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#daddys home

Thank you!!! I have the next part written and I’m in the middle of writing the one after that and Crystal and I have talked through what will come next! So there is still plenty more to go! I’m working through some of the smut blurbs but I’m talking a little break at the moment. I’ve been overloaded in my personal life lately and just need a little time to unwind.

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the general idea of how this plays out came from an anon, but ya girl @kindahoping4forever was a rockstar as always.


Ash and Luke are lounging on the couch together when you get home. You drop your keys on the table and walk in. 

“Hey guys, I’m heading to bed.” You say, turning to go to your room. 

“Baby, come back here.” Ash says. He holds his hand out and you walk over and grab it. Ash takes in the look on your face, the pure exhaustion with whatever you had going on outside of the house. “Just wanted to say goodnight.” He stands to wrap you in his arms and kiss you. 

“You want me to come?” Luke asks, not picking up the same thing Ash did. 

“No, that’s ok handsome.” You lean over and kiss him. 

You wake Luke up in the morning, it’s early and you need him. You need something. You kiss the back of his neck pressing yourself against him. 

He turns his head to you. “What’s up baby?” He asks sleepily.

Keep reading

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I’m… uninspired.

But, the loveliest person, @kindahoping4forever is gonna be posting some of our completed Smut blurbs, and we’ll keep working on them.

I do have a part of daddy’s home to post if y’all want it in the mean time. Otherwise, see y’all when I’m ready to come back.

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I have been thinking about this awhile.

I’ve loved so many, like big fan of my own work over here.

Without Me was by far the most emotional piece I’ve written. (Poly!Lashton)

State of Grace was so sweet and really was something else. (Cal pal)

Goodnight and Go is also another one that’s a personal fave. (Cal pal)

Your kind of heaven was also really good and challenging and I love the character development and emotion I was able to get out of it. (Luke 🍑)

What are your faves I’ve written?

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as always, big shouts to @kindahoping4forever​ we love her.


Luke was annoyed. Since you’d all gotten back from New York and Ash had gone back to work, he’d barely gotten any time with either of you, and you hadn’t really been spending time with Ash either, but you also seemed to be busy. 

That left Luke alone this morning. You’d crawled out of bed early, showered with Ash and then left a little after him, kissing Luke goodbye. He didn’t even really know where you were off to, he thought Ash mentioned something about your family. 

He lays in bed, not sure what else to do with his time. Normally he has you, and you two always find something to do. 

He sighs, sending two ‘miss you’ texts. Ash responds and says he’s coming home at lunch, and Luke thinks it’s for him. But then he confirms he’s going to work from home for the rest of the day. As if Ash could read his mind.

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I could literally post Daddy’s Home at any time, but I’m thinking Wednesday. There’s still some minor editing to be done on the other Ash piece… so I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll post daddy’s home tonight, the other Thursday.


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The chipped wooden front door is ajar as muddy boots stomp up the landing to the shantytown she inhabits, having trudged through seven city blocks of sludge. Cold, exhausted, and suddenly on alert, Frankie emerges through the threshold with a weary, surveillant gaze. The kids have been staying with Dawson for the better part of two weeks, no one should be home. Her crowbar is not in its usual place of security prompting the paranoia she tries to roll off, her gut warning she is not alone. “Where the f*** you been?” The vicious bark that haunts her nightmares and makes her skin crawl with anxiousness fills the room making his presence known. He sits in the armchair littered with burn holes, boots kicked up on the coffee table, drinking her beer. Deja vu washes over her, flashbacks from the conversation they had a few days prior. It is too soon, he shouldn’t be here. She was supposed to have more time; he’d made no mention of his immediate release in their phone call– likely for the element of surprise of catching her in the act.

“When…” Her voice cracks from the nerves, clearing the cowardice that sticks to the lining of her throat. “When did you get out?” It’s not the answer he’s looking for, not an answer at all. Obvious impatience seethes from the smoke he blows between clenched teeth, stubbing the butt into the armrest. He stands closing the space between them, instinctively she backs up until she hits a wall. There’s nowhere to run, cornered as he prefers. “Why is it that whenever I try to find you, you ain’t anywhere to be found? Not at the club where you should be, not in this f***in’ sh*t house.” The sole of his boot kicks back at the coffee table for emphasis, shaking the beer bottle to the floor in a bubbling shatter. Inwardly she cringes at the tone though keeps her sight level; she cannot show fear, though she can tell he smells it on her like a foul stench. “Shoulda known you’d f*** this up too.

A single step in her direction is enough to make her flinch, trying to play it off by snaking her frail arms around her torso like a protective shield, useless in its purpose. “All you’re good for is a lousy f***, and that p**sy ain’t godsend.” His hateful eyes bore into her scorned face, luring out every insecurity with each profane insult, antagonizing her like a craft. “You’re a f***in’ embarrassment, Frankie. You got a brain up there? Or that big head only good for suckin’ d*ck?” A round, coarse digit violently taps at her temple, threatening to shake the contents loose. He stands a little taller, shoulders a little broader, getting off on the degradation. His single objective to break her.

