losing sleep and reading the deal and I’ve come to the conclusion that,
The off campus writer’s room needs Emmys on those walls
Like omg it’s so beautiful. Like they tactfully changed certain aspects of the story while still giving us the foundation of the beloved plot. Literal mastery I have witnessed Louisa Levy you will always be famous in my house
as pretty as Stephen is, I think the blonde suits him but maybe to avoid to roots grow out showing and keeping his hair healthy we could do a wig. There are some great wigs out there and amazon can afford it, this could help with some anonymity. As pretty as he is and he would make a great Prince Charming in the Shrek Live Action, if he keeps his natural hair colour he may be less noticeable in the streets of Vancouver.
*yes i know he’s already blonde, that’s what sparked the idea
Could you do a Smoke x Annie fic with pregnant!annie and breedingkink!smoke...
Breeding Kink Thing
Annie x Elijah "Smoke" Moore
○●1, 480 words,smut/explicit sexual content(18+), pregnant!Annie (already pregnant—not conception-focused), doggy->missonary, aftercare, light dirty talk, domestic at the end, etc●○
18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕
The door creaks shut behind them.
Smoke sets the keys down like it’s muscle memory, but his eyes never leave her. Annie’s slower these days, hands resting on the curve of her belly like it’s the only thing tethering her to the ground.
She shrugs off her jacket with a soft breath. Doesn’t say anything when he steps close behind her, palms landing on her hips like they always belonged there.
“You good?” he asks, voice rough from the ride and the way he’s been holding back all day.
“I’m tired,” she says simply. “But I want you.”
That’s all it takes.
She turns, eyes meeting his with a look that softens everything inside him. Her face is flushed from the Mississippi heat, lips parted, a hint of something needy in her gaze.
He kisses her like he’s starving for it—like he hasn’t had her in days, even if it was just last night. His hands drift under her shirt, palms warm against her stretched skin.
She breathes out against his mouth. “You’re obsessed.”
“With you?” he murmurs, lowering to kiss the swell of her stomach. “Yeah. Can’t stop thinking about you like this.”
Her fingers dig into his hair as he kisses lower, right above her waistband.
“You like seeing me like this,” she says, half-teasing.
“I fucking love it,” he answers, standing again. “You’re carrying my baby, Annie. You have no idea what that does to me.”
She arches into him as he lifts her shirt off entirely, then her bra. Her breasts are fuller now, heavier. He palms one gently, thumb brushing over her nipple until she gasps.
“Sensitive,” she pants.
“Let me take care of you.”
She nods, already breathless. “Bed. Now.”
He scoops her up like she weighs nothing. She lets out a startled laugh, arms around his neck, forehead resting against his shoulder.
“You’re gonna throw your back out one of these days.”
“I’ll take that risk.”
He lays her down gently, like she’s something sacred. And maybe she is.
Annie watches him strip, slow, deliberate. She bites her lip when he drops his boxers, dick already hard, thick and pulsing.
“Get over here,” she says, voice gone hoarse.
Smoke climbs between her thighs, hands spreading her knees apart. He settles between them, but pauses, eyes dragging down her body like he’s memorizing it all over again.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, one hand sliding down to cup her between her legs. “So fucking perfect like this. Full of me.”
She whines softly, rocking her hips into his hand.
“Don’t say shit like that unless you’re gonna fuck me.”
“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to hers. “But I’m gonna take my time. You’re so wet already, baby.”
He slips two fingers inside, slow and steady. Her walls clench around him.
“Jesus,” she gasps. “You’re killing me.”
“I haven’t even started.”
He curls his fingers just right and watches her fall apart beneath him, hips rolling, one hand fisting the sheets. Her moans are louder now, less restrained.
“Come on, Annie,” he whispers. “Show me how much you want it.”
She’s shaking, breathless, close—and then she comes with a sharp cry, clenching tight around his fingers.
He kisses her belly again while she catches her breath.
“Elijah…” she whispers. “Please. I need you inside me.”
He doesn’t make her beg twice. Lines himself up, pushes in slow, groaning as her heat swallows him.
“Fuck—still so tight,” he moans. “Even now. Shit, baby.”
Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“Don’t hold back,” she murmurs. “I can take it.
He thrusts hard but careful, setting a rhythm that has the bed creaking. One hand grips her hip, the other pressing to the mattress by her head.
“You feel this?” he grits out. “How deep I am? It’s like your body still wants more. Still wants me to fill you up.”
“God, yes,” she moans, back arching. “You always fuck me like you’re trying to put another one in me.”
“Damn right I do,” he pants. “You look so fucking good carrying my kid. I’d keep you like this forever.”
Her breath stutters. He sees it—the way those words hit her.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispers.
“I do,” he mutters, fucking her deeper, slower. “I’d put a ring on you right now. Keep you pregnant, barefoot, and moaning my name every damn day.”
“Mghn, Elijah—”
“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” he asks, his control starting to fray. “Let me fuck you full again and again. Because you’re mine.”
She’s shaking beneath him, clawing at his back.
“Yes. Yours,” she gasps. “All yours.”
That’s it. He loses it. Slams into her harder, chasing his own release.
“Gonna fill you up again,” he groans. “Doesn’t matter if you’re already full. Gonna give you more. Fuck—Annie—”
She holds onto him like she’s afraid to let go.
“Do it,” she cries. “Come inside. I want it—ah!—Fill me up.”
With a broken sound, he thrusts once more and spills inside her, hips jerking, dick pulsing as he groans her name.
They stay like that for a long time—his chest pressed to hers, he's still buried deep, both of them soaked in sweat and breathless. Smoke shifts only enough to make sure he’s not crushing her, but he doesn’t pull out. He won’t. Not yet.
