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its-all-stardust · 2 months

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Sugar || 9

Masterlist || Part Eight

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Series Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

Note: this chapter is very late and fairly short. tbh i could have added a lot more, but seeing as it's been 2 months since the last chapter, i wanted to get something out. But I am still working on this fic!! I'm going to finish it i swear, so please please yell at me to get my ass moving!!

When you called the next day, Steven didn’t answer. You waffled about whether to leave a voicemail and ultimately decided not to—not on that call, anyway.

On the second call, later that day, Steven still didn’t answer. That time, you left a message asking if he was feeling better and asking him to please call you back.

He didn’t. There wasn’t even a response when you sent his payment for going with you to the auction, something entirely unlike him.

By the third call, another day later, you were afraid of once again being too much, too needy. Yet you left another message anyway. You tried to keep it professional, not wanting to let on how upset you were.

“Steven, I still haven’t heard from you. I was just checking in. If there’s an issue with our business arrangement, please let me know as soon as possible.”

You wonder if he’s sleepwalking again or whatever disorder is causing him to blackout. Perhaps it’s like that first time, and Steven will come back confused but well and whole. You try to tell yourself that’s what’s happening now, trying to remain positive.

But, of course, the worry still creeps in.

What if he’s lost?

What if he’s hurt?

Should you call someone and report him missing? Is he missing?

There’s a chance you could be taken seriously, but you also know you could be seen as a psycho jilted ex-lover.

You contemplate the merits of hiring a private investigator or going to Steven’s apartment yourself to see if he’s there.

You can’t go in, you don’t have a key, but you could knock. Maybe even ask his neighbors if they know anything.

You simultaneously try to convince yourself that nothing is wrong and something is.

If something has gone wrong, he needs you, and you can’t get to him. If it hasn’t, then he’s purposefully avoiding you for whatever reason.

You remind yourself you shouldn’t feel this way. Shouldn’t feel so attached.

By Sunday evening, you’re a bit of a mess. If you bit your nails, they’d be gone by now. Instead, your anxiety manifested outward. Your apartment is both chaos and order.

You went on a bit of a cleaning spree. Normally, once a month, you hire someone to come deep clean your home, moving furniture and putting in more elbow grease than you typically care to. These last few days, though, you attempted to take matters into your own hands. And while you were already cleaning, you figured you might as well sort through your cabinets, closets and shelves to see if there is anything you no longer feel the need to hold on to.

As a result, the bathrooms and Steven’s bedroom are spotless. The living room and the kitchen have been destroyed. Only your bedroom is untouched, but that’s only because you got distracted after going through the walk-in closet.

You would have kept going until something in you snapped, or everything was back in order if only the hunger pangs weren’t so distracting. It was a blessing in disguise that your nerves never seemed to affect your appetite.

You’re at your kitchen table, barely tasting whatever leftovers you had in the fridge and staring off into the middle distance when your phone rings.

At first, the sound doesn’t register, drowned out by the constant static filling your head the last few days. But then you realize what it is and lunge toward the counter where you left your phone.

Your heart stops when Steven’s name flashes on the screen. You don’t have to think before pressing the phone to your ear a second later.

“Please tell me it’s still Friday,” Steven blurts as soon as you answer. “Or even Saturday, and I got really drunk on champagne last night.”

Relief fills you, but it’s quickly overshadowed by worry.

“Baby, it’s Sunday,” you tell him gently, sinking back into your chair at the table.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Steven says, dejected.

For the past few days, you had thought, perhaps, that Steven was going to end your relationship. That he no longer wanted to be your sugar baby and didn’t know how to tell you. But his losing time, unable to recall anything during his blackouts, is much more frightening.

“It’s like I’m losing my mind,” Steven continues. “First, I’m losing days, and now Gus regrew a fin.”

That catches your attention. “Gus what?”

You distinctly remember Steven talking about his pet goldfish only having one fin. “Goldfish don’t regrow body parts, Steven.”

“Well, it’s either that or someone broke into my flat, stole Gus, and replaced him with an imposter,” Steven says, his voice bordering on joking and hysterical.

As ridiculous as it sounds…

“You’re sure you don’t remember doing any goldfish shopping?” you ask feebly. Someone replaced Gus after who knows what happened to him, and the most likely culprit would be Steven himself. Not that any attempts at regaining blackout memories have proven fruitful, nor is there an obvious explanation as to why he would do that in the first place.

“Not that, at least,” Steven answers quietly.

“You remember something?” you ask quickly, excited. Whatever it is, it might help you both figure out what’s happening.

“There’s…something alright.” He’s hesitant, like he isn’t sure what to tell you. Perhaps afraid you’ll think him crazy or maybe be disturbed by what he does remember.

“Can I…come over?” Any confidence Steven had around you seems to have been washed away by whatever happened while he was gone. In its place is the same uneasy timidity he had when you first began your relationship when he wasn’t sure what he could and couldn’t do.

“Steven, you never have to ask.”

When he walks through the door, Steven goes straight for your embrace, desperately, it seems, needing your arms around him. He breathes a sigh of relief, melting into you.

You don’t say anything and simply enjoy the feeling of Steven in your arms again. Before, you could survive a few days without him next to you. Now, you can’t imagine letting him out of your sight.

You don’t know when that change happened.

“Do you need anything?” you finally ask, your voice breathless. A mixture of relief and Steven squeezing you a little too tightly—not that you’re complaining.

“Just you,” Steven mumbles, his face buried in your neck. A pleasant heat fills you.

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, tangled up in each other, relishing in the comfort. You want to move to the couch to hold Steven properly but don’t want to be the first to let go. You don’t want Steven to think for even one second that you’re abandoning him in any way.

