#casually posting an old drabble or two--

[rain-filled-garden]

Although spring would be breathing a bit more warmth into the air fairly soon, for now, the weather was still just a little chilly… Wanting to case away said chill, a certain red haired demi-cat came toting a blanket with him while heading towards the couch, and the familiar curtain of blonde locks he could see cascading down his husband’s back. Blair truly did look just that extra bit more stunning whenever he’d let his hair down like this…

Feeling his cheeks warm a little with that love-struck thought, Fionn giggled quietly at himself before calling out to the other. “Love, would you like to share a blanket with me~?…” asking this with a soft little hum to his words, it wasn’t long before he’d seated himself beside the other, blanket around his shoulders as he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around Blair with another little giggle as he snuggled him a bit. Having not quite bothered to wait for an answer, but… Knowing his love, there wasn’t likely really going to be a problem with that.

[studioeisa]

i’m actually obsessed with your jealousy prompts…. what’s better than the most jealous mf around???

seungcheol + “they did that on purpose”

★ seungcheol x celebrity!reader ┆ word count: 970 ┆ part of my closed jealousy drabble game.

ⓘ established relationship, secret relationship, pet name ['baby'], angst [if you squint]. combined with another prompt c/o anon: "i'm going to scream."

"I'm going to file a complaint."

Seungcheol is being dead serious, and yet you laugh at him. You laugh!

"Baby," you start to say, your tone edged with that familiar exasperation you take on whenever you think he's being silly. He's having none of it tonight, though. He knows his theory is one hundred percent correct.

And so he juts his lip out in a pout, crosses his arms over his chest, and whines out his next words like he's some teenager instead of a 29-year-old man. "They did that on purpose!"

That, being the recent announcement of who would be the special hosts of MBC's year-end music show. When Seungcheol first caught wind that a member of SEVENTEEN might have the chance to share a stage with you, he had been ecstatic. While your relationship wasn't public knowledge yet, he was ready to make it glaringly obvious should he be chosen to be your co-host.

He's had whole daydreams about the moment. The hand he'd casually rest on the small of your back. The smile he'd give you that would have Twitter speculating for weeks. Maybe he could even post something vague on Weverse afterwards, some cutesy message of I'm so happy~ ❤️

Alas, all his hopes were dashed when the memo about the hosts went out this morning.

"They put you with Jeonghan on purpose," Seungcheol grumbles.

Jeonghan— the one person Seungcheol wouldn't be able to openly go up against. The company must've known Seungcheol would throw his idol image out of the window, must've known that there was only one person who Seungcheol wouldn't pick a fight with.

The fact that Jeonghan is being extra annoying— relentlessly teasing, calling himself 'Mr. Steal-Yo-Girl'— has only added insult to injury.

You reach out to tug Seungcheol into your side. Even though he's technically supposed to be upset, he can't help himself; the leader leans into your touch, draping himself over you.

Your couch has always been way too small for the two of you, even though Seungcheol insist it's a 'perfect' fit. He considers it perfect because he can always pull you into his lap and bury himself in you, which is exactly what he does now despite his sullen mood.

When your fingers instinctively entangle in his hair, a part of him relaxes. That very part bristles just as quickly when you quip, "Well, Jeonghan is the pretty one in the group."

"I'm going to scream," Seungcheol threatens.

You know your boyfriend enough to understand that he's at least half serious. "Alright, alright," you huff, giving his hair a light, reprimanding tug.

Seungcheol hisses at the sensation. You appease him by pressing your lips to his cheek.

You shift in his hold so your gazes can meet. The look on your face only makes Seungcheol's frown deepen. You're enjoying this. You're amused. You're not taking his predicament seriously.

"If he's so pretty," Seungcheol starts, ignoring the way you begin to roll your eyes as you anticipate what's to come.

"If he's so pretty, why don't you date him, then?" he asks, punctuating his words with a dejected sniffle. Seungcheol looks the part of a wounded puppy.

Eyebrows furrowed? Check. Lips pursed? Check. Boba-like eyes, meant to tug at the heartstrings? Check, check, check.

Unfortunately for him, your long-term relationship has steeled you to his petulance. You take his attempt at moping in stride, opting to press another kiss, this time to the corner of his mouth.

"Because I don't want him," you say patiently. "I want you, baby."

The words still manage to make Seungcheol's heart soar. He tries not to let it show on his face. He's trying to prove a point here. He refuses to be won over by sweet nothings, even if you're so lovely as you say them.

"You're going to be on stage with him instead of me." Seungcheol's arms tighten around your waist, his expression darkening slightly. "People are going to ship you."

A surprised bark of laughter escapes you. "How do you know what shipping is, huh?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Baby—"

The words come out of Seungcheol in a rush, fueled by his gripe with management's decision. "I want people to ship us," he grouses. "I want them to look at us and think, 'They look like they'd be the perfect couple,' because we are!"

Something softens in your expression, then, and Seungcheol knows exactly why. Promises of going public have been made since the beginning, but now it's several years in and there's no relationship announcement in sight for either of you.

Seungcheol's voice is quieter, a little more even, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"I just want everybody to know that I love you," he says, the words muffled against your skin. "And that you love me, too."

You stroke Seungcheol's hair soothingly. He relaxes at the familiar ministration, letting his breaths even out.

"Soon," you mutter. "I promise, baby. We'll get that really soon."

Seungcheol bites back the urge to say that it's been soon for the past three years. This is something beyond both of your control. He's not about to make you feel guilty for something neither of you can change.

He settles for the next best thing. He tilts his head just so, allowing him to catch your lips in a kiss. It's sweet and unhurried. His favorite type.

It's the kind of kiss that makes the endless 'soon's worth it.

When you pull away for air, he wordlessly reaches for his phone. You're a bit out of breath as you watch him angle his screen away from you and type something out.

"What're you doing?" you ask, craning your neck to try and catch a glimpse.

"E-mailing the CEO of MBC," he says matter-of-factly. "To make me your co-host instead of Hannie."

"Choi Seungcheol!"

[richeeduvie]

SHIFTING ✭ DRABBLE

When witnessing you "flirting" with Robby, Jack attempts to cope with the way you, or the feelings he has for you, are changing him.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

THE LENGTHS PART ONE

PART ONE DESCRIPTION: Jack meets the new nurse Robbie's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Think of Jack Abbott not being able to help the man he's becoming because of you. There's almost a point where he wants to blame you, but he'd never do that. He could never do that. But there's the problem, as capable and beautiful as you are, he shouldn't think you're perfect. Or innocent. Even in love. Even when he can finally accept the way his bones tense and his blood rushes around you, even when he becomes brave and secure enough in himself to almost feel entitled to the way he thinks and feels about you. He shouldn't look at you with a reverence you'd only reserve for...God. Or Jesus. Either one.

This is not the man he is. Even when he's falling for someone. What exactly are you doing to him?

"You're biting your lip again. That's your "I'm about to yell at Robby through the margins of the chart" face. What is it?"

There's nothing like sound mechanical symphony of beeping monitors and overhead pages to aid in witnessing you flirting with Robby yet fucking again. It would've been a month ago that Jack's annoyance would've been chalked up to the slight unprofessionalism of you two distracting him and other staff, but Jack can...possibly admit it now, he thinks it's flirting, and it's getting to him.

It's just that, even if he likes you, why is it getting to him so fucking badly?

"Excuse me, I never yell at you through the chart. And I am also...just now...communicating feedback."

"...No. You never have. But I'm sure I'll agree with your passive-aggressive, very legible "feedback."

"I've been told my handwriting is perfectly readable and bubbly."

"Much like yourself. I agree."

You laugh, nudging Robby with your elbow. Dr. Robby to you. Always professional in name, even if you're practically turning Jack's best friend into mush.

Jack squeezes the clipboard in his hand when he stops hiding behind the corner. A month ago, even if your peppy conversations with others spread like wildfire over his chest, the guy would've never actually have stopped behind the wall to eavesdrop on said conversation...to collect more material to get pissed at.

He's not the same man he was a month ago, and he's certainly not the guy he used to be before he met you. But he guesses that's the point, every time you meet someone, you'll never be the same person you were the second before they walk through the door.

And every time you catch his eye and offer that blinding, casual smile, Jack has no choice but to think the person he's regressing into is worth it if it means he has you. You. You. You.

Awfully capable and genius and horrifically beautiful.

But still, Jack hates the twitch of his jaw when he realizes that smile you're giving him right now is a shared one. Not completely his. That it would've been if you just stuck to night shifts like he suggested.

"How’s that post-op gallbladder doing in 9?"

You salute him. Robby smiles something at him that's almost an amused disbelief. But why are you amused, brother? You know her so well, you work together in ease as if you've known her more than the four months she's been working in the Pitt.

"Stable. Labs are improving. I already rechecked his hemoglobin, too—holding steady."

"Good. Let me know if his belly gets tense or he spikes again. No heroic discharges."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

Jack nods. Starts to walk away.

"That’s her way of saying, 'Don’t micromanage me, old man.' Am I on the nose or--”

Jack blinks to the floor when you laugh. He stops mid-stride and turns slightly.

"Stop, you’re gonna get me reassigned to nights."

Just enough to let his eyes linger on his best friend. The closest man he's ever known. One of the best doctors he's ever seen. Jack could hope that if you were another pretty and sickeningly wonderful girl, the grip of his fists would be just as tight as it is now, because the ridiculous hellfire of his pangy-fucky-jealousy wouldn't be the result of you and you alone. It'd be on him.

It'd be on the type of man he becomes when he...when he...

“What was wrong with your night shifts?”

“…Nothin, Dr. Abbott. Just riffing.”

"Well. Glad you two are enjoying yourselves."

...When he falls in love. Fuck him.

But this is not him. The way his voice goes flat and casual is not him, but it's what he says and what he feels because of you and you and you--this sunny little nurse who knows too much for her own good.

There’s a beat. A weird silence. Robby furrows his brow. You straighten instinctively, and Jack almost feels guilty, but that held confidence in his sharp, accusing quip is also who you're making him become. And maybe he'll be sorry for that.

"We are, yeah. Helps the shift go by faster."

"Right. I'll see you."

Jack walks off without another word. Sure. Maybe he'll be sorry for that tonight. Maybe he won't be when he gets home, because he'll be too close to blaming you when he thinks of every time you've smiled at him today, and he wonders--no, he thinks that you have to know.

"Did I miss something?"

"No… I mean, I don’t think so."

And Jack could be sorry when your voice betrays the uncertainty...when it almost sounds...hurt. He can't because he isn't there, but if he were-- if Jack saw how his comments spiked you, maybe he'd actually try to stop himself from the man he's becoming.

But he doesn't. So. He'll act like this all over again tomorrow. He's very proud of himself.

"Did you see her handle that psych hold last night? You know, when I was a kid, I was a huge fan of WWE...for some reason, and that's what it was. He was swinging that chair like he was in WWE and she--"

Jack pauses at the sound of your name.

"She kept her cool. And he was handled like that. I would've cried. Maybe."

"Enough with the goo-goo talk, Mel."

"You would've cried."

Mel says her statement to Santos in a way that isn't unkind, just flat.

"I--no! I would've been the last person to bawl. But...yeah, it's almost resent-able, the way it's like she's made of chamomile tea and ten hits of morphine."

"Um...I don't think, maybe--that resent-able's a word?"

"It’s wild, isn’t it? I know she’s a nurse, but every newbie follows her around like she’s an attending. It’s kinda hot."

"Um. I wouldn't say hot--"

"Work with me, Mel. Please. You're brilliant and no, HR is not right around the corner."

Jack can see Mel smile from where he's standing, as if it's worn with an "Oh, yeah. I can do this."

"Just be careful. I have a mind to think that, possibly, Dr. Robinavitch is already interested in her. Please don't tell anyone that I even think that. I don't--really even think that? It's more so an observation that could totally be misconstrued as--"

"Yeah, well...he probably wouldn't be the only one."

"...Who are we referring to?"

The girls leave with singular laughter, but Jack doesn't move. And again, he'd never linger on a conversation just to make himself...twitch, and get tense.

But here he is, his face calm with a breathing that's steady--but shallow, sharp. He stares at the floor as if trying to reason with himself. It’s nothing. They were joking. It was just talk.

But the words—not the only one—they keep echoing.

Who else? Who else but Robby and everyone fucking else?

His mind flashes to how you laughed with Robby earlier in the day, tossing a roll of gauze at his head. How you snuck a granola bar into Perlah's and Mohan’s scrub pockets, or the way you called Santos "Santi" while you patched her up and got her tested when she got stuck with a needle.

Everyone loves you. Everyone's drawn to you. But before, that would've only been an observation, something to tease you over. Not something to turn make his fist bleed.

He bled for people before, got his leg blown up for them. Killed for them, in a different life. But that was for country, and even though that’s a lie in itself, that made sense. There was purpose he found in that for a moment.

How is his rage and blood and...entitlement over you purpose? Even if he could ever...ever actually love you mutually? How could this all be worth something?

Who else?

"Abbott! What--what happened? What the fuck happened?"

Jack opens his fist. He didn't realize he was dripping onto the floor, that thin line made by the depths of his nails. He blinks at his wound, and barely at Dana.

"Jack, you alright?"

"...I guess it's time for sutures. I didn't mean to--wow. Did not mean to color the floor. Sorry, Dana. I'll call Ahmad, I think he's on tonight."

"...Jack--"

Jack begins to walk away, he can feel their charge nurse follow and fail to.

"Do not clean this up. That's not your job. Hell, it's not Ahmad's. I'll be back with towels."

Is that it? Would it feel any more...worth it if he did have you? Would he be easier on the man he's becoming if he had you? God, hopefully not. Hopefully he'd get his fucking act together, because look. Apparently, it's dangerous. Bloody.

Either way, he'd have to become worthy of having you in the first place, and that's never gonna fucking happen.

