y/N) thinking about having his cock in her mouth—a lot, too—, he kept his focus on the way she looked up at him. A lopsided smile quirked up the corner of his lip.

"You think I would ever say no to that, peach? Or you, for that matter?"

A plume of laughter fell from her lips. From how close she was, with her head pillowed against his leg, Harry could feel that puff against his sweats. He wondered if she felt the way his muscles squeezed under her cheek.

"Just wanted to check, that's all," she prattled, lifting her head from his thigh with her hands reaching towards the waist of his sweats.

With Harry's help lifting his hips, she was able to hook her fingers in the band of his sweats and briefs, pulling the pair down until they rested on the mid of his thighs and his cock had bobbed against his stomach. A shiver tickled his spine now that he was exposed to the chilly air of her home, though he doubted that was the same reason as to why goosebumps touched his skin.

When (Y/N) took him into her hand a moment later, her eyes trained on his ruddy, leaking cock while his own eyes fought against a fluttery blink, Harry's breath hitched. The hand that had been gently petting back her hair turned a hair firmer, reaching to gather the strands on the back of her neck.

"I wish you had told me earlier you were feeling like this," she spoke without lifting her eyes from her hand, "I would have helped you instead of almost falling asleep."

He wasn't even sure if she was intending to be as sexy as she sounded then, his breath stuttering at the feel of her hand pumping around his length with her voice swirling around him.

"'M sorry, love," he sighed, "Thought y'would be too tired."

She shrugged as if this was nothing, Harry having to bite back a smile as he watched on. "I don't mind. I'd rather suck you off than go to sleep, honestly."

At that, there was no way he could pull back the shuddering moan that tumbled from his mouth. A string of precum pearled at his tip only to be wiped away by (Y/N) as she collected it to help slick her strokes.

Nails grazing her scalp, he tipped his head as he watched his love admire his cock the way he admired her. "You're so good to me, peach. 'M so lucky, you know?"

A brilliant smile on her face, she glanced up at him with a frame of fluttering lashes around her eyes. "You deserve it, honey."

There was something else he was going to say, most likely another praise about how perfect she was for no other reason than he loved her and she had his prick in her hand, but that all went down the drain as soon as she lent forward and pressed her lips to the crown. Her lips were warm and soft, slick with the precum gathering on his tip.

It was the way she fluttered her eyes closed, her lips puckered and sweet, looking just the way she did when she kissed him, that had him almost melting into the cushions. She was kissing on his cock the way she did his lips—with affection and something all too soft for an act like this.

He could only watch breathlessly as she held his shaft in a snug fist, tipping her chin and tilting her head with every smeared kiss along his head. If this was already making his stomach jump and lungs squeeze, he feared to think just how long he'd last once she gave him more than a few kisses.

With hooded eyes, (Y/N) blinked up at him just before he felt the tip of her tongue gliding out from between her lips. The fan of her breath rolled across his sensitive skin, chilling the newly slicked path from her tongue had his blood pounding through his veins. His hand gripping her hair pulsed, subconsciously keeping her right where she was.

"Fuck," he breathed, feeling a flush creep up his chest and along the column of his throat.

Though he felt her hand pulse around his length, she didn't let him distract her. Instead, the swift licks she gave graduated to long laves when she shifted to drag the flat of her tongue along the underside of his cock. A sheen of spit covered her lips and sparkled on her chin with every lick as Harry's breathing labored above her.

His eyes followed her every move with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as she began pumping her fist across his now slick length once more before she pursed her lips against his tip. His chest constricted when he saw a string of saliva drop from her lips, sliding down the ridge of his tip, though his breath was cut off when she took him into her mouth.

With her hand still working his shaft, she sucked on his head. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive ridge, Harry's hips bucking against her mouth without permission.

"S-Sorry," he breathed out when he saw her rear back.

"It's okay—just wasn't ready," she murmured through a thick throat. Drawing her eyes away from where her hand was pumping over his length in the absence of her mouth, she told him, "You can—um—do it again, if you want. I'll be expecting it now, so."

There was a part of him that wanted to fawn over her nervous delivery; how sweet could she be with the taste of him on her tongue and kisses warming his cock? It was hardly fair to feel a flutter in his chest when he was already hard over her.

The rest of him, though, was definitively stuck on the fact that she had invited him to lift his hips into her face. She hadn't been ready before, but she was now and didn't have a single qualm about him pressing into her mouth the same way he sunk into her pussy.

His hand in her hair traveled through the strands until he landed on the back of her neck, his palm becoming a cuff pressed against the nape.

"You're alright with that, love?" he pressed, his hand clenching when she gave a particularly tight drag of her hand over his length. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she assured him, "I trust you."

He wanted to say more but there was nothing left for him to choke out when she dipped her head down and took him back into her mouth. Her lips were split wide around his tip as she inched more of him down before stopping with a short gag. When she found her stopping point, she dragged her tongue around the underside, outlining the strong vein that roped around his length. She bobbed her head some, taking his tip to the back of her throat in a teasing squeeze over and over. Whatever she couldn't reach was taken care of by her hand, her fingers tight around his girth.

"Jes—fuck—Peach," he choked out, his hand on the back of her neck a heavy weight as he watched his wet dream play out in front of him.

She kept her focus on her task, ignoring his calling of her pet name, with her free hand coming to rest on his thigh. The blunt of her nails pressed into the flesh, becoming points of clarity against the rushing in his ears.

Her earlier suggestion rang in his head. She had shown him her limits—just how far she was able to take him down before she would need to rear back and breathe, and the pacing that felt comfortable for her.

He could be careful. He could take care of her, and give himself what he wanted. Give himself what he had dreamt of more than once in the middle of the night.

With her so close to him, it wasn't hard to solidify his grip on the back of her neck. She paused when she felt the weight, curling her mouth around his leaking tip. All it took was a watery glance up at him through her lashes when Harry allowed a moment of his inhibitions to drift.

Keeping her steady over his lap, he pushed his hips upwards, his cock sinking into her mouth in one fluid motion. The channel of her throat tightened as he pulled her head to meet him halfway, telling him when to stop before she would gag around him. The silky warmth had him shuddering in his spot, his free hand now fisting the throw pillow at his side.

"Shit, (Y/N)," he panted, his mouth in an open gape as he watched her sink over him. Her hand on his thigh was warm and piercing.

Rearing back, Harry found a rhythm as he thrusted his hips forward into her mouth once more. Her tongue skated around his length with her hand clumsily pumping where he didn't dare to push her. With her lips stretched around him, her saliva began to drop down his cock, landing in the thatch of hair at his base. The band of his low sweatpants shifted against his balls, an unexpected jolt hitting his stomach every time he pulled away from her mouth.

A stream of moans, grumbling whines, and calls of her name permeated her living room. Through the cracks in her curtains, sunlight spilled into (Y/N)'s home, rays catching the blanket huddled form that was her sitting between his legs. Stray hairs haloing her head were highlighted by the sunlight, plating them in gold through his rose-colored lenses.

With the way he was fucking into her throat, rearing his hips back once he hit the seal only to sink his length inside once more, it felt entirely out of place to feel especially sentimental gazing down at her. Maybe it was the long night of work, the buttery morning, or the fact that this was the first time he'd been sucked off in years, but had he ever been more in love?

If the slick of her mouth and writhing of her tongue wasn't enough, when a delicate moan slipped out of her throat and vibrated around his prick, Harry could feel the spiral hiding behind his abs tighten into something unbearable.

"Fuck—I'm—You're," he stammered, the pacing of his hips beginning to falter with a pinch appearing between his brows and his throat growing thick, "'M gonna cum, peach—shit."

The peek he saw of her eyes through her lashes was one he wouldn't forget. There was a wet sheen to her gaze from the amount of times he prodded at her boundaries, pushing the tip of his cock just that much further into her throat. Her lips were slicked with spit, the very corner of her mouth sporting a pearly dot of his precum, with her skin warm on the back of her neck. His hips stuttered thinking about the fact that he had been the one to get her like that this morning.

Her hand pumped the remainder of his length quickened, the fist tight. She stroked over him in tandem with the pacing of his hips, meeting him halfway. His breaths were nothing more than uneven puffs falling from strained lungs.

"C-Can I cum in your mouth, peach?" he panted, the words rushing out before he had any real thought behind them, "Or do y'want me to st—"

Before he had a chance to finish she let out a delicate moan, her lips tight around the stretch of his girth. Her choice was clear, seeing as she didn't stop him from pushing through her pursed lips or drawing away against the weight of his hand.

Though it felt a bit pathetic, just how easy he was, that was somehow all he needed before he felt the first surge of release. His hips stuttered, (Y/N)'s own hand struggling in her pacing when the first rope hit the back of her throat. He felt his muscles tense, his abdomen hard and his thigh bunched tight under her hand. His mouth was in a gape as he fought to keep his eyes open with every pulse of his cock leaking more cum into the back of her throat.

