#Lamont x reader

[megamindsecretlair]

When It Feels Right

Pairing: Lamont Diggs x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, protected PIV, oral (female receiving) fingering (female receiving) teasing/mocking, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word. Drug use.

Summary: Lamont invited you to his studio to help work on his new beat. You help him in more ways than one.

Word Count: 5,057k

A/N: Hello, my loves. I have been feral for this man since watching this show. This was LONG overdue. This is the winner of the Fic poll, thank you to everyone who voted! ONE SHOT. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @babybratzmaraj @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @wide-nose-and-wonderful @hereformiles @flydotty @blackerthings @notapradagurl7

Lamont released a heavy cloud of smoke in the air. You bobbed your head to the new beat he made. Lamont matched your bobbing head, a slow grin working its way across his face. You rolled your eyes and turned away from him, trying to feel the beat without him coloring your opinion.

Just because he was your best friend didn’t mean that you couldn’t lay down the truth when needed. The good Lord knew that he didn’t need an even bigger head. 

As the beat faded and came to a close, Lamont clapped his hands in the too silent studio. It was a rare night where he didn’t have Melissa, couldn’t sleep, and his boys weren’t in the background smoking up all the weed. 

“Go on and tell me that’s hot!” He yelled and clapped his hands again. He played with a few switches on the switchboard and then swung his chair to face you. You swung idly on your own chair, back and forth. 

You gave him a funny look, not willing to admit that it was good. Of course it was good. Dude really knew his fucking craft. 

“It’s aight,” you said and dismissed him with a wave.

“Bullshit!” Lamont yelled. The joint hung from his lips as his long, delicate fingers flew over switches and knobs and he ran the track back. The deep bass thumped through the speakers once more and he turned to you, brows furrowing to gauge your reaction.

“Damn, I’m playing!” You said and giggled. You pushed away from his too intense stare. He sucked his teeth and pushed you back.

“Tell me what you really think, damn,” he said. 

“Nah, that shit is fire, Lamont. Seriously, you tore this up,” you said.

“Thanks, thanks. Just need some dope lyrics on it. Tired of them mumble rapper m’fucka’s,” Lamont said. 

He shook his head, his locs tussling over his face and dropping into his eyes. Your hand itched to push it away so you could continue looking at him. You swung your chair away from him so that your face didn’t give you away. It was the weed talking, nothing more. 

You played with the sleeves of your sweater, swinging around and around in circles until his studio became a dizzy array of green and red. Like Christmas. That was a much safer line of thinking. You could think about lights, gingerbread houses, and pinecones and not about how Lamont’s lips poked out, ready to be kissed.

Lamont turned down the beat and deposited the joint in the nearby ashtray. The smell was loud, filling your senses with its aroma. You smacked his shoulder as you passed him and then smacked it again until he relented and handed it to you.

You took a lungful, holding it in and rolling it around your tongue before releasing it back out into the studio. You watched the smoke lift towards the popcorn ceiling, wishing it would take your thoughts with it. You smoked so that your brain could pause like a TV show. So that you could stop to take in the details around you and make sense of it. 

Your stomach turned and roiled so you stuck your foot out to slow your spins. Lamont was on his phone scrolling through Instagram.

“You always on that damn phone,” you said, grinning as you realized that you sounded like your mama. 

“Okay, Ms. Etta,” he said.

“Shut up! That is not my mama name!” 

Lamont peeked at you from the curtain of his locs and smirked, holding out his hand for the joint. You took one last inhale, the burning embers at the end filling your peripheral vision before you handed it back to him. He dumped the ashes and then took a puff, putting it down on the ashtray. 

Lamont returned his attention back to his phone, head slightly bouncing to the beat he made. Your eyes slowly tracked over all of the mini orange, red, and green lights blinking from the switchboard.

This was the kind of laid back music that would be in a lounge somewhere. Your mind’s eye filled in details of blue ambient lighting. Black men and women and those in between dressed in their finest business casual. Men in deep, monochromatic suits and shiny shoes. Women in dresses a hair shy of too short, showing off long, thick legs and strappy high heels. 

You pictured glasses clinking, words whispered amongst friends, and glances thrown across the room. Ballers sending trays of drinks to the group of women at the bar knowing exactly what they were doing by leaning over it. 

It was a type of sexy beat that you felt in your inner thighs first. The thrumming bass making your thighs jiggle. Warming heat working its way up your spine until you couldn’t help but nod your head, bump your shoulders, and look at your friend to see if they were feeling the beat like you were.

You turned to Lamont, ready to tell him, when his nose was buried in his phone again. You groaned and reached out to slap your hand over the phone.

“You said you wanted no distractions tonight, remember?” You asked.

“I’m done with the beat though,” he said. He moved his phone out of your way and you leaned over a little further to try and snatch it from his fingers. His arms were longer than yours and he easily held it away from you. 

“You said not to let you get distracted. Hand it here,” you said. You snapped your fingers. Lamont shook his head, his locs whipping across his face. His gold chain glinted in the low lighting and it was stark against his white T-shirt, dyed green in the studio lighting.

“You ain’t gon’ snap yo fingers like you somebody,” he said.

“I AM! SOME-BODY!” You cackled at your own joke, eyes wide and smiling so big that your cheeks ached. 

“Goofy ass. You need to stay off this shit,” he said. 

“Boo, you’re no fun,” you said. You continued to reach across the short space between you, trying to reach his phone. You were high, but not that high. Your thoughts were coherent and slow. Like you could pluck each of them out and lay them on a blanket. That you could take your time and choose between them like choosing your outfit. 

“C’mon, watch out,” he said. He nudged you back but you were undeterred. Your tongue stuck out of your mouth, so deep in your concentration. Lamont chuckled, effortlessly fighting you off. 

You huffed and you huffed but you could not blow this wolf down. You sat back in the seat and sighed. “For real, Lamont. I did not come over here, at midnight, just for you to play on your phone. I wanna see some magic,” you said.

“Girl, I just showed yo ass the Magic Kingdom,” he said.

You laughed at his corny ass line and shook your head. “One beat is all you got?” You asked.

“All I got?” Lamont scoffed, affronted that you would even suggest such a thing. 

You inwardly grinned, using your knowledge of him to your advantage. He always rose to the occasion. He was almost too easy as he sat forward in his seat. His left hand dropped the phone in between you while he focused on the board once more.

Where you only saw switches and gears, he saw instruments. This board was a modern orchestra and he knew exactly which sounds to pull from it. Which drums sounded dirty enough to warrant adding snares and strings. 

You snatched his phone from beside him. He instantly balked, trying to get it back from you. You didn’t have the length he did, so you had to resort to putting it behind your back and trying to slide your chair away from him.

He put one hand on your chair to stop your retreat and then the other went in search of his missing phone.

“C’mon, stop playing!” He laughed as he struggled to get the phone from you.

You only had so many places to stick it. You kept moving it like you were playing hot potato with it, tossing it from one hand to the other. “You come on! I know why you call me here. So I can keep yo ass focused!”

“I focus just fine without you. Ever think I just want your company?” He asked.

“Duh, you always want my company,” you teased, still moving the phone every two seconds while he lunged for it. A giddy feeling swelled in your chest like a balloon, filling up all of your hollow crevices and giving you the feeling of floating despite feeling heavy. 

“Always? You loud and wrong,” he said. He sat back with a huff, eying you. You grinned, looking for any type of eye twitch or flicker. Anything to indicate that he would make a sudden move and try to snatch it from you. 

“Oh? I guess I should just leave then,” you said. You leaned out of the chair, butt hovering over the seat that was practically molded to your ass by now. You felt a few twinges. The side effect of sitting too long. All this cushion in your ass didn’t mean shit. 

“Man, sit yo ass down and hand me my phone. Please?” Lamont asked. But the please was not sincere. You stuck out your tongue while you placed the phone down your shirt.

The warm metal laid across your skin and you grinned at Lamont’s expression. His face kind of froze. Or paused while he stared at your chest. It was nothing new for the two of you, so you couldn’t name why it made your belly flip. 

“You think that’s gon’ stop me?” He asked. Was it you or did his voice get a little deeper? A little rougher? 

You adjusted the phone against your cleavage and threw up your hands. “What you gon’ do?” You asked.

Lamont licked his lips, a small smile forming on his lips. “You know I can just turn you upside down and shake you like a toy?” 

Nope. That did not make your pussy flutter. You did not imagine shaking for entirely different reasons. 

There was always this thickness between you and Lamont. A sort of sticky, gooey middle that kept you glued to his side all these years. You had been friends for so long, you didn’t remember the exact number. Where one went, there went the other. There was always a lingering look, a hand on the hip placed too long, a bite to the lip. 

You never crossed the line. The timing was never right. Either you were with somebody or he was. He was nursing your broken heart while you were getting him turnt up for his. He had an entire baby with Mia who had him wrapped around her tiny manicured pinky. Despite his protests otherwise. 

Now. Now you were both single. Unattached. No messy drama getting in the way. 

“Whatever, Lamont. I am here to keep you on track,” you said. You shook your head and smacked your lips. “Literally and figuratively.” 

“Gimme my phone,” he said, that same rough voice dancing along the sticky gooeyness that made your toes curl. He didn’t need to see the way you looked down trying to get yourself under control. 

“What you gon’ do?” You asked, rolling your neck for emphasis.

He smiled and shook his head. He waved his fingers in a ‘come on’ gesture and you smacked his hand. 

“What you gon’ do? What you gon’ do?” You kept asking, waiting for him to reply. To say something. Anything. You were tossing out the question like a fishing line, baiting him with delicious chum. With the irresistible urge to either latch on and let you know that it wasn’t just you or toss it aside and let it drop once and for all. 

“Say it one more time and I’ll show you what I’m gon’ do,” he said. 

“What you gon’ do?” You said slowly, enunciating each word so there were no misunderstandings.

Lamont’s hand shot out and pulled your fuzzy sweater away from your chest. His other hand snuck up your shirt and went fishing around for his phone. But his hands roamed too broadly, lightly squeezing your titty every so often. 

“Lamont!” You yelled. 

He licked his lips and got closer. His breath fanned across your face, a subtle mix of candy and weed. His hand continued to roam while he slowly closed the distance between your lips. He looked at you the entire time, giving you ample opportunity to back away.

But you wanted this. You casted that fishing line out into the ether, so you closed the distance for him. You pressed your lips against his finally. Your dreams didn’t come close. It was nothing like what you thought it would be and everything you dreamt it could. 

His lips were soft against yours. Smooth tongue running over your lips and sloppily slanting against yours. You hummed, low and softly but you were sure he heard it. His hands continued to roam under your shirt, no longer seeking his phone. 

Instead, his hands found your breasts and began to knead them, fingers grappling for your nipple. As soon as his fingers found that little pebble – no bra because you hadn’t felt like throwing on one just to chill with Lamont – he squeezed and rolled it between his fingers.

“Oh shit,” you said against his lips, finally pulling back far enough to get some air. Some room. 

“Mhm,” he moaned. “You think I ain’t been paying attention these past few years?” He asked.

“Wh-what you mean?” You asked. He rolled his lips around yours, kissing you but only just so. His wide nose danced against yours. One thing about high sex that you loved was how sensitive you became. How the little hairs on your skin picked up the different changes in temperature or tingled with every brush of skin. 

“All them nasty ass stories you liked to tell. About how men never hit it how you like,” he said.

He switched his hand to your other titty, seeking your nipple a lot faster. He rolled it in between your fingers and your breath stuttered. 

Already, he was leagues better than half the guys you’d been with. Or perhaps it was your lingering, previously unclaimed chemistry, doing most of the work for you. This was inevitable. Your lips would always meet his. His hands would always press into your skin. 

“You remember that?” You asked.

“Kept hoping it would be me in one of them stories. ‘Cept, I know what I’m doin’,” he said.

You giggled and pushed away from him. “Big fuckin’ words, boy,” you said.

Lamont had a playful frown on his face, considering your words, before he slapped his hands onto the arm rests of your chair. He caged you in your chair while he leaned down for more kisses.

His lips were like little clouds of heaven. Each one sweet, soft, and lazy. He lowered himself to his knees, still too tall for his own good. He kept kissing you, even while his hands went roaming again. 

He pulled your sweater off and took in the white tank underneath. His lips found yours again as if he didn’t want to be gone too long. He mixed in nips and licks to keep you on your toes. He grabbed his phone from out of your tank and placed it on the edge of the switch board.

He returned his attention to your body, kissing and biting you through the fabric of your tank. You felt him, but you didn’t really feel him. You lifted the tank and threw it over your head.

Cool air from the studio hit your upper body and you immediately shivered. Even with the thumping beat and lingering smoke, you weren’t warm enough. Lamont helped you lower your leggings and panties, pulling them off and throwing them across the room.