[taevescence]

Made For Leaving | Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: What you had didn’t have a name. You weren’t a couple. You didn’t talk about the future. You didn’t ask questions. But you shared a bed, a routine, and that kind of intimacy that only grows when love disguises itself as habit. For five years, you were together—and even if neither of you ever said it out loud, you both knew it was more than just desire. It wasn’t normal for two “friends” to live together, or to wear matching necklaces with your initials, or to adopt a cat. It was supposed to be casual. You were supposed to be on the same page. Until he wanted to give it a name. Until the idea of ruining everything over a ring made you run. Author’s note: PLEASE READ BEFORE STARTING! First of all, I’m so happy to share the first chapter of Yoongi’s story because OMGGGGG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AHHHHH. In case it wasn’t obvious, this man has me so down bad, like… so bad. I’m completely at his feet and honestly? I’m more than happy to bring him to life and share him with you all <3 That being said, I want to clarify that after this chapter, I’ll be uploading the first chapter of each member in order, just to give you a glimpse of how each couple's dynamic works (Namjoon, when it’s your turn). Also! I’ll be posting a few drabbles from time to time that won’t necessarily follow a specific timeline. The idea isn’t to tell a 100% chronological story, but rather to show how their dynamics work and give you a little peek into what’s happening in between the main plot (plus a few POVs from the boys every now and then). With that said, I really hope you enjoy the fic! I’d love to know what you think 💕My asks are always open for you! Pairing: Producer!Yoongi x Fem!Reader AUs: Band!AU Word count: 4.2k Warnings/tags: oral (f receiving it's Yoongi, duh), fwb!AU, Yoongi with mint hair IT'S a warning, Reader is a singer at a nightclub, Yoongi does his job as the amazing fuckable friend he is <3 Status: Ongoing. Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @chimmchimmm-blog @angellekookie @madussthougths @meadowsweetskoo @irishhbamb @loopychick @amarawayne You can join the taglist here! Dividers by @sisterlucifergraphics

You took a breath. Then another. By the third, you were a little calmer. Your hair clung to your forehead, slick with sweat, and the euphoria building inside you was starting to take hold. There was something in the air—something about seeing all these people looking at you, listening to you, screaming your lyrics back with you—something in every small detail of these nights made a storm of emotion rise in your chest and ripple through your skin in chills.

You loved your job. You loved that the audience loved your job.

You began to walk toward the edge of the stage. It was small, made of wood so old it creaked under every step. But that didn’t matter. Not when you were too focused on getting the lyrics out in one coherent line.

Your voice was hoarse. Low. With that rough edge that made boys drool and girls press their thighs together. That same tone that made Yoongi shift in his seat. Thinking of him made your throat dry.

The bar’s lights hit your eyes hard, but you forced them open, locking eyes with a few people in the crowd, trying to sell the illusion that your words were meant just for them. That was your job, after all. To enchant them. To make them believe you belonged to them.

You jumped down. Spun around. Kissed one guy on the cheek. Ran your hand through a girl’s hair as she sat there. And then walked straight to his table. The first one on the left, barely visible in the darkness of the bar and the blur of the crowd.

And there he was. In the seat on the left, Yoongi. His mint hair falling messily over his eyes, his half-buttoned shirt revealing just enough skin to tempt your fingers, and his lips—oh, his lips—glowing faintly in the dark from the whiskey he’d been nursing for the past half hour.

You watched his tongue sweep over them, saw his hand place the glass back on the table with a soft thud—barely audible to the crowd, but not to you. You were far too aware of him to miss it.

You moved closer, your voice dropping one more tone than necessary, your heart beating faster than it should, your smile curling in ways it shouldn’t. This was the rush of adrenaline. This was the mask you wore when you stepped into your role and sang on that tiny stage.

Right now, you weren’t yourself. You were Summer. And Summer didn’t hesitate to sit in a stranger’s lap and dance like no one else existed.

Well… to be honest, you’d dance on Yoongi’s lap with or without Summer’s bravado. Especially when he looked at you with those dark eyes, expression unreadable, as if your presence didn’t shake him, as if you couldn’t feel how his breathing faltered.

You loved having that effect on him.

"But I like you, is it your tight shirt?" you whispered into the mic, settling onto his lap. It was easy—too easy—maybe because you’d done it for years, maybe because the man beneath you was Min Yoongi and not just anyone. Maybe because the hand now trailing up your thigh to the hem of your shorts made it impossible to think straight. "Or the way that he leads me?"

You could hear the cheers behind you, but they blurred into nothing with Yoongi this close. You wanted to kiss him—your lips burned for it, ached for the taste of whiskey from his mouth. But instead, you kept singing. Kept dancing. Rubbing against him just right, in that spot you knew would drive him insane.

You both knew what you were doing. Neither of you had plans to stop.

"I want you to know how deep I pray for you" —you swallowed a moan as his hand slipped higher, dangerously close to crossing a line you weren’t supposed to cross—not here, not now. The song was almost over. He knew that. He had been waiting for it. "I’d be sweating and screaming your name"

Shit.

Why did it have to be this song, tonight? You really hadn’t thought this through.

The soft melody faded into silence. The applause followed, a soft clap that didn’t stop you from locking eyes with Yoongi. You felt his other hand on your thigh, settling just under your ass before he stood up with you in his arms and carried you toward the exit.

Only then did Summer’s composure fade. Only then did you allow yourself to laugh, tossing the mic to the ground as the crowd cheered, thinking it was all part of the act. You felt a little sorry for them. Their night wouldn’t be half as fun as yours.

Your legs wrapped around Yoongi’s waist, your arms around his neck—and his lips? His lips were completely at your mercy. One of his hands tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to draw out a soft, sharp gasp. So different from the voice you used to sing.

His free hand fumbled for the keys, walking automatically toward the black Hyundai parked outside the bar. You giggled as you heard him curse under his breath. He tugged your hair harder in return.

“You need to get in,” he muttered against your lips, pinning you to the car window, grinding into you like no one could see, like you weren’t on a public street in the middle of Itaewon. “Now.”

You cupped his cheeks, biting his lower lip just to taste him more. Yoongi didn’t stop you—at least not directly. He opened the door, his arms still wrapped tightly around you, keeping you from falling onto the cold, wet concrete.

And then, without warning, he tossed you into the passenger seat.

“Hey!” you squealed as you landed on the leather. It wasn’t a bad landing, but the sudden break from his kiss? That was unacceptable. He was going to owe you for that one.

Silently, he reached for your seatbelt, clicking it in place with a calmness that didn’t match the man who had just been seconds from fucking you against his car.

“No complaints. We’ll finish at home,” he murmured, voice thick and rough. The kind he used right after waking up. The kind he used when he was over you, panting hard, trying to last as long as he could because being with you was so damn overwhelming.

You said nothing. There was nothing to say. You let him close the door, resting your head against the window as you watched him climb into the driver’s seat.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t trace your nail along his forearm as he reached over your shoulder. He deserved it. He started this. He should be thankful you didn’t bite him.

“Y/N,” he warned in that tone. You knew what that tone meant—and also that it meant absolutely nothing. Yoongi would let you do anything. He never stopped you.

Maybe that’s why you were so gone for him.

You burst out laughing when you heard Yoongi curse under his breath after hitting the doorframe. You couldn’t blame him — it was hard to see where you were going when you had a woman on top of you who wouldn’t stop devouring your mouth like it was her first meal in years.

To some extent, that’s exactly how you felt.

“Shit, why do you keep pulling my hair?” he whispered against your lips, trying to close the door with one of his feet. As soon as the ‘click’ echoed, he dragged you to the kitchen counter. If you weren’t so distracted, you would’ve definitely called him out for wanting to fuck you here.

“It’s fun,” you moaned softly when you felt his lips trailing down your neck. Slow. Gentle. Marking every inch he could, wanting the world to know exactly what you’d been doing the night before.

One of his hands slid down to your hip, his fingers teasing the rough fabric, as if he enjoyed annoying you, as if he got off on your breathy complaints and low moans for going too slow.

You leaned your body back, just enough to feel the cold ceramic against your shirt. You knew he would take advantage of that — oh, you knew it too well. You bit your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hide your smile as his other hand slipped under your shirt, climbing up your stomach to reach your breasts. The higher he went, the more skin he exposed. The more exposed you were, the more places his lips found to play with.

He started just above the waistband of your shorts. It was a pattern; first a graze, then a lick, then a bite. Every bite was followed by a heated look from below, one that made you squirm where you sat, wanting more, needing more.

He lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder, kissing up your body until your shirt stopped him. Getting rid of it was an easy job. He unbuttoned each one, kissing your lips while the two of you enjoyed the friction of your bodies rubbing together, searching for the release only you could give each other.

Yoongi’s hands paused when he noticed what you were wearing underneath. He raised an eyebrow and gave you an almost mocking look. Even in the mess your brain was right now, you knew that mocking glint was real.

“Seriously? That bra?” he laughed lowly, not waiting for your answer before biting the skin spilling out from the fabric. One of his hands unclasped it with a swiftness you still weren’t used to.

As if he hadn’t practiced for almost five years how to undress you.

“It’s one of my favorites,” you murmured with a smile. His hands had already taken care of every bit of clothing on your upper body. You had no idea where your clothes ended up, but you didn’t really care — too busy enjoying the slow thrusts of Yoongi’s hips against yours, too distracted by the lazy kisses he left on your nipples, tugging and playing with them exactly the way you liked.

He rolled his eyes, letting your hands slide under his shirt, up his neck, scratching his skin with just the tips of your nails. He liked to say he hated when you did that. You both knew that was a lie.

While his mouth kept playing with your nipples, one of his hands slid up your bare leg until it found the cold zipper of your shorts. He didn’t need to ask for permission. You had already lifted your hips the second you felt his fingers near.

You felt the cold night air hit your core, sending a shiver from head to toe. You could still feel your panties hanging from one foot, Yoongi’s kisses slowly trailing back to your inner thighs.

This time every bite, every lick he gave you sent a jolt through your body. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth and softness of his tongue against your skin or just your desperate need to feel him closer, to feel his tongue inside you.

Oh, Yoongi really knew how to use his tongue.

A moan escaped your lips as you remembered all the times you came just from his mouth. Yoongi knew exactly how to please a woman. He knew exactly where to press his tongue to break you down beneath him until breathing became hard.

“Sunshine,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of your thigh, his teeth grazing it, pulling just enough to make you tremble. At this point, Yoongi could just look at you and you’d tremble beneath him. “Eyes up here.”

You managed to open your eyes and looked into his. Dark. Clouded. Covered in a layer of lust that screamed he just wanted more of you. You swallowed, brushing some strands of hair from your face just in time to see him move closer to your core.

“My eyes are super on you, you know? Hard to look at anything else when you’re the only thing in my line of vision and—Fuck!” You gripped his hair the moment you felt his tongue dive into you. You didn’t even have time to breathe before he found a steady rhythm that made your toes curl.

Your legs tried to close instantly, but his shoulders were snug between them, staying exactly where he belonged. That’s how it felt in that moment. His tongue thrust deep, then slipped out to tease your clit in a mocking way, circling it with his tongue, sucking, nibbling, making that knot in your stomach harder and harder to ignore.

“You’re so sweet… no matter how many times I taste you, you always taste just as sweet as the first time,” he whispered, almost lost between your moans and gasps. Two of his fingers joined the game, gathering a mix of your cum and his saliva before entering you. His thrusts were slower than his tongue’s, but no less intense.

You were sure he had a shit-eating grin on his face — you could feel it against your skin. He got off on hearing you moan loud, on having you wrecked with nothing but his fingers and tongue. And you? You only pretended to be annoyed.

“Yoongi—fuck—wait,” your voice came out higher than usual, that tone that only appeared when you were reaching your peak and your brain stopped working. It was almost like you short-circuited and the only thing that came from your lips were broken words. And his name. Random words and his name.

He didn’t respond. Not verbally, anyway. His fingers moved faster, his mouth focused on your clit. You could feel his other hand glide up your leg, offering soft caresses that went almost unnoticed amid the overwhelming sensations he was creating.

You needed to breathe.

Or to come.

Either worked.

You started squirming on the counter, your eyes barely able to stay open, unlike Yoongi’s — his stayed glued to every little reaction your face gave. He spread his fingers inside you, dragging his tongue to slide back in just as the tips of his fingers hit your sweet spot.

That was what destroyed you completely.

You yanked his hair so hard he growled into you, a cry ripped from your throat that made it burn, and he had to pull his fingers out to hold your hips down against the counter. Your whole body seemed to pulse, and the knot that had stayed tight since the dancing at the bar finally began to unravel.

Yoongi licked up everything you gave him, or at least most of it. He helped you ride out your climax as long as possible, this time with a slower pace so he didn’t overstimulate you. Not yet, at least. Once your body stopped trembling and your breathing evened out, Yoongi straightened up, wiping his chin with the sleeve of his shirt.

His eyes still held that same mischief that had made you tremble before, but you were too spent to react.

“You should’ve… been a rapper,” you said hoarsely, laughing softly as you raised your arm to cover your face, still trying to catch your breath. You knew Yoongi well enough to know the night had just started, so you took this moment to calm down as best as you could.

Hard to do when his hands were already moving up your legs as if to soothe you. As if that didn’t just turn you on even more.

“Shut up,” he said as he took the arm covering your face and laid it beside your head, intertwining his fingers with yours before resting his forehead against yours.

You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat. You blamed it on the orgasm.

“Why don’t you shut it for me?” you murmured against his lips, your free hand sliding up to his neck, gently stroking the place where his skin met his hair. You could feel the dampness of his lips brushing yours, craving another taste. Or maybe it was you who was craving. What did it matter?

“Oh, I was waiting for you to say that,” a sly smile spread across his face before he captured your mouth in a desperate kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, along with the lingering hint of whiskey he’d had a few hours ago. You moaned in delight at the mix of flavors, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as Yoongi began lifting you off the counter to carry you to his bedroom.

The night is still young, you thought to yourself, just before letting yourself fall completely into the desire you felt for Yoongi.

You woke up to the soft weight of Shooky on your stomach, his little paws kneading the sheets as if they were cookie dough. As if there wasn’t a human underneath the blanket being brutally crushed by his super heavy five kilos.

You’d get your revenge later.

“Shooky, get off, you’re heavy,” you muttered, shifting in bed until you reached the edge, reluctantly peeling the covers off your body. It was way too early to get up. Way too early to freeze to death.

You spent at least five minutes staring blankly at a spot on the floor, clinging to the same shirt Yoongi had worn yesterday—the one you’d borrowed so you wouldn’t be completely naked. Your legs were still bare, swinging side to side as you tried to reach your slippers with your toes.

“You’re awake.”

You sighed. You were this close to get them.

You turned to look at Yoongi, your eyes still too heavy to claim you were fully awake. Though you’d be lying if you said seeing him in that white T-shirt and those gray sweatpants hadn’t snapped you one hundred percent into alertness.