He wanted to watch as he came into her mouth, he wanted to see her face. His hand on the back of her neck loosened as he felt into the moment. He swore there was a haze that drifted through her home at that moment. There was nothing but static touching his skin—and (Y/N).

By the time the cloudy haze and the electricity faded, Harry's muscles unclenched as he sank back into the couch. (Y/N)'s mouth was still warm around his cock, though her grip had fallen away in the fray. His eyelids felt heavy as he gazed at her, luxuriated in the feel of her cleaning him up as the final ropes fell from his tip.

When it all became too much, Harry feeling too sensitive for any more, he used that grip on the back of her neck to draw her away from him. She went pliantly wherever he wanted her, disconnecting from his cock with a soft pop and a lingering string of saliva that evenly bowed and broke to land on her chin.

Harry's hand on her neck shifted to trail through her hair, a decidedly gentler touch than what he was sure he was giving her in the heat of the moment. He pet back the errant strands, displaying her face for him in the rising sunshine. Once again, he couldn't be sure if it was the way the light fell on her face, the soft set of her features, or the fact he had just orgasmed harder than he knew could happen before eight a.m., but he'd never seen anything so pretty.

Her eyes glimmered with stray tears, her skin warm and dewy with sweat. Her lips were swollen and slick, her hair a little bit of a mess thanks to him. If he wasn't already spent, growing limp, he would have had to take her again if for no other reason than to show her just how beautiful he thought she was.

"C'mere, peach," he murmured, his voice sunken in his throat, "Let me kiss you."

Though she didn't waste any time crawling back into his lap, (Y/N) took a moment to pull his pants back up his thighs and tuck his sensitive cock away before she was straddling his hips. Opening his arms, (Y/N) fell into his chest with her own arms looping around his neck.

It was an affection hug he pulled her into first, his face burrowing into her neck with his nose skimming her hairline. He pulled in her scent in a thick inhale, pulsing his arms around her. The blanket she had stolen in the first place was now draped around their snuggled position once more, layering around them as if there was any more privacy to be had in the middle of her empty house.

She was the first to begin drawing away, but Harry caught her lips before she had a chance to utter anything through her perfect, perfect, perfect��mouth (maybe he hadn't come down completely, just yet). He pressed a soft kiss to her top lip before he took it between his two, getting a taste of her lips when he parted his own. He didn't mind that he could still taste the traces of himself, too caught up in the fact that she wanted that taste of him in the first place. The pads of his fingers pressed into the small of her back, keeping her cuddled to his chest as he tilted his head and tipped his chin this way and that.

"I love you," he breathed against her mouth, parting just far enough away for the words to slip through.

A gentle laugh dripped from her lips coloring his own though he didn't interrupt his kissing. "I can't imagine why you'd be saying that right now, after what just happened."

He knew she was teasing, attempting to play with him some after their intimacy, but he didn't have it in him to go along. "I mean it," he insisted, sounding a touch more desperate than he meant to let on, "I love you so much. Everything about you."

Pulling far enough away to rest her forehead on his, Harry was forced to blink his eyes open and keep himself from following after her kiss. Her gaze was soft, a fond depth swimming in her irises.

"Harry," she started, the pillows of her lips grazing against his own, "I love you, too. Don't sound so sad."

"'M not sad," he answered in a rush, "'M happy—so happy. You're so perfect, and 'm so lucky, and I love you."

That fondness in her eyes landed on her lips, stretching them into a soft smile that Harry wanted to get a full view of but didn't want to draw any further away to see. "I love you, too," she declared, granting mercy on him and tipping her chin to press a single kiss to his waiting mouth, "You're perfect, and I'm the lucky one."

There was the immediate instinct to argue with her, remind her of who he was before her, but he refrained. It was something he was working on—accepting her love and kind words—, and he didn't want to ruin the moment by denying her feelings for him.

"Thank you," he answered simply, giving a loving kiss to the full of her lips as a way to seal his.

(Y/N) reciprocated with a press of her own, surely aware of what was going on in his head. Pulling away from him, she began crawling out of his lap despite the hold he had around her middle. "You're welcome," she smiled, a hint of pride in the corners, "I think—if you're not too awake now—that we should nap for the rest of the morning. In my room, too, so we can actually cuddle."

Scanning over her features now, he could still see that sleep tinge to her face; a slight crease to her eyes and the sloping of her shoulders. She had been the one half asleep in the first place, and she ended up being the one that did the most work in the end—she deserved to sleep her morning away.

Plus, he still needed to do her dishes while she slept. Especially after what she just did for him.

"That sounds really nice, peach," he settled on, allowing her a glimpse at his dimples when he gazed up at her.

Muttering a quiet, chittering C'mon, then, Harry gave her his hand to drag him back to her bedroom. The throw blanket she had claimed for herself trailed behind her as he followed. The smile on his face had no plans of slipping away as he watched her pad towards her bedroom, socked feet and her blanket covered body too cute for her own good.

A quiet pattering sounded behind him. Harry felt his chest plummet towards his stomach before he even chanced a look over his shoulder.

Reluctantly, he turned his head just to see Rosemary following after them on her quiet feet. Her tail flicked high in the air, her ears at attention as she looked up at him with her moon eyes.

God, he really hoped she hadn't just seen what happened.

—————

anon ur right he does deserve this!!! thank u for requesting!!! thank u to everyone for reading and so sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas of your own please send them in!

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felixandresims · 1 year ago

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Hello Everyone:),

As the Chateau Set ended, I want to take you to a new destination. I have been thinking about the following subject for quite some time and my recent trip to the US made my decision final, we are going to New York City, precisely to SOHO.

It was an unusual beginning for me to start with the bathroom, but I wanted to have enough research time for a future exterior set. Seeing SOHO in real life was such a great experience and I feel very inspired :). After working on a traditional collection for quite some time it's refreshing to dive back into a modern aesthetic.

The bathroom consists of 23 items, you will get various sink options, double, single, monolithic, and basin-only versions, that either rest on a vanity or can have a shelf for 'Clutteration' underneath. I love a good bathtub, so you will get one of those. This Set includes a rainfall shower, plenty of mirror options, a sideboard, a stool, two rugs, and a lid-up Japanese toilet with a remote control. I also created Travertine/ stone walls and floors.

Harrie has started working on her new Minimalist Set called KLEAN and I couldn't resist using her new windows and doors in My Promo shot. If you would like to know more about what she created you can check it out HERE

SOHO Part 1 is on Early Access and you can find it here

In the coming months I will focus on the cast iron buildings and by the end of the SOHO I hope that you will be able to create the New York Loft of your dreams ;)

I hope you will like this collection, once again thank you so much for everything!!!

Lots of Love,

Felix xxx

#ts4cc #ts4 cc mm #ts4 cc finds #ts4cc download #ts4 maxis match #ts4 bathroom #new york #soho loft #felixandresims

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itsokbbygrl · 8 months ago

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Just Stay.

- A GN!Reader x Jackson!Joel Miller story

For my wonderful, lovely, kind, hilarious friend, Jo (@morgaussy/@merci-killing), who wants nothing more than to worship that old man. I hope this is to your liking ♡

Tags: 18+ MDNI, explicit content, BODY WORSHIP, slight size difference (reader is described as shorter than Joel), reader is generally able bodied and has hair but is otherwise not described, oral sex (M receiving), heavy petting, lots and lots of kisses, body hair appreciation, domestic fluffy smut, two goobers deeply in love, kink discussion (daddy kink, and per jo's request, "A secret barely there splash of mommy kink"), grief mention, TLOU2 Jackson Era (post-Ellie run away era, pre-snowstorm)

WC: 4.6k

A/N: this is full of lazy writing technique and i am aware! there is POV switching whenever i say so, get in both their brains, die mad about it POV purists :)

Warm water, straight from the tap. Straight from the tap and into the basin where Joel Miller’s aching muscles are learning to relax, still, years after their first reconnaissance with a god’s honest bath. He can’t quite believe it. More than 20 years after the end of the world, where people starve and maim and kill and hunt to survive, there are still hot baths. He takes a deep breath and sighs in relief, letting himself sink lower beneath the surface, only the top of his broad chest and shoulders remaining above in the cool air of the home. He closes his eyes for a moment, soaking.

The jiggling of the sticky front door knob calls his attention. An alertness solidified in a world consisting only of predators and prey. Kill or be killed. He knows, rationally, he’s safe here. His eyes clock his hunting knife laid safely on the vanity anyway.

He listens to the familiar sound of your steps, the way you insist on toeing off your boots at the front door, the soft pattering of sock clad feet as they maneuver around the first floor, the creak of the loose floorboard near the kitchen island that he’s been meaning to fix. He can tell just from your movements that you’re hankering for a cup of tea—hearing the cabinet door close softly, always gentle, the ceramic clink of the base of your favorite mug coming into contact with the stone countertop, the metallic clang of the filled teapot as you set it atop the stove. He relaxes further knowing you’re home, safe.