His hand moves slowly over the curve of her belly, fingers splayed wide like he's anchoring himself there.
Annie rubs his head, soft and slow, like she knows he needs it. “You okay?” she murmurs, voice rasped and warm.
He hums, nose buried against her neck. “Yeah. You?”
“I’m sore,” she admits. “But good sore.”
He lifts his head just enough to look at her. There’s something in his eyes—something soft, something undone.
“I didn’t go too rough?”
“No,” she says, brushing a thumb across his jaw. “You always know how to touch me.”
He leans into her hand, eyes fluttering shut. Then he presses a kiss to her collarbone, slow and reverent.
"Stay right there,” he says, finally pulling out with a groan. She hisses softly at the stretch, at the heat that slips out of her.
“God, that’s messy,” she mutters, glancing down.
“I like it messy,” he says, grinning against her skin. “Means we both liked it.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile betrays her.
He disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds, returning with a warm washcloth and a bowl of water. He cleans her gently, careful and slow like he’s afraid she’ll break.
Annie watches him in silence, that familiar ache blooming in her chest—the kind that comes when she lets herself believe this version of him might actually stay.
When he finishes, he pulls the blankets up around them and curls himself around her from behind, hand resting over her stomach again like it belongs there.
“Getting protective, huh?” she teases, threading their fingers together.
“Was always protective,” he murmurs into her shoulder. “Now I’m territorial.”
She snorts. “Oh, that’s healthy.”
He grins. “Hush up.”
They lie like that until her stomach growls—loud, demanding. Smoke laughs against her skin.
“Guess someone’s hungry.”
“Someone is two people,” she groans, pushing herself up slowly. “And both of them need dinner.”
He watches her move, eyes dragging over her curves, the swell of her belly, the mess of her hair. There’s no way she doesn’t know he’s staring.
“You’re gonna just watch me waddle around the kitchen, huh?”
“Yep.”
ໂ
She tosses him a pair of pants and pulls on one of his T-shirts—oversized and worn, hanging off one shoulder. He thinks she looks better in it than he ever did.
The kitchen smells like stew and potatoes. Annie’s standing barefoot by the stove, stirring a pot with an almost serene look on her face.
Smoke leans against the counter, sipping water and soaking her in like he still can’t believe she’s real.
“I used to think about this,” he says quietly.
She glances back. “What?”
“This. You. In my shirt. Cooking while our kid kicks around inside you.”
She freezes for half a second—just enough to let him know it hits her deep.
Then she sets the spoon down and turns to face him.
“Don’t say that if you’re gonna disappear again.”
His jaw clenches. He crosses the space between them in two strides and cups her face in his hands.
“I’m not going anywhere, Annie.”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it now.” He kisses her—slow, lingering, like a promise sealed with heat. “Let me prove it. Every damn day if I have to.”
Her breath hitches. She presses her forehead to his.
“You already are.”
They eat together in quiet, the kind of quiet that feels safe. His hand never leaves her—resting on her thigh, her hip, the curve of her belly.
And for the first time in a long while, she lets herself believe it. That maybe he’s not just here... maybe he’s finally home.
Robby: It's important to have boundaries.
Also Robby: Please come sleep in my bed for three months.
Also Robby: What are your thoughts on old men exercising naked?
On another note Noah Wyle played that scene with abbot perfectly. The grinning, almost laughing while avoiding eye contact is such a nervous tic. The number of times I’ve laughed in my partner’s face as he tries to talk to me about my having relapsed into self harm or harmful self talk, only because I can’t face it. I can’t look at it seriously or it’ll break me. What a performer man.
Listen, I'm putting Dr Robinavitch in an involuntary psychiatric hold. No Michael. No. These passive thoughts are scaring me.
the fuck you mean IF you come back?
No "ifs" about it Mike. You're talking to a psychiatrist. You're talking to Dr Caleb Jefferson. You will take meds if you need it. You will come back to this fuck ass hospital as the chief attending physician of the emergency department not as a patient.
And you will marry Dr Whitaker, but that's later on.
Don't you dare get on that bike tonight. I don't care if we have to break your leg to stop you from leaving Pittsburgh.
Stop scaring Whitaker, he's too pure of heart to think about his boyfriend dying on purpose.
Get help before Whitaker has to do something both of you will very much not like.
Reading about Canada's universal healthcare. Y'all I did not know Saskatchewan was the real MVP of this whole process. Shoutout to one of the most difficult province to pronounce
Oh, a human being is seeking a social response? Human being, the social animal wired to make and track social connection? A human desires the vital blood that permitted their species to survive for millennia? The human being who was born completely helpless and primed in every way by nature to seek attention and help from their community?
Wow that’s crazy. How embarrassing. Humiliating even. Should we isolate them from community? Should we call Wire Mother?
seeing more Dennis Whitaker Can't Be Straight discourse on the tl and I think when I claim dennis is likely going to be straight it isn't because he reads as straight (I think gerran howell has mentioned (paraphrasing kinda) that the nurse kim scenes aren't meant to be read as romantic but dennis just wanting to seem cool to anyone and being unable to read people's perceptions of him)
it's because I have come to expect heteronormativity as a base line for all characters who aren't immediately introduced as onscreen rep within their first season, even if said characters are ex-catholic nebraskan farmboys with three older brothers without financial support as they were presumably outcasted from their family, groove to chaka khan in their spare time, look at their authoritative male boss like that, and wind up developing a safe haven and roommate agreement with their lesbian coworker bestie that they just met that day.
dailybridgerton
andulkaphoto
yousharknotpass
ellievsbear
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
janainaart
annaxmalina
vaporwave
dededos
snowghoul
