this took forever to get down to size sorry it's shitty

SugarDaddy!Cal Pt.10

A/N: At first I was suffering through a bit of writers block for this part. I was deadass stumped for the last few days on what this chapter should hold. Then when I finally finished it, right as I went to press post I lost the whole damn chapter and had to rewrite this. So, I’m 100% sure it’s shitty, but it’s a bit longer since it’s taken me forever to upload. If y'all stuck with me since part one, then y'all know the drill: 100 notes for the next part and feedback is nice. Hope you all enjoy💕

This chapter deals with a lot of dialogue with Connor and Felix since a lot of you asked for more of them and their problems(and because I fell in love with the two as well.)

**WARNING** : Slight smut (fingering)

One/ Two/ Three/ Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/
Sixteen/ Seventeen/ Eighteen/ Nineteen/Twenty{END}

“You didn’t tell me it was fucking freezing here.” You complained as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“It’s just a bit chilly, don’t be over dramatic.” Calum laughed lightly at your complaint, pulling you into his side for a bit more warmth.

“I’ve lived in the south all my life and then moved to Australia. Do you think cold weather is ever going to be something I’m used to?”

“At least you didn’t bring any shorts and tank tops.”

“Shut up, Calum.” You rolled your eyes playfully and the boy let out another laugh.

The two of you had arrived at London the night before and had been casually strolling the paved streets of London nearly all day. It was strange to say, but Calum was making you feel as if you were more of his girlfriend than a sugar baby. He wouldn’t let go of your hand, showered you with compliments, checked on your well being, and even gave you cute little forehead kisses. You were glad he wasn’t treating you as if you were just some whore ready for his commands, but then again it was weird since there was a no feelings rule.

“Do you need a jacket? ‘Cause I can buy you one.”

Keep reading

King & Queen of Gotham -Requested

Request : Hi, I was just wondering if you’d be able to write something where the reader is a fan of Jerome and has been obsessed with him since he first came into the press, ad then he finds out about her and finds her in her house where maybe he makes her is ‘queen’ or something? Also could she be plus size please? Many thanks! X

Hope you like it! xx

Message any Requests x

Originally posted by lovelylittledarkthings

I’ve always had an infatuation with Jerome. He had this confidence that I admired. He acted as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Since he died, I ran around with that cult who was obsessed with him for a while. I knew that they were going to try to resurrect him but I also knew that somewhere they would fuck up so I started doing my own thing. My assumption was correct and I found that out when I saw that dick Dwight on the news with Jerome’s face over his.

Rolling my eyes I shut off the television and left to find something or someone to keep me busy. You see, Jerome’s story is much like mine. My father used to beat me and touch me, and I never really had the strength to take him down until a few months ago. When I killed him I felt a power I never had before. I felt stronger and more alive. Since that night I lure men to my apartment and usually kill them slowly. Most of them just think it’s kinky when I tie them to a chair but when I pull out my blade I see the lust in their eyes change to fear.

No one ever suspects the quiet, chubby girl. That’s what us plus size girls have in common, most people think we’re shy and weak. But we hold more power than everyone else. Leading a strange man to my house, I smirk as he keeps his eyes everywhere except my face. He grips my waist and starts kissing my neck. Walking inside he throws his jacket onto the floor and I back him into the living room. Once he falls into the chair that has taken so many lives before him, I begin to strap him down. He smirks,

“Damn baby, I didn’t think you got down like this.” I roll my eyes before climbing off of him. “No one ever does.” I respond before taking off my jacket, leaving me in a white tank top and shorts. Walking across the room I find my favorite blade before walking back. Once he opened his eyes and saw the blade his smirk falls.

“What type of shit is this? I don’t do knife play.” He spoke angrily, trying to move his arms. I laughed out loud.

“I never asked if you did Darlin’. And by the way, that chair is reinforced. But please, by all means try to get out. I like the chase.” I begin to smile and laugh as he tried to move. I climb back on top of him and run the blade across his chest. Pressing down in some places to see the blood poke it’s way above his skin. He screams out in pain. I smirk before looking up at him.

“Awh, baby what’s wrong? You look so sad. Maybe I should make you happy again.” I speak slowly, putting my blade inside his mouth before cutting at the corners. “There, now you’ll be happy forever.” I begin laughing uncontrollably before I hear a knock at my door. My eyes widen in panic as the man starts to scream for help.

“Sorry to cut this short darlin’.” I quickly say before I slit his throat and stab my knife into his chest. I take a few deep breaths before walking to my door. I quickly fix my hair, my tank top has blood splatters on it but I could easily lie and say its ketchup.