The water is just turning tepid when he hears the stairs creak, signaling your imminent arrival. He pushes himself back up to greet you, the cooler air causing his wet skin to break out in gooseflesh. He turns his head to find you standing quietly, hip propped against the vanity, warm mug cupped between your palms, eyes trained on him already, his favorite soft grin gracing your lips, plumping your cheeks.

“Whatcha doin’ there, starlight?” he asks.

“Just admiring the art,” you respond, raising your mug to your mouth and taking a slurping sip, careful not to burn the fragile skin of your lips and tongue. The response makes him chuckle and flush, blaming the pinkness brought to his chest and neck on the temperature of the water if pressed.

His starlight. A beacon in the dark, guiding him home. He found you at a time when he thought he’d lost everything. Ellie had run off, and, terrified, he’d run after her. Once she’d been found, she’d confessed how she hated him for the choices he’d made for her, how she didn’t want to be part of his life anymore, and he’d agreed to her terms as long as it meant she’d be safe and home. He’d spent the entire ride back to Jackson fighting off the grief that threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope this time, losing another daughter. At least this time he knew she was alive, could watch from a distance as she grew, could talk to the other townsfolk and get updates on her life, make sure she was ok.

That was where you came in. You’d been serving at the local watering hole, The Tipsy Bison, when he’d come in for a drink. You’d poured his whiskey neat, just as he’d requested, and quietly left him to his thoughts as you tended to other patrons. He sat quietly, sipping his drink and listening to your conversation. His ears perked up when he heard you mention your students having a hard time with an assignment you’d given recently. He knew everyone in town shared responsibilities, should’ve figured you would have more to offer to Jackson than to only be a bartender. When you came over to check on him, see if he wanted another pour he assumes, he cleared his throat and asked about your other role as a teacher and your entire face lit up as you gushed about your kids. He tried to listen, but found himself lost in the feeling of being a kid again, the awe he felt the first time his dad had taken him and Tommy out to the wide open Texan countryside and shown them how bright the stars could shine.

He tuned back in when he caught you talking about one student in particular you had connected with—his Ellie. How she was a natural writer, so creative, always scribbling in her journal. Mostly doodles, but over time you described how you’d earned her trust and she’d opened up a little more, shown you some of her poetry, how you’d encouraged her to keep writing. You talked about how she was quiet, shy, kept to herself most of the time, but she had a lot to say on paper. Joel tried to tamp down the proud tears that threatened to well at the news. She was ok. She was going to be ok.

Joel kept going back and you were always there for him, greeting him by name with a soft smile, pouring his glass of whiskey before he’d even had a chance to take a seat on one of the old wooden barstools. You’d formed an easy friendship and before he knew it, he was inviting you over for dinner. You’d gone a little speechless and he worried he’d overstepped, but then you’d let out a breath you must have been holding and giggled, burying your face in your palms for a second before you found his eyes again and the way they shone for him was nothing short of celestial. You’d agreed, and the rest is history.

“You wanna get in?” Joel asked, motioning to the tub.

You shook your head. “Not today. Just want to keep you company if that’s alright.”

“Course that’s alright, sweetheart. Make yourself at home,” he said before going back to relaxing, closing his eyes.

You watched him ease back into contentment in the water before you moved, opening the cabinet below the sink and stealing a couple clean towels. You placed them on the floor next to the tub before kneeling atop them. You took a long drink from your mug of tea before placing it aside. You looked over the products on the tub ledge and grabbed the shampoo. Quietly, you leaned over, laying a soft kiss to Joel’s exposed shoulder before whispering in his ear, “Tip your head back for me.”

He did as instructed, sitting up from the wall, keeping his eyes closed and tipping his head back. You grabbed your mug of tea, draining it before quickly rinsing it in the water, filling it and carefully soaking his sweat damp curls, using your hand to ensure none of the water dripped forward onto his face. You then uncapped the shampoo and squirted a small amount into the palm of your hand. You lathered your hands together, causing the shampoo to begin sudsing, and brought your fingers to his scalp. He hummed in bliss as you began massaging the soap into his tresses, the day’s tension easing from you both as you cared and were cared for in return.

After a few minutes of gentle ministration, you guided his head back with your fingertip under his chin before rinsing the suds from his locks. You then reached for your bottle of conditioner, something you typically reserved for special occasions, and squirted a dollop into your hand before softly carding it through his hair. You let it sit for a bit, rinsing your hands in the water and allowing yourself a moment to admire the man in front of you. He was remarkably beautiful—strong, broad, sun speckled chest giving way to a softer stomach coated in a fine layer of soft brown hair that drew your eyes southward to where his thick cock laid softly against the crease of his thigh, his legs strong enough to walk or ride for miles. Scars littered his skin and you mentally pressed a kiss to each one as your eyes worked their way back up to his face. His eyes met yours there and he leaned forward, capturing your mouth with his own. He held you in place with his palm in its favorite place, cupped around the side of your jaw, thumb finding its place in the divot next to your ear. He kissed you deeply for a few more moments, pouring all of his affection for you into it. You smiled, effectively breaking the embrace, and left him with a final peck to his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, before maneuvering him once again to rinse the conditioner from his hair.

Once clean, you helped ease him from beneath the water, wrapping him in one of the towels, now body-warm from where you sat, using the other as a soft barrier between his wet feet and the cold tile floor. He lets you care for him without a word, chest warming as you dry his body and leave sweet kisses in the towel’s wake as you go. He laughs good naturedly when you try to comb his hair back and have trouble reaching, bending down to make the job easier. His heart swells when he sees you grab your precious jar of aloe from the countertop, swiping your fingers through the gooey substance and working it between your palms.

“Can you sit on the toilet for me, please?” You ask. He plants a kiss on your head and complies, thankful for the warm towel you wrapped him with saving his damp skin from the cold porcelain. You stand between his spread thighs and begin your work, piecing together a clump of curls and twisting them around your finger, effectively applying the gelled aloe before giving the little ringlet a squeeze and moving onto the next piece. Joel sits calmly, loving the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the way you love him so simply. He wonders, as he often does, how he got so lucky to find such goodness in a world gone so rotten.

You take your time, dipping back into the jar of aloe you harvested earlier that week as needed, ensuring each ringlet receives the care it so deserves. You love doing this for him. You love this man—this man with his reputation for violence, this man with a karmic debt that may never be fully repaid, this man whose hands were made to create, not destroy, who patiently sits with children as he teaches them to play the guitar, who misses his daughters more than anything in the world. Joel Miller, who protects the least of these with his gun and his knife and his bare hands. The same hands that delicately carve in his workshop, drafting some of the most intricate pieces of woodworking you’d ever seen.

You finish the last curl at the base of his skull, just behind his ear. You give it a little tug and watch as it springs back into shape, smiling at the sight, before leaning down to leave a kiss there…and there and there as you move down the column of his strong neck. You feel his large palms grip your hips and you move your kisses northward, along his jaw, to his mouth where he meets you, urges your mouth open to lick inside and explore. You pursue a deeper physical knowledge of him in return, giving as good as you’re getting, tongue dancing behind his teeth, cataloging every crevice, every bump and ridge, deciphering the taste of him as if he were a fine wine—notes of apple and coffee and his 5pm pour of whiskey and something uniquely him.

You feel his hands roaming, making their way to the front of your jeans, pushing the button through its hole and tugging down the zipper before stuffing his hand inside. He gives you a few firm strokes over your underwear, just to feel, to be so close, and you allow him to explore for a moment before you break your kiss to rest your forehead against his.

You shake your head softly when he attempts to move his hand beneath your cotton barrier and he stills his hand. “Not tonight,” you say quietly, “you first,” and you step back before sinking to your heels in front of him, grabbing the towel from in front of the bathtub and placing it under you before kneeling forward and meeting his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, mouth shiny and flushed with arousal, his chest and neck blushed a beautiful pink. You think he’s never more beautiful than when he’s about to get his cock worshiped by your reverential mouth.

You reach up and gently unfurl the towel from where it’s tucked at his waist, allowing the soft graze of your fingertips to lightly tickle the skin of his stomach, the muscles beneath contracting in their wake. You unwrap him like the gift he is, allowing the towel to open fully, exposing all of him to the room. You take in the sight of him, hard and drooling at the tip, thick thatch of curls nestled at the base, strong thighs parted to cradle you between them. You turn your head to the side and lay a kiss to the inside of his knee, up his thigh, right to the crease of his sensitive groin, before repeating the motion on the other side. You hear him groan and look up to find his head tipped back, already losing himself to his pleasure. You’ll never get over how easy he is for you, how much he clearly loves the way you love him. You repeat your favorite vow to whatever god is listening, to love him forever if they’ll be so gracious.

You reach up to grip the heavy weight of him in your palm, curling your fingers around him as much as you can, and give him a few gentle strokes, the velvety soft skin warm in your hand. You feel his pulse combine with your own as you glide your thumb along the veiny underside. A fresh drop of precum oozes from the tip and you’d be remiss to let it go untasted, leaning forward to meet the spongy head with the wet warmth of your tongue and lapping at it, thankful for its musky, salty gift. You’re sure at some point you’ve stepped out of your body because everything goes quiet as you taste and taste and taste him, lathing your tongue over and over the weeping head while your hand continues to stroke, kissing the very tip of him gently before trailing your lips along the length of him, down to the base and tonguing back to the top, mirroring your actions on the other side, lifting him to give attention underneath, not wanting to leave even a millimeter of him unfound by your mouth.