He looked good.

“Yeah. Your horrible pet was trying to smother me under the sheets with his giant cat paws,” you ignored the laugh Yoongi let out, lifting your arms toward him to ask—demand—a hug. You deserved it. You’d done a great job last night.

“I’d like to remind you that you wanted to bring him home,” he took your hands in his, lifting you from the bed with such ease that it nearly made you sigh. His arms wrapped around your waist, his lips finding that sweet spot between your neck and shoulder that made you tremble on the spot.

Your hands moved into his hair automatically, fingers tangling in the messy strands. It felt so good having him close. You convinced yourself it was just because you were cold, and he was warm.

“I didn’t think he’d be a traitor,” you laughed when you felt the tips of his hair brush against your neck. His fingers traced invisible circles on your skin, leaving behind a warmth you hadn’t felt since last night. “He’s this close to stealing you from me! I can’t let him take my man, you know?”

You thought your comment would make him laugh. You thought he’d do something like throw you back on the bed, kiss you, cover both of you with the blankets and say something like ‘you and your imagination.’ But he didn’t.

His body tensed just enough for you to notice. He pulled away slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, enough to look into your eyes—those dark eyes now filled with insecurity, curiosity, and… fear.

Why did he suddenly look scared?

“I brought you breakfast,” he said, nodding toward the little tray sitting on your nightstand—the one you hadn’t even noticed until now.

You blinked several times, trying to understand why he suddenly changed the subject, why he seemed so out of it. But you didn’t ask, because that would mean crossing a line, because something deep inside you told you that whatever had him like this could change things between you two. And that thought alone scared you enough to stay silent, to ignore it the same way he was.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, letting his hands guide you back to bed. You felt him settle behind you, pulling your body against his until your back was pressed to his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder.

He didn’t say anything else. Just caressed your stomach with his thumbs while you ate the breakfast he had brought. Swallowing was hard with anxiety eating you up inside, when you could feel that something tense was hanging in the air between you two, something unspoken and impossible to ignore.

“Can you… can you ask for Friday off?” he murmured into your ear, his hands pausing briefly as he waited for your answer. You felt him bury his face in your neck, and the words came out of his mouth with a weight you’d never heard in him before.

That worried you even more.

“Of course! The bar will survive a night without me,” you said quickly, trying to mimic the same cheerful, playful tone that came so naturally when you were around him—the same one you’d used last night, and every other night when you put on a show. “Is it a special date?”

You heard him let out a heavy sigh before he leaned back against the headboard. The gray tone of it made the mint in his hair stand out even more.

“Yeah. There’s something important I need to show you.”

“Oh… okay. That’s fine. I’ll ask for the day off.” You got out of bed, slipping on the scattered sheets and falling to the floor with a loud thud. Yoongi tried to help you. You refused.

“I’m fine! I’m fine. I’ll go shower,” you mumbled between awkward, breathless laughs, leaving a confused Yoongi behind.

Yoongi had something to show you. It seemed serious. It seemed…

You pursed your lips and rushed to lock yourself in the bathroom. You tried to breathe slowly, to find a rhythm that could help calm the pressure growing in your chest and making it so hard to even stand.

The movement of your reflection in the mirror caught your attention, making you turn toward it. You looked honestly terrible—the makeup from last night was all smudged, your lips were a little dry, and your hair was a mess.

In the middle of your collarbones, in that little patch of skin the shirt of Yoongi’s left exposed, there was a reddish mark standing out starkly against your skin. You brushed your hand over it, recalling the exact moment Yoongi had kissed and marked you there.

Yoongi’s request echoed again in your head, over and over, tormenting you more than you’d like to admit.

What if he was finally tired of you?

What if he’d found someone better—someone he could actually call his girlfriend and introduce to his parents?

What if he wanted to leave you?

You were drowning in the thousand and one scenarios that might come that day, in what kind of news he might give you and how much they would crush you. And while you tried to silence those thoughts, Yoongi was still in the bedroom, a small red velvet box in his trembling hands, wondering how things would change once he asked you the big question.

And that was the one scenario that never crossed your mind.

Series Masterlist.

[ramp-it-up]

Muse: Four

Muse Three | Muse Masterlist | Muse Five

Summary: This is the one. The one where decisions are made. Words are said. The end or the beginning of you and Ari.

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader

Word count: 3 K

A/N: Muse will be a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the second one. We’re gonna hear from them at least every week. 😏 . This AU is tangential to the Peach and Knock You Down verses. If this drabble makes you angry, let me know! I love reblogs, replies, asks and likes. Let me have it! :)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Angst. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, dating app life, casual sex, Dominant Ari, Missed connections, yearning, the green eyed monster, late night confessions, oral (f recieving), fingering, hint of breeding kink, size kink, nipple obsession, nipple play, protected sex, the 'L' word (finally).

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

Two days later, you were shooting inside one of the most beautiful spaces you’d ever worked in. It was a gallery so beautiful it felt dangerous ot breathe. A curated reverence hung in the air, the kind that made you instinctively speak softer and move slower.

But you were on edge, because you hadn’t known the shoot would be here. 

No one had said Red Sea Gallery. The one owned by Ari Levinson. Just: White walls, natural light. Tribeca-adjacent. Minimal set.

When you put the address your agent sent you into your maps app and the name popped up, you were gobsmacked. You tried to prepare yourself in the two hours notice you had before the shoot, but you weren’t.

There were the standard issue floor-to-ceiling windows, along with the scent of clean wood, old paint, and history. What was unexpected was the way the afternoon light struck a sculpture in the corner, a piece too raw to be just decoration or inventory. 

It was too intimate not to notice.

You stared at it, knowing that he had chosen it, and how much more you understood about Ari because of it. There was something about the shape of the metal, the tension in the curve, the heat in the cold material. It was alive somehow.

It was you come undone.

Your stylist, Misty, snapped her fingers. 

“Hey. Earth to supermodel. Time to get into look number three.”

You nodded, throat dry. “Right. Sorry.”

But as you changed in the makeshift dressing area, pulling silk up over your hips, you couldn’t stop staring at the sculpture.

Couldn’t stop feeling him.

Ari had studied your face in the dark, and he’d whispered, “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Yeah. Well, you fucking knew now.

You posed for the camera like everything was fine. Hip cocked, chin high, face set to neutral.

But inside, everything churned.

And then, you saw a flicker out of the corner of your eye. You turned your head just in time to catch a shadow slipping past the far end of the gallery. The figure was tall and broad with a confident stride. 

Ari.

You didn’t need to see his face.

Your heart rate spiked, your skin prickled, and your body betrayed you all over again. But by the time you crossed the floor barefoot and barely covered, the hallway was empty.

He was gone, just a ghost of cologne in the air.

The photographer called your name.

You turned back slowly, with one last glance at the metal sculpture, gazing at the raw emotion rendered in steel.

You hadn’t spoken to Ari in days.

He hadn’t texted. You hadn’t called.

And still, the city kept folding you into each other’s orbits.

Near.

But not enough.

—----

Ari hadn’t meant to stay, it was going to just be a fifteen-minute walkthrough before tomorrow’s showing, nothing more. But the moment he heard the shutter snap and then heard your laugh, Ari stopped breathing.

He knew that you were here in his gallery and in his world. That world tilted a little bit.

His adrenaline spiked as he ducked into the shadows between exhibits, watching you from there. You were barefoot, bare-shouldered and bathed in golden light, wearing a gown that clung to your body like a second skin.

You were fucking good at your job, and Ari was witnessing first hand the work that went into producing those gorgeous pictures. You were professional and poised, but he knew the passion that lay underneath.

Ari’s fingers became fists at his sides because he had touched that fire, he’d tasted it. And now, all he could do was watch as he starved for you, every nerve stretched thin, every breath hard to take.

It had been days, not weeks or months, but he felt too long deprived of the sight of you. Even though he’d decided not to contact you again after that night that felt like war.

You turned slightly, your hips angled, one hand at your waist, and the light hit you just right. Like you’d been lit by God himself.

Those lips. That jaw. That hourglass silhouette that curved into him like a puzzle piece, you were amazing.

His hands had memorized every inch of that body, but at the moment he couldn’t move to touch you, couldn’t speak to you, couldn’t even fucking blink your image out of his brain.

The photographer said something about “more edge,” and you smirked, dropping your chin just enough to make mischief with your gaze.

It wasn’t meant for Ari. But fuck, he felt it. 

Ari stayed in the shadows just long enough to carve your image into his bloodstream.

Then he turned and left, silently bleeding for you.

—--

You weren’t trying to be on your phone, but it buzzed three drinks deep at some rooftop party, where the music was loud and the faces were blurred by flash and too much champagne. 

The second your screen lit up, you sensed it.

A DM. Then another. You tapped through. And there he was.

Ari Levinson. Black sweater. Cocky smile. Calm, cool, and collected.

A woman with mile-long legs and too much lip gloss draped herself over him, laughing into his shoulder in the boomerang video.

Made so you could watch it over and over again.

Ari didn’t touch her; he barely looked at her. But he didn’t move away either. 

And that was enough.

You locked your phone, shoved it under your thigh, forcing your lips into a smile when your friend slid another drink your way.

“You good?”

You lied. “Peachy.”

It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t own him. You didn’t even call him yours.

But all you could see was him, the man who once kissed you so hard you forgot your own name.

The man who made you feel.

And now he was somewhere else and you were losing your mind in an Uber home, crafting and deleting half a dozen texts you’d never send.

you looked good tonight

Delete.

was she worth it?

Delete.

i can't stop thinking about your mouth

Delete. Delete. Delete.

—--

Ari left that rooftop party ten minutes after that girl posted him.

He didn’t even say goodbye because he hadn’t wanted to be there. He hadn’t wanted anyone but you. And when he saw your name light up his notifications, saw that you’d watched, well shit, it made him feel sick.

Because he knew what you’d think, and it wasn’t the truth. The truth was you were already under his skin; you were already it for him.

He didn't know why that was so important to him, but it was.

You were.

—-

The knock came at 1:42 a.m.

You were scared, because you knew it was someone who could hurt you.

You knew it was Ari.

You padded barefoot to the door, one hand trembling against the wood as you peeked through the peephole. Ari was there in a Tribeca Festival hoodie, his hands deep in his pockets and his jaw tight.

You opened the door and didn’t say a word. Neither did he. For a moment, the city noise poured in behind him and then you stepped back.

He walked in like he was home. And you let him.

—--

You didn’t speak.

Just closed the door behind him and walked into the kitchen like he hadn’t shown up at nearly two am with that whole brooding/penitent thing going on.

You opened the fridge, poured a glass of water and sipped. You should have been an actress.

Ari stayed where he was, near the door, hoodie pushed back, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving you.

You didn’t spare him a glance.

“Thought you were busy tonight,” you said evenly.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I was,” he said finally.

You set the glass down, still not looking at him.

“Saw the party,” you added. “Looked like fun.”

Nothing in your tone gave you away. Not the way your chest was tight, not the sting behind your eyes, not the taste of jealousy in your mouth.

"Didn’t stay long," he said finally.

The laugh that escaped you was bitter and broken.

"Long enough."

You turned, and there he was, suddenly in front of you, so close you could feel his heat.

"You were watching," he said quietly.

You glared up at him.

"Is that why you’re here? Because I saw?"

"I’m here because the second I saw your name on that story, I felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe."

You stared at him and saw that he wasn’t untouched. He wasn’t fine. He was fucking wrecked.

"You think you know what I’m feeling?" you said, voice cracking.

"I know exactly what you’re feeling," he said, "because it’s the same thing I’m feeling."

The words landed because they were true. Because he was the one person who saw through all your practiced detachment and soft cruelty. Even after so little time.

It was lightning in the bottle, finding the one who looked at you, read your bullshit and still wanted more. On a dating app no less.

Fuck your life.

You walked past him toward the couch, brushing too close on purpose. 

“You think you know me,” you said, sitting down and crossing your legs slowly.

“But I don’t own you Ari. You're free to do what you want. And she looked like a good time.”

You shrugged.

“You showing up somewhere with her is none of my business.”

Ari bristled.

“I didn’t show up with her. I went alone. I left alone.”

You blinked as he crouched in front of you, his hands on the edge of the cushion, one knee brushing your thigh.

“And I’m here now. With you. Because all I could think about was you sitting here, alone. Wondering what it meant. Wondering if I was fucking her. Wondering if I’d moved on.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He reached up, thumb brushing your jaw.

“I haven’t. I can’t. You’re in my fucking bloodstream," Ari said.

"And I can’t rip you out."

He bent and pressed his forehead to your knee and just breathed.

Your fingers hovered above his head for one breath. Then two. And then you gave in. They slid into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and his whole body tensed, like he hadn’t expected you to touch him, like he was braced for a shove instead of tenderness.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when your hand tightened, just slightly, he looked up.

Those eyes. God, those eyes. Those eyes gutted you the way they looked at you like you were the one who might disappear if he blinked.

You leaned in just enough to make him meet you halfway. And when his mouth met yours, it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t greedy.

It was devastating. You couldn't pretend any more.

You broke the kiss only to whisper, “I hated seeing you with her.”

His head dropped, breath ragged against your knee.

“I didn’t touch her,” he rasped. “I haven’t touched anyone.”

You tilted his chin up. “Why?”

His answer came without hesitation. 

“Because I can’t get you out of my fucking head. When I look, I can’t see anyone else but you. I don't want anyone else."

That was when you lost it. The dam broke. You grabbed his hair, dragging his mouth to yours. 

The kiss wasn't sweet. It was needy. It was desperate. Your teeth, hands, and mouths were ferocious, and still, it wasn’t enough; it would never be enough.

"Tell me you hate me," he whispered against your mouth.

You kissed him harder.

"Tell me you don’t feel this."

You gasped, "I can’t."

You kissed him again.

"I don’t want to feel anything.” 

“I know.”

“And I still fucking do.”

“I know that too.”

Ari groaned against your lips, the sound low and primal, and it shot straight through you. His hand found the hem of your tank top and found the warm skin underneath.

You shuddered and gripped the front of his hoodie, yanking him closer and when the kiss broke and you gasped for air, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"You are so fucking stubborn," he whispered.

"I know," you rasped.

His hand slid up your ribcage and weighed your breast, thumb tracing your areola.

"Still want you," he said. "Even when it hurts."

