pamplemice replied to your post: WHY IS MR. MODEL WALKING AROUND OUR HOUSE WITHOUT…Go join him!
nooooo i’m still feeling awkward about asking him to help me open my window earlier besides i don’t know how to do anything casually i’d probably open the door, fall on my face, spill my tea, scald myself, then just lie there crying about my life as i do
I will come down there and make you talk to him myself YOU SEE IF I DONT
HE’S NOT ENGLISH YOU ASSHOLES, HE’S FROM CALIFORNIA.
EVEN BETTER YOU CAN TAKE HIM BACK WITH YOU
you have no idea how ridiculously pleased I feel now
MY COVER HAS BEEN BLOWN. ABORT. ABORT.
AU: Belle arrives, bruised and bleeding, on the doorstep of a lame spinner and his son. On the run from the war and its causes, her short stop-over becomes something else entirely.
A/N: I suck at updating, I know, sorry! I’m still amazed that this story won best woobie!Rum at the TEAs! Enjoy, my loves!
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14
Gaston is smiling as he leads Belle through the crowd, and his hand on her arm is too firm, almost painful. She knows it’s only a reaction to the urgency of the situation, the severity of the dangers they face. He’s risking life and limb to sneak her into her own father’s castle, and all for a chance to say goodbye to a man on his deathbed.
Belle knows she will never be able to repay this kindness. To be caught would spell the end for them both, and yet still Gaston’s hand still half drags her through the swarming market day crowds of the city, toward the golden palace gates Belle remembers so well.
Captain Hook + Grounds
Guys. Guys. Somebody needs to come to my house and wrestle Photoshop out of my horrible hands before I go and do something even more stupid with-
Nevermind the damage is done forever screw it.
She’s now writing Rumbelle to celebrate our wedding. So maybe phoenibitch has a heart after all.
Or maybe she just wants to play the villain and ruin everything with angst. Who the fuck knows?
But, as per our War Council tradition, you have not been matched with a mythological creature yet.
This is absolutely unacceptable.
A PHOENIX HEREBY NAMES YOU A DRYAD.
A PHOENIX HAS SPOKEN.
GREMLIN FUCKING APPROVED.
A DRYAD !
OH PHOENIX ! I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
so does this mean then that all marriages have to be approved through the War Council? *is curious* or does that mean that if one has written Rumbelle and is a member of the War Council that it has to go through the Council?
I think it means that if one intends to marry a member of the War Council, one must first ask the permission of the other members. Or maybe that’s just because Val thinks I’m the fucking baby of the family and need her blessing. IDEK.
He’s deciding if he wants to ravish you against the wall..or in the floor.
There are words for people like you.
You’re a bad, bad person.
AND FUCK, BEFORE THIS EVENING I HAD OVARIES.
Just think, Cal, look at that little smirk.
He’s made up his mind, and now he’s thinking of all the ways he can make you scream.
And there are words for people like you.
Hands. Robert Carlyle’s hands.
OH BB ! OUR OVARIES ARE IMMORTAL !
Yes. Sucking her neck ?! Hmm, maybe a love bite here and there…oh, what about, a love bite down there…
Indeed there are XD
Ugh, Bobby’s hands. Those long, slim, clever fingers and aaaall the things he could do with them. Just sliding and pinching and rubbing and ooooh….
Yes, and then biting all down neck and collarbone, biting flesh and then soothing tongue and lower and lower…
Fuck, just look at his face. He knows what he could do to you and he LOVES it.
Yees, going further..searching for something with his fingers, and then…he hits that spot which makes us see the stars and the universe.
Lower, and lower, leaving a trail of saliva on your navel…
Bitch please, he’s eye fucking us.
Just such long, useful fingers, just searching and then yes, yes, there it is, slow and long and deep and guuuuuuuuuh….
Just biting and sucking skin and then swirling that tongue around and around, and finding little sensitive spots, smirking when you moan…
Yes, so much eyesex going on.
Oh, yes, there there. The pleasure that goes through you, makes your toes curl!
His sinful tongue, playing, teasing, never satisfied with one moan. He keeps going, and going. And then, yes, you moan until he shush you with one rough kiss, sucking your sweet little moans away…
His fingers hit and miss just the right place, and he knows it, and he smirks when you glare at him and just… there, all thought erased with one little shift…
He just keeps going, around and low and never quite where you need him, slow enough to make you moan and never enough to make you happy. And he enjoys every moment of it, dragging out the torture, kisses you to keep you quiet when you scream his name…
You want to slap that little bastard. Oh yes, wipe away that smirk that makes your knees go weak and beg him for undying pleasure.
There, just there. You shift your hips to hit that spot, and yes, the stars are back again, and the delightful shivers return. And he’s watching you. Studying your face, looking for the right moment…
…And just there, there, and you’re arching into him, unable to stop the hoarse, begging little sobs that pour from your mouth as he keeps pushing and twisting, drawing out the moment forever until you can’t hear, can’t think, can’t even breathe but to scream out his name at the top of your lungs. Your every nerve ending is on fire, alive under his clever, teasing fingers, his smirking, smug lips and restless tongue.
The moment when all the tension leaves your body, like an electric shock, through your veins and limbs, and it feels so good. You grab him, craving your nails on his back, and ohh, the look in his face..
He doesn’t even seem to expect it when you spin him over, so he’s pinned beneath you and your nails are racing over his skin, causing him to hiss and growl, the pain as pleasurable as any caress. His eyes are all dark, and he wants so badly to take control again and ravish you until you’re unable to move.
But then your hands have moved lower, and suddenly his eyes are squeezed shut and a whole litany of filthy praise is spilling from his mouth as his hands dig into your skin, reduced to feral moans and grunts and bucking, shaking hips.
And you smile. Oh yes, you smile, this sight before you…a desperate man, seeking his pleasure. Why not give him what he wants then.
A gentle lick in his hard and moist length. The answer? A hoarse grunt.
But then you just sit back, smile, watch him writhe and plead, murmuring your name and every obscenity he knows, bucking his hips and trying desperately to convince you to just give in, to give him what he wants.
One more stroke of your tongue, and he’s thrusting up to meet your mouth, groaning like he’s dying and desperate, hands threaded in your hair and trying not to beg, trying not to force you to satisfy every aching little need he has. And still you hold still, and watch, and wait for him to say “please”, to beg with all the words he has left for what he’s craving so very badly, for you to end this punishment.
Graham: “I thought you were a wolf.”
Mr. Gold: “Oh, I’m sorry, did I forget to shave?”
Just Mr Gold, derpin in the woods.
He looks like he’s burying a dead body. And SHERIFF Graham is just like ‘Oh, yeah, gardening, cool, sounds legit to me.’ I love him, I ugly sobbed when he died, but boy was not the brightest wolf in the pack.
Gold’s trolling will never stop being funny.
He shakes his head, waves a disapproving finger at her, and pushes her hands back down to her sides. He doesn’t hold them there - he has much more interesting things to do with his fingers - but he glares at her when she tries to move them again, “Now, now, dearie, you’ve been through something traumatic. You need to rest.”
So, yeah, ‘Hidden in the Lake’ part 2 (with the smut) is coming on nicely.
I live to torture you, dearie