You were fully naked, staring into his dark eyes while he was still dressed. He leaned back, took in your curves, dips, and valleys with a satisfied grin.

“So that’s what you look like underneath all them damn sweaters. You been keepin’ this from me?” He asked.

He rubbed the goosebumps from your arms, scooting in between your legs and making you spread them wider to accommodate him. He looked you in the eye while he lifted one leg, kissed it, ran his tongue right behind your knee before placing it on the arm rest.

You felt ready to explode. He did the same to your other leg, but trailed more kisses down the length of it before placing it on the arm rest.

“You gon’ answer me?” He asked.

“Waat?” You asked. 

He chuckled. “You were just gon’ keep hiding this from me?” He asked.

“I-I wasn’t trynna hide it,” you said. Your words were slow to form and even slower to get out. 

“You wasn’t? Then why I ain’t never get a taste yet?” He asked.

He leaned across your body. His cotton shirt was almost too rough against your skin. You hissed, moving away from him but he moved forward anyway. The shirt tickled your skin but you didn’t have enough air in your lungs to giggle. 

Anticipation flipped in your belly, like it was playing hopscotch in there. You didn’t know what he was going to do next. You were on an infinite precipice of waiting.

He didn’t make you wait long. He kissed you, moving his hands between you to brush his fingers along your wet seam. You jerked in the chair but he had you effectively pinned. You had nowhere to go. Trapped in the chair with him covering your naked body. 

You moaned, licked your lips in between kisses, and then went back to feeling those sexy lips on yours. 

His fingers pushed in, separating your pussy lips and dipping into your heated essence. He moaned into your lips, tugging on your bottom lip. “You always get this wet?” He asked.

“Uh-uh,” you said. 

“No? I just bring that out of you?” He asked.

“Uh-huh,” you said. You had no words. With every swipe of his fingers, he pulled them out of your head. Each pass of his fingers around your clit made one more word disappear like air. 

“So that means I get to taste it right?” He asked. He moved his nose against yours and you sighed, your pussy clenching around nothing. 

“Uh-huh,” you said, lips finding his again and again. His wet, suckling kisses made you see stars behind your eyelids. 

His knuckle nudged into your clit and you hissed, releasing the air in short bursts. “Oh, she a little excited,” he said.

“Oh shit,” you moaned. “Don’t tease me.” 

“Don’t tease you? I like teasing you. I finally know how to shut that attitude up,” he said.

“You too damn cocky,” you moaned. 

“Still running that mouth,” he said. He moved his fingers to dip in and out of your pussy, pushing his fingers deep to his knuckle. Your mouth dropped open, eyes turned bruising. 

He moved his lips to your jaw and kissed down to your neck. He sprinkled kisses across your chest and then licked your nipple into his mouth, suckling. “Oh my god,” you gasped, back lifting from the chair.

Your pussy greedily sucked his fingers inside. “That’s right. Grip them fingers. Show me you like what I��m doing to you. Getting wetter over here, I’m gon’ have to buy a new chair,” he whispered around your nipple.

Your hands came up to play with his locs, rolling them between your fingers and loving the feel of them. You were in sensory overload. Everything was too much and not enough. Lamont’s filthy words had you screaming towards a climax, thighs shaking and pussy gripping him tighter.

“That’s fuckin’ right. Been dyin’ to know what you look like when you cum. You gon’ look like that riding this dick? Huh? How many pretty faces can you make while I’m rearranging your guts?” He asked.

“Lamont!” You twitched. 

He continued to pump his fingers as you calmed down. It was like he was exploring your pussy with his fingers. Trying to gauge how deep you could take him. Your grip tightened around his neck and he hummed, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

When you relaxed against the chair, Lamont slowed down his fingers until stopping altogether. He licked his fingers and moaned. “Taste so fuckin’ good. You doing okay?” He asked.

You nodded, loosening your grip on his neck. You wiped up run away drool, feeling a bit embarrassed that a little finger action made you cum quicker than a man in a porn store. 

Lamont shook his head, shaking the locs from his face as he pressed his face into your pussy. He took a loud, deep breathe and blew air between your pussy lips.

“Oh shit!” You screamed, hands flying back to his head. You gripped his hair while he began to eat you out in earnest, using his tongue first. 

He leaned back and hummed, slapped your pussy. “Damn,” he moaned. “So fuckin’ good.” He was a messy eater, digging in like it was his last meal. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He brought his hands up to roll your nipples between his fingers, squeezing and squeezing until he pinched them.

“Fuck, fuck. Lamont! Damn,” you moaned, biting your lip. Fuck! It felt too good. So damn good with his lips between your thighs and his locs tickling your skin, and your hands digging into his head. Smashing his face into your pussy, giving him free rein to explore this thing between you. 

“Name sound sexy on your lips. Say it again,” he said, coming up for a bite of air. 

“Lamont,” you said with a grin. His eyes flicked to yours while he continued to make out with your pussy.

“Again,” he said, muffled against your wet core. 

Lamont!” You moaned while your orgasm was cresting the surface. Pressure built in your lower belly, getting so close with each new flick. Each new lick. Each new moan that told you he liked what was between your thighs. The thought that you could please him, even by the small act of being wet for him, turned the tide.

Your hand flew back to the back of the chair to steady you while your back arched. “Oh shit, Lamont!” Your neck rolled against the top of the chair while your body twitched and convulsed. Your body turned limp, riding the orgasm wherever it took you. However you looked while you spasmed. 

“Tasting so fuckin’ good. Fuck, I been missing out,” Lamonst said into your pussy. He continued to lap like a cat to cream. “So fuckin’ sweet. So fuckin’ good.” 

He lumbered to his feet, tossing off his white shirt. His chain bounced against his dark skin. His tattoos were darker still, spread out all over his body. You watched him through slitted eyes while he unzipped his pants. 

He freed his dick and rubbed the hardened length. Shit, he was perfect. Big and girthy. It was always the skinniest niggas that packed the biggest punch. It had a slight curve to it and your pussy clenched just seeing it.

He dug into his pocket and grabbed his wallet, flipping it open and grabbing a condom. He tore it open, found the right side, and then pinched the tip. You watched him as he rolled it onto his dick, adjusting here or there until it was fully on.

He pushed your thighs back on the chair. It protested with a loud groan, conflicting with a different beat in the background. Something laid back, lazy, and slow. Light danced over his features while he leaned forward, towering over you bent like a pretzel in his chair.

“You feelin’ aiight?” He asked.

“Yes, nigga!” You said with a smack of your teeth. He chuckled, grabbing your throat with his left hand. Your eyes rolled involuntarily, hand flying to grab his wrist. Not to push him away, but to keep him there. To push for more pressure.

He obliged you, squeezing harder until you were ready to cum just from that. “You must need some dick to get you right,” he said. 

“Umph, yesss,” you moaned. 

He used his right hand to grip his dick and run it through your damp folds, getting the condom slick with your wetness. He pushed in slowly. You hissed, pushing against his thighs. 

“Uh-uh, don’t push me away. Move them hands,” he said.

“But Lamont–”

“Move. Them. Hands,” he growled, getting close to your face and squeezing your neck.

You moved your hands with a whine. He was too damn big. He rolled his hips, sliding inside of you and working his way deeper. Your hands flew back to his thighs, pushing at him.

“Move them fuckin’ hands,” he rasped. 

“Please,” you begged. You were going to pass out. There was too much pleasure. Too much desire and lust. Too much of him. His scent, his sighs, his scorching looks. He lit fires in your veins that made you whimper and pout.

“Move them fuckin’ hands right now,” he said.

Again, your hands slid away from his sweat-slick thighs with a whine. The sound was needy and desperate. You had no way of slowing this down. Slowing it down to a pace you could quickly adjust to.

His dick didn’t hurt, he just stretched you deliciously. So much so that you had a goofy smile spread across your lips like icing on a cake. You moved your hands back to his hand on your neck.

He rolled and moved his hips, stroking into you with deep, long thrusts at a steady pace that stole your breath. You whined, choppy hums in your throat. “Why you doin’ this to meeee,” you moaned. 

“‘Cause I been waiting too long to get in this pussy. I’ma enjoy that shit,” he said. He smirked and dropped down to kiss you while he stroked deeper still.

You sank onto his dick while he rolled his hips, moaning with every glide. He lifted his head and rolled his neck, closing his eyes. You watched his face while he stroked, watched as he found some type of groove like your body was the switchboard and he was making a complicated beat.

He lined up perfectly. Your back arched. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Right there, right there, Lamont,” you moaned.

“Right there?” He asked. He kept hitting your sweet spot, not deviating in the slightest. 

“Right there, oh my god, I’m gon’ cum,” you moaned.

“Give it to me. Let me feel that pretty pussy grippin’ this dick. She feel so fuckin’ good. Wrapped around this dick. This what you needed? Huh? This what you needed? Them other niggas ain’t have all this for you, did they?”

Each of his questions grew fainter as your orgasm came closer and closer. Your hand pushed against his chest. Your eyes were too far in the back of your head. You were worrying a groove into your bottom lip by biting too hard. 

“You still with me? This dick got yo tongue?” He asked.

“I’m-” You came with a loud moan, louder than you had ever moaned before. You twitched in the chair, the groans from it sounded violent. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Feel so good, Lamont!” You cried out. Yelled out. 

It was a good thing that you were in a proper studio and there was no one around to hear you. Had you been at your place, your neighbors would know his fucking name. 

Your hands scratched at his stomach while he chuckled and kept stroking. “Fuck. You squeezin’ the fuck outta me. You ain’t trynna let me go, huh? Now that you know I know how to hit it right. What got you screaming. What got you moaning. What got you cummin’ on this dick like that,” he said. 

“Oh baby,” you moaned. 

“I’m baby now? What happened to my name?” He asked.

At this point, you didn’t know your own name. You clenched around his dick and he cursed, slamming into you one more time before you felt him twitch inside. You had an errant fantasy about him cumming inside you, spilling his fat load into you and then fucking it into you. 

You tucked that particular one to the back of your mind while Lamont dropped against you, loosening his grip around your throat. Your matching pants and gasps made the moment soft but fuzzy around the edges. Like when you first woke up from a good nap and didn’t know what year it was or what you were doing beforehand.

Lamont slipped out of you, stumbling back. He took off the condom, tied the ends, and threw it in the nearest trash can. He sat in own chair. He tucked himself back in but didn’t zip up his pants. 

You slowly lowered your legs from the chair, feeling thoroughly fucked out. You looked towards Lamont who was studying you in the same way. He smiled first. Your smile matched his as the gravity of what you just did sunk in. 

Sunk down deep into your bones. There was no going back from this. There was no way to pretend this didn’t exist. That he wasn’t just deep enough in your guts to still feel the lingering effects. You felt empty without him. 

“We wasted too much fuckin’ time,” he said softly. You nodded and licked your lips.

You tapped the tips of your fingers trying to reorient yourself. Bring yourself down to reality. The reality of you with Lamont. You smiled. “Let’s not waste anymore.”

You had sex again on his red, leather couch. Nasty, intense sex where his hands were back around your throat, he was stroking deep in your guts, and staring into your eyes while he continued to shatter your world over and over again. You grinned and giggled in between his nasty words and your faint pleas for mercy. 

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but you were excited to find out.

THE END

Psst, over here! The Secret Lamont Files.

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Lamont Files #Lamont x Black!reader #Lamont x Black reader #x Black reader #Lamont x Fem!reader #Lamont x Fem reader #Lamont x plus size reader #x Fem reader #Lamont x reader #Lamont x you #Lamont imagine #Lamont fanfic #Lamont fan fic #Lamont fanfiction #Lamont fan fiction #Rap Sh!t #Rap Sh t #Rap Sh!t fanfic #Rap Sh!t fan fic #Rap Sh!t fanfiction #Rap Sh!t fan fiction #drug use #drug #cw drugs #cw weed

[emieini]

characters: vince and mc (described by maskcover) from the story sds by maskcover audio: spongebob

i very much didn't try too hard to make this wwww i had been having art block lately and pooped this out. if this style of art or video look kinda familiar to some i am also known as godlyakechi

#maskcover #sds #vince #vincent lamont #yandere #yandere x reader #mc

[beelicious-and-fictitious]

Alex Brightman Character Masterlist

Main Masterlist

This is a collection of my all of my fics written as pairings for Alex Brightman’s characters. All NSFW fics are marked as SMUT!