He pinched your nipple to emphasize his point. You grabbed his jaw, palm dragging over his beard.

"Show me," you whispered.

Ari groaned and peeled your top over your head with shaking hands, tossing it somewhere neither of you cared about. You stripped his hoodie and t-shirt off too, tugging him closer by his broad shoulders, breathing him in, burying your face in his throat for one dizzying second.

Ari turned and sat on the couch, lifting you onto his lap. Your knees sunk into the cushions on beside his thighs and your bodies crashed together. He kissed down your throat, stopping at your pounding pulse to bite down gently. And when you felt the huge ridge of his cock through his jeans, you moaned helplessly.

"You drive me insane," he  whispered into your skin.

“Can’t fucking breathe without thinking about you."

You whimpered and arched into his touch while his thumbs circled your nipples until you were gasping in his lap.

"Ari," you moaned.

He kissed every inch of you he could reach.

"I’m here," he said. "I’m right here."

He carried you up to your bedroom, and the way he looked at you when he laid you on your bed made your heart ache. When he slid your panties down your legs, he kissed the inside of your ankle, then your calf, your knee, working his way up your body like he had all the time in the world.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and whimpered when he kissed between your thighs.

"Need to taste you," Ari stated. And then he did.

His tongue licked into you as his hands pinned your hips down when you tried to buck them up into his face, feeling like a desperate slut for him. Ari was an expert at making you feel good; his tongue was perfect on your clit and licking inside your folds, and his fingers fucked you open, lighting you up from the inside out, over and over, until you were a trembling, trembling, moaning mess under him.

You came hard, gasping his name, nails clawing at the sheets, and he didn’t stop tasting you until you came down. Then, he kissed up your body, planting open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, and your throat.

At this point you were beyond feral, and you yanked at his jeans, needing more, needing him. He stripped them off, pushed his boxers down, and there he was, thick, hard, beautiful, aching, and dripping for you.

"Condom," you panted.

"Fuck…. Okay, yeah."

He scrambled for his jeans, hands shaking, and you couldn’t help but smile; wild and wrecked looked good on him. He rolled it on, kissed you again and then he guided the broad tip of his cock to your snug, slippery entrance and eased inside you.

You both gasped. He was so fucking big. Ari destroyed you so good.

It wasn’t just physical. It was everything. All the denial. All the want. All the feelings. It all combined to have your cunt slowly pulsing around him already.

Once fully inside you, he stayed still, forehead pressed to yours, giving you, and himself, time.

"You good?" he whispered, his voice wavering as your cunt pulsed around him. He was so close already.

It had never been like this.

The question was strange. He'd never cared this much while he was fucking you. But this time, it wasn’t just fucking.

You nodded, eyes burning.

"Move," you said.

And he rocked into you slowly at first, like he was savoring every second. You clung to him, nails dragging down his back, thighs tightening around his waist, making involuntary whimpers and ragged gasps.

His fingers glided over your clit and the pleasure exploded in a rich, crazy rush.

"Ari," you sobbed.

"I know, Baby," he panted against your neck. "I know. Feels so damn good."

He kissed your jaw, your temple, and your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. You rode his thick cock as his fingers spun your climax higher and higher as you tipped over the precipice again, crying out, your cunt locking down around him.

He groaned and thrust harder, losing control. It was the quickest he would ever come with you.

"Can’t…fuck…can't hold on..." he gasped.

You grabbed his face, made him look at you.

"Come inside me," you whispered. "Please."

This wasn't about the condom. It was the sentiment.

Ari's brain blanked, his whole body shuddered, and he buried his face against your throat and let go, hips jerking, mouth open in a silent cry.

You held him through it. And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just stayed pressed against you, still inside you, breathing hard.

"Don’t leave," you whispered into his hair.

He made a broken sound,  half a laugh, half a sob.

"I’m not going anywhere, Muse." he said.

"Not anymore."

—---

You woke tangled in Ari, your cheek pressed to his bare chest, his arm heavy across your waist, his breath steady against your hair. For a second, you just laid there, afraid to move. But then, his fingers moved up and down the curve of your spine.

You swallowed hard and shifted slightly, feeling him stir against you, realizing that he was hard again.

God, you were wrecked for him. Beyond reason. And beyond pride.

You tilted your head back to look at him, and saw that he was already awake, watching you. You opened your mouth to say something, something stupid. Something defensive. 

To make a joke. To make it light. To pretend it didn’t mean everything. But Ari beat you to it. 

His voice was rough with warning.

“Don’t run from me.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a plea. It was a command.

Your chest hurt because God, you wanted to run.

It would be safer. Easier. But you couldn’t run from him anymore.

You dragged your hand up his chest, feeling the rough patch of hair and the steady thump of his heart.

“You make it really fucking hard to breathe,” you whispered.

Ari smiled and kissed the corner of your mouth. Your cheekbone. Your eyelid.

And then he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, keeping you locked against him as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You buried your face in the curve of his neck, breathing him instead of air.

And then he said it, the words that split the world wide open.

“I’m in love with you.”

Like it was simple. Like you could just say shit like that.

You froze.

But he didn’t flinch, backpedal, or give you a single out. He just held you.

Like what he’d just said wasn’t terrifying.

And now you were crying, hot rivulets of your tears running down his neck.

You pulled back just enough to see his beautiful, stubborn, stupid face, and you gave him the only thing you had left.

You whispered it back, trembling and scared.

“I’m in love with you too.”

-----

oh. my. god. wbu?

Muse Five

[zealoushound]

Give An Old Country Boy A Chance

Summary: While waiting for his breakfast in the drive-thru line Sy becomes smitten for the stranger in the car behind him. What would happen if he paid for her breakfast, and slipped her his number?

FYI this is the first story/drabble that I’ve posted in like two years so go easy on me lol. If you like it let me know and share. THANK YOU!!

Word Count: 900

Warnings: Fluffier than a cloud under a baby cherub the day before Valentine’s Day. This was dreamt up from waiting in line behind a hot guy at McDonald’s lol.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THE STORY! Do not copy any portion of my material to claim as your own. Do not repost my work, or any portions of my work on any site and claim it as your own.

~*~

“Alright, I have you for three bacon, sausage and egg wraps and a venti black coffee. Is that all for you today?” The barista questioned politely.

“Yes, I believe so.”

If the person speaking from the screen told Sy his total but he didn’t hear it.

The bright glint of 7 am sunshine reflected off of the black suburban pulling in behind him in his side mirror, pulling his gaze away from the menu board.

Tilting his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, he peered over the top of the frame to see a woman who was casually scrolling her phone. He watched the most beautiful smile he’d seen in a long time spread across her face.

The car at the window departed causing the other vehicles to move to their new places in line.

Taking his spot, two cars down from the window, Sy thought to himself, “now how do I get her to notice me?”

He looked back as she was ordering.

“Good morning, can I take your order?” Hard to miss the crisp, metallic loudness of a drive thru speaker.

“Good morning! Yes I’d like a large iced white chocolate mocha and…” She was chipper. Was she always a morning person? Would be his polar opposite, but he might not mind that. Her voice had a sing songy lilt to it, an upwards spring that could melt any man’s heart.

“I love her.” Sy muttered to himself.

In his distracted trance, he missed the next car leaving and was now only one car away. He knew he had to act fast before it was too late.

Taking out a pen from the breast pocket of his tattered, old flannel shirt, he wrote his number on the back of yesterday’s McDonald’s receipt that he’d mindlessly thrown into the passenger's seat. He scribbled down a note with his name.

The car ahead of him pulled away just as Sy pulled his wallet out of the console. His nerves began to saddle up next to him.

“Good morning! That’ll be $26.19.” The cashier greeted him with a beaming smile.

“Mornin' friend. I was wonderin’, could you do me a favor?” Sy took another look in the side mirror.

“That depends on the favor,” the cashier said playfully, giving Sy a wink.

“Well,” Sy chuckled, “I can’t say I’m not flattered,” he handed the cashier his card and the folded over receipt, “but, I was going to ask if you would put that lovely ladies order on my tab. And would you give her that for me? She’s absolutely breath takin’.”

“Awwww honey, of course I will! Ooh! I love a meet cute!” Running his card for both orders they tucked the note just under the register so it wouldn’t blow away as they handed out Sy’s order. “Now if yall get married, I wanna be invited to the wedding, you hear?”

“You got it, pal!” Sy beamed at the thought of their wedding.

“Honey, with those eyes, and that smile… mm. I will definitely let her know what she would be missing out on!”

Sy laughed and thanked them as he drove up to the stop sign.

He looked back to see her at the window. He saw them talking. Sy watched, holding his breath in anticipation as the cashier handed out the note. The beautiful stranger looked down, reading the note and smiled.

She looked at Sy's truck.

They made eye contact.

Sy nodded a greeting, holding out two fingers in a wave. A charming smile peaked from behind his beard.

She smiled, mouthed out a “thank you… but,” and held up her left hand.

Sy raised his chin in a half nod of acknowledgement. He kept smiling, however. With a bittersweet expression on their face, the cashier's shoulders slumped.

Sy waved a respectful goodbye, then looked to the street ahead.

They handed out her order, joking playfully, albeit still feeling a bit defeated.

“No offense to your hubby, but that was not how this romance was supposed to play out.” The woman couldn’t help but laugh. “This was supposed to be like a Hallmark movie.”

Sy’s old truck rumbled away from the stop sign.

“Well, you know some love stories have a big plot twist,” the woman questioned.

“Yeah?” The cashier seemed puzzled as she reached for her phone.

She unlocked her phone, swiped off TikTok and went to her photos.

“This is from yesterday, at my best friend's birthday party.” Showing the barista a picture of herself, a woman holding a little boy probably about three years old, and two other men in front of a table of presents. One of the men looked especially familiar.

“His name is Sy. We met 8 years ago today in line at a drive-thru back in my hometown. He had paid for my lunch and left his number on the receipt. We’ve been married for five years now.”

She smiled the whole time she told the story, rubbing the paper in her hand with her thumb fondly. The cashier was almost in tears, clutching their apron to their chest.

“Awwwww! That is so sweet! May I ask, what did his note say?”

“The same thing it said 8 years ago,” she smiled. “The same thing it says everytime I’m fortunate enough to be able to get in line behind him.”

‘Give an old country boy a chance? Sy 327-4412’

[vivid-ink]

Kinktober #1 - Handjob "Mission Accomplished"

fem!HumanReader x Neteyam or Lo'ak (you pick! 😉)

Summary: You've been asked to fill in for Norm on one of his Na'vi patient observations, except this isn't any old observation appointment... You need to collect a semen sample and the appointment doesn't go at all to professional plan...

Warnings: 🔞 Sexual content 18+, MDNI 🔞 Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Happy Kinktober everyone! 😁 I'm late with this prompt as it was completely unplanned. I got inspired late last night after posting Part 4 of 'The Love Shack' and this is what my brain spat out! As usual, my inability to write short drabbles means that what was meant to be a short, sweet kink-scene turned out to be 4.6k. I've not used any names in this piece, so you're free to imagine either Neteyam or Lo'ak as the male lead in this. Enjoy the spice ya'll!

Tagging some mooties who may be interested (no pressure though): @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @adrianarose7 @vintaqestar @eyweveng @qcswrites @daeneeryss @oasiswithmyg @delacruzyari @teymars @neteluvr @sulieykte @teyamsatan

And OMG (I feel absolutely rotten for overlooking this until now) - Thank you to the incredible @cinetrix for her render of Neteyam which I've used in the story cover.

You swallowed tightly as Dr Blaise briefed you around the purpose of today’s observation and what was required of you. Your heart was galloping in your chest and you could feel yourself breaking out into a nervous sweat. It amazed you how unconcerned and unaffected she was about the whole thing.

“It’s a simple observation. We’re looking for any key physical differences in appearance, as well as any differences in physiological function.” Dr Blaise stated casually, “No swabs or bloods needed today. Just some notes, photos, and a semen sample. There are sample collection jars in the consultation bay already.”

A semen sample… Good Lord, she said that with all the nonchalance of someone asking for a saliva sample. Though you figured that’s what medical professionalism was all about, right? No awkwardness, no emotion, just plain science and fact.

When Dr Norm Spellman had said that he was writing a book about Pandoran Biology and Na’vi Physiology, you’d jumped at the opportunity to be involved. After all, Pandora was your home. It was the only home you’d ever known. As one of the only two human babies to be born on Pandora, you and Spider were the only generation of humans who’d never known the dying mother planet Earth.

Unlike Spider though who had taken to life on Pandora like a duckling to water, scaling trees, swinging from branches and pretty much adopting himself into the Omatikaya clan, you weren’t anywhere near as outgoing. You’d stuck to the medical labs and the avatar camp for majority of your life, rarely venturing out into the wilderness except to accompany the other scientists on their excursions. Perhaps the only similarity you shared with Spider was that you too were an orphan of war. Your parents had been on the frontlines of the battle between Toruk Makto and the RDA, and they’d met their maker on that fateful day.

You were just an intern currently, but the older staff and scientists were more than willing to teach you. Doing lab observations, drawing blood and other lab technician work was your job, so this morning’s appointment shouldn’t have been any different. And yet it was.

You’d never had to collect a semen sample before.

“Patient is a young unmated male, 23 years of age. Fit. Occupation is hunter-warrior. No pre-existing medical conditions and no recent injuries.” Dr Blaise rationally, handing you the clipboard and pen, “The patient has also been briefed about this appointment, so he knows what to expect and he’s aware he needs to produce a sample.”

“Right, understood.” You mumbled and the words were slightly hoarse. You cleared your throat, dislodging the sticky lump of uneasiness there.

Sensing your discomfort, Dr Blaise placed a heartening hand on your shoulder. Her eyes were kind and the crows’ feet at their corners crinkled as she smiled, “Look, the patient is friendly with the team, one of Jake Sully’s sons actually. So you needn’t worry about any hostility. You’ve done numerous observations and collected all sorts of samples. This is no different. It’s only awkward if you’re awkward. Besides, I’m sure you can understand why Dr Spellman didn’t want to conduct this particular observation himself, what with them being family friends and all.”

A giggle and snort left you at the humorous thought and you found you had to agree. Dr Blaise chuckled alongside you. It would definitely be ten times more awkward if the patient and medical professional were familiar with each other during this observation.

The fleeting moment of hilarity eased the nervous roil in your belly. Tucking your pen into the breast pocket of your lab coat, you took a deep breath and nodded, “Ok, I’ve got this. Thanks Dr Blaise.”