“God, baby, there you go, so good at this,” Joel’s praises bring your head back above water, but all you want to do is drown. And so you do. You flick your eyes up to meet his before opening your mouth wide and allowing the thick length of him inside, sliding him along your textured tongue, and closing your lips around him tightly. You hold him there for a moment, watching his face as you roll your tongue along the underside of his cock, sucking in a stuttered pattern, allowing the pillowy softness of your inner cheeks to hug him briefly, before pulling off and refilling your lungs. His eyes glisten just as yours do. He cups your face in his palm and you turn to kiss him there. He pushes his fingers into your hair and gently scritches at your scalp. You close your eyes and lean into the gesture before returning to prayer at your altar.

You take him as deep as your jaw will allow over and over, not caring for how messy things are getting as you continue the push and pull, saliva pooling on your tongue and dripping along his length, down the corners of your mouth, off your swollen lips and onto the towel below. You can hear him moaning with abandon now, knowing he’s loving this as much as you do. You tenderly roll his sac between your fingers and he tugs at your hair, so you continue your ministrations as you suck.

“Shit, baby, gonna make me cum,” he warns. You pull your mouth off him and continue to stroke him with your hand.

“Cum in my mouth. Please, want to taste you, want to, want to,” you stutter, mind focused solely on him, making him cum, easing him into blissful release. You open wide and take him back inside, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the feeling. You grab his other hand with your own, holding tight to each other as he helps guide your head exactly where he needs you. You suck and suck and suck until he grants you the prize you’ve eagerly anticipated, and he does it so beautifully. The sounds he releases from his throat resonate against the tiled floors and walls of the room, reverberating into your bones. His lashes fan and grace the tops of his cheeks where his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. His pillowy lips part, the plushness marred by his own teeth marks, bitten in an effort to not give too much of himself away too soon. He tastes so deliciously of man—clean, soapy, salty, musky—as he releases onto your tongue, into the back of your throat, and you make every effort to gracefully swallow everything he gives.

Once he’s finished, you softly suckle the last of your combined fluids from his length, ingesting them to become one together inside you. You leave a parting kiss to his length in thanks for all he’s given you before you allow Joel to haul you up to meet his mouth. He kisses you fiercely, tasting himself there. You know him almost as well as you know yourself, and you know he’s itching to return the favor, but you slow him, softening the kiss until the temperature returns to a simmer. He holds you there against his bareness, one arm keeping your head against his chest while the other strokes your back and you mirror him, fingers running gently all along his back. You feel more than hear when he speaks as it rumbles from his chest.

“Thank you, darlin’. Love you, more’n I thought was possible,” he says. You sigh and kiss his chest, wrap your arms around him tighter.

“Feeling’s mutual, my love. I promise,” you assure him, giving him a final squeeze before stepping back, keeping his hands in yours, not wanting to completely break contact with him just yet. “Come with me, we need to get you dressed.”

You lead him by the hand to your shared bedroom and sit him on the edge of the bed. You turn around and find the dresser where you keep a majority of your combined clothes—yours on the left, his on the right—and pull out a well worn tee and pair of grey sweatpants. You bring the clothes back over to him, setting the pants aside for the moment, and unfolding the t-shirt.

“Arms up, baby,” you instruct. He complies amusedly, raising his arms above his head while you drape him in soft cotton, paying careful attention to the collar, ensuring it’s stretched wide to not disturb his drying curls. Once the shirt is tugged down to cover his soft belly, you move to his pants, scrunching up one leg and feeding his foot through before repeating the motions with the other side. “Stand, please,” you request. He stands, allowing you to tug the waistband up over the swell of his ass, carefully pulling the material over his front to not accidentally overstimulate his now soft cock. You eye him up and down, nodding in approval of your handiwork. “Beautiful,” you say under your breath, not intending for him to hear, just for yourself.

Joel doesn’t remember the last time he felt this way—so deeply cared for. For as long as he can remember now, he’s been the provider, the protector. He hasn’t had a moment to slow down since before Sarah was born, 30 some odd years ago now. And it feels…nice. He feels small in some ways, but not diminished, never with you. No, he feels almost young again, experiencing this kind of selfless love that he’s only ever experienced before from a parent, and something clicks for him. He sees you near the hamper, changing out of your day clothes and into your own pajamas and he gets you, understands you on a deeper level than he had just hours before. He lets you finish your routine and make your way back over to him, anticipating you getting into bed, but instead he’s met with your hand reaching out for him. He takes it in his own, he’ll always take it when it’s so graciously offered.

“C’mon, let’s have a snack, worked up an appetite,” you say jovially. He snickers, thinking to himself that he fed you pretty well not 10 minutes ago, but he’d follow you to the ends of the Earth if it meant you’d keep smiling at him like that.

You lead him downstairs to the kitchen and sit him in his chair at the breakfast table he made just for you. While you putter around, preparing the two of you a small meal to share, he thinks about how beautiful you look in the morning light, the early sun catching on your hair and in your eyes. And you, you give the sun a run for its money with how you shine, bright and golden, warming everyone you come into contact with. You make it so easy for him to forget where you all are, when you are. Nothing is simpler than time spent with you. And now he knows you even better and he isn’t sure yet how he’ll quite thank you for that.

In what feels like just a blink, Joel watches as you plate a simple late evening dinner of eggs and toast for the two of you, an old favorite of Sarah’s, nothing sillier to a child than having breakfast food while the moon sits high in the sky. You bring the plates to the table and sit across from him. He hooks his foot around your ankle as soon as you’re settled.

“Thank you, sweetpea. You didn’t have to do all this,” Joel tells you as he accepts the proffered fork.

“I know,” you respond, stabbing a bite of your scramble with your own cutlery, “but I wanted to,” you finish simply, popping the eggs into your mouth with a smile. Joel returns your smile and digs in.

The two of you quickly polish off your plates, leaving nothing but the crumbs from the bread you’d baked a few days prior behind. Joel moves to clear the table and you allow him to, but join him at the sink, grabbing the dish towel from its place draped over the left half, falling into your regular routine—Joel washes, you dry.

“You know,” he starts, “I think I understand you even better now, after today.”

You turn to look at him with an amusedly confused face. “In what way?”

“You know how sometimes you ask me to be your “daddy” in bed? I love you and I would do almost anything for you, so I’ve never had a problem with it, and I love how it seems to make you feel, but I didn’t fully understand it before,” he pauses, giving you time to respond if you felt you needed to, and turns to see you’ve paused with plate in hand. He fully turns his body to face you now. “I think I get it now. The way you took care of me tonight? It was…almost parental? But it wasn’t at all at the same time. I think,” he tries again, “I think the only other time in my life I’ve experienced that kind of selfless…devotion, I guess…was from a parent. And obviously you’re not my parent, but…fuck, I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” he asks self-consciously, unable to meet your gaze.

You bring your fingers to his chin, lifting his eyes to meet yours before you speak. “You’re not fucking anything up. You’re right, that’s why I like it, why sometimes I need it. It’s the way you take care of me. You make me feel so incredibly safe, Joel,” you answer him.

Joel pulls you into his chest, gently rubbing your back. “It makes me so, so happy to hear that, my sweet starlight. Always want you to feel safe, loved, taken care of here.”

Your hands snake up the back of his shirt, needing to feel him closer, flesh on flesh. “The same goes for me, you know? If you ever need, or want…I want you to feel that way, too. I love taking care of you, too.”

Joel leans down and kisses the top of your head, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of you, wanting to solidify this memory for as long as his mind will allow him to hold it. He considers leaving the dishes in the sink to be tomorrow’s problem, wanting nothing more than to return to bed with you, but he knows he’ll be frustrated when the egg has glued itself to the pan and he has to really scrub to remove it. He reluctantly releases you from his embrace and turns back to the sink, washing the remaining plate before handing it to you to dry, and doing the same with the utensils and the old, salvaged steel pan.

Once you’re both satisfied with your work, you close down the kitchen in tandem, flicking off the lights and heading back to your room. You move to your respective sides of the bed—Joel going left, you going right—before climbing beneath the old, soft comforter. You’re both wiped from the day’s activities, opting to just turn the lights out rather than do your usual song and dance of reading for five minutes and falling asleep with the book splayed open on your chest, leaving Joel to gently dogear the page and set it on your bedside table before clicking off your lamp in fond exasperation. In the dark, you hear him shuffle, turning towards you.

“Hey, darlin’?” he asks, getting your attention.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you, umm, would you hold me tonight?”

“Of course I will. C’mere, my sweet boy,” you answer. Joel turns over again and shuffles back, allowing you to snake your arm over his torso and bury your face in his shoulders. He holds your arm in place and it feels…right, so nice and comforting and he gets it.