***all unfinished series/fics are on hiatus***

Reader Insert Fics

Dewey Finn from School of Rock The Musical (Original Broadway Cast)

Mx. Honey & The Panic on Neptune | 4.5k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | Dewey hits it off with an old band rival turned fellow music teacher

Wearing THAT! Part 1 & Part 2 | 3.1k & 3.1k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | you go all out this Halloween in a Poison Ivy costume to get your friend Dewey to finally crack

Two of Thirty-One Kinktober 2021 Prompts | 1.1k & 1.7k words | Prompts completed with Dewey Finn were “Day Eleven: Sleepy Sex” and “Day Twelve: Formal Wear/ Body Worship”

Jesse from SMILF (tv show 2017-2019)

The Morning Of And After | 3.3k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | you meet Jesse at a bar and take him home

Bit Of A Bear | 4k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | your boyfriend Jesse’s got a beard now and you’re not sure how you feel about it.  Can be consider The Morning Of And After Part 2 or can be read as separate

Two of Thirty-One Kinktober 2021 Prompts | 2.4k & 562 words | Prompts completed with Jesse were “Day Eighteen: Handjobs” and “Day Twenty-Seven: Aftercare.”

Ralph Lamont from Blue Bloods (tv show 2010-present)

Bloody Mess | 2.1k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | 1990′s Mafia AU where Ralph Lamont is a crime scene cleaner for the mafia and you’ve just murdered your husband

Brackish and Briny Waters (unfinished series) | One Two Three Four Five

Ralph Lamont X Female Reader. 1980s Teacher/Ghost AU based on Things Seen And Heard (2021) starring Amanda Seyfried. An incident with a violent stalker lands you and your husband Ralph in witness protection, only the house you’ve been given has something very, very wrong inside of it, and it’s beginning to infect the two of you.

\\Return to Main Masterlist for more fics by yours truly//

#alex brightman character fiction #jesse smilf x female reader #ralph lamont x female reader #dewey finn x female reader #black reader insert #alex brightman #bee's archive of fiction

[matchagator]

Matchagator Masterlist

Readers

{Summary:} You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself. Currently being released in parts.

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |  Chapter 9

After a year of countless car repairs, a nasty breakup, and a change in careers, you hope a night out with your best friends will be the perfect remedy to start the new year. You weren’t expecting to end up in bed with your best friend that you’ve secretly had a crush on all this time. Fully Released One Shot!

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

Read Here

Constant late hours in the office lead to turmoil in your relationship and growing suspicions of infidelity. How does it play out when confrontations lead to a night out in a hidden speakeasy? Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Part 1 Part 2

There is nothing better than relaxing at home on Christmas morning cuddled up to the man you love, especially if that man is the embodiment of Santa himself. Fully Released One Shot!

{Main Pairings:} Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Read Here

An annual office banquet has some of your coworkers glorified while you sit lacking the recognition you know you deserve. When your best friend convinces you to let loose, you end up falling into bed with a handsome stranger for a night of drunk sex. Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Kim Seokjin x Female Reader

Read Here

Original Characters

A stormy night leads to three strays sneaking into the back of Lily's truck to find shelter from the storm. Little did she realize they would turn into three naked men. Follow Lily and her sister as they adjust to suddenly owning three troublesome hybrids. Complete on AO3

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character, Choi Soobin/Original Female Character, Kim Taehyung/Original Female Character(s)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |Chapter 9 | Chapter 10|

AO3 Link:

Read Sheltered Here

Read Sheltered: Complete Dysfunction Here

Follow our favorite pirate captain on his quest to rid the oceans of perilous beasts and catastrophic storms. Everything seems to be going smoothly until his crew kidnaps an unsuspecting royal with a twin brother ready to risk his life to bring her home. Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Pirate Kim Hongjoong/Original Female Character, Prince Kim Taehyung/Original Female Character

Read Star-Crossed Here

Read Star-Crossed: Entropy Here

Follow the seven founding families of Lamont as they fend off creatures from disturbing their town. Will their traditions uphold when one of their own proves to be just as terrifying as the creatures they hunt? New Chapter Released Every Week.

{Main Pairings:} Wolf Hybrid Min Yoongi/Original Female Character, Wolf Hybrid Kim Namjoon/Original Female Character

Read Luna Aliud Here

Jungkook never expected a typical night out on the town would lead to his sudden death. Find out what happens when the shy boy next door suddenly becomes a bloodthirsty Vampire. Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Vampire Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character, Kim Seokjin/Original Female Character

Read Ravenous Here

What a perfect scene of sin! Isn't the Vegas Strip the ideal place to indulge in lust and greed? The perfect playground for our group of hustlers eager to make a pretty penny off of the poor unsuspecting souls. The series is a work in progress.

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character, Park Jimin/Original Female Character, Kim Taehyung/Original Female Character(s)

Episode 1: Sin City

Episode 2: Pink Diamond

Episode 3: Cyber Flight

Episode 4: Wine Country

Episode 5: Art Auction

Episode 6: Magic Men

Episode 7: Unwind

Episode 8: Snow Retreat

College, Fuck Boys, and Pregnancies, Oh my! Find out what happens when an accidental pregnancy causes relationships to shift amongst they chaos of college life. Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Fuck Boy Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character, Kim Taehyung/Original Female Character, Kim Namjoon/Original Female Characters.

Read Picture Perfect Here

What happens when the affairs of vengeful demons and prideful angels intermix? Fully Released!

{Main Pairings:} Demon Jeon Jungkook/Original Angel Female Character, Angel Kim Taehyung/Original Angel Female Character, Demon Jung Hoseok/Original Demon Female Character

Read Twisted Halos Here

#bts fanfic #txt fanfic #ateez fanfic #smut #bts x reader #original character #bts one shot #one shot #masterlist #txt smut #ateez smut #bts smut

[100percentdirtball]

follow me on letterboxd and you can get many dumb reviews like:

dream scenario ★★★ This review may contain spoilers. cumming 🤝 farting

or this one here!

barton fink ★★★★★

john goodman is a great actor, but more than that, is one of the greatest men, and truest friends, i have ever had the honor and the privileged of knowing. rest in peace, john.

ⓘ Readers added a Community Note to a post to which you replied, Liked or reposted

This Letterboxd user has never met John Goodman. She never even met John Candy.

Also, John Goodman is still alive.

or even this one!

shogun assassin ★★★★★

when we're on a mission, i keep count of how many ninjas my father kills. he says not to keep count, only to pray for their souls, but if i don't keep count, i don't know how many souls to pray for

when i was a kid in the 90s, manga was hard to come by. there were a few shonen jump issues to be found. tankoban of even the most popular series-one piece, dbz, naruto, the sort of thing you could find wall scrolls littering the floor of every budget hotel anime con-were a specialty product. bookstop & the nascent barnes & noble had a few volumes of something or other tucked in the comics section between x-men and dilbert. my local comic book shop, dragon's lair on pearl street, had lone wolf and cub. half-price books had lone wolf and cub. even bookstop had a seemingly random assortment of them, volumes chosen according to the spine colors that were complementary or prime numbered chapters.

there were six lone wolf and cub movies in the 70s, none of which got an american release. in the early 80s, american producers bought the rights for the first two, chopped them to bits, smashed them together, and dubbed them over with a new script to make Shogun Assassin. if you're a fan of japanese or chinese movies from the era, it's a story you've heard a dozen times, the clumsy hackjobs to make movies slightly less impenetrable to american audiences. it's why my dad still thinks of godzilla or kung fu as mindless action flicks with non-sequitur dialogue that doesn't match the actors mouths. that's what happens when american producers got ideas in the 80s.

shogun assassin is something else. somehow, they made something beautiful, something i might call perfect. it shares more dna with kung-fu movies than the samurai flicks it might get compared to, it's more Riki-Oh than Harakiri or even the Zatoichi series-the first movie of which was directed by the same man who directed four of the six lone wolf and cub movies. there's drama here, but it finds its way to the screen only between scalps and fingers being severed. in most samurai movies, blood is an exclamation mark. here, it is the essential grammar, the script written in drips, rivers, and sprays of the japanese hallmark blood, candy-red and not quite viscous, like cheap home depot paint. 

the father, lone wolf, speaks rarely. he's an astonishing presence, played by tomisaburo wakayama and voiced by lamont johnson. heavyset and solemn with a wild dog speed. over the run of the movie, he becomes progressively scarred and bloodied, his haori slashed to ribbons, his hair becoming a wild mane. the son, cub, speaks for him in voice-over, letting wolf deliver fewer lines of dialogue than characters who get five minutes of screen time. he is perfectly kempt at all times, his clothes clean and crisp, his shaved head and forelocks immaculately maintained. one imagines lone wolf carefully tying up his topknot, shaving the top of his head, then staring dead-eyed at the road and barely pausing to push his own hair out of his eyes.

each tankoban, each chapter of the manga was a stubby white slab, lurid monochrome colors and a splash of color, a banner with japanese writing, across the bottom third. half-price books had lone wolf and cub, dragon's lair had lone wolf and cub, and my childhood friend zoey's dad had all 28 volumes, neatly organized on a bookshelf between old issues of heavy metal and photo books made to live on coffee tables. i never read the manga, but i flipped through a number of them, grazing on lurid black and white violence, decontextualized images of katana flashing to behead ninjas rendered as black smudges. watching shogun assassin brought me back there, an unrelenting pace of half-remembered violence. 

i desperately had to pee for the middle third of the movie. during what felt like a lull i finally gave in and squeezed past a full row of old men and pasty nerds. when i came back to my seat, i learned through cub's narration that the lone wolf had just killed an army.

you must watch shogun assassin

#oops that one's serious #my writing #shogun assassin #barton fink #dream scenario #rook watches

[donasarah]

Books I read in 2022

In previous years, I would set my reading goals to 25, 30 books, never quite managing to reach them. I have accepted that I am a rather slow reader in 2022. With that said, I set the goal of 12 books this year, averaging a book a month. This let me indulge in longer books, and take my time with denser ones. I finished 19, and I aim to read 12 again in 2023. In no particular order: -Star Wars: Specter of the Past (Timothy Zahn) -Star Wars: The Fallen Star (Claudia Gray) -Out of the Dark (David Weber) -The Space Between Worlds (Micaiah Johnson) -Into the Light (David Weber, Chris Kennedy) X -Carrie (Stephen King) -Jurassic Park (Michael Crichton) -Necromancer (Gordon R. Dickson) X -The Jewel of the Seven Stars (Bram Stoker) X -The Lost World (Michael Crichton) -Bird By Bird (Anne Lamont) X -Hav (Jan Morris) -A Winter Haunting (Dan Simmons) -I, Vampire (Jody Scott) -The Dying Earth (Jack Vance) -Eaters of the Dead (Michael Crichton) -Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice) X -Orlando (Virginia Woolf) -Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere (Jan Morris)

The five books with "X" at the end indicate that I did not finish the books, and have no wish to return to them (with exception of Into the Light, which I will talk about later.) Generally, I feel as if a book has struck me wrong, I don't waste time finishing the novel. I have far too many books I wish to read to spend valuable time finishing bad ones. The beginning of the year overflowed from 2021 in where I read far too many Star Wars novels. While I always will be a fan of Star Wars, my time reading the expanded material has ended. No matter how good they are, they fail to inspire me creatively, ultimately being products on the assembly line. If I ever want to break out as a writer, I realize I must read outside of the narrow space opera setting. I read a surprising number of Michael Crichton books this year, an author I will probably never pick up again. Not to say he is a bad writer, but that he is one that doesn't really appeal to me on a general basis. But as I binged every Jurassic Park movie (and groaned at the franchise), I decided to read the books it was based on. My copy of Jurassic Park was actually gifted to me by a coworker from the Worst Job I Have Ever Had, so I had been meaning to give it a go anyhow. And it was just alright! In typical hard sci-fi affair, it had a ton of interesting ideas and clashing of philosophies, but lacked in character depth. Lost World, on the other hand, was a bit phoned in, and I do not really recommend it. It's clear that Crichton has an affinity for the Arthur Conan Doyle book of the same name, but the actual prose was uninspired. Eaters of the Dead, on the other hand, might be a contender for the best book I read this year. Short, fast, and historically interesting, Eaters of the Dead has amazing characterization of Viking and Islamic culture of the late 900s AD, and has a twist villain that blew me away. It was so good, I dare not read any other Crichton book after this. I do not want to bitter the excellence of Eaters of the Dead.

I cannot recall if I spoke of Into the Dark in a previous year that I gave it a try, but the controversy of the novel is what sparked my interest. Weber is not an author I would likely read usually (much like Crichton, I realize), as he writes mostly military sci-fi. This genre is not shy about it's right-wing slanted world views, and Into the Dark is no different. Characters love talking about their guns, to the point I would call Into the Dark gun porn. Aliens invade the "modern day" world (when written, 2010), and humans fight back! The twist is that the humans straight up lose, and have to be bailed out by Count Dracula. Yes, real Dracula. The most hilarious twist in any book I have ever read. I had high hopes for the sequel, released some 12 years later, but Into the Light hardly leans into the goofy camp of the vampire reveal. Instead, it seemed embarrassed that it had done that, and hardly brings it up. So I put it down for now, but perhaps in 2023 I will give it another shake.