With two thumbs up and a wink, Dr Blaise turned and left you to depart down the corridor, her black pump heels clicking neatly across the hard floor.

Turning to the wall, you grabbed an exopack kit and hooked it to the leather belt around your hips. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you positioned the mask over your face and returned to the doorway that led into the consultation bay. The doorway was tall, much taller than you were used to. All the consultation bays were built big enough with high enough ceilings to accommodate the Na’vi and the avatars. While the main ventilation in the compound was suited to human lungs, the consultation bays were fitted with ventilation to suit their Pandoran patients. Scanning your ID card on the panel of blinking lights on your right, the door slid open with a hiss and you stepped into the bay.

The first thing that always hit you when you entered any of the consultation bays was the sterile scent of it. After a couple of years working here you’d think you’d have got used to it, but every single time the smell was like a synthetic slap to your senses. You wrinkled your nose in distaste. Everything smelled so chemical; too clean and too artificial. It was no wonder the Na’vi didn’t like being in here. If the smell was strong to your human nose, you could only imagine how much more potent it was to their heightened senses.

The second thing to hit you this morning was the sight of the magnificent creature that was standing in the corner of the bay, peering at the various medical models, instruments and books in the wall-mounted glass cabinet. He’d been facing away from you at first, but the sound of your footsteps had caught his attention and he turned to face you then.

A genial smile stretched across his face and he greeted you in a voice that was deep and warm, “Good morning, doctor.”

His use of English surprised you and while his words were accented, his pronunciation was clear. Go figure that Jake Sully would’ve taught his children to speak his mother tongue.

You gave a clumsy laugh and you were quick to correct your patient, “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I’m just an intern. I’m just filling in for Dr Spellman for this observation.”

Your patient grinned toothily at you and gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement, although his tone was teasing when he replied, “Alright Dr ‘Just-An-Intern’, where would you like me?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from your throat at his playful demeanour. You smiled at him. He was charming this one, handsome too. Like all Na’vi, he towered well above you in height at approximately nine and a half feet. Though you noted that he was very well-built. Courtesy of being a warrior, you supposed. Yes, he was muscular in all the places you appreciated in a male… You silently reprimanded yourself for your unprofessional thoughts.

“Just take a seat on that gurney for me.” You replied, gesturing towards the make-shift bed against the wall. Retrieving your pen, you began to scan through the notes at the top of the form on the clipboard, double-checking the patient’s details and ensuring everything on it was as it should be.

“Ah, do you want me to take my tewng (loincloth) off?”

Suddenly remembering the aim of the observation again, you felt hot blood rush to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment, “Umm, yes please.” And in a bid to stop your embarrassment running away with your courage, you launched into a rambling outline of the appointment agenda, “Today’s appointment is an observation around Na’vi male genitalia and sexual function. I’m going to need to make some notes and take some photographs of you, both in a r-relaxed and a-aroused state, and I’m going to need to collect a s-semen sample. If you feel uncomfortable at any point…”

He watched you attentively as you babbled onward, the smooth skin of your face and neck taking on a ruddy and flushed hue. He smiled to himself. You were shy and today’s agenda clearly made you uneasy. He felt a twinge of empathy for you. His father had told him that humans were private about matters of the body, especially where it came to sex and pleasure. The Na’vi held no such restraints; sexual freedom was celebrated.

He’d already removed his tewng and had perched himself on the gurney as instructed, unbothered and uncaring of his own nakedness. He was quietly enjoying your discomfort, but not in a rude or condescending manner. He actually found your unease rather endearing.

“Any questions?” Your prattling came to a finish and you took a deep inhale as if you’d squeezed every last ounce of oxygen out of your lungs rushing to finish your speech without taking another breath.

He graced you with another charming smile, “No. You may proceed.”

Willing yourself to get a grip, you walked on slightly shaky legs to the desk in the corner and plucked the glass tablet from its stand and returned to place it on the end of the gurney. You kept your eyes lowered to your clipboard, filling in the date and the time. You could see the striped cobalt of his muscular legs in your peripheral vision where he sat with his shins dangling off the gurney. For the meantime, you dared not glance any higher than his thighs…

Your eyes moved to a set of highlighted bullet points in the middle of the page that indicated questions the patient had to be asked.

You read the first question aloud, its meaning registering simultaneously in your brain as the words left your lips, “When was the last time you ejaculated?”

You fought the mortification that threatened to consume you and your mind struck up a chant of ‘stay professional, stay professional’ in your head.

“Yesterday morning.” His answer was composed.

“And was that with a partner or was it self-stimulated?” Fuck, maybe you should’ve read the questions before coming in for the observation…

“It was self-stimulated.”

“And do you have a preference for male partners, female partners, or both?”

“Female. Definitely female.”

His voice was a smooth, velvety rumble. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something in his tone stroked over you like an invisible caress that made something clench in your lower belly. You scribbled his answers on the page in a messy scrawl that had more to do with your nerves than your actual style of handwriting.

He continued to observe you as you worked. Your knuckles were pale where your left hand gripped hold of the clipboard and you were so focused, almost concentrating too hard on what you were writing. Nose twitching quietly, he parted his lips and scented the air around. The artificial smell of the bay was unpleasant, but a sweeter and much more appealing smell was filling the vicinity now. Your scent.

The blush on your skin remained and he was sure that if he reached out to touch you that your skin would be hot to the touch where your blood had rushed to the surface. He could smell hints of your perspiration and he could also detect a musky and moist feminine undertone. You were attracted to him… His masculine pride delighted in the realisation. Despite your human form, he found you attractive too.

Finishing up your notes, you settled the clipboard down on the gurney and mentally prepared yourself for the ‘looking’ part of the observation.

Eyes still glued to the brown leather of the gurney’s mattress, you declared your next action, “Alright, just stay relaxed for me with your thighs slightly parted. I’m going to begin the physical part of the observation now.”

“Sure.”

Your gaze travelled from the beautiful stripes on his outer thighs inward to the slightly paler blue of his inner thighs and finally, up to his groin. Suddenly, you didn’t understand why you were so nervous about this. He looked fairly… normal? Apart from the general larger size of everything and the blue hue of his skin, everything was as expected. Feeling a little braver now, you grabbed the glass tablet and took a couple of photos and then set it down to return to your clipboard.

“Is everything the same?” He asked out of the blue, “Same as with human males, I mean.”

You looked to his face instinctively and found his amber eyes trained on you, “Ah yes, more or less. Penis, foreskin, testes; everything expected is there and I haven’t noted any real differences in physiology apart from the lack of hair, but that’s consistent with the lack of body hair all Na’vi have apart from on your heads and tail tufts.”

Following the words down the clipboard sheet you came to a section that was titled ‘Texture and Sensitivity’. You paused. How the fuck were you supposed to assess those? The section didn’t have any required questions or sample questions to help you, and no suggestions either, just a space for you to jot down your notes. You looked from your patient’s body and then to his face, and when he gave you a small smile, your gaze shot back down to your clipboard sheet in embarrassment. Texture and sensitivity were tactile aspects. You didn’t really understand how you could assess them without touching the patient.

Evidently you were taking too long in your deliberation, because your patient’s voice sounded again with a gentle query, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m just trying to work out how to assess the next bit.” You apologised sheepishly. You weren’t doing a very good job of appearing collected, you realised.

“What’s the next part?”

“Texture and sensitivity. So, what it feels like and which parts respond the most to touch.” You stated in as even a voice as possible. You huffed out a laugh then and shrugged, “It’s a tricky one because they’re tactile observations and I don’t know how to assess them when you can’t touch the patient.”

“Why can’t you touch the patient?” His response was clearly a surprise to you and he couldn’t suppress his grin as you goggled at him in shock, “You can touch me if it will enable you to do your job.”

You were almost about to say that you couldn’t possibly do that, but you stopped yourself. You were a med-science professional. The patient was consenting and your research required you to perform a physical examination. In a professional capacity, there was no reason you couldn’t touch the patient to achieve the intended outcome of the examination.

You remembered Dr Blaise’s words: It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. Fuck, you needed to swallow a bucket of concrete and toughen up. The sooner you completed this observation, the sooner you would be out of this uncomfortable situation.

Nodding resolutely, you agreed, “Alright, but you will guide me with your own hands. That way I can be assured that you’re only leading me where you’re comfortable to be examined.”

Your patient dipped his head in agreement, the tuft of his tail curling and uncurling charmingly on the gurney next to him. You set your clipboard down and moved to position yourself before him, standing between his knees. You lifted your eyes to his and they locked with his gentle gaze. Tentatively you offered him your hand and he took it, his large palm and long fingers engulfing it easily.

“So first up, texture?” He reminded, and you nodded.

Slowly, he brought your hand to his crotch and settled your hand over the shaft of his cock. It was very warm beneath your palm. Gently, your fingers tested the slightly springy flesh, noting how smooth and silken his skin was. At this closer proximity, you noticed that there was also spattering of bioluminescent freckles on the shaft. You made a mental note of that.

You touched the base of his cock, gingerly feeling around the length of it and you asked, “What’s the sensitivity like here?”

“I can feel it, but it’s not intense or anything. It’s more sensitive up here.” He guided your fingers nearer to the tip and you stifled a small gasp when he assisted you in pushing his foreskin back to reveal the smooth, dark purple head of his cock.

You’d never interacted with a naked man this close, human or Na’vi, and you certainly had never touched one in such an intimate place. Your body was starting to tingle in various places; in very unprofessional places. It was a surreal situation to be in and you found that you felt oddly calmer now than you were a few minutes ago.

Trailing the pads of your fingers over the smooth tip, you found it was moist and a little slippery. Your thumb tested the underside of it, “Sensation?”

A quiet hiss left him and you instinctively attempted to move your hand away, but his hold over your wrist kept it there, “That’s sensitive. That feels good.”

Your heart was still thumping and your cheeks were still warm, but it wasn’t nerves anymore that were causing your reaction. God, his skin was so soft and so warm… Your curiosity was growing now; your innate desire to explore taking hold of you.

You traced the raised rim of his cock head with your thumb and forefinger, watching as your patient emitted a rumbling groan. His hold on your wrist tightened and he began to move your hand over him. You intuitively wrapped your fingers around his cock. You felt entranced almost, caught up in the moment as you unwittingly began to enjoy the feel of him in your grasp.

The hot flesh in your hand was growing, elongating and engorging as the stimulation aroused him. You watched, amazed, as it swelled to its full capacity. The fingers and thumb of your hand could no longer meet each other. The girth of his cock was easily the same width as your forearm and by your approximations, it looked like it had also more than doubled in length from its relaxed state.

The erect shaft had lengthened out of his foreskin and it was a lovely shade of striated blue all over, except for a paler purple underside and head. In its aroused state, you discovered that while it shared structural similarities to a human male’s genitalia, it also possessed other aspects which were very different. The engorged shaft of his cock was ridged all along its length and as your hand smoothed up and down the column of it, you noted that the ridges were firm and palpable against your hand.

It was the most arousing thing you’d ever seen… Those ridges must feel so good inside for the woman…

You didn’t perceive his eyes on you, watching you as you explored his hard flesh. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even cotton on to the fact that he wasn’t even guiding your hand anymore. He could smell you, smell your arousal dampening between your thighs and the sight of your much smaller hand stroking and squeezing his cock was incredibly sexy.

You ran your enclosed hand in one full stroke from the base of cock and up to the head of it, fascinated by the ridged texture of it and the slippery, bulbous tip. However, your patient emitted a hissing intake of breath then and you jumped a little, snapping out of your thoughts.

“S-Sorry! Is that painful?” You stammered, shooting him a slightly apologetic frown.

He shook his head with a husky chuckle, “No, it’s just very sensitive. A lot more than earlier.”

“Where?” You asked, stroking him from tip to base and back up again.

“Everywhere. The ridges and the head especially.” His voice was notably breathier than before and his breaths were coming quicker, shallower and less even.

“That is fascinating.” You muttered, and your other hand joined in on your exploration. You fondled his balls lightly, observing the weightiness of them.

Your patient grunted and he parted his thighs a bit more. He leaned back to brace his weight on his palms behind him. He gave a small roll of his hips, which caused the top half of his cock to push and pull within your grasp. He moaned and the sound shot straight to the apex of your thighs. When you didn’t object, he continued the motion, thrusting lightly into your hands, both of which were now grasping his length one on top of the other.

Clear and viscous pre-ejaculate began to ooze from his tip, increasing in quantity with each roll of his hips. It was so copious that it was beginning to pool on the backs of your palms and drip down towards your wrist. Lord help you… there was nothing professional anymore about what you were doing… Not that your patient appeared to have any objections…

Still completely spellbound by the situation, your curiosity pushed a murmured query past your lips, “Is there always so much pre-ejaculate?”

“Depends. Generally the more aroused a man is, the more he produces.” He replied and when your bashful gaze lifted to meet his, he smirked wickedly.

You were such a pretty little thing to him, your smaller hands trying their best to keep hold of his slick cock. He knew that this was beyond the normal boundaries of the appointment. He knew that while you would’ve been required to touch him to examine him, stroking him off was probably not anywhere on the agenda. He suspected he was supposed to produce the sample on his own, but looking at you now, so enraptured by his body… How could he have resisted? And besides, he knew you were enjoying this as much as he was, your scent told him so.

You tightened your hold on his cock experimentally, squeezing harder. Each time the swollen head of his cock pushed out of your hands to greet you, you swiped your thumb over the oozing slit on its tip. He was panting heavily now, his impressive abdominals bunching and flexing as he continued to thrust his thick cock through your hold. The bioluminescent freckles that dotted his shaft were glimmering brightly and you never thought you’d ever use the word ‘beautiful’ to describe genitalia, but his cock was gorgeous.

All of him was gorgeous, truth be told…

You were attracted to Na’vi men. Ever since you were old enough to notice the opposite sex, you’d been drawn to male Na’vi. After all, you’d grown up on this moon, inhabited by and surrounded by tall, beautiful Na’vi. The humans who surrounded you at the compound and the camp were your family, and they were all much older. There were no men of your own species to look at or be attracted to. Spider was the only one of your generation and he was like your annoying, gross brother. Your attraction to Na’vi men had been an inevitable result really.

So now as you stood in the consultation bay, between the knees of this striking and aroused Na’vi male while he pumped his cock in and out of your hands, you’d never felt more validated and aroused in your life.