“Thank you. For everything. Never known a love like this, but you make it so easy. Not sure how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“Just stay, Joel,” you answer simply, “stay with me. That’s all I want, all I need.”

And he thinks he can do that. And he sends up his own prayer, his favorite vow, to whatever god is listening, to let him stay with you forever, to let him love you until his dying day, that they owe you that much at least, your simple wish. He’ll do whatever he can to ensure it comes true. And as he drifts into unconsciousness, held safely in your arms, he thinks he never wants to be anywhere else.

thank you for reading ♡ please reblog or leave a comment if you enjoyed!

#LJ writes #i've missed this old man #joel miller #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fic #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #the last of us smut #the last of us fluff #jackson!joel

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rorja · 3 days ago

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tw. mention of blood and scars, change of pov. not proofread.

gladiator!suguru geto is a sight to behold in the arena. he wielded his weapons with hunger and a controlled fury that he cultivated each day. as long as a life was lost in the magnificent, arched walls of the colosseum, he would never stop. because gladiator!suguru didn't fight for the freedom the emperor could grant him— no, he did so to avenge all the people he called family between the shared dirty corners of that imprisonment.

gladiator!suguru doesn't belong in the arena, and it's a thought that has been plaguing your mind ever since you attended his first game. you can clearly picture it, with the finest silks and gold ornaments on his arms; where a spatha would lose all the meanings men would sang about, belonging less and less to his hands than any scroll would, even in such moments where human emotions prevailed over his reason.

and yet, gladiator!suguru seems to lead a dance only he can hear the sweet sound of. his opponents are quick, strong, muscles all flexed but it's noticeable how they lack in wits. and so, his weapon becomes a melodious lyre telling the gut wrenching tales of all those who got lost in front of his eyes. tales of far away lands he fervently wishes to return to. not under the scorching sun that favors the capital, not the endlessly thundering of his name every time his feet blessed the sand of the colosseum— but the home he was forced to leave behind.

but a starved one could not quell its ceaseless hunger for revenge, for he was no god. and so, how much longer could he last before meeting his ultimate defeat? the silent worry clinging to your question found its answer in the gladius of his enemy. the cheering abruptly ended when gladiator!suguru got brought down to his knees, the blade of his opponent sinking deeper in his thigh. you were quick to react, standing up like the many men and women gasping and praying on the benches made out stone. and your heart sunk perhaps lower than that blade as your eyes eventually caught only a glimpse of that fury residing deep in the gladiator's chest.

it was a blur. you really had no memories of how you happened to be walking the deserted hallways where the gladiators jails were dig in hard stone, with water leaking through the cracks after the twentieth spectacle still going that week. but as hilarious as it could get, you knew each turn of that nearest hell like it was engraved in the palm of your hand. gladiator!suguru's jail came into view soon after and you felt your heart leap in your ribcage. of the wound suffered a week ago, only a scar was what remained. adorning his thigh with yet another triumph.

his muscles stiffened, sweat and dried blood carefully washed away by the cloth held tightly in your hand. a shiver found path from his exposed neckline to the bare signs of survival on his back and beyond. gladiator!suguru knew the effect he had on you, he could sense it amidst the religious silence that accompanied your gentle actions: how your fingers occasionally trembled when touching his skin by mistake, how your eyes lingered on him when you thought he was not looking, how your cheeks would grow red when damping the cloth on the provided basin. he wondered.

how long until your absence got noticed? you were a noble man's precious daughter after all, yet to be married and with a future as one of rome's well-known domina. often gladiator!suguru had wondered why. why would you get down the prisons he was held in like a rabid dog and waste your time on him? and at the very beginning he was tense and wary, wondering if you sought nothing else than a sick, twisted sense of entertainment in treating him this way. but your emotions were sincere, he quickly discovered, and your care honest unlike the men that mended his broken skin just to throw him to that hell once again.

gladiator!suguru was a sight to behold in the arena. he wielded his weapons with hunger and a controlled fury that he cultivated each day. and yet there were moments where his fury would subdue, the screams in his head becoming whispers easier to silence. your hands were a balm over the many burning scars adorning his vulnerable skin, and for a second he felt something akin to relief in seeing his hands clean from the blood he had to spill. you kneeled in front of him once again, his eyes now following closely every movement, unmoving, even when you wasted your kisses on his brightly reddened knuckles.

"you did good" another kiss, "you made me proud once again".

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guttergirlcore · 5 months ago

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Could we get part 03 of that pls🙏 I stan one (1) Cregan Stark who loves cockwarming (to ease his pain too okay Lord Stark🩵🩵🩵 absolute my favorite part) but does he have his new gorgeous beloved wife ride him or does he f*ck her🤔 also when is she gonna drop the lore about being treated terribly by her Lannister fam and would dearest Cregan comfort her?

Our Cregan is a man of many interests & talents <3

A Den of Lions & Wolves: Part III

Cregan Stark x Lannister! Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

SYNOPSIS // Your husband, Lord Cregan Stark, the Wolf of Winterfell, has returned to you. With his return, Cregan shows an unexpected gentleness in your conversations--a gentleness that reminds you just how deep your desire for companionship goes.

WARNINGS // HotD universe, smut, aftercare fluff, Lannister!reader, AFAB she/her reader, mentions of familial trauma/emotional abuse, angst, possessive behavior, Cregan being a big [kinda scary] softie <3

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Divider by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1.8k

"You're not done, little wolf." Cregan chuckled humorlessly, his throbbing member still embedded within you.

His hands found the bottom of your ass, effortlessly lifting you up as he crossed the room to the large basin tub at the far side. Your back met the cool stone wall alongside it as Cregan hungrily devoured your mouth.

His strong, wet tongue swirled and pushed against yours, the sensation making you grow wetter by the second.

Cregan pulled back, his long brown hair coming undone from his bun. A thin, silvery trail of saliva connected his plump mouth to yours.

"You will draw me a bath and join me, yes?"

"Yes, husband," you obediently confirm.

Cregan gently allows your feet to touch the floor, slowly slipping from your warmth. You couldn't help but let out a soft moan from the sensation.

As you gained your balance again, Cregan slowly released you, and you knelt down to the tub, pouring several buckets of hearth-warmed water into the basin.

Behind you, you could hear the light thud of Cregan's pants hitting the floor along with his heavy boots. Once unburdened by clothing, he climbed in, sinking down into the warm embrace of the water. Simultaneously, he let out a groan of relief that had you quivering at the knees.

Once he was settled, he looked up at you expectantly. "Remove your gown and sit on my cock," he instructed, getting straight to the point.

You did as you were told, standing and pulling the thin material over your head. You dropped it to a pile on the floor and stepped gingerly into the water, one foot on each side of Cregan's hips. The red head of his cock peeked above the water's surface, ready to split you in two.

Slowly you lowered yourself down until you could feel his tip prod at your dripping entrance. Growing tired of your delay, Cregan's large hands grabbed your waist and shoved you down hard, burying every inch of himself within you. You yelped in surprise.

"Fuuck--such a tight, delicious cunt," Cregan moaned out, rocking his hips slightly.

Your face heated at his comment, and you shyly looked away from him. He grabbed your chin in a nearly bruising grip and turned you back to face him.

"You will look at me as I breed you."

You throbbed on top of him as his fingers dug into your hips, lifting you, and then pushing you back down on his length. The water provided even more lubricant between the two of your bodies, allowing you to fit his massive size more comfortably.

He eased you into a steady rhythm, his thick cock hitting that sweet spot inside of you over and over. Once your pleasure mounted, he leaned back against the back of the tub, watching you pleasure yourself on his cock.

"Cregan! Gods--!" You moaned, bouncing up and down of your own volition now.

Cregan darkly chuckled. "I am your god, my love. You pray to me now. Your mercy comes from me."

Leaning forward, Cregan pressed his warm mouth to your nipple, making goosebumps erupt all over your body. His full lips pressed against the flesh of your chest, his tongue rolling and swirling over the swell of your breast. His other hand kneaded into the flesh of your ass, massaging and grabbing in what was sure to leave fresh marks in the morn.

The feeling of his hard cock prodding you relentlessly and his wet tongue swirling and sucking your sensitive nipples was all too much to bear. Without much warning, your first orgasm of the night washed over you, and you pressed your body tightly against Cregan's, allowing him to take over and thrust more fully inside of you.

He slowed his pace, delivering long, deep thrusts that made you sink your nails into the hard muscles of his back, biting back sobs of pleasure. When your orgasm was had, you sagged against his hard body, panting and glowing with sweat.

"I'm close behind you, my love. Stay with me," Cregan groaned, the water splashing over the sides of the basin.

Utterly exhausted from your first orgasm, you allowed Cregan to use your cunt as he needed. He pumped in and out of you harder now, more desperate for his own release. You whimpered against his ear, overstimulated but still craving more.

With his right hand, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you back, forcing you to look at him, just as he'd instructed.

"That's right, darling, right here," he moaned loudly.