Steven shifts, lifting his head, and presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“At least I know you’re real,” he mutters more to himself than to you.

You have no idea what that means. It’s likely a part of what he has to tell you about the last few days.

“What happened?” you ask softly, prompting him.

Finally, Steven stands up straight, his arms loosening around you but not completely letting go.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he says, “I don’t even know where to start.”

With your hands on his arm, you lead Steven to the couch. “May I?” you ask, and with Steven’s nod, you continue. “Let’s start with the auction. You seemed fine at first, but something happened to you.”

Steven’s brow furrows in concentration, trying to remember what happened just a few short days ago.

“I remember going. We met your friend, but then…” He shakes his head. “It’s blank. Part of me didn’t feel right, but… I don’t know how to describe it. One second was with you, and the next, I was dreaming or something before waking up in my bed.”

Steven’s eyes widen, apparently realizing something. “Oh God, I didn’t just leave you there, did I?” he quickly asks, eyes searching yours.

“You didn’t,” you assure him. Even though Steven has the right to walk out on your arrangement anytime he wants, aside from your assumptions after the auction, he’s never shown any sign of wanting to do so. “You had me take you home, though. Do you remember that?”

Steven shakes his head. “When did that happen?”

The best place, you decide, is the beginning. Instead of guessing at what Steven doesn’t remember, you replay the whole night for him—even the parts he’s already mentioned himself.

“I thought you didn’t like being there. Maybe you were bored, or the crowd was too much for you. You got so quiet. And then you asked me to take you home.”

“I don’t…feel like myself.”

You weren’t sure what he meant at the time, but now it makes sense that that was when Steven’s memory started going blank.

“I don’t remember that,” Steven says softly. “Did something happen afterward? When did I leave?”

“Leave?” you repeat, slightly confused.

Steven continues, not hearing you. “Did I say where I was going? Or…or did I sleep in the spare room?”

That’s when you realize that Steven didn’t think of his apartment when you said you took him home. He thought you meant yours.

“Steven,” you say, interrupting him before he could keep trying to fill in the blanks himself. “I didn’t bring you back here. You had me take you to your apartment. Something about you needing to be there.”

Steven’s face scrunches up in confusion as if that course of action doesn’t make sense to him. He goes silent, and you let him think.

You want to ask about what he said that night, what it could have meant. What it was about himself he couldn’t tell you.

But you don’t. He didn’t want to talk about it then, and there’s a reason he wouldn’t know what you were talking about if you did.

An eerie feeling washes over you. At the time, you knew something was wrong, but looking back now and realizing that something inside Steven had changed, and he was no longer remembering what he was doing leaves you unsettled.

Whatever is happening to him, you need to help figure it out. The problem is, as far as any doctor could tell, it wasn’t anything physical, nothing that left an outward sign of its presence, leaving you at a loss.

“I followed you in,” you tell Steven, needing to say something about what happened in his apartment. “Pretty sure you didn’t want me to. You kind of…ran, but I needed to know you were okay.”

“Well, now I know something was definitely wrong with me. I would never run from you if I were in my right mind,” Steven tries to joke, but it comes out weak, without much feeling behind it.

It’s nice to hear nonetheless, especially with how this whole ordeal had left you feeling.

“I didn’t stay long,” you continue, no longer meeting Steven’s eye and instead turning your attention to your still interlocked hands. “It didn’t seem like you wanted me there.”

It was Steven, yet not Steven, sitting awkwardly at the table as you made him tea. Though he didn’t seem to hate you, he was clearly uneasy with you being in his space. Your heart pangs in your chest.

Before you can stop yourself, before you can even think, words spill from your lips.

“And then you wouldn’t answer my calls. Now I know why, but I thought I had done something, and maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

Steven’s breath catches.

No, no, no, you weren’t supposed to say it like that. You should have practiced the words beforehand.

You lo-like Steven, but your relationship doesn’t have room for that. You’re in this position specifically, so you don’t get caught up in feelings. You don’t want them. They’re messy and complicated and leave you hurt more often than not. You pay people to avoid feelings, and it’s always worked so well.

Until Steven.

It shouldn’t matter if he wants you, whatever that entails. As long as he’s happy to accept your money for his services, you should be content.

The last thing you want is to pressure Steven into anything, which means keeping any and all ill-advised emotions to yourself.

You don’t want this relationship to end; admitting anything is a surefire way of making that happen.

“I thought you didn’t want to be my baby anymore,” you correct. Your first admission is true, but it’s best if Steven thinks this is what you meant, and you can pretend it doesn’t sound just as desperate.

Steven squeezes your hand and doesn’t release the pressure, making you meet his gaze.

“When I woke up, I saw you had called,” he starts, his voice quiet, eyes intently looking into yours. “I was so scared, I didn’t listen to them. I just needed to call you. See you.” He takes a shaky breath. “And…I think I’ve known for a while, really, but I realized something just now.”

Your brow furrows, wondering what he’s thinking.

“I have…so much I still need to tell you, but I think I need to say this now.” He starts talking faster as if he thinks if he doesn’t get the words out quickly enough, they won’t come out at all. Then, in a rush, he says, “I don’t want to be your baby anymore.”

Your heart stops beating, and pain fills your chest.

“I’d rather be your boyfriend.”