Your patient’s fingers were digging into the squeaky brown leather of the gurney now, straining slightly as his hips continued their onslaught. Your hands and wrists were completely drenched, soaking in his thick pre-cum. The slippery mess caused his cock to squelch obscenely as it slipped through your hold. The whole situation was so sensually explicit and you were never more thankful in your life than you were now that there were no CCTV cameras installed in the consultation bays.

You’d be expelled from your chosen profession for patient abuse… Though by the half-lidded, slack-jawed expression of pleasure on his face, he didn’t look much like he was being unwillingly abused…

A string of Na’vi curses left him then, followed by several panted moans. He abruptly pushed off his palms to sit upright and he stuttered, “W-Where is the container?”

A little stunned by his sudden and urgent tone, you stumbled in your own response, “The w-what? Oh, the sample jar?”

Panting heavily through parted lips, he nodded at you and you pointed to the desk on his left. You saw his gaze follow your eyeline and when he caught sight of the plastic collection jars that sat patiently waiting, he let out a hearty guffaw.

He reached for one and deftly flicked the already loosened lid from its mouth, still chuckling away between his huffing breaths, “It’s so small. You ready, doc?”

“For what?” You asked, realising only as the words left you what a dumb response it was as he handed the sample jar to you.

Your patient smiled at you and it was a salacious leer, all narrowed eyes and pointed canines showing, “You’re about to get your sample.”

One of his hands returned to guide yours, wrapping around your one remaining hand where it encircled his stiff cock. The pace of this rocking thrusts increased and he began to exhale with throaty moans that you swore made your own feminine core throb with desire. Gingerly, you held the collection jar up to him, being extra careful not to drop it.

With two more lurching breaths, his abdominal muscles contracted and his back bowed inward, his entire torso going rigid. You felt his cock harden impossibly before it pulsed and the breath he was holding left him in a coarse growl while his face twisted into an almost pained expression. His cock pulsed again and the first spurt of ejaculate missed the sample jar entirely, landing with a warm splat in the middle of your chest where the frills of your blue blouse peeked out from behind your lab coat. Quickly, his free hand grabbed hold of yours to position the jar better, while his other hand attempted to position his cock so he could shoot straight into it.

He was absolutely breathtaking in the midst of his orgasm. The luminous freckles on his face were twinkling and the striped cobalt skin of his neck and chest was glossy with a sheen of sweat. His cock continued to throb and pulse, emitting rope after rope of thick cum that splattered untidily over the mouth and sides of the sample jar.

You could see why he’d laughed at the size of it. There was no way the small jar could have held the full volume of what he was producing.

Coming down now off the high of his climax, your patient slouched against the wall behind the gurney, breathing hard. He caught your eye and he grinned indolently at you.

The adrenalin and heightened arousal in the atmosphere was fading rapidly now, and cold, hard reality was slowly returning to you. You looked at the pearlescent contents of the sample jar, which was still decently full despite majority of the sample not making it in there. You smiled to yourself.

Mission accomplished and what an exciting mission it was…

Carefully setting the jar down on the flat worktop of the metal sink next to you, you replaced the lid on it with sticky fingers and made a note to thoroughly wipe the jar down later before handing it to the lab techs.

Returning your attention to your patient, you smiled at him, suddenly shy again, “Thank you for your co-operation today. I’ll leave you to clean and freshen up. You can see yourself out after.”

His answering laugh was husky and he dipped his head at you, “I should be thanking you for your co-operation I think, doc.”

“Not a doc, remember?” You grinned at him and you were about to turn on heel to depart into the adjacent washroom when you heard him call out to you again.

“Hey Not-A-Doc, if you ever need another sample, I’m happy to provide another one, whether for med-science research or your own personal research.”

A girlish giggle left you and you felt your face flame again. You shook your head, making your way into the washroom to clean yourself up. He was a naughty one that one…

[kaiist]

If you can, could you explain to me what different types of fics there are nowadays?

I don't know if I've just gotten old (I'm 27, but I've been reading fanfiction since I was like 15) or been stuck in a closet somewhere, 🤦🏼‍♀️ but all I'm used to, are just plain old fics. But now theres like drabbles etc and I'm so confused... 😩 And you just seem so nice, that I tried to be more brave and finally ask this, since its been on my mind for a while...

Because I'm also really shy and honestly quite insecure, so if I want to request or share a story to someone, I start to really overthink it and fear that I sound stupid or something because I don't know these things... 😓

Hello! First of all, thank you for the ask! I was completely clueless about all this stuff, too. For the longest time, I was just a casual reader who didn’t know the difference between a drabble or a headcanon either and all that. You’re not alone!

Here’s a quick rundown of some common fic types you might see nowadays (that I know of!):

Drabble: a very short fic, usually around 100 words or less. It’s like a tiny little scene or moment, a little snapshot!

Headcanon: not exactly a story, but more like a personal idea or “what if” about characters or their world that a fan imagines and shares.

Scenario: A short fic or description that explores a specific situation or scene with characters, kind of like a mini story focused on one moment.

One-shot: A complete story told in one go, no need for part two or continuation.

Blurb: A short (usually catchy) summary or explanation, like a quick pitch. It’s meant to give someone an idea of what something is, without going into too much detail.

SMAU: A storytelling format where the story is told through fake screenshots of texts, tweets, IG posts, and other social media interactions. Instead of traditional narration, you get to “watch” the characters interact like they’re real people living in today’s digital world.

And don’t be insecure about not knowing, you don’t sound stupid at all! You’re doing great just by being curious. If you ever want to ask something, or even request anything, go for it—you’re more than welcome here! ヾ(〃^∇^)ﾉ

[these-written-reveries]

Cuddles with Joker (Ft. Grumpy J)

‣ Pairing: Ledger!Joker/Jack Napier x GN!Reader

‣ Summary: Cuddles with J can be sweet...but quite dangerous too...

‣ Genre: fluff

‣ Warnings: grumpy/soft!J, super tiny suggestive hint somewhere, casual mention of murder, lightly proofread.

‣ Word Count: 947

‣A/N: Was going through my old notes and found this. While I haven't written for Jack in a long time, and probably won't write any new material anytime soon (unless inspiration miraculously hits again), I figure the Joker fandom is always in need of more content, right? So, here you go! (Maybe I'll post some of my other old J notes/drabbles sometime as well?)

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆

◆ J would never say it, but he loves cuddling. HUGE cuddler, this one.

◆ He loves to be enveloped by you.

◆ Sometimes he'll come up to you, no words spoken, but distinct intention in his eyes as he crawls into bed, wraps his arms around you, and dives into your neck.

◆ You're not even surprised by this anymore. In fact, you look forward to it. These moments don't happen every day.

◆ When it does happen, you are quick to wrap your arms and legs around him, giving him what he wants.

◆ Each time, he lets out a sigh as his entire body relaxes.

◆ Doesn't matter the position, so long as all of your limbs are wrapped around his body.

◆ You're like his personal weighted blanket, pillow, and teddy bear all in one.

◇ (He's the real teddy bear in this relationship, but you better keep that to yourself.)

◆ You plan to wake up early in the morning to get things done? FORGET IT. Work? HA! AS IF…

◆ No, no, no, YOU are gonna stay right where J wants you to. Safe and sound in his arms.

◇ (More like chained and bound in his arms because there's no way in hell he's letting you go anywhere.)

◆ You try to move and suddenly he's growling a warning into your neck like a predator to its prey.

◇ "Nuh-uh...Don't even think about it."

◆ Sometimes no coherent words are spoken, and all that's heard is a low grumble of annoyance.

◆ Like a python, each time you move, even slightly, his arms grow tighter around you.

◆ Don't worry, though, he makes sure to leave just enough room for you to breathe (barely).

◆ It's a borderline hostage situation, but so long as you give the man what he wants, you'll be just fine.

◆ Now, it is no secret that J is NOT a morning person. At least, not in the usual way…

◆ He does his best work in the darkest hours of the night through early morning, scampering around the city of Gotham and leaving chaos in his wake.

◆ If he happens to be home, the only way he'll ever get to bed is if you physically drag him to it—usually at some ungodly hour of the morning. Otherwise, he'll go for days without sleep until his body completely crashes on its own.

◆ Even when he's asleep, he holds you tightly, almost as if he's afraid you'll go running off during his slumber. He can't have that…

◆ If you do manage to get him to bed, especially if you're lucky enough to get him to bed at somewhat of a reasonable time, you best leave him be.

◆ At this point, there is an unspoken rule between the two of you. You want him to sleep? You're staying with him the whole time. And if you wake him up too early? Be prepared to face the beast that will certainly arise.

◆ See, you may have had your full beauty sleep by the time the morning hours hit, but J certainly hasn't. Waking J up too early is a hornet's nest you don't wanna go poking at.

◆ That said…You secretly love grumpy J…

◆ Grumpy J has been known to kill anyone who disturbs his sleep on the spot. He's ruthless and unforgiving. Downright dangerous.

◆ But to you? To you, he's harmless. Cute, even.

◆ J would NEVER hurt you (minus a few exceptions, *wink, wink*).

◆ He may still be grumpy and growly and demanding. And he may certainly deny your lungs from being filled with the proper amount of oxygen. But he would never hurt you.

◆ In fact, you tell him his grip is too tight, he'll loosen up for you. Not too much, of course. And if you're REALLY lucky, he'll even press a little kiss to your skin, wherever his lips can reach—one of the smallest, yet loudest forms of fondness and care that Grumpy J is capable of showing.

◆ Don't get me started on how much J LOVES your affection during cuddle time. Even Grumpy J would never deny your love, though he may pout and grumble his way through it.

◆ One thing about J is HE'S A LIARRRR… An exceptionally honest man in most cases with you, except for when it comes to how much he adores your love for him—in all of its many forms.

◆ As much as he tries to hide this, his body always gives the truth away.

◆ You pet his hair, or—even better—run those gentle fingers through it? He's already melting into you, borderline purring like a cat.

◆ Kisses? Your lips? Anywhere? He's fucking done for. It may not appear as so on the outside, but so help him, he's spinning out of control on the inside. His heart is racing, his body is tingling, his head is spinning. Only you give him that kind of rush. And, oh, does he love you for that.

◆ Your hands caressing his back, fingertips gently tracing over the scars on his chest and arms, drawing new shapes on his skin. If you've reached this stage, he's already a big pile of mush. There's no hiding it now and he knows it. Your touch makes him go loopy in the best fucking way.

◆ The moments when you wrap yourself around him, encasing him with your entire body are quite literally the only moments he feels truly safe and content. Will he EVER say any of this to you? ABSOLUTELY NOT. But, he doesn't have to. You know. And he knows you know. And that's all that matters.

◆ So please, for his sake and yours, give the man his cuddles. And don't expect to be released for quite some time after…

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆

L!Joker/Jack Napier Masterlist

Main Masterlist

‣Taglist: @jslittlebirdie @alittlesmartcookie

‣ If you’d like to join the taglist for Ledger!Joker/Jack, let me know by sending me an ask/message, or comment on this post!

💜 Comments and Reblogs mean the world to me! 💜

[ambitiouspotions]

FOR THE TROOP | FRANKIE MORALES | DRABBLE

summary — frankie is trying to convince his friends to buy his daughter’s girl scout cookies

word count — 1.5k

warnings — domestic fluff (dad frankie, three kids), post triple frontier, redfly’s death mentioned, casual drinking

author’s note — totally forgot this was in my drafts, and now i’m remembering my brownie scout days like it was yesterday

five mismatched camping chairs were lining the front of the open garage. all of the chairs besides the one furthest to the left were occupied, which was reserved for tom, who hadn't been present for six years but still deserved a spot when the guys gathered. there was an opened beer in the cupholder because tom still needed a drink too.

the spring breeze was nudging the freshly weeded flowerbeds. frankie had his hat hanging over the ear of the chair, sipping a cold corona with a squeezed lime wedge shoved in the neck of the bottle. he itched the underside of his jawline as he watched his three children dart in and out of the lawn sprinkler.

frankie's khaki cargo shorts and t-shirt still had remnants of water droplets on them from setting up the sprinkler. he was manspreading in his chair, comfortable in the weather the day had provided.

you were inside the house attempting to clean while your husband had everyone outside. even if the chores needed to be done it was relaxing without any human under four and a half feet tall questioning your every move. so you played the speaker a little too loudly, but to clear your slightly guilty conscience you left the screen of the door open if anyone happened to need your help.

as the eldest of the three morales children settled the younger two into some sort of ridiculous game, frankie cleared his throat. “alright, we can't just sit and drink beer,” he rocked his shoulder blades back a little, setting his beer securely in the chair’s cup holder. “we have business to attend to.”

“your text literally said ‘drinks on me, watching kids,” benny reminded him with a half smirk.

“i couldn't get you all here without incentive,” frankie rummaged through his pocket quickly pulling out a folded order sheet for girl scout cookies. the rainbow page and its partially filled-out information were now taking frankie’s attention. “so who's forking over cash for mi mija?”

will chuckled, glancing at the sheet. “oh no.”

“she's been working hard,” frankie said defensively. “if her troop sells the most cookies they get a weekend sleepover at the horse ranch. you're gonna take away ponies from a seven-year-old?”

“fine three boxes: two thin mints and one shortbread,” will agreed, as if he would've actually said no in the first place. he loved that little girl like she was his own.

“i'll take two of the peanut butter,” santiago was already pulling out his wallet as frankie jotted down the information on the order sheet.

“one, make ‘em samoas,” benny mumbled, having a very hard sense of self-control he was forced to wash over himself.

“one box?” frankie was personally offended. he wanted his daughter’s troop to have the best chance they could at receiving the grand prize from the most cookie sales.

“i'm cutting and i can't be sneakin’ cookies in the middle of the night. gotta stay in shape,” benny took a drink of his beer.

“she wants to sit by the bonfire after playing cowgirl all day, man. do you not have a soul?” frankie tapped his pen against paper. “buy more and freeze 'em’ for when you're bulking.” frankie insisted like any good dad salesman would.

“hell no, too much temptation,” benny stood firmly on his morals trying not to give into that coconut caramel goodness.