His thrusts grew sloppier, throwing more water over and causing you to throw your hands out to the sides of the basin for stability. With one brutal thrust into your deepest spot, Cregan threw his head back, emptying his full balls into your needy cunt.

"Ahhh--fuck! Mmm, that's it, take every drop, my love," Cregan shouted in ecstasy, his wet hair sticking to his beautiful face.

The sensation of his hot cum shooting into your womb forced you over the edge once more, and you found yourself bearing down on his still-pulsing cock for your second orgasm of the night.

Your moans came out high-pitched and hurried as you rocked against him, his hands stroking up and down your stomach.

"That's it, baby. Gods, you're beautiful. Taking my load so well." His voice was dripping with sex, and it made the rolling waves of your orgasm all the more intense.

Once again, you collapsed against his chest after your pleasure was through, panting heavily and sighing with complete satisfaction.

As gently as he could, Cregan lifted you from his spent cock, setting you back down in his lap. After you both had caught your breath, you plucked the sudsy sponge from the tub's ledge and swiped it across your husband's broad chest.

Coming down from both of your highs, you and your new husband spent the night caressing and scrubbing, cleansing and holding each other until the water had well gone cold.

After your eventful bath, neither of you bothered to get dressed. You simply lay in bed bare together, as husband and wife.

"You are a wonder," Cregan whispered into your hair, his fingers tracing shapes over your back as you lay atop his chest.

"You may be the only one that thinks as such," you chuckled, absentmindedly.

"Oh, I doubt that greatly. From the way the handmaidens speak of you, it's clear they are quite enamored with you. As am I, my lady.''

Your heart ached at his words. All your life, you'd only ever wanted to be adored.

"I am wondering why you are so quick to discredit others' good word for you." Cregan quietly spoke into the room.

Where should I begin, you thought. You weren't even entirely sure if you were ready to share this with your new husband. He had been quite kind to you and giving in more than a few ways. Didn't he deserve to be given back to?

With considerable effort, you responded, "I suppose I don't have to tell you that I've never fit in within my own house. Though I was born of Lannister blood, they have never treated me as such."

Cregan nodded his head, silently encouraging you to go on.

"I can't recall many memories of youth, but I can remember how cruel my father could be when he wanted. Sometimes, I think he was even cruel when he hadn't wanted to be. It was his way."

"Just before my father offered me to you, he took me aside and told me I'd been useless all my life--a dark stain on the ancestral tapestry of House Lannister. That this union was his chance to prove to himself that my birth hadn't been for naught. My father promised me no riches or respect for my compliance. No, he promised me something far greater than that--his complete and utter absence from my life. I feared you would reject me, and I'd be stuck beneath the crushing weight of his boot forevermore. I could hardly stand the thought."

Cregan's soothing circles on your back stilled. It felt as if every muscle in his body had gone rigid.

The air in the room seemed suddenly sucked out, it was nearly suffocating.

"It is a good thing your father promised you his absence."

"Why is that?" You asked your husband, picking your head up to look at him.

His eyes shone nearly amber in the candles' ambient glow.

"Because if I see him again, I may kill him for what he's done to you."

Your heart seems to take several quick stutters. How could this man who you've known for less than two weeks care so deeply for you when your own father and mother hadn't in all your life?

"I suppose that is very good, then." You chuckled nervously, unsure of how to respond to the intensity you'd come to know as characteristic of Lord Stark.

"I've always been rather unremarkable, so I suppose I understand my parents' disinterest in me."

A long moment of silence permeated the room and you wondered if Lord Stark had drifted off to sleep during your tale. Just as you were about to resign yourself to sleep as well, Cregan's voice sounded again, his chest rumbling underneath you with his words.

"You would dare to consider yourself plain?"

Bathed in the pale light of the high moon, Cregan's eyes shined bright and you were once again reminded of the bone-chilling gaze of a wolf. You felt embarrassed, somehow.

"It pains me that you think yourself deserving of the Lannisters' taunts. That you would justify their deplorable treatment of you with self-depreciation." Cregan's voice rose with each sentence until it rang out with the highest conviction.

"Hear me in this. I did not idly accept Therion Lannister's offer on a whim. You are the single most magnificent creature I have and will evermore lay eyes on. You are my wife, Lady Stark of Winterfell, and soon, with the grace of the gods, the mother of my children. You have no more ties to the Lannisters than I do to the desolate days before I was blessed with the gift of knowing you."

Your eyes shined with tears welling beneath the surface. In all your life, you'd dreamed of someone who might someday speak to you with an ounce of kindness that Lord Stark had just commanded.

"The next time you speak against yourself, I will consider it a personal affront to House Stark, and you won't like to know what a man will do when his House is insulted, do you understand me?"

You quickly nod your head in understanding.

"We may not know each other well, my lady, but I plan on rectifying that very soon. I want to know you, Y/N. And what's more, I want you to know yourself."

Stunned into silence, you nuzzled your face against Cregan's chest, inhaling his warm, woodsy scent. His fingers combed through the hair at your temples gently as the two of you drifted off to a peaceful sleep together.

#cregan fanfic #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #house stark #hotd #game of thrones #got #aemond targaryen #cregan smut #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark smut #rhaenyra targaryen #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon

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kyriat-sims · 3 months ago

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Ancient cooking or modern rustic cousine? This kitchen fits both! Meshes by Balkanika and Linzlu. More info and download under the cut.

Full credit goes to @balkanikabg and @linzlu who made the meshes and to Maxis for most of the textures. You will need the meshes for these recolors to work in your game.

Note that the stone patterns doesn't fit that well on the counters, some sharp edges and refractions are quite noticeable. (You can always delete those swatches in S4S, if they bother you.)

I did a small tuning update in Linzlu's Antique Basin mesh, to give it the new functionality for sinks (where you can choose kitchen or bath or both). I've included this altered mesh in the download file. If you prefer the original mesh, just download it from the link provided below.

You will find these objects in game where you normally find this kind of objects, or by searching for Manthos Balkanika, Manthos Lekanh or KyriaT.

Manthos Balkanika Stove

Mesh: ❗Ancient Roman Stove by Balkanika

Found in Appliances - Stove

28 swatches

Price 545 $

Manthos Balkanika Counter

Mesh: ❗Ancient Roman Stove by Balkanika

Found in Surfaces - Counter

30 swatches

Price 150 $

Manthos Lekanh Sink

Mesh: ❗Samantha Antique Basin by Linzlu (included)

Found in Plumbing - Sinks

24 swatches

Price 74 $

All recolors made with Gimp and The Sims 4 Studio.

My TOU - Happy simming! 💕

📥Download (SFS)

Also available on Patreon and CurseForge.

More stuff at my blog: My cc - lots - sims - saves. 💕

@allhistoricalcc - @anitasims - @emilyccfinds - @itsjessicaccfinds

@mmfinds - @public-ccfinds - @simshistoricalfinds - @sssvitlanz

Thanks for sharing 💕

#ts4 cc #ts4 recolor #sims 4 cc #sims 4 recolor #s4cc #ts4 bb #cc by me #ts4 history challenge #ts4 early civilization #historical sims #maxis match #maxis mix #ts4 maxis match #ts4 mm #simblr

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hometoursandotherstuff · 9 months ago

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Americans move &/or retire to Mexico b/c it's cheaper, and the historic 1910 Casa Limon in Merida, Yucatan, Mexico has 4bds, 7ba, and at $482,300 it's a great price for a beautiful villa. Plus, it's just 7 minutes away from the bohemian park of Santa Lucia and within walking distance to Paseo Montejo where you will find some of the best restaurants, coffee shops, museums and art galleries of the Historic Center.

It has a lovely central entrance hall.

And, look at this magnificent marble staircase.

Lovely sunny living room has doors to a terrace.

Beautiful columns separate the living room from the dining room.

Colorful Mexican tiles in the kitchen. Isn't this an unusual sink?

A built-in dish cabinet.

Love that the kitchen has everything- colorful ceramic tiles, marble, stone, and tile floor.

Original doors with a decorative glass and metal surround.

Colorful ceramic bathroom sink and a vintage medicine chest.

This bath has a stone basin sink and everything else is tile.

Look at the outdoor kitchen.

The courtyard is decorated with art pieces.

And, look at the pool.

This outer building is interesting and has potential.

Solar panels make the house energy efficient.

This patio is so beautiful, especially the gate.

Look at how pretty it is lit up at night.

https://www.point2homes.com/MX/Home-For-Sale/Yucatan/Merida/Chuminopolis/Casa-Limon-Marvelous-Historic-gem/142193048.html?

#villa mexico #old house dreams #villas #houses #house tours #home tour

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kimbapisnotsushi · 5 months ago

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As far as public bathrooms go, the one at Ocean’s Edge isn’t all that bad for throwing yourself a pity party in.

The sinks are all sleek and modern-looking, with gold faucets and polished stone basins. Large oval mirrors hang above them, and—true to the club’s name—little neon fish swim all over the navy-blue walls. [Speakers somewhere in the ceiling play the lulling sounds of waves rolling against the shore.] There’s even an air freshener plugged into the corner that puffs out coconut-scented mist every ten minutes[, so that you can truly feel like you’re in a tropical paradise while throwing up from however many drinks it takes to make you forget about a shitty day.]