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dhampling · 6 months

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ivory tower 18+ ASCENDED!ASTARION X AFAB!READER, 4.6K

Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city; but you want this.

woah boy! my first ascended astarion piece, so please be kind! dal is back babey! woooo! thank you to @bhaalism and @lipstickghoulie for dealing with me while writing this i love you both endlessly. wc: 4.6k cw: afab reader, female language used. breeding, mind-control, p in v, ascended astarion, public fingering, private banging, great times all round, as always if there are errors no there aren't, creampies, yippee

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep. Not really.

She sometimes slows just enough to find some purchase amongst the muddle, though - tiptoes lazy through highsun in soft linens, the burgeoning swell of soap suds and sunny rosemary through wide open wooden shutters. Lingering - sweat-soaking worn leathers, the sore of the flex in the arch of your foot splayed over cobble. As if to grasp at the memory, your fingers stretch out from your side and on to the dark oak of the armrest, in a moment of sheer jubilance. Summer. The sun. Wide bright mornings. Hopeful and hot as a bated breath.

The city ambles onward this evening, no different despite the inclement weather and the din of an early darkness. Half-lidded through dark streets as rain smatters the roofs with wet, glistening something dozy under the tall oil street lamps and swirls of ever-present heavy fog. Gurgling whilst each drain fills with water and swallows deep into the sewers.

Scatters the hay, bears the slip; sings a slow drunken stutter of thunder-wind whiling at the windows into the small hours. There’s a comfort to be found in it.

The harbour bell will go on to toll for every sail weary ship coming in from the fog; the crescent caress of the Gate’s waiting arms lit low with oily dots of amber. That even this late into the night the bands of trawlers on the dock work crates and barrels into cargo holds with worn hands and ruddy cheeks. The gulls and their scattering squawks. The flapping of their fat feathered wings up into the clouds.

From where you sit in the Ivory Tower you can hardly see anything at all. Fog obscures the streets to a point, other than the light patches under the oil lanterns out on the ramparts. The window runs dripping wet with condensation. Pools under the pane.

A hideaway of sorts within the manor. Newly reclaimed by Astarion in some deal with the quivering council in order to keep him sweet. Not that he has any armies of undead in his retainer to command as yet, but they don’t need to know that. There’s time. You’re still blessedly mortal and able.

Astarion.

He should be skulking the halls somewhere below with that unnerving silent step he’s taken to using. Your cheeks grow warm, the blanket over your shoulders pulled closer into your chest as you allow your mind to run wild; the scald of bliss to your brain like that of some ironmonger’s poker, split straight to the core.

Your love. Your lover.

Amongst his many newfound desires and passions seemingly includes the impetus to redesign a centuries-old palace from scratch, and while you doubt he has the want nor willpower to take the project anywhere near to completion you’re more than happy to indulge him during this burst of creativity. A designer’s eye. Lavish yet not ostentatious, he tells you. Your own private wing of the palace, and one you’ll share together. He has no need for his own private chambers. You’re the only one he wants to be beside. You understand that at its essence, it isn’t even necessarily a want to design for creativity’s sake, it’s important to you both to have every memory of the residence’s former owner gone. Every threadbare tread of carpet, every scuff on the wall; every painting being demounted by workers downstairs and shipped to the auction house first thing in the morning. You can hear them if you still enough, heart still beating in your chest and the low chunter of layman gossip.

The version of him you knew before his ascension was so very scared. Beautiful, but wavering. You loved him of course; and you always will - it was that version of him, the one lost in the wilderness that you fell for, and gods; you fell hard - frenetic and whiny, fleeting as light snow never to settle on the forest floor. Wild-eyed.

But this Astarion - the real Astarion, as far as he is concerned - has you completely and utterly enraptured each day you wake together, the same as ever, from the second your eyes open. Wrapped in those Daerlunian-import plush linens atop your gargantuan newly-installed four poster bed. Face of marble with those cattish dark lashes and eyes of carnelian crush. Enchants every room he walks into, as he always has.

You don’t know he’s with you until a hand ghosts your shoulder, sinewy; with those deft pale fingers deep encroaching on your collarbone in his grasp.

“I didn’t hear you, lover.”

“But I heard you.’

He circles round the velvet armchair, resplendent in his home finery. Not a crease to be seen. Voice soft, yet laced with a bristling concern.

‘Why do you insist on sitting up here?”

You err for a brief moment.

“I can hear the rain on the roof, here. See some bustle when the fog clears. The city goes on.” You shake your head with a smile as he crouches beside you, nestling his head in the crook of your arm.

“But it’s cold. Dark. Come down - I can light the fire in our sitting room if you like?”

“We have so many centuries yet to see together! What sense is there in not observing the world as it is now? Keeping record of the city as we saved it?”

His head lifts and his eyes meet yours, some churlish quirk of a brow in the low light.

“An archivist, now? Is that to be your profession alongside me? Whilst you raise our young?”

“If I wish it to be, yes.”

He laughs, a gentle low hum.

“Then an archivist you’ll be - the most renowned in all the lands. We’ll make it so.’ He stands once more and takes your hands from your lap, bringing them clasped to his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

‘I’ll begin planning on your archives - I presume you’ll want a library? Or something similar in your wing, maybe even an office. Who knows?”

Astarion looks to the room around you, the shapes covered with old canvas and the rickety floorboards underfoot. Cobwebs in the corner. There’s no grimace nor displeasure. He simply surveys as cool as still water. Objective.

“I’ll have some of the merchants relay their contacts come morning too. If you insist on expanding your territory up here then it must befit you.”

“Befit me?” You grin now. His hold on your hands remains secure.

“If you want me to say it, then I suppose I will. As many times as it takes to get it through that heavy skull of yours.’

His smile reaches his eyes as he circles back behind your chair, fingers splayed over your shoulders once more in a deep round kneading pattern.