“you guys gotta step up, this much,” frankie made a small pinching motion with his fingers. “you're killing me. mija wants to be a future business leader of america and you’re denying ponies in her youth.” if he could have been standing on a soapbox he would have been.

santiago shrugged casually. “if you're pressed about it maybe you need to be buying them, fish.”

frankie became oddly quiet, glancing to his children playing and then to the house. he steadied his beer in his cup holder before leaning back in his chair to see if you were near the screen door behind them. you still seemed to be occupied.

even with your cleaning music playing in the background frankie still began to whisper. “none of you, and i mean, none of you can say shit.”

will, benny, and santiago all leaned in just a bit. frankie’s gaze was guarding the door as if it was going to open any second.

“i already bought some,” frankie confessed.

santiago furrowed his brows. “some?”

“some” didn't seem like any reason to be ducking down like a kid who was hiding a bad test score.

“like a fuckin’ pallet.” frankie had a completely straight face.

will’s mouth dropped slightly. “you mean like a case?”

frankie shook his head, cringing a bit knowing he was about to fully out himself to his friends. “no, like a pallet.” he reiterated. “it’s little over two thousand boxes.”

“fish, what the fuck?” benny cursed in that all knowing tone that his friend had officially lost his mind.

oblivious to all of the conversation, frankie’s children were laughing and giggling, shoving their faces into the stream of water as the sprinkler oscillated.

frankie was immediately trying to justify his actions. “i know a guy in mexico city and he said he’d buy ‘em when i drop ‘em on my next flight.”

santiago was grinning from ear to ear, trying to contain himself. “you're trafficking cookies?” it was almost too ridiculous to comprehend his friend being so head over heels for his daughter that he was pushing girl scout cookies across the border.

“hey,” frankie warned. “she’s been making posters and called everyone on mami’s phone, and i’m just giving her a boost.”

“what is that like…ten thousand dollars worth of a boost?” will did some quick configuring, he was off by a couple thousand, but he was trying to be less harsh with his guess.

one hundred sixty-eight cases to a pallet and twelve boxes per case with the inclusion of the six dollars a box charge, frankie had spent a hefty penny. he couldn't buy less than a pallet, so he went for the big purchase.

“and speaking of mami?” benny raised a brow questioningly. he knew that you definitely wouldn’t be on board with this scenario, especially with his friend becoming so secretive in order to spill the information.

“she doesn't know yet because she hasn't seen the credit card statement yet” frankie was now avoiding eye contact with his friends. he also was in no rush to correct will’s incorrect guess about the amount of money he had spent.

frankie had the shipment of cookies routed to the airport already. they were tucked away in the hanger ready to be flown out.

“he’s a dead man walkin’,” benny laughed, holding his stomach. he couldn't contain himself any longer.

“i was gonna tell her—”

redfly would be telling frankie to get comfortable with his sofa right about now. there was no way that he could get away from this argument unscathed. this wasn't an accident of spending an extra hundred dollars at costco; this was basically a small loan.

“—but what didn't want to admit you were crazy?” santiago laughed.

frankie was turning his head again to make sure all the laughter didn't spook his wife.

“look at her,” frankie gestured loosely to the yard. his oldest and only girl was prancing around in her rainbow peace sign bathing suit conducting the younger two boys. “was i supposed to let her down?”

“i think she would've been fine, fish,” will mumbled, eyeing the youngest of the morales children waddling over with a soaked diaper.

frankie immediately scooped up the little boy, not minding that he was soaking wet. he grabbed a towel from under his chair and wrapped the boy tightly. “you don't have kids you wouldn't get it.” he shrugged, patting the little boy’s back.

“you didn't see her face,” frankie tried to justify his reasoning again. “her troop out of the entire county has to sell enough, and i mean that's miserable.”

the men were silent for a moment, living in the moment of the spring day, partially judging and partially sympathetic to his situation.

“FRANCISCO MORALES,” a loud voice erupted from through the screen door. frankie winced.

you had started going through the mail on the counter, trying to clear the clutter from the kitchen, and almost thought the paper bill was a mistake. that was until you began checking the charge on the mobile app which was linked to frankie’s card—that could only mean one thing—he was the one stupid enough to actually do it.

“alright, nice knowing you, hermano,” santiago immediately stood up, ruffling the hair of the youngest morales in the process.

“uh-uh, you got this, fish,” benny nodded, signaling his brother, will, to pick up the pace by getting himself off the camping chair.

will placed his beer into frankie’s secondary cup holder. “you're gonna need that more than me, man.”

his friends were quick to make themselves scarce.

frankie exhaled, looking mighty guiltily at you through the screen door. “hey mami, you look as radiant as ever,” he began though only earning squinted eyes from you.

the two other children were running up to their father when they noticed him going towards the screen door. they might have been his last saving grace.

[velvetlilith777]

Normal.

Rafayel x Female Reader

18+ NSFW 🥀 MDNI

"tell me you love me... i won't hold you to it, just say it."

author's note: this was a lil drabble i did for my pookie @burekforsatoru to get me back into writing, and i loved it so much that i thought i would post it here too. inspired by a prompt on our prompt list!

cw: p in v, unprotected sex, they're not in a relationship!

word count: 559

it’s normal now. the way your thighs burn from every ricochet and carefully angled rock of your hips. his deft fingers digging into your waist, leaving indents that will linger like his name on your lips in the following blue hours of the morning. how your chest arches into his when it all gets to be a bit too much, euphoria clouding your senses, filling your lungs like someone released smoke laced with the most lethal aphrodisiac into his room. the breathless worship that cascades from his mouth into yours as you lean on him in surrender, his hips pistoning steadily into yours, sharing his load in chasing your combined high. two figures illuminated in an incandescent glow, flickering against your heavenly form, flames dancing as if made by the gods to highlight every curve of your soft body.

normal. casual. supposedly, at least. a means to an end. close proximity. whatever you wanted to call it, it definitely wasn't. hushed cries of ignored feelings bubbling up in both of your stomachs, opting to swap whimpers and groans into the other's mouth instead of ruining something you can’t stop with words you shouldn't say.

but while fucking himself up into your warm cunt, something shatters in rafayel. trailing his fingers up your spine, sticky with sweat, while your head lay heavy in the crook of his neck as you babble honeyed whines against his skin, he’s unable to ignore the writing you’ve both memorized in the linings of his walls.

maybe it’s the way your delicate fingers press into his chest, crescent moons etching in his muscles beneath you, grounding yourself while offering him rare vulnerability that has his head spinning. hearing your pouty lips stuttering his name like it’s always been yours to call, a siren song meant for him programmed deep within your soul that’s hazing his good sense. this is temporary, and deep down he knows it.

fuck if that voice of reason doesn't fly out the window when you sit yourself back up, the impression of aphrodite bouncing on his aching length. sticky mess coating the insides of your pretty legs, plush and glistening with arousal. he thinks it might be far more divine than anything the greats ever labored to invoke on some old canvas, now hung and revered in museums. works he travailed to equate his own to for years, dreaming of his pieces neighboring legends. but he wants this for himself. he needs this for himself. needs to feel you wrapped around him, clinging to him like your mortality depends on it. needs you doe eyed, looking at him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever wished for while he works your nerves towards ecstasy. but you're not his to take, you're his to have in these shared moments of desire for now.

but shit, he can try and pretend, even if for the night.

“tell me you love me.” a strangled grunt erupts from his chest following his imploration. “i won't hold you to it. just say it.”

his breath is baited as your hand leaves his pec, pace faltering slightly as you motion for his own, intertwining your fingers when he obliges. both of you aware the static in the air changes whatever you’ve had going on without recourse.

“i love you.” panting, gasping, confessing. “please, use it against me.”

[prettyiwa]

Wind Breaker Masterlist | 25k

+ eventual NSFW, will be tagged

Sakura Haruka, Suo Hayato | 2.4k

Clueless ⇢ Ficlet: 2k | SFW | Pre-Relationship. FWB. Suo is a menace. ⇢ You and Sakura are entirely clueless when it comes to the other's affections. Suo is not, and has a little bit of fun at your expense before pushing you two together.

Revelations (WIP) ⇢ – | NSFW | FWB. Feelings Realization. Suo is a menace. ⇢ Continuation of Clueless ⇢ Suo revels in the opportunity to fuck with you at the worst possible moments, always playing with the truth to do so. Unfortunately for him, he opens himself up to a similar discovery that he forced upon you.

longer than it should ⇢ Drabble: 464 | SFW | Pre-Relationship. FWB. Casual Affection.

Sakura Haruka | 22.5k

Hanakotoba (AO3) ⇢ Series: 17.2k | 5/12 | SFW | Post-Canon. Strangers to Lovers. ⇢ His voice replays in your mind, the deliberate way he spoke your name, and you feel it in your heart. Sakura Haruka has the potential to be someone important in your life. The edges of such a thought feel almost like an inevitability. Shortly after moving to Makochi, you encountered the old Bofurin class 1 captain and his old vice captains, and you offered them thanks as befitting the new florist on Tonbu Street. (Pressed Flowers) ⇢ Drabble: 540 | SFW | Falling in Love. Flower Language.

leaf in your hair (AO3) ⇢ Ficlet: 1.4k | SFW | Pre-Relationship. Hair Cutting. Fluff. ⇢ Sakura's cut his own hair for as long as he can remember, so it surprises him a little when you express interest in giving him his next haircut. ⇢ (Bonus)

and you love me (AO3) ⇢ Ficlet: 1.9k | SFW | Established Relationship. Marriage Proposals. ⇢ Suo once teased Nirei when Sakura was around and Sakura took it to heart. You don't find out about it until it leads to an interesting conversation that changes the course of your relationship.

a wish for you (AO3) ⇢ Ficlet: 2.2k | SFW | Pre-Relationship. Star-gazing. Pining. ⇢ Sakura lets you drag him through the woods to the river, all so you can show him the unimpeded night sky.

Dear Haruka (WIP) ⇢ Fic: – | SFW | Heavy Angst. Grief. Mourning. ⇢ All it took was a single phone call for your world to come crashing down. Following the advice of your grief counselor, you find another way to talk to Haruka again.

on patrol (AO3) ⇢ Drabble: 610 | SFW | Pre-Relationship. Fluff.

Haruka's Hands ⇢ HC: 98 | SFW | Domestic Fluff. Teaching New Skills.

When Haruka finds out your mother died ⇢ HC: 99 | SFW | Grief. Comfort.

Sakura's Influences: Kaji vs. Umemiya

Umemiya Hajime | –

Itadakimasu (WIP) ⇢ – | SFW | Established Relationship. Eating Together. Fluff. ⇢ When he finds you missing from bed in the late hours of the night, Umemiya knows exactly where to find you.

Fic RBs | Navigation | Last Updated: 26 June 2025

[nabi-unveiled]

Nabi Notices (April 15, 2025)

Too many all-night work sessions in a row meant I ran out of energy early last week and skated on fumes until Sunday.

What little energy I had leftover I used to make a list of characters that had also run out of spoons. Feel free to add to that list. It was very much just the characters off the top of my head.

I also had fun doing tag dives into shows I enjoyed in the past. Going forward I may still do an occasional tag dive on a low energy day, but I'll probably add those to queue.

The Things I Noticed This Week:

My watch pattern also reflected this lack of energy. Anything that would typically be a long-form post (like Heesu in Class 2 ) got pushed to the side. Anything that might require a high level of mental processing (like When Life Gives You Tangerines) got pushed aside until at least Sunday. Shows that required no thinking were my bread and butter this week. I also did a lot of rewatches of scenes I had enjoyed recently....just because.

Despite all that, I still managed to take in some new things.

Fabulous Fit

Top Form has great fits. It has had great fits in every episode. I've particularly enjoyed Jin's outfits and when Akin wore Jin's clothes. However, the show has always taken another category in my weekly posts so I typically don't talk about the fits. But this week, Akin's outfit in the smoking shoot was divine. I loved everything about it. I only wish I had gotten a better full body shot.

As a runner up, I also liked this casual fit in Fight for You. I'd definitely wear it - particularly the jeans.

Side note: I find it interesting that both Fight for You and Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist are doing this smaller box, old TV style framing for their flashbacks.

Fascinating Find

I'm partway through Episode 3 of Love for Love's Sake (no spoilers please). But the posts for ep 1 & 2 have triggered some fun discussions. In particular, @dropthedemiurge let me know that pizza bread would be sweet which was fascinating. I had always assumed it was like garlic knots with some toppings kneaded in.

Now being sweet doesn't necessarily mean it would be unappealing to me. I do live in a community where jello is called "salad" on a regular basis.

But it did prompt a big recipe search to try to figure out if I could make the dish at home and test it out. DIY pizza, cheese bread, etc. are regulars in our household rotation anyways. I found all kinds of recipes...some with mayonnaise, some with corn. I kept getting recipes for sausage ppang, and I couldn't figure out if they're the same thing, variations of the same thing or completely different. Again, it was a low energy week. Brain capacity was limited. Eventually, my mini sous chef picked a recipe for sausage ppang that we'll try sometime soon. It may not be pizza bread, but it still looked yummy.

Fantastic Frame

If someone had paid better attention when building Jin Hwan's pinboard in Business as Usual, the info I learned researching the pinboard might have been the fascinating find this week.

But they included pictures from a company with a well-known hallmark that as best as I can tell wouldn't have existed 8+ years ago. Only slightly annoyed 🙄, because that means the smaller details can't be trusted in this show. And in a show relying on partial viewpoints and flashbacks, I WANT to trust the small details.

It's okay though, because the show did give me this scene as a beautiful location for a shared meal.

I love that this feels like their private space, and they have soft light shining on them throughout the scene. It's warm and cozy. Based on the preview, it looks like we're getting more scenes from this location. So yay for that!

Fun Fluorish

I was informed by @dribs-and-drabbles that there's a steamy bookcase scene later on in Cooking Crush. I had only watched the first two episodes of that show before life got chaotic and it fell to the wayside. But I picked it back up so I can enjoy the bookcase scene as intended. I restarted at episode 1 since it had been a hot minute.

The little animations and cartoon moments were a delight this week. It was just the kind of light-hearted fun I needed.

It was a nice touch that Chef had similar stickers on his locker.

Favorite Fragment

For me to consider something a "favorite fragment", it means the line either needs to strike me hard enough when watching to take particular note OR it needs to get stuck in my head.

Most of the shows I watched this week, even ones I really enjoyed, did not have lines like that. Or I was too tired to take note if they did. The exception - When Life Gives You Tangerines. The dialogue in that show ALWAYS hits. However, it hits so hard and so often that I have decided not to include it in these weekly posts. The dialogue in that show deserves its own post....sometime down the road.