My best discovery this year was the author Jan Morris, and her book entitled Hav (which is truly a novel and novella combined into one volume). Jan is truly one of the most interesting people I have ever read about, and it brings me such sadness to learn she passed in 2020. Her work and career stand as monumental inspirations to me, and knowing I missed the chance to thank her by just two years feels like some type of irony. Hav is a fictional peninsula in Greece, but the way Morris writes about it makes it more real than some towns I have visited. Her name was achieved in the arena of travel writing, so when Hav was released in the 80s, people tried to book flights to a place that did not exist. If that wasn't interesting enough, Hav stands as a scathing and humbling reflection of the European world, and ends on the strange foreboding feeling, cashed in by the followup novella and mirrored by how 9/11 shaped the world. All that would make Jan Morris a good writer. But her journey from James Morris to Jan Morris makes her legendary, because yeah, on top of being a fantastic writer, she is one of the first prominently public British transgender people, flying to Russia in the 70s to receive gender affirming surgery. Did I mention she also fought in World War 2, and was the first reporter to climb Mount Everest successfully? Trieste is the capstone to her career, blending all the experiences she has had in life and distilling them down to the characterization of a single Italian city (or as the book goes on to say, a city that happens to be the capital of Nowhere.) I cannot wait to read more of her work in 2023. Orlando by Virginia Woolf might take the spot for the best book I have read this year. It's the only book on the list that I plan to reread again, once I find a copy that isn't falling apart at the spine. For how famous and influential this book is, it is surprisingly hard to track down a copy. Across four books stores, two used two new, I could only find one copy, and by the time I was finished, the spine had completely splintered into dust. But it was absolutely worth reading, even in that condition, and I eagerly await the chance to read it again.

I, Vampire was a book I read based on the cover and back blurb, and it was the craziest book I read this year. A vampire and alien fall in love, while in the background the author delivers some of the most sarcastic and biting criticism of modern day capitalism I have read in a pulpy sci-fi novel. It's great stuff, and I can't wait to find a copy of the first book in this apparent trilogy!

The worst book I read this year was certainly The Space Between Worlds. I do not really have a hot take associated with it, other than it was a mess of a book and needed at least two more drafts to make it a little more readable. It's clear that this was a debut novel, and I did buy it brand new, so I wish Ms. Johnson the best of luck with the next novel. Here's to another year of finding good books to read.

[gothicwidowsworld]

Weeping Willow L.L

Death was unforgiving. Death didn’t care who it hurt in the process of stealing someone from this plane of existence. In the matter of hours your life can drastically change. And what hurts the most is when death appears from nowhere, robbing you of the chance of saying goodbye. 

The one singular willow tree in the school grounds seemed to be weeping with it’s students at the loss of Abigail Mortimer. A shared mourning filling the corridors and classrooms of a school, an insignificant school, a school like any other in England. Friendships were questioned and an unexplained chill blanketed the small community. Like a kettle left on the hob to boil the pressures of normality were pushed to breaking point. It was only a matter of time before somebody cracked. 

“God Susan’s bad enough trying to be like her. Trying to be Abbie… But you! Who the hell do you think you are?! Trying to stop us from grieving…” The y/h/c girl paused gathering her thoughts, trying to find a way to tactfully navigate her way through her thoughts. Placing her cup of tea down Y/N was terrified the hot liquid would burn her due to the rage flooding through her. How could everything change in the blink of an eye. The Lamont’s kitchen no longer seemed like the y/s/c girl’s second home. The small room seemed smaller and darker without Abbie there. Abbie had one of those intoxicating laughs that could make even the worst of situations seem like nothing. They’d all lost Abbie and knowing that she was never coming back was unbelievable. Y/N regularly still expected the phone to ring and Abbie to gush about some boy she’d met. The blonde had a habit of ranting as soon as the dial tone stopped not caring who was on the other end of the phone, something Y/N’s Mother was most unamused by. Y/N knew she was going to grow up, move on with her life but Abbie… Abbie would stay beautifully sixteen. Forever.  The unfair irony of the friend with the most life to get snuffed out first. 

“She was our friend too, you were possessive of her before but now you're crazy! You’re just as mental as your Mother Lydia Lamont.” the young y/h/c girl seethed, the girl was aware of how cruel her statement was but the words came pouring out before she could stop herself. Lydia remained silent, the dark haired teen had become borderline mute since that afternoon. The afternoon when her walk back from school went from a trio to a duo… The girl had stopped functioning, her eyes now sullen, the bags under her eyes more noticeable than ever on her sickly pale skin. Lydia looked like death and Y/N couldn’t standby any longer watching her practically kill herself with each day that passed. It was probably selfish to leave Lydia like that but you can only try so many times to save someone set on self destruct. 

“I’m sorry Lydia but you're scaring me. You need help.” Y/N mumbled picking up her school bag from the floor, her knuckles white due to her grip on the leather strap.  Leaving the Lamont home the y/h teenager wondered if Lydia would ever recover. Or if she’d continue spiralling to the point of no return. She seems to slightly pause upon her silent way, pondering if any of them would recover or if Abbie Mortimer had broken them all beyond repair with her sudden exit. 

A/N still my all time favourite movie if you haven't seen it HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend 

#gothicwidow #imagines #au imagines #the falling imagines #the falling x reader #lydia lamont #lydia lamont imagines #lydia lamont x reader #maisie williams imagines #maisie williams x reader #Abbie Mortimer imagines #Abbie Mortimer x reader #Florence pugh imagines #florence pugh x reader #british movies #british movie imagines #british movies x reader

[heresathreebee]

Bloody Mess

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

AN: ok 1st of all this got Nasty and also I wanted to try a different format

Warning(s): +17 | Hemophilia, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), mentions of abuse, dead body (he deserved it), little rough, sub!Ralph Lamont, cum eating, hair pulling. Masterlist

Alright so I was dragging my feet to watch the episode of Blue Bloods with Alex Brightman in it and I'm glad I did because I got some cool ideas. I don't watch cop centric shows anymore but I thought Ralph would be a cool Italian mob type: turns out he's some dickhead twitch gamer who murdered a girl for stupid reasons I can't remember. 

So fuck cannon, he's a 90's mobman now. 

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

Imagine Ralph Lamont is a one man clean up crew. He's the go-to guy for any jobs gone wrong, gone messy. Body needs disappearing without a trace? Ralphie's your guy. 

Kinda like The Wolf from Pulp Fiction (Tarentino, 1994) 

Hydrochloric acid, latex, bleach, bone saw: all he needs is a few hours and it's like there was never a brutal murder here. (Sometimes this is accomplished with a distraction, a staged robbery or shoot out a few counties over if there were too many witnesses)

So Mr. Clean I mean Mr. Lamont gets a job at your home. 

It's a cute little 3rd floor apartment with a Mr. and Mrs. Andersen living in it. 

Mr. Andersen is– pardon, was– a bookkeeper for Dr. Coolidge (friend of Ralphie's; they both like sterile environments), so it's a favor. Dr. Coolidge mentioned over the phone he expected something "like this" to happen sooner or later. He asked Ralphie to be delicate with you– the late Mrs. Andersen. 

You buzz him in without a word. 

He finds you leaning against the kitchen island, putting out the cherry of your cigarette. You put it out right on Mr. Andersen's ugly yellow tie (or he thinks it used to be yellow)

It's a fucking blood bath in here. Mr. Andersen was a bleeder. Red splashes and streaks cover the counters, the toaster, the oven door, the fridge. There are bloody footprints on the floor and an honest-to-go pool of it dripping off the counter right next to Andersen's final resting place. You left the steak knife in his throat and he must have sat down in that island chair never to get back up again. His eyes are listless and grey. 

Ralphie walks around you, careful to keep you in his peripheral just in case you weren't done "expressing yourself." The linen of your frock is stained, your feet are bare, and your eye is black and swollen. Some of your bruises are old. 

In his sweep, he finds three bloodied knives in the sink: a bread knife, a fillet knife, and a cleaver. 

"Mrs. Andersen," he says as he turns back to you, "if you wouldn't mind moving to the bedroom for me? You've made quite a mess and I'd hate for you to have to see anymore violence." 

"You gonna fight him for my honor? He's already dead." 

Ralphie chuckles. "No ma'am. I'm gonna cut him up into pieces so the gallons of acid I brought with me dissolve his corpse efficiently. I'll need to borrow your bathtub for that, and you don't want to try getting cleaned up after the fact. It's no good for the skin." 

He's circled around the white marble kitchen island to stand before you. He's calm. The smile on his face is easy and it soothes you. You drop your eyes and catch an unexpected sight. 

"Are you…" you wipe at your mouth a accidentally leave a crusted red streak. "Do you get off on this?" 

Mr. Lamont shifts his stance; no doubt you've seen the light tent in his pants. "What can I say except I admire your handiwork, Mrs. Andersen. I imagine you may have wanted him to die slowly and painfully. Was it all that you hoped for?" 

You turn sheepish (incredible, really, surrounded by such admirable evidence of your own rage) and nod. "It was…" 

"Glad to hear," he says softly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind..." 

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder but you step away from the island and change his distant, guiding gesture into an intimate embrace. He looks at you in surprise when he feels you wrap your hands around his back beneath his blazer. 

"I seem to suffer a similar affliction," you tell him and press yourself into his erection. "You wouldn't mind giving a girl a hand, would you?" 

Well it certainly wasn't part of the job, but he was eager to please. 

“As you like it,” he whispered, pulling you into a soft kiss. 

Your blood sings in your veins. You’ve just killed your no good louse of a husband and now you’ve got your tongue down a stranger’s throat. And a handsome one too, so polite (you were still wary of him but if Dr. Coolidge sent him perhaps he couldn’t be all bad)

You tug at his tie as if it would make him any closer to being inside of you. The smell of copper is a never ending assault on your senses, but you also smell wood smoke beneath it on his collar. 

Mr. Lamont’s cheeky hands find your hips and a second later he’s helping you sit up on the kitchen counter. You can see your husband from the corner of your eye, his mouth hanging open in eternal anguish. It just serves to intensify your lust for life. 

You give Mr. Lamont's belt a meaningful tug and slip back down to the floor to turn around

You mean to ask him to help you with your zipper, but instead you feel his lips at your neck just before his hand grips the back of your head and pushes you down, face first into the counter inches away from the pool of blood. 

Your hand slides through the sticky essence and you feel Lamont draw your skirts up and your underthings down. 

You gasp with a shriek as you feel something hot slide up your slit and over your other hole. Did he just lick you??? 

The living man growls in what sounds like pleasure, pulling at his sleek tie just enough to loosen the constriction at his throat and then he’s shucking his pants down. 

You’re not sure if you want him to work you up slowly or take what he wants but you hold your breath and let him lead. You’re far from disappointed when he massages the meat of your rear and leans over your back. 

“You can still change your mind, doll,” he whispers, “not too late to go shower and forget today.” 

You consider it but you don’t want to forget. You want the feeling of Georgie’s life slipping through your fingers to soothe you to sleep every night. You want to carry the pleasure of giving your former husband a reason for his rampant jealous streak and know that for once there was nothing he could do about it. You want this living man to make this strange and terrifying day to end in bliss and solidify everything like lightning striking sand.  

You lift your head and run your dripping red hand through his pristine locks. He locks eyes with you and a shiver runs through him as a droplet lands on his nose. “I don’t want to stop, Mr. Lamont. Now be a good guest and fuck me.” 

“Call me Ralphie please,” he breathes, and he’s all too happy to comply. You feel his cock slip between your folds and as he enters you as he promised, you lick your lips and taste cherry and rust. 

“Ralphie… Ralphie…” He loves the sound of his name on your lips, the squishing sound of your lovely womanhood taking everything he gives it. He puts a single hand on your hip leans back to take it all in: the bloody kitchen, the stiff, the lecherous moans, the sweat making his shirt stick to his back, the misleading cleanliness of the back of your dress…

Mr. Lamont runs his hand through the slime in his hair but that blood is already drying. He splashes it into the pool next to you and leaves a bloody print on your back, holding you down to the counter by your shoulder and driving his hips into you harder. 

He can hear you’re close by the crescendo of your voice. He’s close too, and ever the gentleman, he slips out of you and flips you onto your back, pulling up a dainty leg in your daze so he can re enter your heat like he belonged there. He’s resumed fucking you in mere seconds and he likes this position because now he can see your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Where do you want it,” he grunts out. He’s trying not to come but he doesn’t have the willpower to slow down. He needs your answer, and fast...

For a moment your eyes go hard. Mr. Lamont gulps and worries for a second you’re going to pull the steak knife out of your husband’s throat to slit his, but instead you take a hold of his hair and pull his head back into an awkward but commanding angle. 

He feels your breath ghost over his neck. “My house, my rules. Make me see stars and I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

You sink your teeth into his neck and reach down to circle your pearl. Mr. Lamont does as he’s told, hissing and grunting but he holds off his release to give you exactly what you want. 