‘There’s nothing you won’t have if you want for it. Nothing too good for you to covet, my solace; Saviour to the whole Sword Coast and every plain mite within its bounds.’

There’s a small pause as he bows to kiss the top of your head.

‘And I thank the stars every day that I can provide for you. That you saw the potential in me and lifted me higher, to such profane glory amongst the swill of common man. That my gold, my influence, and terror, and each lift of my blade is at your command and yours alone. That you stayed at my side.”

He doesn’t like to mention the gods, hence the stars. Pointedly brings the grimace back into play, occasionally even furrows with the slightest twinge of anger brewing at his brow. The gods had no role to play in your shared victories. No divine intervention saved him from two hundred years of torment, from certain death after the crash of the nautiloid along that sun-soaked span of rocky beach;-

You did. You with your strange inclination toward the weak man he once was. The shell he lived in like a hermit crab on the shore, nothing more.

On bright days, you thank him for giving you time.

Time to live, time to breathe with full lungs. Time to allow you to burn your eyes in the beating sun with a silver pot of fresh coffee and whatever ridiculous spew the papers hold between the pages today.

You know as you sit in comfortable silence that your time dwindles, and that your turning is inevitable. Your eternal wedded bliss is to be alongside him and will be as vivid in nature as all the colours of the astral plane, if he’s to be believed - and there’s no reason not to see his word as gospel. You can see each moment as crystalline as sea glass on sand. Forever with the man you love more than you’ve ever felt inclined to love anything. The bridal ceremony is but a drop in the vast ocean of your lives together.

He thanks you too. Often alongside you with eyes closed in some dozy recline, forearm hanging lazily whilst he takes the sun on his skin like a blessing. A loose linen shirt akin to the one he wore back at camp at the start of your journey together, strings wide open, a blaze of blinding flesh at the corner of your eye each time he shifts.

The veranda on a clear day. Astarion has assured you he’ll never take this from you. He’ll never take anything that you don’t willingly give him with a clear heart - and why would you give him your ability to bask in the sun, like a street cat in days-warm dust? What purpose does that serve either of you, beyond making you a less useful weapon in his prized arsenal?

At one point, all you wanted was to talk to him - and it rings true even now. The want to be the bearer of all his tales. To learn about him, to be close to him; to hear him tear the world apart with that dulcet snarl, walking alongside each other on the barren dirt trails out in the wilderness. Hop-skipping to keep up with his quiet gait. Giving him back as good as you got. The glimmer of his hair in the sunlight, the way he’d sometimes just stop.

Close his eyes. Feel the heat. The gentle burn of highsun on tender flesh. A soft inhale.

That morning out in the clearing after your first night together. Arms outstretched in a welcome to the light. It had taken a few minutes for it to click as you’d silently watched on, why his sun salutation was so fond. So open.

It’s to be a long engagement with regard to your transformation whilst the manor undergoes renovations. Reason after reason as to why now isn’t the ideal time to commit you to eternity. You know why he wants to keep a hold on your precious mortality for the time being, of course; and that keeps you from the forever embrace of his Dark Kiss. It never changes.

You’ll allow him to sire your children. You want him to. Crave it. Him.

Your very own lineage together, he whispers; frenzied by your ear as his fingers crawl the bare span of your thigh. He can breed you full like fate intended and you’ll have something - besides him - that’ll also last forever. Something of your own surpassing the death of all of your contemporaries. The Vampire Ascendant and The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate, flesh-on-flesh, skin smacking skin; his debauched groans and lewd whimpers as he buries himself inside you, your cooing breaths;-

You’ll wed normally too, for the interested eyes of the city. Some dull ceremony with the elites adorning all tables as gilded pieces might some decorative chess board, deceptive vows. Legally it makes things easier should anything befall either of you but the hassle almost makes the whole thing undesirable - gods, especially because he already treats you as some smitten newlywed might. Adores you. Follows you around the manor, stalking; like some wolf cub after its mother. Carries you to bed each evening and ploughs you senseless, until spit gathers in the corners of your wet, wanting mouth and you can’t see straight through grey-blear eyes.

He likes the idea of you taking his name by law. Melds with your own like it were meant to be, from the starter threads of whatever cosmic tapestry pulled you together, the marriage of your first name to his last, interwoven by a scholar’s hand in gold-shining delicate point.

Ancunín. The House of.

Tapestries. Large, spanning the halls. The Sarsantyr's over in Waterdeep - they’ll be able to create what you’re picturing.

A familiar gaze meets yours. It’s then that you realise you aren’t alone in your mind once more

“If you want tapestries, you only have to ask.”

“In fairness - you didn’t give me a chance to.”

He hums, tilting his head a little in the sun’s glare.

“I’ll send for them. The Sarsantyr's, yes? Have them pack up all their little-’

He pulls a face and lifts his hands in some kind of puzzled shake.

‘Sewing bits? Textiles? I’ll send carriages. They can come and stay in the lower rooms. Create the masterpiece you envision.” Astarion sniggers a little at the thought of putting them in the old dormitory while you remain lost in thought.

“Okay. Check them through first though, yes?

The real event - the wedding - will give you total ecstasy beyond your wildest preconception, you know this. Unfettered and euphoric. Books and books on the topic stacked clumsily beside your bed, reds and greens; the turning of a vampire bride in leather bound prose. You know what to expect in florid detail. You know to trust your lover, that the rabid creature you’ll become is only a temporary mental state precursing an eternity alongside him.