So what did I choose this week? I'm cheating. I picked the book quote from Pride and Prejudice that Mark read in My Golden Blood.

"I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

Because that's my truth on SO many different levels.

My Queue for the Coming Week:

As always, it's really up to whim and fancy. There will always be things that I watch that are NOT on this list.

I know I'll watch:

Top Form (Ep 6)

Business as Usual (Ep 3)

Things I'll most likely watch:

Love for Love's Sake (Finish Ep 3; Ep 4)

Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist (Ep 4)

When Life Gives You Tangerines (Ep 5)

I'm also hoping to catch up with my writing on Heesu in Class 2 so that I can watch ep 5/6. I think I'm just going to be behind everyone on that one.

[reds-writings]

OH MY GAWD YOU ARE SO FREAKIN TALENTED!

Seriously, every time you post, I immediately get this happy tingle inside. I think it’s basically a pavlov dog kind of instinct by now.

Everything you write feels so real. You take time with the details, with characterisation, you even write out the accents. It’s got this very meticulous quality to it, which is really rare and enthralling.

If you are feeling inspired by this prompt from the miscellaneous list, I would be thrilled to see what you can come up with

“The residual fear and anxiety after waking from a nightmare.”

thank you!! this is such a high compliment i am positively giddy. for this one i kinda did something different. reader gets comforted for once as opposed to rust! this drabble includes a bit of a sneak peek of what she went through after he left for alaska. fair to say it's a little heavy! hope you enjoy!

Nightmares visited you sparingly with the amount of attended therapy and self-care efforts you had made towards yourself over the past decade. It unfortunately hadn’t meant that they’d ever release your tired mind for good. Always involving the same scenario. July of 03. The Bayou. Those girls. Deafening gunfire riddling anything it could find. The searing pain of Lenny Broussard’s vengeful knife. You as the tragically doomed target. That stench of death burning your nostrils something sinister, stomach made to twist unforgivably. One way or another, you were forced to relive it on repeat in the inescapable realm of sleep. 

You’d had one tonight. It had maybe been a month or two since the last one but it shook you all the same. Ironically, the longer in between these nightmares the harder the come down was when they made their attack once again. Sweat stuck to you like some sickly second skin and your hands couldn’t cease their trembling no matter how hard you balled your fists. Defenses always remained high after these fits, like you’d somehow be unlucky enough to find yourself sent back in time to suffer the consequences of that failed raid in one torturously hellish loop. 

It had been raining hard outside for a while now. Using the violent downpour as white noise to helplessly quiet your unsteady mind, you had been curled in on yourself on the couch for God only knows how long now. The buzz of adrenaline had numbed your skin, keeping you locked in place like some petrified statue. The silent tears that once ran blood hot now stained your swollen face in a dry track as you fought off any lingering tremors. 

The sound of shuffling footsteps on hardwood had your aching muscles tightening up again and sinuses stinging with the threat of incoming saltwater. A hesitant hand came to rest on your hair, freezing in place at your sudden jolt at the contact. But you knew that touch. That veil of cigarette smoke and cologne that was so uniquely Rust. He hadn’t ever seen you like this before. Ever. The both of you hadn’t been able to really talk about all that he missed from Alaska. The window of opportunity had no room to present itself in the midst of you giving your all to making sure he healed successfully over the past several weeks.

His careful fingers brushed the curtain of hair obscuring your troubled face to tuck what they could behind your neck. He’d gotten a glimpse of some of the old scars from the gruesome attack here and there but you were careful to keep most out of view for his fragile sake. The one taking up most of the left side of your face often rendered him painfully remorseful whenever he really focused on it. An unmerciful marker to remind you both of the near-fatal blow that almost robbed you of life once and for all. His throat would always find itself tightening at the thought of having been so casually unaware of what horrors had occurred due to his ill-fated cowardice. From what he gathered, you had gone at it all alone minus the initial help from your sister living in New Orleans. Marty hadn’t offered much on the story. Whether it was because he didn’t feel like it was his place to share or he wasn’t around for much of it at the time, Rust hadn’t the nerve to ask. 

When you made no further shuddering movements, he gently maneuvered your trembling form into the haven of his lap. His other hand came to guide your head to his erratically beating heart. Discovering you so visibly small and frightened did plenty to set him off. You always cared for everyone else more than you ever would for yourself. It was a rare occurrence for him to be the one cradling you as opposed to any other scenario where it always seemed to be the other way around. 

“It’s okay, baby.” He kept his tone hushed as he gently rocked you back and forth. The tenderness of the notion had your body wracking in reviving sobs. All he could do was continue to sway and mumble words of comfort so that he may just ease your mind by a fraction. 

“We’re safe. You gotta breathe for me, baby. Breathe. Just like that.” Rust exaggerated inhaling and exhaling for you to follow. Soft kisses dotted your hairline as your hands unfurled to wrap around his sturdy midsection. If you had half the mind, you’d be embarrassed to find yourself balled up like some baby in your lover’s arms. You couldn’t find it in you to care one bit. No one could do what he was currently doing for you now in all the time you had been alone. 

Once your breaths had started to calm down again he moved your head so that he could see you more clearly despite still being shrouded in the dark. You were sure you were a grisly sight. Snotty, sniffly, puffy, and all. He didn’t give a shit about any of it. His heart burned all the brighter at the vulnerability you entrusted him with enough to display. The calloused pad of his thumb drew itself feather-light over your scar, making your eyes flutter shut. Not much about you had changed, not much could with an eternal beauty like yours, he decided. 

He brought himself down to kiss your marred cheek, then reverently once more to your forehead, before tugging you closer into his body as if to act as a shield against the world around you. 

“I’m sorry.” It seemed to be the only thing he could say lately. You just shook your head and nuzzled in as much as you were physically able, sticking to him like makeshift velcro. You just wanted to feel less at a distance from everything with him by your side. 

Rust was your tether and he’d be damned to ever let you go again. 

[junicult]

i was looking through my masterlist and saw my new husband harvey post & inspo struck. hence, this.

contains ; fluff. sm fluff. new husband!harvey. fem!farmer. drabble. this might be kinda niche??😭😭 looking through harvey’s baby book <3

the boxes, once piled all throughout your previously vacant living room, now limited after the many hours spent working through them. you chose to take a chunk of your day off for this, helping him with the unpacking as he would’ve for you.

although you were leaving one chore for another, there was something so refreshing in the way you sorted through his old stuff, casually making comments about each item before placing it where you deemed fit.

you eventually got to one of the heavier boxes, filled with medical books you didn’t bother to open. just placing them beside you for him to move later.

towards the bottom were books you ended up recognizing from your own childhood, gushing short comments about how the nostalgia made your heart warm, and how you couldn’t wait to pass them onto your own children (which definitely didn’t go ignored by your husband.)

you reached for one that was unrecognizable to you, wide with a wrinkled spine and a puffy, plain cover. “what’s this?” you mumble absentmindedly, cracking it open to peek at the front page.

“hm?” he hums across the room, distracted with his own box.

the distressed corners of the open page, small bubble letters in text that instantly gave you the clue you needed, along with the neat writing of “harvey” underneath.

you gasp at the realization, a little too exaggerated in the way your lips pull to a pout and a loud, “aww,” whines from your throat.

“what?” he jumps, a frantic pinch in his eyebrows as he turns to face you.

you quickly open to the next page, where immediately, you melt.

there’s multiple photographs, the first one of a baby with thin, brown hair that’s hardly a month old. he’s being held in someone’s arms, someone you immediately recognize as your husband’s mother.

“it’s your baby book!” you chirp, leaning in to look at the photo with the softest eyes and the subtlest lip quiver.

the next photo underneath continues to be another baby photo, seemed to be taken the same day as the last, where he’s being held by his father. the sentimental aspect makes your heart ache.

“oh, i haven’t seen that in years.” harvey chuckles, now standing over you.

“aww, you look so cute. look at your little hands,” you gush, scanning the contents of each photo like it was your job.

you whine again when you flip to the next page. the photograph is of harvey, around age two at this point with short, messy brown hair. he’s got a shy smile on his face, cheeks red and due to the pumpkins in the background and the clothes he’s wearing, it’s clear it’s around autumn.

“i think that was my first time at a pumpkin patch.” he contextualizes, to which you let out another enamored squeal.

you don’t even pay attention to him taking a seat next to you, so captivated with the little book in your hands.

you continue to scan each photo, even a few that carry a small caption underneath. several candids of him at home, some at what you can only infer is an airport—wide shots of him standing next to large planes with an eager grin, or even just him sleeping on the couch that his mom or dad took purely for the sake of how silly it was.

he sits beside you, only a little interested with the photos, but more focused on how you react with each one.

the way your eyes crinkle each time you sweetly sigh. you’ve propped your feet on the coffee table, resting the book on your bent knees while flipping through each page, making sure not to skip a single one.

and each time you find a particularly sentimental photo, you look at him for the backstory that lies behind it.

you flip to a picture where he’s grinning wide at the camera, around age seven or eight. there’s a large gap between his teeth, and the context is clear in the way he’s holding up the missing tooth with his thumb and forefinger for the camera to see.

this is the first picture where he’s wearing glasses, similar to the ones he still adorned even 25 years later.

“harvey,” you drawl, tone pitched an octave higher as you still carry the same whine. “this is so sweet, why haven’t you ever shown me this?”

“i would’ve if i knew i still had it,” he explains, looking from you to the book.

he can’t even remember when he last thought of it. maybe the last time he actually spent this much time sifting through it was when he was in college, so to be sitting here with the woman he married only days ago, well, it did something to him.

the soft whimpers you’d let out looking at an old photo of him posing with armfuls of his favorite miniature planes.

how you giggled when you stumbled on a photo he remembers being vividly embarrassed about, teasing him for such while his cheeks grow red and you eagerly beg for the backstory, in which he won’t tell you, so you end up saying, “fine, i’ll just have to call your mom and ask about it later.”

and it feels like his whole world is falling into place when you lean in to get a closer look, whispering a quiet, “god, i want one, i want a little you.”

[starrygetou]

trans!suguru drabble

banner creds

pair: gojo satoru x geto suguru

wc: 877

tags: MDNI, ftm!suguru geto, coming out, first time, unprotected sex, post coital cuddling, gojo is a sweetie :3

thinking about how accepting satoru would be when he found out abt trans!geto. he always knew suguru was a bit self conscious whenever they had to change around each other or whenever they went to the beach with friends. but he never questioned it. he actually would help alleviate his stress by keeping his shirt on or staying with him on the towels while everyone else goes out to the water.

he would always be respectful whenever they needed to use their shared bathroom, making sure sugu was decent or ready for satoru to enter it suguru was just coming out from a shower. satoru always thought it was cute how suguru would rush to his room to make sure he saw nothing (even though his towel was practically the size of a blanket).

even after they started dating, satoru was still respectful of suguru’s space. he wanted to cuddle him so bad at times but suguru still wasn’t fully comfortable with hands on his body in intimate ways.

once suguru was ready to tell him, he did it casually (as possible) when they were watching tv. even though satoru knew because he accidentally found his empty testosterone gel in the trash one day. he didn’t bring it up because he wanted suguru to come out on his own terms, not because a silly tube fell out of his garbage can mid chore.

suguru was relieved when satoru didn’t react negatively, giving him a long hug. they cuddled the rest of the night in satoru’s bed, watching old minecraft music video compilations before drifting asleep.

a few months after, suguru was finally comfortable and ready to show his naked body to satoru. satoru had to sit on his hands to make sure he didn’t immediately start touching suguru after he took his shirt off. he sat there, admiring how fit suguru was. suguru revealing he never got top surgery since his chest was small to begin with, so all he worked on was getting his chest muscles bigger with weightlifting. and it worked, beautifully. when he finally gave satoru the go ahead, he immediately kissed up and down his abdomen. worshipping every mole and stretch mark on his stomach and chest.

when suguru is ready to fuck satoru, he lets him prep his pussy so that way it doesn’t hurt during his first time. satoru almost gets lost in how pretty his pussy is. it looks like it was sculpted by michelangelo, satoru is almost too afraid to touch it thinking it’ll break.

he lets suguru ride, letting him be in control of his first time. satoru just lays back in his sheets, watching suguru’s face contort in pleasure as he uses his cock to get himself off. satoru has to hold back everything in him to not dig his nails into suguru’s hips and take over at the scene in front of his eyes. he watches as his cock glides in and out of suguru’s cunt, a ring of cream starting to form at the base, dripping down his balls.

suguru does a mix of riding and grinding, trying to find his g-spot with satoru’s cock. his mind is starting to feel hazy, not fully prepared for just how good satoru’s cock feels in him. he’d been dreaming of it ever since their first beach trip. ogling at satoru’s lean but muscular physique, his swim trunks resting a bit lower than normal, showing off the top of his white happy trail.

satoru notices suguru starting to get frustrated, not really sure how to angle themselves so they can get the max amount of pleasure.

“do you want me to take over?”

suguru nods, satoru wrapping his arms around suguru’s waist before laying him down on the bed.

after some minor adjustments, satoru starts to fuck suguru. the two share passionate kisses, suguru leaving love bites and bruises all along satoru’s shoulder and neck as his cock hits his sweet spot. satoru has to practically white knuckle his sheets, trying his best not to cum before suguru.

suguru doesn’t last much longer now that satoru’s pelvis rubs against his clit. his orgasm hitting him like a bus as his pussy grips satoru’s cock. broken moans and “satoru”’s spilling out of suguru’s mouth as satoru keeps thrusting, this time a bit slower to allow suguru to fully ride out and enjoy his orgasm.

satoru leans back a bit, watching suguru’s fucked out face as he orgasms. his moans and whimpers filling the room along with the obscene noises their bodies are making when satoru finally finishes. satoru buries his face in the crook of suguru’s neck, leaving small bites and kisses as he slides his dick out, cumming all over suguru’s entrance and clit.

“you didn’t have to pull out you know,” suguru mentions softly in satoru’s ear. the two now cuddling after satoru had cleaned him up with a warm, damp towel.

“i didn’t wanna assume.” satoru says while he twirls suguru’s hair between his fingers, his partner’s fingers lightly rubbing up and down his back as he holds him against his chest.

“i had my tubes cut years ago.”

satoru smiles against suguru’s neck, already thinking about future things to do to his boyfriend.