Opening the door I see a man with his head down, dressed in a GCPD uniform. My breath catches in my throat and I smile. “Can I help you officer?” I try to say in a sweet voice.

“Y/N L/N?” The man speaks in a gruff voice, still looking down.

“Yes sir. Is there a problem?” I ask smiling, silently wishing I changed my shirt. 

The man took off his hat and he started to look up. That’s when I saw the scars around his face.

“Jerome Valeska. I’ve heard so many amazing things.” He smiles and held out his hand. You take it and begin to laugh.

“I thought Dwight was a dumb ass but it looks like he actually got something right.” Jerome laughs at your response before walking into your apartment. Following the trail of clothing he finds the man in your living room, now dead.

“Oooh. Looks like you were busy.” He smiles a crazy smile before turning to me.

“He would still be alive. I like killing slowly. If you kill them too fast, then what’s the point?” I smile at him before taking my blade out of the mans chest. “So.. Is there a reason you came here?” I ask before sitting on the couch, wiping the blade on my shirt.

“As you must know, now that I’m back I need to take Gotham by a storm.” Jerome speaks wildly, waving his hands in the air.

“Then why don’t you go find your followers? Most of them will throw themselves in front of a bus for you. You’re like their Messiah.” I smirk, looking up at him. He smiles.

“That’s good to know, but they’re sloppy. You, on the other hand, know what you’re doing. And you enjoy it. You’re free. And for me to be King of Gotham I must need..” He trails off, smiling. “A Queen.” I finish for him, standing up to look him in the eye.

“Exactly!” He begins to laugh uncontrollably. I smiled before joining him. Eventually he stopped and held my face in his hands.

“So gorgeous.. Whaddya say?” Jerome speaks, looking deep into my eyes. I smirked, “Let’s do it. We’ll rule this shitty town.”

He smiled at my response before pulling me into a kiss. And that was the start of us. The King and Queen of Gotham. We wrecked havoc all across the city. There wasn’t one person who didn’t know our names. Criminals envied us, citizens feared us. There was nothing we couldn’t do as long as we had each other.

This is shorter than I hoped it would be. Let me know what you all think! xx

Ninth Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

FirstSecond ThirdFourthFifthFifth Christmas, Part 2SixthSeventhEighthNinthTenthEleventhTwelfthThirteenthFourteenthFifteenthSixteenthSeventeenthEighteenthNineteenthTwentiethTwenty-firstTwenty-secondTwenty-third


He didn’t mention anything about Christmas. He tried to keep her away from the decorated stores and any hint of cold, taking them to the southern part of the country in early October and deciding not to go north again until at least March so there wouldn’t be snow to remind her of it. He made sure to find radio stations without Christmas music on them, he steered them clear of big towns, small towns, medium size town, hoping to avoid accidently running into large celebrations, tree-lighting ceremonies, holiday parades.

But it all went to hell on December 19. The rattle-trap car they were using wheezed its death knell and sagged instantly into rigor mortis, never to be saved again, even under the skilled hands of Tom ‘The Fixer’ Pendleton, resident mechanical guru of Crankton, Texas, a place that looked like it took a page right out of Dickens or Norman Rockwell with its wreaths and garland and town square Christmas tree and Salvation Army bell ringers.

Scully, to her credit, was not stupid. She may not be a badged investigator anymore but for all Mulder’s perceived sneakiness, she saw right through it all. She wasn’t angry with him for his ineptitudes, his lovably pathetic attempts to keep Christmas from her, giving him eye-rolling credit where credit was due but she finally had enough, looking at him after he received the news of the car’s demise, “we’ll find another car after the holidays, all right?”

“We can probably find one now. I mean, there’s got to be at least one shitty car in this God-forsaken nightmare of a town that’ll get us out of here by dark.”

Taking him out onto the sidewalk in front of the repair place, “this God-forsaken nightmare of a town is anything but a God-forsaken nightmare of a town. Please, Mulder, we haven’t stopped moving in months and it’s Christmas and this looks like a nice place to spend some time.”

Mulder looked down at her, her hollow cheeks and sallow eyes, “I was trying to outrun Christmas. I’m sorry I couldn’t.”

He hadn’t seen her smile in weeks so he was surprised to see her lips turn up slightly, “you made a very good effort, though and I thank you but right now, I’d just like to take a shower and lie down. Can we find someplace to stay?”