And yet, you wonder about the children. They’ll be here by then. However many he decides is enough, naturally; assumedly under the care of some hired help whilst you engage in your thoroughly bastardised pastiche of a wedding ceremony. You laugh now. He’s still in your head, mulling over your thoughts as soon as you can think them.

Will you miss them? Will they be your last thought before you pass away; Astarion unable to complete this ritual alone as he was unable to before? Will your death lead to his, leaving your dhampir offspring to ravage Baldur’s Gate unsupported by the windfall of knowing parents? There’s still no hesitation, though. You will bear his young. You want to. The consequences either way are vast and long-lasting, and you’d rather be at his side than facing his ire-

“Love, what are these thoughts? What on earth is going on in that very pretty head of yours today?” His voice is a low drawl, pitying yet laced with affection. He sits straight in his chair whilst a hand lazily searches for yours atop the sun-warmed table; beyond the scope of the ramparts wall the low meander of city life continues on.

“Mulling things over.”

“You don’t need to do that, pet. Come now.’ He beckons you onto his lap and wraps his arms around your middle, hand searching for the soft pillow of your chest as your ass backs up to his abdomen.

‘You want me to make it better?”

You nod gently, the sun catching your eye in a particularly bright beam and making you squint.

“Please.”

“Poor thing. It’s okay.” As he coos; one hand finds the curve of soft flesh at your chest, holding the weight of your breast firmly as he starts lightly thumbing at the nipple through your nightshirt.

“There, now. Good girl.” Your head falls back onto his shoulder, a deep sigh as he lulls you into a new state of calm astride him. Birds sing overhead whilst you nuzzle his neck.

“I will miss this warm flesh of yours, you know. Terribly so.’ His other hand moves to your nightskirt, gently hitching the material bit-by-bit up your thighs until you sit exposed to the air. Nobody can see you from here - the faceless crowd little but colourful dots below; Astarion giving a small tense laugh as he feels your pulse quicken against him.

He toys with your skirt, edging ever nearer your exposed cunt; and your eyes flutter closed.

‘But the greater purpose… I just can’t let it go. Us. Our lives together. I sincerely doubt you want to wither away to age; to lose your extraordinary beauty-’

A gentle groan as he feels your warmth.

‘Do you, my most precious flower?”

“Of- Of course I don’t. I want to be with you, as we are; forever.”

“Then we’re going to need to make a concerted start on the only thing setting us back, are we not?” His fingers gently tap on the crux of your pubic bone, threateningly close to your clit. You feel the familiar seep of your slit leaking onto the bunched skirt fabric and you think of honey. Some kind of sweet glaze.

“Yes.”

As you sink further into him his fingers move down just a little to meet your clit; and in response to your delighted sighs he very lightly begins to stroke either side of the engorged flesh. There’s no urgency to his movement nor his demeanour; just a treacle-thick teasing grin as he turns his head to kiss your blazing cheek.

“Good.”

There’s something borderline celestial about the gentle way he touches you, coaxing more of your slick from you with every gentle jerk. He deftly motions ‘come hither’ with a soaking middle finger dipping lightly at your hole then brings your arousal up to wetten your clit once more.

“You want this, don’t you?” A finger slips down to your cunt, this time slipping and nestling deep inside as you feel yourself writhe on him. One arm scrambles around the back of his neck to support yourself while he begins to curl at your spongy spot, and the anchor of your arousal shifts free.

“I’ve been rifling through that glorious mind of yours these past few days and I see you now. You want comfort. To comfort. To seek shelter in those warm lights on the horizon, to know you aren’t alone in the late hours.”

You nod furiously, wincing, desperate to feel him deeper. Thicker. You need more, your fox-eyed paramour giving only the barest minimum he can do to watch you squirm.

“You, with my babe in arm;- oh the image alone does things to you, doesn’t it?”

It’s as if he’s creating the visions in your head as he speaks them, bringing them to the forefront of your mind in hushed coos and silent gasps. As if by magic, the only thing on your mind is a primal need for him to fuck you full. Nothing else, no mind for coffee nor completed manor renovations.

You will be round. You will brim with life before he turns you, and you’ll take to his seed the minute he offers it to you. You’ll accommodate him like no other across Toril could hope to. You wonder if he has the power to decide how many, as he adds another finger to your unbridled torment. If he could choose to speed the process up with a celebration of twins, triplets. An heir and two spares. Maybe he’d wait instead until the first was born, just to ensure the viability of his bloodline. A test.

He’s doing this; you become starkly aware as he withdraws his fingers, spiderwebs of glistening drool clinging to your inner thigh as he brings them between his lips and suckles. He’s giving you these ideas of grandeur because he can. Because you are his. Because you wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else, to be tied to any other notion of whatever a fulfilling life is, if it weren’t one shared wholly by him. With him.

“Let me take you inside, sweet one. Let’s take care of you properly, shall we? Curb this fever, hm?”

Please, you think. Please take this burning hole in my womb and make it full with you. Extinguish the flame with your unholy spend and give me children. Give me oud and orchids and a life of warmth, however long we both may live.

“Use your words, my love. Tell me you want this.”

“I want this. Please.”

On the bed you now lie, the room cool and dark; balcony doors open wide with light-billowing curtains. Sweat consumes you as your thoughts run wild, the smell of your arousal, clammy hands and deep breaths in the low light. Astarion approaches like something from a dream, shirtless now; smirk plastered cheek-to-cheek as he leans over your trembling form with confidence - your lust-addled fingers reaching for his steady form like a ship to harbour.

“You want to feel it, little dove? Feel how you set me alight?”

He pries your wrist from him with gentle urgency, taking your hand under his and skating both downwards; down the plane of his tight torso, slowing to a stop just above his pelvis.