He has to stop thrusting when you start those delicious rhythmic tremors. He has to hold you up as you throw your head back and lose your balance, dependent on him to keep you upright. He takes over rubbing your pearl with a similar pressure as the one he watched you give yourself, and eased you back down from heaven into the bloody abyss on earth. 

For a second Ralph fears you’ve got too much control. What will he do if you tell him not to come at all? He’ll do as you command, of course, but how cruel were you going to treat him now that you’ve gotten what you wanted? He’s seen your handiwork all around, remember that. 

But your eyes turn soft and he’s worried you’re about to cry, that is until he watches you slip down to your bruised knees and ease your dress down your shoulders. Now you look positively debauched, breast bared and eyes turned up with a pleading look. 

“Finish on me, Ralphie.” You bit your lip and hope to god he’s still listening. “Right over my heart.” 

Ralph Lamont has never whimpered before. He’s doing it right now. How the fuck did he end up like this? 

He strokes his cooling cock, taking everything in from his position above you and feeling his drumming heartbeat in the throbbing of his member. The only word going through his head is yes

Ralphie gives one of you tits a squeeze, then gets an idea

It's a little awkward trying to get you to understand, but you catch on and there's this eager glow in your eyes

You help him slot his cock between your breasts and continue to jerk him off, using your hands as necessary to assist

He's not far now seeing you-- feeling you like that

Ralphie comes with a groan, a white rope painting your chin and splattering cockeyed down over your neck and onto the tops of your breasts. He has to catch himself on the counter as the next rope dribbles lower, half slipping into your cleavage and the rest staining the neckline of your ruined dress. His hips jerk once, twice. You let him slip from your embrace and twist your hand over the head just to milk whatever he has left into your mouth, and then he collapses into a heap beside you. 

You let him catch his breath for a minute, then grasp his jaw and turn his head towards you. You’re looking down your nose at him again and his vulnerable eyes beg for more. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” you gesture to the milky essence covering your skin in mock annoyance. “Clean it up like a good boy.” 

Eyes half lidded, Ralphie leans towards you in a trance, tongue swiping over every pearlescent trail and stray droplet until you’re ‘clean’ again

Completely spent, the man rests his head against your shoulder. Your hands come up to cradle him, stroking his matted hair as if you've not a care in the world

When he's ready he helps you stand up and straightens his clothes

Instead of helping you back into yours he strips you of them

"These will have to be burned, I'm afraid," he tells you. "Go on now, take a nice long bath and I'll call Kevin to see if he can take you somewhere for the night

You have to clear the tub and run it again to get truly clean. All of that grime builds up thick on your skin while you were having your acts of catharsis. 

You slip into a satin frock in your favorite color and let Kevin whisk you away to a movie for the night

As you fix your earring in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of Ralph Lamont on your balcony. He waves down at you leaning against the ledge and unbothered by the state of his clothes. From this far down, it doesn't look like blood

But you know better, don't you?

@hoodoo12 @escape-your-grape

#Ralph Lamont x reader #Alex Brightman #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒ #smut #tw blood #black reader insert

[megamindsecretlair]

The Secret Lamont Files

Do not copy or repost my work. Reblogs are encouraged. Do not use my work to train AI. 18+ only. Minors do not interact. Warning: contains multiple uses of n-word.

Lamont x Black!reader Fics

When It Feels Right - use of n-word

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Lamont Files #Lamont x Black!reader #Lamont x Black reader #x Black reader #Lamont x Fem!reader #Lamont x Fem reader #x Fem reader #Lamont x plus size reader #Lamont x reader #Lamont x you #Lamont fanfic #Lamont fan fic #Lamont fanfiction #Lamont fan fiction #Rap Sh!t #Rap Sh t #Rap Sh!t fanfic #Rap Sh!t fan fic #Rap Sh!t fanfiction #Rap Sh!t fan fiction

[noctem-novelle]

This February, celebrate Black History Month with Black authors!

Culture is important, whether it’s your own to celebrate or someone else’s that you can learn about and appreciate. In the last few years, we’ve seen a steady increase in people of colour, LGBT communities, non-Christian religions, and non-European cultures represented in young adult and middle-grade fiction. While this is a great improvement and definitely a step in the right direction, people of colour are still underrepresented. We can do more to make sure that authors of colour are seen and heard. The following list, while by no means exhaustive, is a selection of excellent YA and MG novels written by Black authors*. This month, take some time to explore their stories.

*This list appears in no particular order and is not intended to be read as though any one book is superior to another.

1. The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas (Young Adult)

When sixteen-year-old Starr Carter witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend, she must decide whether to lie low or to join the protesters who seek justice for Khalil. A touching, timely, and often raw story about a girl who finds herself when she feels most lost, it’s no wonder this book has spent more than 100 weeks on the New York Times Best Sellers list.

2. Riding Chance by Christine Kendall (Young Adult)

Based on Philadelphia’s Work to Ride program, this novel follows a young man who gets into some trouble at school and winds up doing community service at the Chamounix Stables in Fairmount Park. There, he learns to play polo, an intense sport that teaches perseverance and focus. This book really hit home for me, having spent most of my childhood at polo matches with WTR. In real life, Work to Ride provides underprivileged children and teenagers in Philadelphia with constructive extracurricular activities, peer mentorship, and even college enrollment assistance. To learn more about Work to Ride, check our their website or Facebook page!

3. Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann (Young Adult/New Adult)

Let’s talk about the amazing QPoC rep in this book! Alice, who is asexual and biromantic, is determined to spend her post-breakup summer on a tv binge. She definitely does not intend to fall for her co-worker, Takumi. Whoops. This book is a mostly-fluffy slow-burn romance, full of nerdy pop-culture references. If you remember tumblr circa 2011, this book is for you.

4. Garvey’s Choice by Nikki Grimes (Middle Grade)

Garvey’s father has always wanted him to be an athlete, but Garvey is just not interested. When his only friend convinces him to join their school chorus, Garvey finds confidence and a new way to communicate to his distant dad. Told in verse, this is a heartfelt novel about one boy’s transformation through music.

5. American Street by Ibi Zoboi (Young Adult)

In her debut novel, Ibi Zoboi draws on her experience as a Haitian immigrant to tell the story of Fabiola, a young woman whose mother is detained by U.S. Immigration when they emigrate from Port-au-Prince to Detroit. This book explores the cost of the “American dream” with a mix of family drama, romance, and a hint of magical realism.

6. The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo (Young Adult)

Xiomara feels both invisible and too visible in a world that doesn’t want to hear her but is happy to objectify her. To express herself and to find some relief from her religious mother’s strict expectations, she turns to slam poetry. This novel-in-verse includes romance, wavering faith, and feminism.

7. Piecing Me Together by Renee Watson (Young Adult)

This powerful novel features a young woman who is determined to make it out of her impoverished neighbourhood. Jade’s mother taught her to take every opportunity she’s offered, so every day she takes the bus across town to a private school where there are plenty of opportunities, even if she doesn’t quite fit in. But some opportunities are less welcome than others, like the chance to join a mentorship program for “at-risk” girls. Sick of being singled out as someone who needs help, Jade hopes to find some autonomy and to stay true to herself.

8. Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert (Young Adult)

Suzette is home in Los Angeles for the summer and she isn’t sure she ever wants to go back to boarding school. Between supporting her bipolar brother, Lionel, and trying not to think about her clandestine relationship with her roommate, she’s got a pretty full plate. Unfortunately, she’s also falling for the same girl that Lionel likes. When Lionel’s mental illness sends him spiraling, Suzette must face her past to help him. This family features a blended family, Black Jewish characters, and a queer woman of colour.

9. Courage by Barbara Binns (Middle Grade)

T’Shawn has done his best to help out since his father’s death, but life gets complicated when his brother Lamont comes home from a stint in prison. T’Shawn finds peace on the diving board, and earns a scholarship to join a prestigious team at a local swim club. But when the neighbourhood crime rate starts to rise, T starts to think that he and Lamont may never put their pieces back together.

10. Monster by Walter Dean Myers (Young Adult)

A murdered drugstore clerk, a trial, and a young man in crisis. Monster is the story of Steve Harmon, amateur filmmaker and alleged murderer. To cope with the trial, Steve writes down the proceedings as if it were a film script, but as he tries to tell his own story, the truth starts to feel a little hazy. This one has also been adapted as a graphic novel.

11. All-American Boys by Jason Reynolds (Young Adult)

Rashad wasn’t stealing, but people sure seem to think he was. After he drops a bag of chips and a police officer beats him for it, Rashad is stuck in a hospital bed while the nation debates his character. Meanwhile, Quinn, a white boy who witnessed the beating, comes to learn that racism didn’t end with the Civil Rights Movement.

12. Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor (Young Adult)

Sunny is an albino girl living in Nigeria. Her skin tone often makes her an outsider, but she soon finds herself drawn into a community of magic users called Leopard People. Together with her new friends, Sunny is tasked with tracking down a killer known for maiming children.

13. The Red Pencil by Andrea Davis Pinkney (Middle Grade)

Amira is finally twelve and hopes to start school, but her life is turned upside down when the Janjaweed militia attacks her Sudanese village and her family must make the long and difficult journey to a refugee camp. Life at the camp is hard, but when an aid worker gives her a pencil and paper, Amira’s world begins to expand.

14. One Crazy Summer by Rita Williams-Garcia (Middle Grade)

Delphine Gaither and her two younger sisters travel from Brooklyn to Oakland to spend the summer with a mother they barely know. Imagine their surprise when she sends them to a Black Panther summer camp. Set in 1968, this historical fiction novel explores family dynamics and the importance of sisterhood.

15. Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson (Middle Grade)

In powerfully emotional poetry, Woodson tells the story of her childhood and what it was like to grow up Black in the 1960s and 70s. This novel-in-verse won the National Book Award and the Coretta Scott King Award.

16. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor (Middle Grade)

Between the depression and threats from the night riders, the Logan family has had a tough year. Cassie doesn’t see why her family’s land is so important, but as she becomes more aware of the way their white neighbours treat them, she soon comes to understand that the family’s strength comes from having their own place in the world. This book tackles the ugly reality of racism in the deep south from the perspective of a precocious nine-year-old. It can be hard to stomach at times, but I think that just makes it more important.

17. Zora and Me by Victoria Bond & T.R. Simon (Middle Grade)

Part historical fiction and part small-town mystery, this fictional imagining of Zora Neale Hurston’s early days sees the author as a young girl, exercising her skills as a storyteller. When one of Zora’s tales seems to come true and a man winds up dead, she and her friend Carrie find that things in their little town are not as peaceful as they appear.

18. Blended by Sharon M. Draper (Middle Grade)

Every since her parents’ divorce, Isabella has felt torn in two. Two houses, two families, two races. Switching between her parents, also means switching between two different identities. How can she ever feel whole when she’s constantly split in half? This book examines the life of a biracial girl, and doesn’t shy away from addressing exoticism and the (PG) fetishisation of mixed-race people.

19. Black Enough: Stories of Being Young and Black in America edited by Ibi Zoboi (Young Adult)

This contemporary anthology delves into the many-faceted lives of Black teens in the United States. Popular authors from a wide variety of backgrounds have contributed their voices to show that being young and Black in America is not just one singular experience, but a constellation.

20. The Parker Inheritance by Varian Johnson (Middle Grade)

A hidden letter and a summer mystery are what await Candace when she pokes through an old box in the attic. With the help of her neighbour, Brandon, she deciphers the letter’s clues in the hopes of discovering a forgotten fortune. This book is perfect for readers who like a good puzzle.

#books #bookish #bookworm #book blog #book blogger #booklr #bookstagram #book nerd #book lover #bibliophile #bookshelf #book photography #read #reading #read more #instareads #instabooks #vscoreads #vscobooks #vscobook #instabook #book list #reading list #black history month #ya books #ya novels #kid lit #ya lit #text

[heresathreebee]

Brackish And Briny Waters (three)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: Spend the weekend painting the house with your husband. Previous Masterlist Next

Tags: 17+ | 1.6k words | Painting a house together, aka domestic stuff, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, pulling out, vague mention of rats.

AN: part 4 is gonna get angsty I just finished it

Anything involving greens was a heavy battle between you two, as Ralph seemed to have some kind of vendetta against them. The more blue you got, the less you fought and you eventually settled on a cool tone to use for the laundry room with a compromise to paint floral accents in a forest green tone along the edges of the back wall. You did find an exact replica of one of the original wallpapers in your second bedroom which you wanted to move to the living room. 

Colors selected and purchased, you went home starving and managed to scrape together some left overs with a side of rice to fuel you to start on the real work. You also bought brown paper to cover the solar room window holes until you can finish that room as its own project. 