She tried to fight it but the closer it got to Christmas, the heavier the depression weighed on her. Mulder did his best and she loved him for it but this would be her first Christmas since Will and her first without her family. Granted, she did have Mulder but even his warm arms couldn’t fight off her sadness.

Christmas Eve arrived with a windstorm to beat all, windows rattling, tree branches breaking, power lines snapping them into pitch darkness. The instant the light disappeared, Scully called over to him, panic clear in her voice, “Mulder? You still there?”

Getting up, he made his way to her side on the bed, sitting down after running into the edge of the mattress with his knees, “I’m right here. Where would I have gone to in that two seconds?”

Scully groped across the sheets until she found his leg, then wrapping her hand tightly around his upper thigh, “I don’t know but I’m not taking the chance that you disappeared.”

The heavy curtains had been drawn across the windows and even after a time, his eyes weren’t adjusting to the dark. Sliding down to the floor to rest on his knees so his face was mere inches from hers, “I’m not going to disappear again. I swear to you.”

Her now empty hand drifted up towards his voice, her fingers gently knocking into his cheekbone, then tracing to his eyebrows, “promise.”

“I promise, Scully. I won’t go anywhere again without you.” Climbing up beside her, he nestled his head into her neck, “you have no idea how terrible I feel that I left you the first time. I should have taken you and Will with me. I should have hidden us away somewhere quiet and let the world pass right on by. I should have been so much better to both of you but I’m trying now and I swear on our son, I’m not going anywhere again.”

Her tears spilled out, soaking both Mulder and the pillow within seconds, “I miss him so much, Mulder, you have absolutely no idea how much it takes to get out of bed in the morning and keep moving and keep running when the only thing I want to do is curl up and wither away.”

This was said in one, long, hiccupping, run-on sentence punctuated by snuffling and hitching words. She hadn’t said much about their son since she told him all those months ago in prison that she’d given him up. They’d talked briefly then but this is the most Will had been mentioned since. Knowing he’d never understand her guilt and grief in quite the same way, he silenced the little voice in his head that wanted to scream at her that he’d lost a son, too, having only ever held him for two nights of his life.

He pulled her closer instead, until her storming quieted, her breathing evened out, “are you okay?”

“I’ll never be okay Mulder but I feel a little better than I did ten minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you a better Christmas.”

She felt the guilt settle directly on her chest, a two-ton elephant in the room that if she didn’t address immediately, would follow them around forever, “it’s not your job to give me a better Christmas. It’s my job to realize this is the best Christmas we’ve had this year,” waiting for him to smile at her pathetic joke, which he did, she continued, “but more to realize that I’ve got you back and get to wish you Merry Christmas and know that you’ll be here in the morning when I wake up.”

Meeting her nose with his, “you have no idea how much I cried when I left last year. Nearly gave myself up at the nearest police station; figured I’d just walk in and say, ‘I’m Fox Mulder. Can you just arrest me and give me my phone call so I can talk to Scully again?”

The cold tendrils of depression insistently tapped on her soul demanding entrance but for the first time in several months, she ignored them, emptying her mind as she searched for his hand under the covers, “thank God you didn’t. I hear conjugal visits aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

Moving to kiss her forehead as he felt her relax, knowing he was forgiven for past transgressions, “so, completely off subject, how long do you think the power’s going to be out?”

As she slid her hand along his arm, across his chest, down his belly, she swam her hand under his shirt and back up his bare skin, “hopefully awhile. Like this, I can imagine the hotel away and put us in our bed again, underneath our warm comforter, storm outside and in.” Moving her hand down to the waist of his pajama pants and then inside, “it’s so quiet now, I can almost hear the blood in your veins, moving along, making every part of you so warm, it’s intoxicating.”

Swallowing hard, he prayed for speech or at least the ability to formulate a few syllables, “I love you.”

She said it back without restraint, without resentment, without that dull sense of familiarity and toneless commonality. She said it with fire, with heat, with an edge of something he hadn’t heard from her since before he disappeared the first time, before he entered that damn ship and ruined his life.

The power was out all night.

They didn’t sleep a wink of it.


When Scully woke the next morning, naked, warm and liquid, she opened her eyes to find a Gingerbread House Christmas ornament hanging from the edge of the lamp shade and a small wrapped gift below it. Sneaking out of bed and out of his arms, she dug in the far corners of her battered, broken suitcase to find her own hidden gift for him. Placing it beside the one he’d left, she slipped back into his arms, purposely over-moving so he’d begin to wake, to celebrate Christmas morning the only way they could.


With a single ornament and not a space between them.