“Tell me - do you want to feel it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of your lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice - watching the way your hand twitches under his.

“Hm?”

His groan is guttural. Thick. He doesn’t even try to mask it, eyes wide as his hand shifts yours just a little further down and over the blistering burn of his heavy cock through loose linen trousers. A hazy sigh as he moans a small whimper at your touch.

“Please, Astarion. I beg you.”

It’s like his fingers are enchanted, the way they reduce you to this sodden mess. Unable to think unless guided delicately by his superior whim.

“I need to bury myself inside you fully for this to take. I need your full attention, submission; your devotion to our lives together. Do I make myself clear?”

He’s giving you one final chance to withdraw. Your head clears for one sweet moment and you can do little else but stare at his bulge with heavy lids and your mouth agape.

“Crystal. I ache for you. Please, give this to me.”

You lift to meet him in a soft kiss, jaw slackened and cunt ablaze. Nothing else matters, no complications, nor possibilities of horribly mangled spawn from your womb as a result of your copulation. This scalding stupor that sends you insane won’t go away until he quenches it with his seed.

Your response has satisfied him, if the way he stands sharpish and unties his trouser laces is anything to go by. The glassy head of his cock stands purple at his stomach, leaking wild at the slit and red-hot as your hand reaches blindly for him in your hunger.

He gently taps you away and back down onto the sheets.

“Magic?” You hear yourself mumble, still amazed at how surely swollen he must feel with how sore he looks. Has to be.

“Just me.”

There’s a tenderness in his eyes as he crawls back over you, legs instinctively parting and lifting at the knee to accommodate him. Something that compels him to hold your face in the hand that isn’t supporting his weight and just look at you, fondly; for what feels like an age.

Then he shifts once more to angle himself, decidedly spending no more time on preparation. The heat of his cock against your slit is unlike anything you’ve ever known, dizzying yet pleasurable; hard and yet still yielding, and as he thrusts a shallow dip into your core you swear you see angels overhead. Yes, you’re ready. You’ve never been more ready for anything than you are for the sheer ecstasy you know he’s about to give you, and he’s going to give you it in droves. Seismic tremors as he shifts a little and you adjust to him once again.

He nods. He hears you.

Then, he snaps once more; and he’s lost.

Each glub of his cock meeting your spill as he ruts into you; the way you feel it running downward in long dribbles, with each and every mindless hump of his hips eking more honey from your cunt in spades.

You hear the sounds of your shared carnal pleasure and it makes you clench around him in some kind of self-perpetuating cycle. Groans and whimpers and moans and hisses and the frequent egregious slaps to your thighs whilst he chases his high.

He’s perfect like this. Halo of curls above you, voice silken as he calls you every pet name under the sun, his, always. Your legs ache already from being wound so tightly, interlocked around him, and you think of the prespill inside you already. How each fangy showman’s smile means he’s twitching at your cervix and leaking molten gold inside you with every thrust.

It’s not until he nuzzles down to your neck that you remember to offer it, potentially for the last time on this mortal coil.

“Are you asking?”

“Well, you didn’t offer.”

The immediate pang is one of violent nausea, subsiding quickly into a wooze coating the bottom of your stomach in black tar as he fucks upward. Unease. There’s something in his spit, you assume. Something that makes the gaping wounds a little more bearable, a little less raw as he kitten-licks the flesh between swallows. Ice courses your veins with adrenaline as it always does.

Astarion chokes down his first sip with an eager cough. The burgeoning panic wracking your limbs turns into a numbed haze as your lover feasts, big neat gulps whilst he clutches at your ribcage with fingers splayed deep and cock buried to the hilt, like a man starved. His hair tickles at your jaw, the smell of something herbal. Slightly lemony.

He splutters that he’s close and you feel yourself nearing your peak too.

There’s a profane desecration in what he’s doing, painting your walls in an attempt to get you pregnant. Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city. No villages to raise them, no cards nor flowers from friends or family; but you want this.

You want him to taint you in his particular shade of crimson, visibly; so the realms know who made The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate come to heel. The man who compelled her through sheer love alone and to whom she gave everything. The indomitable force for whom you’ll die, only to resurrect forever as his.

Visions of your turning don’t scare you - all lightning and thunder, the cries of your dhamplings in some nursery down the towering halls of your palatial wing; and yet you’ll be safe in his caress. He wouldn’t let a single thing happen to you. He won’t.

And as he cums; he calls your name.

Some rhythmic prayer over and over again; and with each kick of his cock he loses some of his bedroom charm and hurtles back to earth, humbly enraptured. More candid. His weary muscles tighten as yours threaten your own release around him.

“Cum for me, now. Milk me.” in a heavy whisper whilst he strokes the soft flesh of your cheek; and you do. You cum harder than you can remember ever before. Each wave of sheer pleasure some blackout tidal wave as you writhe, staccato in his arms.

If you die during the ceremony, you’ll die happy. Should the younglings bite their way through your womb, it won’t matter.

You’re loved. He loves you, in soft kisses and gentle arms carried all the way to the waiting washtub. In the way he sponges your aching shoulders and brings a washcloth to your dazed face.

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep, not really.

But tonight it will, in the patient, visceral bliss of calm before a summer storm.

#my writing #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #bg3

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flusteredfools · 11 days

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takin a small break from writing their final chapter to doodle them.. so far the chapter is over 9.5k words and maybe 3/4 of the scene I planned for it. I could end it where it is, but it doesn't feel as satisfying... so I'm trying to decide if it'll just be a super long chapter or if I should try to break it up again like I did for the last one. OTZ

so while I puzzle for that enjoy some doodles and rambles? XD (semi close ups and more character info under the cut!)