Ralph rolls up his sleeves and puts on his bleach stained lounge pants to help. You lay down tarp and use up 3 rolls of tape to cover the kitchen and the dining room. Every window and door is wide open as you set your record player to play some 'whistle while you work' type of albums. And whistle he does that husband of yours, enjoying your company and shaking his hips dramatically to make you laugh. You two haven't had this much fun in so long it feels like. 

The summer citrus color you chose for the kitchen was really working for you. Ralph intended to put the wallpaper up in the other room to get 'double the work done' but still you find him working the same wall just to be close to you. You talk about missing that classic NYC pizza and dinner tomorrow and Ralph promises to ask his colleagues about any music shops in the area. 

You take a nap on the porch swing to get away from the paint fumes, an iced tea almost slipping from your hand. When dinner time comes, you cook while he details the removal of the old wallpaper from the dining room to work tomorrow. He's rambling about using a third coat on the living room paint and you don't think it's necessary but you know he'll agree with you come morning. 

"Come eat Ralph Vincent," you scold him for getting paint on the door frame but all is forgiven when he sweeps you into a hungry kiss. 

"I'd rather eat you right now." 

Ralph's flirtations are interrupted by his own ractious growling stomach and you laugh at him as you shove a plate into his hand. You eat together by the window in the living room. While it hasn't been painted yet, you have moved the furniture to the middle of the room and the fumes from the kitchen and dining room are still very strong. You hope it doesn't affect your sleep tonight (or hope it puts you down like a dose of melatonin). 

"Floyd's got a boat," Ralph tells you. "Says he takes it out on the water almost every day. Asked if I wanted to join him." 

"And are you?" You spin another forkful of angel hair spaghetti on your plate. 

Ralph slurps his like a child. "Am I what." 

"Are you going to join him on his boat?" You speak slowly and patronizingly. Ralph pinches your breast and almost makes you drop your plate. "No. I hate boats. I hate water. I don't want to be trapped for hours out there listening to him talk about paintings and philosophers, at least at work I can walk away." 

You chuckle. "I think Floyd sounds very interesting. What do you have against him?" 

"Nothing," he protests, "he talks too much. He's loquacious– that's what Justine calls him, and she's one to talk. If you must know, he's actually my favorite– he knows when to keep his nose out of my business." 

Dishes are made slightly more difficult with Ralph hanging off your shoulders. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, even finds a hickey from the morning that's started to fade and he remarks you. You dig your dripping fingers into his hair when he finds that spot on your neck and gives it some much needed attention. 

"Ralphie, baby, please," you whisper, "I could use your help with these." 

Dishes are done in record time and suddenly you're being whisked away to your bedroom (not that you were complaining). This room has the wallpaper that you had no intention to change aside from a fresh upgrade. Ralph takes your hand to spin you around and back you into your shared room all the way to the edge of the bed. Along the way he plants kisses from your hairline to your collarbone before he lets you fall atop the thick quilted bedspread. 

He gazes at you with a warm expression. The soft "my girl" he whisperes makes your heart swell. 

You expect him to pick up your legs and pull you by your knees to the outside of his hips (want him to even), but Ralph has other ideas it seems. It's not until his head is between your legs that you realize what he's up to (or rather down to). You gasp a lung full of air and grab him by the hair of his head. 

"Jesus," you sigh. 

Your husband's rumbling laughter causes your thighs to twitch. "Say my name, I'm the one doing all the work." 

"Yeah but you love– aha!" His beard brushes your inner thighs and leaves a delightful burning sensation in the deepest part of your soul. "Fuck…" 

You pull his hair harder and feel the soft locks stretch in your bloodless grasp. You can feel that immortal coil wind tighter and tighter inside you as Ralph devours you. You start chanting his name, the pitch of your voice beginning to crescendo the closer you get to that fire cracker ending. Ralph doubles his efforts, eager to have you fall apart on his tongue and fingers. 

He's more than making it up to you tonight. 

When you come, your body curls in on itself and your thighs lock around his head, effectively deafening him. You have no idea if he can hear the scream that rips from your body but you can't either as your eyes rolls back in ecstasy. 

You relax onto the bed and feel it dip with an additional weight to your side. You slide into Ralph's easy embrace, his dry hand coming up to hold you to him and just rest for a bit. 

"Fuck," you say huskily, "you're really good at that…" 

Ralph kisses you in answer, trying to deepen the connection but you have to twist away to catch your breath. Instead he plants lingering, sweet kisses on your neck, your cheek, your hair. His hand caresses your back in circles until you're nearly asleep from the motion. 

You flinch when you feel his nose brush against yours. "Baby… don't fall asleep." He sounds so sweet until his voice darkens and he says, "I'm not done with you yet." 

You lose track of time and all you can feel is Ralph Lamont. You're both covered in a sheen of sweat and his hips rock leisurely into yours. You don't know who grabbed who but your hands are tangled together and refuse to let go. Ralph's breath dusts over your neck, cool in contrast to the fire of his physical form pressed against you. You want to come again but you let him draw it out, let him love you tonight. 

"Ralph." You whisper in his ear, begging with no pressure to change pace. You're happy if he's happy and he is very content to keep thrusting into you to his peak and slow down, never stopping but always making you want more. Your man kisses you flush on the mouth and adjusts his position. His thrusts change. They grow from hypotonic and shallow to a little hard and more purposeful. You moan at the feeling, your legs locking around his hips to draw him deeper despite your exhaustion. 

Your orgasm washes over you nice and gentle, nothing like the force of the first time. You're conscious enough to lock your ankles around Ralph's hips, but it still doesn't prevent him from slipping his flushed and reddened cock out and finishing on your stomach as he always intended. You feel a strange tickle of disappointment as you come down from your high but push it to the back of your mind for later. 

Some way, somehow, Ralph still has enough strength to clean you both up and tuck you into bed. He curls around your body despite the near unbearable heat and falls fast asleep, his soft snores right behind your ear lulling you under the tide of sleep. 

DAY FOUR

"Morning." 

Your Saturday is awash of more painting and moving furniture with Ralph. He made coffee and eggs and brought it to you in bed, then dragged you down to look at the frayed wires on the clothes dryer machine. 

"Might be rodents," you muse. "I'll get some traps on Monday and find my soldering iron." 

"We'll get traps tonight," your husband countered, scratching his chin, "the sooner the better." 

You finish removing the old wallpaper in the living room and carefully put up the new one with little fuss. The kitchen still smells of paint but it's dry (it had better be, you left the windows open all night and it's freezing in here) so you put the kitchen utensils and appliances back and remove the protective tape and brown paper. Ralph is proud of the precision work done in the corners and edges, patting himself on the back and yours. 

"We did good babe," he said, "by this time next week, we'll have the whole house done!" 

You laugh at his optimism. There were still cobwebs to dust, cracks to spackle, floors to polish, windows to replace. This was the very reason he picked this place… 

To keep you busy. To keep your mind from wandering to those dark places that linger in your past. 

At least it was working.

Tagging people who might like to know: @werwulfy @hoodoo12 @escape-your-grape @go-commander-kim @fundamentally-lazy @mimiscappinisideblog do y'all wanna be here? If not lemme know please 😅 DM me

#three bees writing #ralph lamont #ralph lamont x reader #smut #things seen and heard au #vaguely ghost house au #black reader insert

[heresathreebee]

Waters Brackish and Briny (four)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: the first of many strange and unusual occurrences to come in your new home. Previous Masterlist Next

Tags: 15+ | 2k words | hauntings, an argument, physical intimidation 😬, secrets, crying

AN: hey remember there were ghosts in Things Seen and Heard? Personally I hate angst so sorry y'all 😔 I will NOT leave it here for long

SECOND WEEK

Ralph went back to work and the house became empty once more. Empty except for yourself and the house. And possibly a rat or two. You set up traps and finished moving the furniture in the downstairs rooms into place. The previous owners left a decently conditioned upright piano behind when they moved. A few scuffs on the legs and a toy soldier in the strings, but perfectly playable and barely out of tune. Nothing a little warm up couldn't change.

You ate lunch on the piano bench, glaring at the unfinished archway leading to the solar room. Should you sweep first or measure the windows to be fitted for panes? Do you want regular clear glass or some stained glass? Get crazy with it? 

You waste a couple hours playing basic melodies and manage to squeeze in time to do all the measurements for the windows before 3 pm. You take down the paper on the floor most window holes and sweep the dust and leaves and branches outside. You mop till the hardwood floor shines but you hate the white beech wood and add varnish to the To Do list. 

You ring up the Vayle boys you met the day you unloaded your furniture. "Hey Eddie! I was planning on making something for you and Cole as a thank you but I need some supplies first." 

It rained in the afternoon and Ralph came home with mud on his pants. "Baby what happened? Did you fall?" 

Ralph looked supremely annoyed. "One of the kids took a tumble and grabbed me for support. We both went down." 

You know he's in a sour mood but you can't stifle your laughter. You coo at him, looking over the damage to his suit. He's got mud caked on the seat of his pants and flecks of it as high as the back of his neck. You help him strip as much as appropriate with guests in the house. 

Your husband sniffs the vanilla scent from the air and looks at you incredulously. "Did you make cookies?" 

"Yeah," you said, "for Eddie and Cole." 

The boys waved at your husband from the kitchen counter. He gives a lustless wave back and trudges upstairs in his under things. You tip the boys with the rest of the cookies in an old dish and send them on their way home. 

You open your bedroom door to find Ralph butt ass naked and on his knees looking for something. 

"We should do this more often," you tease. 

Ralph looks up and raises an eyebrow at you then notices the position he's put himself in. "Now's not the time for jokes: do you know where the luffa is?" 

You cross your arms. "Well it's not under the bed…" 

"Helpful." Ralph climbs to his feet and his nose bumps yours. "Where. Is. The luffa." 

"Behind the bathroom door on a hook." 

"Why?" Ralph takes three steps towards the bathroom, then quickly retraces them and this time his forehead collides with you none too gently. "And not saving me a cookie? Uncool." 

"Open your mouth." His eyes go dark for a second and you roll yours. "Do it." 

You plant the last cookie in his mouth and flop onto the bedspread. "Go. Shower. I'll clean up the kitchen." 

The house creaks at night. Sometimes the sounds make the hair on your neck stand on end, but you simply squeeze Ralph and drift back to sleep. In the haze of a dream you think you hear something small and glass break a few rooms over but you can't hold onto your memories for long like this. 

Except tonight there is more than sounds. Beneath the smell of your body wash on Ralph's skin, something tickles the back of your throat. It's acrid and raw pulling you from the fringes of sleep into reality fast. You sniff the air and the scent seems to grow ten times stronger. It's like… it's like… 

You shake Ralph by the shoulder. He doesn't stir an inch. The smell is so strong you're choking on it. You grab Ralph and shake him like a doll until he bursts into wakefulness. 

"What? What?!" 

"Do you smell that?" 

"What?" His eyes are completely unfocused, face pinched in annoyance. 

"It smells like…" you turn on the bedside lamp much to his dismay. "It's like gasoline or something." 

Ralph growls and rubs at his eyes. "Exhaust fumes maybe. Ralph! We have to get up– we have to get out!" 

Somehow you manage to drag him out of bed and down the stairs. The smell gets weaker but it's still there burning in your nostrils like actual fire. Your eyes search frantically for that yellow orange flicker in every room to no avail. It doesn't ease your fear. 

"Come on." You push Ralph outside and the man almost falls off the wrap-around porch. His eyes are glued shut, legs shaking as he stands, and trapped in that sleep state. 

You rack your brain for ideas. Is the car on fire? Should you check the garage? Do you have a working fire extinguisher? There's one in the garage by the door but you doubt it's up to date. 

"Ralph baby please wake up, I need you…" 

You cling to his arm and he manages to crack one eye open. "The fuck is going on?" 

"Something's wrong," you stutter, "I think he's here."

Ralph opened his other eye and looked at you. His head swiveled to and fro over his shoulders, trying to peer out into the dark cover of night to find anyone lurking in the dark. His grip on your arm is tight, almost hurts. He looks back at you, puzzled. 

"Where?" 

You didn't know where, in fact you don't know why you said that. He had no idea where the two of you were. For all you know he might not even be a he at all. You've never met them but you're haunted by them. 

You shake your head and focus on the danger of now. "Fumes. I woke up and it smelled like exhaust fumes in our room." 

"I didn't smell anything," Ralph says. 

You growl. "I did. We need to call someone, we can't go back in the house. What if it's filled with gas and there is an open flame somewhere?" 

Ralph looks around then tries to walk past you towards the door. You catch him with a look of disbelief. 

"Did you not just hear a single word I said?!" 

Ralph sweeps your bruising grip from his arm. He keeps walking but he never breaks eye contact with you. He's definitely awake now. 

"If there's fumes, it's coming from the garage. Lord knows you're not going to let me look knowing that," he says stepping past the threshold into the mud closet next to the kitchen, "so we need to call someone." 