The black stall isn’t exactly roomy, but Morisuke has just enough space to stretch out his legs while he perches on the edge of the toilet, chewing his bottom lip as he stares at his phone. The screen is bright in the bathroom’s dim lighting and draws all of Morisuke’s attention like a moth to a flame.

Please, reads the last message. It had been two weeks since then. Kuroo, talk to me. What did I do?

Kuroo never responded. Rereading the conversation makes Morisuke feel like he’s dragging the claw of a hammer across his heart, but he keeps scrolling farther and farther back.

Let’s end it, Kuroo had written. This didn’t really mean anything, after all. I have better things I could do with my time.

Six months. Six fucking months, and none of it meant anything, apparently. Not the late nights they stayed up to make fun of inaccurate sci-fi series, or the times they met early at the cafe for breakfast because it was their only chance to get together for the day. Not even the time Kuroo opened up about his mother, his gaze distant, and Morisuke had held his hand to anchor him to what was real and here and whole. He still remembers that soft smile Kuroo had given him after, the way they'd curled up on the couch like two puzzle pieces slotting together. Morisuke had offered him tea, hot chocolate, whatever he needed. Kuroo just laughed and kissed his temple.

All I need is you, he had said. You're perfect, Yakkun. i couldn't ask for anything more.

And then not even a week later, Morisuke was getting dumped over text.

"Stupid," he says out loud now. “Dumbass. Idiot. Why the fuck did I ever fall for him?”

The bathroom door creaks open, letting noise from the club spill in, but Morisuke doesn’t pay it any mind until he hears a familiar voice calling out his name.

“Morisuke? Are you here?”

“No,” Morisuke grumbles. His voice echoes off the bathroom walls. “Go away.”

“You made me promise to stop you before you do anything stupid.” Footsteps fall closer until they pause right outside Morisuke’s stall. Damn Sugawara Koushi and his unwavering loyalty—he’d probably break in if he had to. “Are you planning on doing anything stupid?”

Morisuke unlocks the stall door and lets it swing open. He glares at Koushi, who just smiles back at him. It’s a hot summer night and they’d been surrounded by heated bodies on the dance floor, but Koushi still looks totally put together. Meanwhile, Morisuke is sweating through his socks and the back of his neck feels way too warm.

So, yeah, he’d needed a break. It’s not like he came to the restroom just to feel sorry for himself.

“You had me worried,” Koushi says. “The last time I saw you, you were downing your seventh shot. And that was after the two drinks you already had.”

Was it really? Morisuke hadn’t been keeping track. He’d just asked for something strong. And again. And again. And then for one more, perhaps two or three times. Maybe five.

Whatever. Morisuke is feeling perfectly fine. His head is a little foggy, sure, but he’s fine. He can totally think this through.

“I wanna text him.”

Koushi makes a choked sound. “Oh, no. You are very drunk, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” Morisuke frowns at his phone. “He never told me why. I want to know that much, at least.”

The door to the stall next to Morisuke’s flies open with a bang, and he and Koushi jump. A body wedges itself between them: tall and broad-shouldered, with artfully-tousled chestnut hair, glasses framing brown-sugar eyes, and a jawline that could cut through steel. Hot, but not Morisuke’s type.

Kuroo had been Morisuke’s type.

-- an excerpt from don't text your ex, a kuroyaku exes-to-lovers fic where yaku gets unsolicited advice from a stranger in the club bathroom

#kuroyaku #yaku morisuke #kuroo tetsurou #sugawara koushi #not tagging our mystery stranger because i want to leave that unknown for the actual fic #UNLESS you think you know who it is 👀👀#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #sou says stuff #sou writes stuff

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50shadesofoctarine · 7 months ago

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The Hoard’s Prayer:

A gift for @chernozemm

Spirit and skin are incongruous. Oil and water; soul and sweat. This flesh made mine by G-d. These desires ungodly. Do they spring forth From the same river basin? An oily foam skimming atop The drink with which I shall never thirst.

Are food and wine not Communion too? Might I hunger for them? Would You permit My tongue to touch the loaf? Unleavened and unflavoured, Nothing of substance. I need no calories; Just a sinking stomach-stone To quell the ache of peristalsis.

Spirit and skin, both Want. Him. But other things too. Good music is nourishing For the celestial core More than the ear it sits upon. He would fatten the grace of me, The light beneath my bushel, If only I asked. And I would thank You, If only You let my essence feed. Praise Your name For the gift of him.

Is it the greed that You abhor? The gluttony. When the thought of him Is smeared across my mouth. Or is it idolatry? That I should lo— It is the gluttony, I suspect.

I have wandered Six millennia, cast into the desert. The snake, too, tempted me. Like the Son of man I prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, And bled mortal blood, And cherished my enemy, And wanted.

Forgive him, For he knows not What he is doing. Forgive me, For the sulphur-taste, On my tongue.

Is it the physicality? Might that be what displeases You? Judas and his kiss. Did Jesus, too, Desire more? Or am I alone, Heaven made flesh, Malnourishment carved into the bones.

Humans were created, Like me, From this intersection Of ghostly (sin)ew. You bless them, The undeserving beasts. Why am I then scrapped With Your first draft in the flood?

You let David keep Bathsheba. I have wanted him For longer than David has lived. What must I do To satiate the rumble Of the thunder in my stomach? Your first storm, Made before Adam spied Eve, Under the ark-curve of a wing In the rain.

Let me keep him. Just this once, I speak plainly. Let me have him, Let me taste the skin sweat on his brow. Joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, Faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control Nine fruit he has offered me. I am full, only when I indulge in these. Spirit and body as one, It does not feel like sin.

Let me bite into him, Savouring the flavours, Of the blood and viscera You curse-blessed us with. ‘Oh, LORD,’ I beg. Let me devour The unnamed fruit Of the spirit-become-flesh.

You made me to thirst. Now make me to drink.

But who am I To make demands of G-d?

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #fanfic #fanfiction #poetry

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hmmarble · 5 months ago

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HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+

When it comes to elevating the elegance of your bathroom or kitchen, few materials compare to the timeless beauty of marble. Marble sinks have become a popular choice for homeowners and designers alike, offering a luxurious touch that can transform any space. With a myriad of styles and finishes, marble sinks not only deliver functionality but also serve as stunning focal points.

Marble Sink

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When considering a marble sink, it is important to recognize the benefits it brings. Marble is known for its resistance to heat and its ability to enhance the aesthetic appeal of any design. Additionally, it can be easily polished to maintain its luster, assuring you that your marble sink will remain stunning for years to come.

However, proper care and maintenance are crucial for preserving the beauty of a marble sink. Regular sealing is recommended to protect against stains and etching, which can occur from strong acids and cleaning products. With the right upkeep, your marble sink can serve as a centerpiece in your home, showcasing timeless beauty and functionality.

Whether you are opting for a contemporary design or a classic style, a marble sink is a versatile choice that can complement a variety of themes. Its refined charm can elevate the ambiance of your space, making it feel more inviting and sophisticated.

Marble Sinks

Marble sinks are an exquisite addition to any bathroom or kitchen, providing a touch of luxury and elegance. Known for their stunning appearance and durability, marble sinks have become increasingly popular among homeowners and interior designers alike. With a wide variety of colors and patterns available, each piece is unique, allowing you to find the perfect match for your interior style.

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With countless options available, selecting the right marble sink for your home can be an exciting journey. Explore different colors, sizes, and styles to find the perfect piece that complements your design vision and fits seamlessly into your bathroom or kitchen.

Marble Wash Basin

A marble wash basin is not just a practical addition to your bathroom or kitchen, but also a statement of elegance and style. Crafted from natural stone, these sinks offer a unique blend of functionality and aesthetic appeal that can elevate any space. The beauty of a marble sink lies in its intricate veining and rich textures, making it a captivating centerpiece.

One of the key advantages of a marble wash basin is its durability. Marble is a hard, resilient material that can withstand daily use while maintaining its contemporary charm. With proper care and maintenance, a marble sink can last for many years, making it a wise investment for any homeowner.

Beyond durability, the maintenance of a marble wash basin is relatively simple. Regular cleaning with gentle, non-abrasive cleaners will keep the surface pristine. However, it’s important to avoid harsh chemicals and acids that may damage the marble. Sealing your marble sink periodically can also help protect it from stains and water damage.

The versatility of marble wash basins is another reason for their growing popularity. They come in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors, allowing homeowners to choose the perfect sink that matches their decor. Whether you prefer a classic white marble or a striking black vein, there's a style to suit every taste.

In terms of installation, a marble wash basin can be integrated seamlessly into different countertop materials, enhancing the overall look of your bathroom or kitchen. Pairing a marble sink with fixtures made of brass or chrome can create an eye-catching contrast that will impress your guests.