Cursed Royal Y/N for this fic I've been trying so very hard to keep neutral and not lean too far either way but I imagine them with wavy hair that goes a bit past their shoulders (long hair was a sign of status, specially if well kept) and I think they'd be pudgy from always being able to eat lots and eat well with minimal active lifestyle. Though while dressed they have to wear a corset to help show the "proper" shape expected from royals. But in the fic I try to not over describe anything so the reader can fill in their own blanks. Always aware of their position, (though they have no interest in the throne regardless of being last in line for it) they stay mindful of their words and actions; wanting to show kindness to all, human, animatronic, animals, creatures, etc. Every living thing deserves to be treated with kindness and fairness.

Royal Guards Moon & Sun (They won't stay nakey forever I just wanted to get an idea of how their bodies work/look-even though I'm sure this isn't at all accurate to real robotics sorry) Sun and Moon started off as small servant bots for a smaller noble family, they were treated poorly (abused and often broken) then sold off and put up for auction. No one wanted the beat up bots so they were left discarded in the slums. They managed to find ways to patch themselves up, learning how to survive and defend themselves and became mercenaries as a way to earn money to properly live and repair themselves. A war broke out and started to threaten the Royal Capital; wanting to help prevent as many casualties as possible, Sun and Moon offered up their abilities. While there was some hostility from the capital soldiers, but the youngest of the King's Children spoke up on their behalf, on all animatronics behalf, that anyone wanting to help save lives, wanting a chance to make a difference should be allowed it and always treated as equals despite what they're made of. The duo proved themselves time and time again, capturing the enemy's soldiers to gather more intel as well as helping defend the camps from ambushes. To honor their heroic deeds, they were officially Knighted and offered to join the Royal Army; they accepted the rise of their status and a more reliable lifestyle for themselves. Once the youngest royal became of age to start socializing out in public, the two knights volunteered to be their guards; having heard about how much the young royal tries to promote peace and equality.

#fnaf dca #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf #fnaf security breach #fanfic #we can serve you better #royal guard moon #royal guard sun #serve you better au #suggestive #cw suggestive #y/n x dca #bearitt doodles #bearitt rambles

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 3 months

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𝕿𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕿𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 | 5

read chapter 1 - here [MASTERLIST]

screencaps and gifs: Pinterest

Pairing: dark!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,DUB/NON-CON, Auctioning people, Dom and Sub dynamics, Drinking, food, kissing, possessiveness, flirting, praise, Degradation Oral M, Orgasums, manipulation, showering, blowjobs, talks of the gulf war, Cum eating, UNprotected sex wrap it before you tap it kids, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Summary: It's finally time to move into Joel's home with some help from Tommy of course

WC: 2.6k

A/n: this is pretty dark that's your final warning

For notifications follow - @sinful-mind-joyful-fics

"Feel better?" Joel asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah," you replied, sitting down beside him. The comfort of the robe and his presence was grounding.

"Good," he said, leaning back against the headboard. "Do you want to order room service? We could use some food after all that."

You chuckled softly, the normalcy of his question a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions you had just experienced. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

Joel reached for the room service menu on the bedside table, handing it to you. "Anything in particular you’re craving?"

You scanned the menu, trying to focus on the words rather than the thoughts swirling in your mind. "Maybe something light. A salad, and... maybe some fries?"

He nodded, dialing room service and placing the order. As he spoke, you couldn’t help but replay the recent events in your mind. The intensity of your connection with Joel, the overwhelming passion, and the way he made you feel both desired and vulnerable.

When the food arrived, Joel set up the small table by the window. You joined him, the evening view of the ocean providing a serene backdrop. The atmosphere was calm, almost surreal after what had just transpired.

Joel dug into his meal with enthusiasm, but you found yourself picking at your salad, your mind still preoccupied. Each bite felt heavy, your thoughts tangled in a web of uncertainty and introspection.

"What's on your mind?" Joel asked, breaking the silence. His voice was gentle, yet there was an underlying note of concern.

You glanced up at Joel, forcing a smile. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, skepticism evident in his gaze. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, avoiding his gaze and taking another slow bite of your salad. “I’m fine, really.”

He watched you in silence for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. But if there’s anything bothering you, you should tell me.”

“I will,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. Joel occasionally reached over to touch your hand, his gestures filled with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with his earlier possessiveness. It was this duality in him that both drew you in and made you wary.

As you both finished eating, Joel stood and moved behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and gently massaging the tension away. “I know it’s a lot. But we’ll figure it out together.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch. The warmth of his hands and the steadiness of his presence were comforting, even as your mind continued to churn with doubts and questions.

As the night wore on, you found yourself drifting towards the bed, Joel guiding you gently. The weight of the day and the emotions it had brought left you feeling exhausted. Joel pulled you into his arms, his embrace both comforting and possessive.

“Get some rest,” he murmured against your hair. “We’ve got a lot more to enjoy this weekend.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and letting the sound of his heartbeat lull you into a restless sleep. Despite the comfort of his arms, the uncertainty lingered, a silent companion in the darkness.

"Tommy, help me with this mirror, will you?" you asked, smiling as you unloaded Joel’s truck with your things. The move-in process was both exciting and nerve-wracking, but having Tommy around provided a welcome distraction.

Tommy looked up, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "Sure thing," he said, walking over to give you a hand. As he grabbed the mirror, he glanced over at Joel, who was directing the movers with a stern expression.

"Man, he’s in full-on boss mode today," Tommy remarked, his voice low.