He picks up the phone from its cradle and dials 9-1-1. "Unless you have some secret satelite phone hidden in the barn, I'm all ears on how we call someone…" 

He's right. He's being an asshole about it but he's right. You can smell the fumes as you step in, desperate not to be far from him no matter what happens. Ralph plucks the housecoat from the hook by the door and fits it around your shoulders. You didn't realize you were shivering. 

The sheriff comes out tonight and it's half past 2 am. You and Ralph are waiting outside, a reasonable distance from the house in case an explosion was imminent but it never came. Sheriff Laughton brought a fire team and they searched the house. 

Travis–  as he asked them to call him– asked a few meandering questions. Ralph held your hand and answered as many as he dared, looking to you for the questions you could answer better. They both noticed your thousand yard stare but said nothing. 

Travis came back with the fire team and a long, befuddled face. "They checked over every inch of that house and didn't find anything except a broken lightbulb in the laundry closet." 

Ralphie did not return your gaze, instead he asked. "Nothing at all?" 

Travis scratched his head. "If there was something, it's gone now. I might have your cars looked at just in case, there's a mechanic about 10 miles yonder I can give you directions to." 

Ralph's hand smoothed over your shoulder to try warming you up. "No, no that's OK, I have a mechanic right here." 

You slap his chest for teasing you but your weak smile falls not a moment later. How can that be? They found nothing? Had you imagined the whole thing? But it had felt so real… 

By the time you brought your mind back to the present, you found Ralph had moved you to the kitchen and offered Travis a cup of coffee for his troubles. The fire team was packed up and driving off the property, leaving only the sheriff's cruiser out in that empty night. 

"Ralph," you whispered over the sink. "I think we should call Reagan…" 

"No." 

You blinked. He hadn't even taken a second to consider it, just… dismissed you out of hand like you were an annoyance. You crossed your arms over your chest and glared. 

"If you won't, I will." 

Ralph beat you to the phone and blocked your path, you glimpsed Travis standing awkwardly in the door but paid him no more than a passing thought. 

This was about to get ugly. 

"I. Am not crazy." You keep your voice low but the quiver of anger still seeps through. "I know what I smelled. It was real. If you're not going to ask for help, then fine, but do not stand in my way because of your pride." 

Ralph had that look in his eyes– the dangerous look. "Oh, honey, no… I told you– we are not calling Reagan." 

He kept shaking his head minutely, like it was the only thing keeping him from screaming. "That's final. I mean it, baby. I will lock you in that fucking basement if you touch that phone. I will burn this fucking house down before I let you even look at that dial." 

Your jaw hit the floor but before you could protest, Ralph had your arm in a death grip as he began to drag you out into the hallway. He was probably trying to push you to the bedroom but his out of character threat had rocked you. 

"Let me go," you growled, "Ralph! Stop it!" 

Travis called out to you two and you tried to wipe that innate look of fear from your face. Ralph seemed to snap out of it a bit when he realized you weren't alone and he finally released your arm. It didn't stop him from bending over you until his nose brushed yours and in a growl commanded you to go upstairs. 

Now is not the time to cry. Crying right now feels like weakness. You're not sad– you're fucking furious with him right now. But you're not about to make a bigger scene in front of this cop, so you push past him and head for the stairs. 

The blood racing in your veins is making your face hot and head pound. You can hear Ralph follow you up shortly, likely to continue the argument further but you are beyond listening at this point. You turn just in time to see him look at you funny– why are you mad?-- before slamming the door so hard you hear the wood around the lock almost splinter. 

He doesn't try the door. The light of the hallway goes out and you listen to him sigh as he heads for the couch to sleep on. You throw yourself onto your bed alone and cry into your pillow until exhaustion takes you to a dreamless black sleep.

Tag list: @werwulfy @fundamentally-lazy @escape-your-grape @go-commander-kim @mimiscappinisideblog

#alex brightman #ralph lamont #ralph lamont x reader #angst #black reader insert #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒ #things seen and heard au #ghost house au

[heresathreebee]

Brackish and Briny Waters (five)

[Ralph Lamont x Female Reader]

Summary: Ralph apologizes and you've got baby brains, but sometimes life does nothing but kick you down. Previous Masterlist Next

Tag(s): 16+ | 1.7k words | more angst, baby fever, alcoholism, ghostly vibes

AN: GODDAMN Part 5 took me a lifetime to finish. As always no beta readers just poorly side eyeing this by myself and hoping it makes sense

THE NEXT MORNING

You barely stir when you hear the door open. You've all but forgotten last night, and yet you flinch when Ralphie tries to cuddle with you. He sighs somewhere near your ear and hugs you from behind anyways, lips brushing the nape of your neck and breath fanning over your back as he simply lies there, quiet as the grave. 

There's no bruise but you can still feel his hand gripping your arm from last night. "You're being a huge dick…" 

"... I know." 

That is not good enough. You roll over to face him and watch his face twist when he notices the tract marks of dry tears on your face. He swallows and almost unconsciously takes your hand, smoothing his thumb over the back of your palm in a way that was meant to comfort him rather than you. 

"I'm sorry." He opens his mouth again but he flounders for words. After a deep breath he continues. "We can't call Reagan. Because he won't do anything for us…" 

You wait impatiently for him to explain. 

"Sweetheart, if we called Reagan last night, he would have fucking laughed at us. It is step one down that slippery slope to the couple who cried wolf." He put a hand on your shoulder and looked you in the eye, "do you really think he would have done something?" 

You think about it. If Ralph hadn't stopped you from calling him, what would you have said to Reagan? 

I smelled exhaust fumes. Not an emergency, he would say. 

I think he found us. What do you want me to do about it, too late now, he would ask.  

We're in danger. I'll send a squad upstate, they should be there in 4 hours, he would joke. 

"It was real," you insist. "I smelled fumes." 

"I know. I believe you." 

You squint at him threateningly and he doesn't give an inch. He doesn't seem like he's mocking you. 

Ralph could be an asshole, but Reagan was infinitely worse. At least one of them gave a shit about your safety. The realization Ralph was right scared you more than anything. You were alone in this… 

Well, alone together. 

You sigh and bury your face in his neck. Your hair is tangled as shit and probably tickling his face, but your husband simply wraps you up in a tight embrace and holds you against him. It's all the apology you need. 

END OF THE FIRST MONTH

Adjusting to your new life hit you like a sack of bricks early on a Monday morning. You woke up from a dream where you still lived in your tiny little apartment two minutes walk from everything. In a reality which felt more like a fever dream, Ralph was late for work, donning a tie and tweed jacket and kissing you goodbye for the day. 

You never realized how much space there was in the new master bedroom. In the apartment, a queen sized bed nearly touched the walls and barely left room to creep around two night stands and a dresser, but in the new house you had room to lay on the floor and stretch, maybe put another piece of furniture in here like a bookshelf or something. 

And the whole damn house was like that. You had an entire second floor to claim as your own! There is almost too much space… too much space for just the two of you. 

God there's that thought again drifting into your mind unbidden, unfurling like a fern at the first droplet of sunshine. How many people does it take to turn a house into a home? Three should be plenty, your mind offers. 

You busy yourself with measurements, regrouting the loose tiles in the kitchen floor, and scrubbing the blackened hell out of that downstairs bathroom. It seems to come to life beneath your hands and you can feel yourself getting excited to show guests the improvement. 

The thoughts of turning your little twosome family into three persist over and over until you can't stand it any longer. Maybe it's finally time… 

Ralph's late getting home by 5 minutes instead of 5 hours but he still looks tired. No mud tracks on his pants or hard set eyes. He's halfway up the stairs before you realize he's probably going to bed early. 

"Hey!" 

Ralph stops like it pains him. His head sags and his hold on the railing is tight like he'll fall if he lets go. The way he's wobbling he might. He is barely able to meet your eyes as he glances over his shoulder and when he does he simply grunts. 

"I made dinner," you squeeze your hands together behind your back, "angel hair pasta and that sauce you love." 

Ralph's eyes flicker in thought. "Be down in a second." 

You wait nervously to see if he does come down. What if this is a bad idea? What if he doesn't take you seriously? Oh god what if he hates it, what if he calls you an idiot for even considering it? 

Ralph does come back downstairs, hair wild from running his fingers through it. He seems to gain a small amount of energy while eating, not wanting to talk himself but asking how your day has been going. 

You're definitely rambling right now. Ralph listens and listens, chuckling along but at some point he grows concerned and envelopes your hand with a worried expression on his face. "Jesus, I've never heard so many words come out of your mouth at once, it's like you're writing a dissertation over there. Are you OK, baby?" 

You snap your mouth shut. God, you hadn't even come close to talk about kids for all your rambling. And then there was that weird smell… 

Your blood runs cold as you recognize it. You lean a little closer to Ralph and he almost instinctively flinches away. If there's one thing you are sure of, one thing you could swear on god– Ralph Lamont has never flinched away from a kiss before. So he has something to hide. And that something has a sharp scent and explains his slow reactions and tired eyes better than anything else could. 

"Have you… have you been drinking?" 

It's the way he can't meet your eyes when you ask him. You know. It's beyond out of character, so much so that it's confusing and a little frightening for you. 

A little drink here and there is, to you, to be expected especially considering the wealth of your new company. So why hide it? Is there something else he's not telling you?

You suddenly feel sick and too hot, ripping your hand away from his and getting up to leave the table. 

He knows you get in your head sometimes and practically yells your name to stop you. "I'm… I don't know why I…" 

Ralph sighs and buries his face into his hands, ashamed. All this suspense is twisting knots in your stomach. You sit back down gingerly, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. 

"Ralph," you warn, "you had better start explaining yourself right now before I lose it." 

Ralph stares a hole into the table and worries his lip. The truth is he doesn't know what to say because he doesn't know why he did it. The students are easy, you are easy. Even in the toughest of times, at his lowest, he didn't drink so… what the fuck was coming over him?, he asked himself. 

Something clicked. It rolled like fire in his belly given dry wood, smoking curling to the top of his throat and out of his ears. "They hate me." 

"Who? Who hates you?" 

"Everyone." 

You looked him in the eye for the first time tonight and saw something dark looking in there. It makes you uneasy. "What makes you think they hate you, baby?" 

Ralph's grip on his fork tightens until his knuckles are white before he gingerly sets the dishware down and deflates. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with a sardonic grin. 

"You wouldn't understand… and how could you? You never leave the house." He looks at you and there's a growing instability rising in his movements. "You… you don't see it. It started out as little nothings that I could ignore because it didn't matter that they didn't like me: I was new.  

"Then it became lots of these little nothings. Staring and whispering and hushed silences. Tip toeing language and poking and prodding and testing me and my limits and it just… it just… it never got better…" 

Rumors. It dawned on you that his frustration seemed intimately familiar to you as you had had to change schools once or twice due to a few terrible rumors that snowballed and got way out of hand. And you can imagine the sort of rumors that accompany a man with little interest in making friends who has a wife nobody knows anything about. 

If you wanted to stay here long, you would need to change a few minds. You set aside your fear for a moment and make him look at you. You can see the unshed tears in his eyes and feel pity for him. 

"I want to do that dinner party," you announce. "With all that's gone on, you probably didn't have the grand introduction you deserve. Let me show them how much you mean to me." 

Ralph's shaking his head but he already knows you'll win this fight. For him it feels like begging for something he doesn't even want. He agrees because he already promised you could when you were ready and you needed to find new friends asap. 

His sleep that night is fitful and the room's shadows seem to reach out like claws seeking his immortal soul. When the haze of whiskey finally dies down in his system he sleeps dreamless and wakes to feel somehow more hollow with despair than before. 

Ralph Lamont has the distinct feeling things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before anything gets better…

@werwulfy @fundamentally-lazy @escape-your-grape @mimiscappinisideblog @go-commander-kim

#three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒ #ralph lamont x reader #alex brightman #ralph lamont #black reader insert #1980s au #haunted house au

[heresathreebee]

Brackish and Briny Waters (one)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader] 

Summary: 1980. Moving to upstate New York. This could be a fresh start that you and your husband have been looking for. Masterlist Next

Tags: +17 | 1000 words | 1980s AU, very vague connections to Ralph's episode in Blue Bloods, allusions to dark past, house remodeling, one (1) boner. 

AN: I watched Things Seen and Heard and said "what if George wasn't a huge fucking piece of shit and also was played by Alex Brightman" so here we are. I thought his Ralph character would fit best in this AU

DAY ONE

Your new home was nothing like the urban jungle you grew up in. On your way upstate, you saw houses stretch further and further apart, green rolling hills, wind farms, and sheep and cows and horses. You even passed by an emu farm or two, sure to point them out to your husband as you switched from long paved highways to old dirt roads. 

"It's kind of on a hill," Ralph tells you, "an old dairy farm with 2 acres of land. It's got lots of trees and space to build add ons and gardens. We could have a gazebo, babe!" 