Furthermore, the luxurious feel of a marble wash basin adds a touch of sophistication to your space. It not only serves a practical purpose but also transforms your bathroom or kitchen into a sanctuary of relaxation and comfort.

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annoyinglandmagazine · 7 months ago

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Once and for all, what does that mean? It's a promise I'm making that I don't actually believe

Read on Ao3 here Once And For All, What Does That Mean? It’s A Promise I’m Making That I Don’t Actually Believe (2015 words) by Caranthirwasalesbian

‘Ar- Artanis,’ the voice was brittle and faint, barely travelling over the hauntingly lifeless halls, softer than the echoing sound of near silent feet on the flagstones. The halls of Menegroth shone bright with jewels as they always had but now the glittering was accompanied by that of fresh blood, trickling and dripping from silver blades and breastplates.

This was now in truth the tomb she had likened it to when she saw the entrance, slabs of stone burrowed far below the sun soaked forest into the depths of the earth.

She knew that voice, however much she struggled to comprehend the ill fate that could bring it to her ears, of all ears; perhaps the doom of her people had not let her slip its grasp so easily. Millenia later she would finder herself replaying this moment, a regular uninvited fixture in her mirror for reasons that perplexed her more often than not.

There were no lack of instances for her to dwell on where an action of hers had had a longstanding impact on things of consequence, many losses more severe to torment her over. Was it even a loss at all? She felt disinclined to classify it as so on balance. Yet something in her held onto this one brief moment as of a greater significance than she felt generous enough to give it.

What could really be extrapolated of the inner workings of her heart from a moment’s hesitance? It took until the third time the image appeared to her in the glassy surface of the basin for her to realise that it was unusual for her to have halted at that voice, rather than turn on her heel and sink into her husband’s waiting arms, be rid of this place of death, of this gaping reminder of the worst night of her long, long life.

She ached to distance herself from all to do with that voice, the insignias strewn across the floor, the golden sand soaked with red, for centuries of her life and yet she’d lingered. It took her until the third time seeing it again to realise that she’d had a choice in the matter.

It hadn’t felt like a decision in the moment. She hadn’t been trapped nor threatened; they held no threat to her and certainly she wouldn’t grace them with even a trace of wariness.

It hadn’t felt like a decision, however she wondered later what exactly had compelled her so to seek out the speaker, knowing well what she would find.

She’d known, she’d expected it, yet still some small part of her recoiled at the spear rammed into her cousin’s gut, despite the countless more deserving of her time strewn around him bearing similar wounds, many no doubt inflicted by him.

For scarcely a second she moved to remove her cloak, thinking to staunch the bleeding, before she caught up with herself and released it again. This was Celegorm, slayer of her kin of which he was no longer a part in any way that mattered. He’d ensured that.

He hacked out a violent cough, blood spurting over his pale face, nearly translucent by now, and she found herself hastily kneeling to pull him upright, delay the inevitable. She did not know how she felt about this, though she most likely should have, but she knew well enough that she did not want to watch anyone else choke on their own blood if she could help it.

‘Pl- Please,’ he rasped. No- begged, Celegorm was begging, desperately pleading with her for something; he must know she had nothing to offer him even if he could delude himself into thinking she’d give him aught.

She had no mercy to give and he was in no place to receive any were it offered. He must know there was no hope for his life, he’d seen enough dying animals to know when one was too far gone to save. He’d killed enough people to know when there was no point wasting an arrow on one who would be dead in the hour. What would he beg of her?

‘Stay. Nelyo won’t find me in time.’ He gasped for air while clawing for her hand; he squeezed his bloodstained, sticky hand around her smooth fingers quite painfully- she was too shocked to extricate them. The moment dragged on, punctuated only by dripping and ragged breaths.

He’d taught her to ride. Those hands had still held the callouses but none of the scars or burns as they guided her through the movements of the reins; with his natural aptitude she doubted he would make a patient teacher but she proved a fast learner so the arrangement worked out amiably enough.

He clapped her jovially on the back with a wide grin when she started to get the hang of it, raking his much larger hand through her crown of braids in a way that she thought infuriatingly condescending at first but grew gradually more touched by when she saw him do the same to Curufin.

They would occasionally spend days hunting together over the years though less and less as the bitterness began to set in at court and her father began to favour withdrawing them from Tirion to spend their time with her Ammë’s kin in Alqualonde more frequently.

Her Nolofinwean cousins had visited on occasion but even with them things were not as they once were however much they tried to ignore it, or at least shelter her from it. The Feanorian’s didn’t visit at all and at that stage she had rarely missed their company.

His head of shining silver tossed back in rumbling laughter, joyous and light as he galloped with unchecked abandon through the sun flecked forests, lost in his exhilaration and often forgetting he was accompanied at all; that was unless his company was Aredhel in which case the two of them were in a world of their own, riding abreast.

She had not known then what he would become, the callousness that would infect him like a disease, the cruelty that would twist his grin into something entirely other; if she had she would have driven her dagger into his throat right then and saved them all much suffering. But he hadn’t known then either.

Would he be as appalled and shocked as she was by the monster he’d become? No, she wouldn’t use that word, it was too simple, far too easy to dismiss what he was now as something entirely other than the cousin she’d known. That cousin had chosen of his own free will to forsake every standard of basic morality in favour of this indiscriminate bloodshed.

They all had, even Maglor who she could still remember as so sweet and gentle, all the family gatherings she could recall accompanied by beautiful music and a voice so pure that many believed it to be a gift from the gods, something intrinsically sacred and good. That beautiful voice had thrummed in the grounds of battle fields, the dreaded crescendoes building until they crashed down and wreaked destruction; any god that had gifted it would have turned away in horror.

Of course that was the gods’ way, to turn their backs in disgust at the world they had brought into being, at those whose lives and minds they had shaped until they realised they no longer liked what they saw.

She should have warned these people who had allowed her into their home, begrudgingly or not, that you couldn’t rely on a god’s protection forever. However beloved of them you were, however blessed and devout, however much irresistible grace and benevolence was showered upon you the path to destruction was paved with misplaced complacency and there was no complacency more misplaced than faith.

The gods may love you but their love was a fickle thing that could not be trusted or invoked, only given in a flight of whimsy and taken just as quickly. She had seen the beauty of this kingdom, the protection it enjoyed as a safe harbour from all the troubles of the world and the indescribable being that was Melian and she had wanted it to be different. She had known in her heart of hearts that it wouldn’t be.

If she had said this it would have dismissed as the cynical blasphemy of a family who had been rightfully forsaken for those very sentiments, spiteful fear-mongering. She hadn’t and look where it got them; when you rebel you are cursed as punishment and when you are faithful death is your reward.

She believed that she could see a little of the blind despair, the doubt creeping in at whether there was any victory on the cards to begin with, that had driven her cousins to their course of action. For the first time in all the years since that fateful night she could muster up little else than pity for them.

She looked down into his eyes, not yet glassed over and still brimming with some sort of emotion. He was both more and less familiar to her than he’d ever been in that moment, moments from death and asking only for a recognisable face to be with him before- before what?

Did he know what awaited him, seen glimpses of it as he inched closer? The everlasting darkness? Suddenly it begun to make sense to her, his desperation, his clinging to her hand and begging her to stay in the stead of his brothers; he was scared, scared of what unknown fate awaited him. He was scared that these might be the very last things he ever saw, the very last thoughts he ever had and he didn’t want to pass into the darkness completely alone and unheeded.

If he couldn’t have the arms of a weeping Maedhros cradling and soothing him with what would certainly be uncomplicated love in the face of losing him when all was said done, he would at least want someone that could be associated with something other than what he’d become, someone other than those whose deaths he’d caused lying mere inches away.

Her voice was calm and steady as she spoke to him in a daze of confusion that he was in no state to pick up on.

‘I’ll stay.’

She did not think she imagined the gratitude in his grimace and when he squeezed her fingers once again to express it she finally found herself gently squeezing back. Stay she did and though no more words passed between them she very briefly carded a hand though his straggly silver hair.

She thought he understood that though nothing was forgiven and never would be he would not disappear entirely unnoticed by all but his brothers, for all he deserved it. However many horrific things she had wished upon them all while on the Grinding Ice, when she heard of his role in her brother’s death, in Luthien’s abduction, when finally faced with his death she was painfully aware that at no point would he have truly have gone unmourned by her.

She may detest the ties that bound them with all her being but she was incapable of freeing herself of them and always would be; some part of her would always be his cousin. She felt that in that moment they understood each other better than they had even before any strife had come between them.

When he finally stilled and left her kneeling on the floor alone she did not quite know what to feel. She rose and continued on to find Celeborn, to leave this place of sorrow behind and find somewhere else. She could start anew tomorrow but Celegorm never could; he had no tomorrow. Alive though they might be she was on a certain level aware that neither could his brothers.

She shed no tears for him on that day. That came many weeks later and though she let them slip on to Celeborn’s shoulder and his hands stroked reassuringly over her back his soft, concerned questions were met with silence.

#silmarillion #tolkien #galadriel #celegorm #celeborn x galadriel

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