He picks up a picture frame from a side table, waving it in her face like an accusation; Vinny and Milo’s half-hearted smiles greet her. She remembers that day clearly, the way they had rolled their eyes but posed for the photo to appease her none the less. “Look what yah did to these f***in’ kids. Pussies, all of ‘em.” A curled fist smashes the glass out of the frame; their faces now trickling with blood. He tosses it aside, his assault returning to its intended target. “Coddled 'em to sh*t and look what it got ya. A bunch of f***in’ pathetic duds. Shoulda aborted all of ya if your mother wasn’t a psychotic child hoardin’ bitch.” The harrowing sound of his bitter laughter felt raw against her burning ears, teeth grinding down to the bone yet she remains silent.

She knows how this story ends, usually in blood. Her blood. Biting her tongue is not a form of weakness but survival, picking her battles cautiously. His rough hand grips at the hollows of her cheeks, forcing his hot, exasperated breath into her face.  It’s sour and tastes of stale cigarettes. His eyes appear to be all pupil, as black as the darkness he carries; careful not to stare directly into the abyss. He licks at his chops, the way a predator who is circling their kill does. “It was my mistake thinkin’ you were anythin’ more than a stupid whore. This is the last time I let you make a f***in’ fool outta me.” The strike is quick, the sound deafening, the heat rushing in scarlet hues to paint the pale of her sunken face. The sting moistens the outer edges of her socket though she keeps her features stoic, her only defense a lack of expression.

“I did what yah asked.”

The sound catches her off guard, bouncing off the still tension, unaware the shaky, calloused voice is her own. A heinous offense committed in stupidity that she will pay dearly for. Her father, the predictable brute, forcibly slaps a palm to her jugular, fingers digging into fleshy areas of her neck. “Did I f***in’ ask ya to go whorin’ around with the Dooley kid? Spreadin’ those sweet cheeks for all those f***in’ scumbags like Cusano?” He snarls, brandishing his jagged canines like a rabid animal. His hold tightens, restricting mid-inhale. Crushing her windpipe would take no effort on his part, she silently hopes he finally goes through with it. But his demented desire to make her suffer would never cease. “Crystal f***in’ clear, Frankie. Did I not make myself crystal f***in’ clear? Get the boy, take the guns.” Particles of spit land on her lips as he hovers inches from her, leering and belting each word at the top of his lungs. The flat of his palm finds the still hot flesh of her face.“Getslaptheslapboy.slapTakeslaptheslapguns.slap. Teeth rattle in her skull, blood pooling between the cracks of her parted lips, held between cavities as a reminder to shut her f***ing mouth.

You couldn’t even manage to get the f***in’ boy. The one f***in’ thing you’re supposed to be good at.” He releases her, tossing her squared shoulders into the wall that gives in to her weight. “Look at you. Used up and stretched out. No wonder the Dooley kid didn’t want nothin’ to do with that ass.” He spits at her again, this time intentionally before turning his back to light another cigarette. Using her sleeve to wipe at the corners of her mouth, drops like heavy rain of sanguine cascade around her. She takes a shaky breath, ribs aching as her lungs expand, trying to swallow the blood that attempts to drown her. Edging away from the wall, she rounds the room to keep him in her direct line of sight, digging into her coat pocket for her own cigarettes. The delirious head rush from the deep inhale sways her– only partially from the toxins.

Somewhere in the fog of smoke, between spits of blood, she finds her voice; it doesn’t quiver but stands its ground, annunciating every word. “This ain’t on me. It’s on you.” The wild look in his eyes tells her she’s in for another beating but she persists. It’s now or never. “All of it. Us, the club, the business. It’s all on you. Without this stupid whore none of it would be here.” Conveniently leaving out Finn’s contribution to their trade. “You f***ed us. Half the f***in’ mafia wants us dead all 'cause yah wanna prove your c*ck is bigger than theirs.” She hides behind her cigarette, trembling hands ready to catch whatever he might throw at her, including his fist. When he doesn’t advance she grows too confident, back straightening, chin up and covered in dried blood. The corners of her lips twitch into a coy grin, mocking him and death. “Everyone gets the f***in’ point but nobody gives a f*** anymore. Not us, not your boys, not this f***in’ neighborhood. You’re the one that’s washed up.” He makes no effort to intimidate, simply flicks his lit cigarette at her. Maybe prison and old age has softened him.

Things are gonna change 'round here, startin’ with that f***in’ mouth of yours 'cause daddy’s home.

Maybe not.

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Finley had been fussing on and off all day. She had been happiest when Tory set up her tummy time mat on the floor and let her play for a while, but she eventually got bored of that, and went back to fussing. Tory didn’t remember Lena being so fussy, but truthfully her mom had helped so much and a lot of Lena’s babyhood was a bit of a blur. Lena was going to be home in a little while so she was surprised when she heard the door open. “Hello?” She called out, but she immediately relaxed when she heard Chase say that it was him. When he came into the living room, Finley immediately stopped fussing and looked towards her father. A big smile formed on her face and she started to coo and babble, moving her arms excitedly. “Is someone happy that daddy’s home?” She asked their daughter with a smile. “She totally just recognized you, that was the cutest thing ever.”

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