You laugh at him. You're tempted to build one just to see the look on his face when you take him seriously. If nothing else it will be a good challenge for you. 

This is supposed to be good for you. For the both of you.  

Ralphie's hands are always warm. You can feel the heat of them even through the thick denim of your jeans. His ring is glossier than it was when you looked at it yesterday. 

At some point you must have fallen asleep but when the moving truck jostles you awake you see it– your new home. 

"It isn't much," he always starts," but we can handle a fixer upper, can't we! The bones are good, heating and AC and proper insulation except for the solar room. I think it was an add-on, it's not finished yet." 

Ralphie lets the realtor take you up and down and around the place but he's never farther than an arms length away, sometimes hovering over your shoulder as if to smell your true feelings about this place. You give him a glare at one point and he backs off. You almost regret killing the soft, nervous smile on his face but it helps you breathe better. 

Once it's just the two of you, he chides, "do you like it?" 

You glance around at the walls again. Barren and empty, the wallpaper cracking in places and sun bleached, there are loose tiles in the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom could use a deep scrubbing. It's enough to keep you busy for a year or two. "Yes I like it." 

Ralphie sighs and wraps you up in a hug. You never feel safer than right here, right in the halo of his arms. This place could be just the thing you need to pull yourselves together. 

You barely unpack for the night– Ralph ever the organizer has the bare necessities packed so as to be easy to grab and settle in for the night. The unfinished solar room seems to give the whole house a draft. 

"Damn idiots," Ralph hisses as he tightens the quilts around you, "you think they'd at least cover the open windows." 

"We'll do that tomorrow," you promise, already starting to drift off on his chest. You barely register his soft voice but your brain processes 'we?' soon enough. You rub your cheek on his chest. "Oui, we." 

His chest rumbles and he too drifts off to sleep on the shifty air mattress in the master bedroom. 

The morning can't come soon enough. Or that's what you would say in the city. All that noise, noise, noise. You never realized the world could be so quiet. You can't tell if you love it or you hate it but Ralphie's snoring and the singing bugs at night help to sooth your frazzled nerves. 

The sun rises slowly. It hasn't breached the horizon but the sky is bluer than blue and that means it's time to get up. Your husband is sporting a little morning wood and you're tempted to play with it, but you know if you do he won't make it to work on time and he needs to make a good first impression. 

You content yourself by watching him dress. The way the muscles in his arms flex, his pants slide on with ease. He takes his time buttoning up his shirt paying special attention to each and every one of them. The way he tilts his head back and exposes his throat to tie his tie. He glances at you once and offers a small smile. 

When he's finished, he sits on your side of the bed and kisses your forehead. "I love you. I'll see you tonight." 

You hum and stop yourself from asking him to come home early because you know he will. Ralphie leaves a soft peck in the hollow of your throat and gets up to find his box of work stuff for his new office. He doesn't expect to see you waiting by the door with a thermos of coffee. 

"It's not Starbucks by any means but I hoped it would help," you say sheepishly. 

This time Ralph kisses you firmly on the mouth, one hand taking the hot drink and the other wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. The kiss is so deep you moan into it and you're about to curl fingers in his shirt collar when he finally breaks away. You're both breathless. 

"Thank you, baby." He gives you one more small peck on the lips. "Promise we'll unpack together after work." 

~

"I can't believe you give substitute teachers offices," Ralph said. 

Professor Floyd DeBeers shrugged. "We have no idea when Ms. Lewis will be able to teach again but you have her lesson plan and we want the kids to feel her absence as little as possible." 

"I'm not taking her office, am I?" 

"No, no," Floyd waves, " it's her TA's office. A temporary space, a little small but it should be alright." 

Looking at Floyd's own office which is the size of a public school library where Ralph is from, he's less surprised the TA office appears to be twice the size of a broom closet which is more than he's used to. He plops his stuff on the spare desk and turns to Floyd. 

"I think this will be more than enough." 

@escape-your-grape @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @imma-fucking-nerd @beetlesstuff @werwulfy @softbeej

#three bees writing #Ralph Lamont #Ralph Lamont x reader #1980s au #alex brightman #black reader insert #🐝🐝🐝✒

[heresathreebee]

Brackish and Briny Waters (two)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: Settling into your new house Part 1 Masterlist Part 3

Tags: +17 | 1.7k words | just really fucking domestic stuff, one (1) bad attitude, presumptuous behavior, unprotected morning sex, more remodeling.

AN: I kind of know where I'm going with this. The conflict will be subtle at first but it's there I promise.

The first day goes by fast and for Ralph meeting every single person on staff in this prestigious school was like trying cheeses and wines in a vineyard– fun at first but you get a stomach ache because somebody forgot to tell you not to swallow and there are just so many of them each more rich than the last. By the time he crosses the threshold to his new home, he's exhausted and annoyed. 

"I told you not to unpack without me." 

You look at him from the kitchen and shrug. "I needed stuff, baby. I already wrote a list of things to work on in this 'bare bones' house you put us up in and I was bored." 

You don't care for his attitude but offer him the covered plate anyways. "I saved you some dinner." 

All at once, Ralphie's anger melted from his face. He shuffled his tired feet across the still empty living room and pulled you into his side. The plate was warm (still warm or recently warmed up, he couldn't tell) and his stomach growled. 

"M sorry," he said, "I don't mean to be an asshole." 

You smile your forgiveness. "Long day?" 

"Yes," he hisses. "I already can't wait for the weekend." 

You chuckle. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad. Give it a chance, baby!" 

"As you wish." 

After eating, Ralph is right to sleep despite his insistence you finish packing together tonight. A part of you thinks it's the climate here– fresh sea salt air and less artificial light to disrupt the body's natural sleep patterns. You took off his shoes and empty his pockets because he was just 'resting his eyes for a moment,' then slid in right next to him. He's fine without a blanket, but you pull the back of the quilt over your rear and curl into his side. Sleep comes easier tonight than last night and you dream of wallpaper and wood smoke cologne. 

DAY THREE

The rest of the week gets easier for the both of you. You arrived on Monday and unpack the bigger furniture together by Wednesday with the help of some locals. Ralph is getting to study the lesson plan for Ms. Lewis' math class and establishing a gentle authority with his temporary students. He is still excited for the weekend, intent to help you figure out what to do with the walls of the house. 

"Has anybody come to see you at the house yet?," he asks you Thursday night. 

You pause dicing onions to think. "Besides the neighbors to the north and those Vayle boys? No." 

Ralphie raises his eyebrows and drops them, an involuntary gesture made more for himself than you. 

You put a hand on your hip. "Why?" 

Ralphie waves you off and continues mixing the meat with the spices. "Nothing. It's just everybody and their fucking moms has been asking me about you." 

"What?" This was news to you. "Why?" 

"Because they're nosy," he replies, "asking me about my whole life story and I let slip I had a wife and then they just wouldn't shut up about it." 

You swat his shoulder. "Well don't sound so depressed about it. Do you not like having a wife?" 

"No!" Ralph huffs and turns to look at you as he says, "I just hate that every single one of them bugs me about a million personal things and then I mention you and it's the only thing they can talk about now." 

Ralph turns back to stirring the pan and grumbles to himself, "might tell them to fuck off and just hoard you forever…" 

It clicks in your head at least a bit. Ralph's a born and bred city kid. In the city nobody cares who you are, what you like, or where you're from. Strangers don't want to be anything more than strangers. Their eternal social motto is 'don't waste my time' and anyone who acts differently is probably scheming something. 

You chuckle and rest your chin on his shoulder. "You're forgetting these are a different breed of people. Rich and educated socialites more over but suburban, maybe even rural. We're probably the first new thing to happen to them in decades, and communities like this don't have a 'mind your business and I'll mind mine' attitude." 

Ralphie flicks you a look but you know he knows you're right. It doesn't mean he has to like it but at least he understands it's not malicious, at least not inherently. It's out of his element, a little out of yours too, but you'll have to adapt and play by their rules if you want to stay here for a while. 

The dining room table can seat six, but your Ralphie takes a seat right next to you at a corner so he can hold your hand while you eat. Homemade tacos ease your apprehensions a bit and you go over the remodeling plans with him until midnight. Getting ready to sleep, you wear your thinnest shift and wrap around him like an octopus, your warm core brushing over his barely clothed manhood in temptation. 

Ralphie hums, tucking a stray hair back into your bonnet. "We need to get up early tomorrow." 

It's a weak protest. The two of you keep rocking into each other and sighing at the feeling of friction but eventually fall asleep despite the delightful buzz of sexual energy surrounding you. You do wake up when Ralph flips you under him and sucks a few marks into your neck.

You spread your legs to accommodate his breadth, feeling him settle deliciously and glancing at the bedside clock. It's barely 5 o' clock and the sun is rising. You gasp as you feel Ralphie's cock slide into you and he's met with little resistance. You two have sex for the first time since you moved and it's been so long that the affair is short lived. 

Ralph already has an apology on his lips but you shush him and come a moment later with your fingers brushing your clit in tandem. He peppers you with a dozen more kisses as silent promises to make it up to you. 

You shower together, barely bumping elbows as this bathroom is way bigger than your New York City apartment ever was. You chat idly about the weekend and the town and when you're ready to leave, you grab the manila folder where you store the plans for the remodel. You've even got samples from the wallpaper, only taking the ones you like and want to replace. 

"I know we probably won't find exact replicas but I want to at least find something similar." 

Ralph squeezes your thigh. "Ok, ok. We'll try." 

While this town doesn't have a McDonald's (the town over does and it's fancy for some reason), it does have a Home Depot (also pretty fancy). You know you'll need wood and screws and glass panes to finish that solar room but that's not the goal for today. 

Ralph skips right over the green paint swatch section to the creams. He's rambling about paint brand pros and cons, he did his research on the way in since you were driving and he brought the book from the school library. You follow and half listen. 

"What?" 

Ralph finally catches on to your soft smile. You glance around to make sure no one is in earshot because god forbid these gossipers over hear your conversation right now. 

"I guess I got you pretty excited last night, huh," you say with a sense of pride. Ralph feels the opposite about his performance this morning. 

"I just… I think it's just been a while." He occupies his hands by grabbing every single free swatch sample on the shelf and says, "I promise I will make it up to you." 

You roll your eyes in a not unkind way. "It's fine, babe, really. I uh… it feels kind of good to know I still have that kind of effect on you…" 

Ralphie sports a smile of his own and puts you under his arm. "Of course you do, sugar." 

He leans down to plant a kiss on your lips when you're interrupted by a bright voice. It's so startling that your husband bounces away from you. He stares wide eyed at the woman who interrupted you and he gets that dark look in his eye that only you can see. 

"Jesus, Julie," he tries his best not to growl her name. "This is Julie, she's a teacher at the school. Julie this… is… my wife." 

Julie makes a noise like a whistle. "Oh my god you are so much more beautiful than I imagined! Ralph doesn't have a picture of you in his office!" 

"It's on my desk," he huffs, "it's the one turned towards me." 

"And why would you do that?" 

"...so I can look at it while I work…?" 

Julie's… a little too hands on for just meeting you. You're too reserved to say something about it so you sling a loose arm around her back and hope Ralph doesn't say something for you. 

"Hi Julie, it's nice to finally meet you," you tell her. "Ralph's been slowly but surely introducing me to the concept of his coworkers." 

"I can't believe we haven't met before now! Ralph keeping you all to himself, me and the other teachers are just so curious about you," she coos. It feels almost put on, like overindulging in sweet to play up her first impression. You let it slide though, maybe it's just your city lens. 

"Well, uh, once we've got the house fixed up a bit, we can plan a housewarming party," you suggest. "But not a day before and you may quote me on that, miss!" 

Julie laughed and gave you her phone number 'in case you need anything at all.' Ralph breathed easy once she finally left and you tug his ear gently. "She's veeerry friendly." 

Ralphie shoots you a glare like you'd made a joke he didn't find funny and you go back to debating the paint to use for your walls eagerly.

@escape-your-grape @hoodoo12 @softbeej @go-commander-kim @beetlesstuff @imma-fucking-nerd​ @werwulfy​

#three bees writing #smut #🐝🐝🐝✒ #Ralph Lamont #ralph lamont x reader #alex brightman #black reader insert

[gothicwidowsworld]

Kenneth Lamont #1

Imagine...

Catching the eye of Lydia's older brother Kenneth (never Ken). Even though Lydia told Kenneth to leave her friends alone, he couldn't get the y/h/c girl off his mind. Eventually things got out of hand. The pair were sneaking around in an attempt to spare Lydia's feelings.

*gif not mine credit to the original owner*

#gothicwidow #gif imagines #au imagines #imagines #the falling imagines #kenneth lamont #kenneth lamont imagines #joe cole imagines #joe cole x reader #british movies #maisie williams #maisie williams imagines #florence pugh