You chuckled nervously, trying to brush off the unease you felt. "Yeah, he’s been pretty intense lately."

Tommy gave you a sideways glance, his expression thoughtful. "You know, Joel’s always been the cold type. Even to me, his own brother. He’s got this wall up that’s hard to break through."

You raised an eyebrow, curious. "Really? He’s never mentioned that."

Tommy set the mirror down and leaned against the truck, a far-off look in his eyes. "Yeah. There was this one time when Faith tried to get close to him. She had this vibrant personality, full of life and attitude. Joel couldn't stand it. Her energy clashed with his cold demeanor, and he just... couldn't take it."

Your interest piqued, you asked, "What happened?"

Tommy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, Faith and Joel weren’t really a couple. It was more like a one-night stand. Faith’s always been very sex-positive and into some pretty kinky stuff. She thought she could handle Joel’s intensity, maybe even break through his tough exterior."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the revelation. "Really?"

"Yeah," Tommy continued, his tone thoughtful. "Faith was always pushing his buttons, trying to get a reaction out of him. But instead of warming up to her, Joel just shut down even more. They didn’t even have a fight; it was just this cold realization. Whatever happened that night, it shocked even Faith. And trust me, it takes a lot to shock her."

Your curiosity piqued, you asked, "What do you mean?"

Tommy shook his head, a hint of discomfort in his expression. "Let’s just say Faith’s used to being the one in control, and Joel didn’t play by her rules. She never talked about it much, just said that Joel was too much for her and left it at that."

You frowned, the story stirring a mix of emotions within you. "That sounds intense."

Tommy nodded, his expression serious. "It was. Joel’s a complex guy. He cares deeply, but he has a hard time showing it. Sometimes his way of caring comes off as controlling or possessive."

You glanced over at Joel, who was now talking to one of the movers with an intense look on his face. The man you had come to know was multifaceted, and hearing Tommy's perspective added another layer to your understanding of him.

"Does he ever... change?" you asked, unsure of how to phrase your concern.

Tommy shrugged. "Sometimes, but it takes a lot. He’s got to really want it. Just be careful, alright? Joel’s got a good heart, but he can be overwhelming."

You nodded, the weight of Tommy’s words settling over you. "Thanks, Tommy. I’ll keep that in mind."

As you finished unloading the truck, Joel came over, his expression softening slightly as he looked at you. "Everything okay here?"

"Yeah," you replied, forcing a smile. "We’re just about done."

Joel nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to Tommy. "Thanks for the help, bro."

Tommy gave a nod, but his eyes were still on you, a silent message of caution and support. "Anytime."

As the last of your things were unloaded, you and Joel sat around the living room, cartons of Chinese takeout spread before you, the conversation flowed more easily. The comfort of the food and the familiarity of Tommy's presence made it easier to relax, even if just a little.

Joel reached for a carton of fried rice, scooping some onto his plate. "Remember when we used to get this stuff all the time, Tommy? Back in the old apartment?"

Tommy chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, those were the days. Cheap takeout and late nights. We were living the dream."

You smiled, watching the two brothers share a moment. It was clear they had a deep bond, one forged through shared experiences and hardships.

"Speaking of old times," Tommy said, leaning back in his chair. "Remember that one story from Desert Storm? The one with the snake?"

Joel laughed, shaking his head. "Oh man, how could I forget?"

You leaned in, curious. "Desert Storm? You mean the Gulf War?"

"Yep," Joel replied, his tone taking on a more serious note. "Tommy and I both served. It was... intense, to say the least."

Tommy nodded. "There was this one time, we were out on a patrol, and we came across this snake. It was huge, just sitting there in the sand."

Joel picked up the story, his eyes twinkling with the memory. "So, we're all standing there, staring at this snake, not sure what to do. And then Tommy, out of nowhere, decides he's gonna catch it."

Tommy grinned, shrugging. "What can I say? I was young and stupid."

Joel continued, his voice animated. "So, Tommy goes after this snake, and it starts slithering away. He grabs it by the tail, and it turns around and hisses at him. The look on his face was priceless."

You laughed, imagining the scene. "What happened next?"

"Well," Joel said, leaning in. "Tommy managed to catch the snake and, believe it or not, he actually scared it off. We were all just standing there, amazed that he didn't get bitten."

Tommy shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "It was a crazy time. But that's what we did, you know? We looked out for each other."

You felt a sense of warmth at their camaraderie, appreciating the shared history between them. "It sounds like you guys have been through a lot together."

Joel nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, we have. And we've always had each other's backs."

As the evening wore on, the conversation shifted to more lighthearted topics. Tommy shared more stories from their time in the military, and you found yourself laughing along with them, feeling more at ease.

After a while, Tommy stretched and yawned. "Well, I should get going. Thanks for the food and the company."

"Thanks for coming by," you said, offering him a smile.

"Anytime," Tommy replied, giving Joel a brotherly pat on the back. "Take care, you two."

Joel walked Tommy to the door, and you couldn’t help but notice the brief, meaningful look they exchanged. Once Tommy left, Joel turned back to you, his expression softening.

"How about a shower?" he suggested, his voice low and inviting.

"Sure," you replied, your tone a bit distracted. "I’ll go first."

You headed upstairs to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. As you turned on the water and let it heat up, you leaned against the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The steam began to fog up the glass, and you sighed, stripping off your clothes and stepping under the warm spray.

You were trying to clear your head, wash that boy right out of your hair, as your grandma used to say. The hot water and steam were your solace, giving you a moment of peace and contemplation. Thoughts drifted to your art, the desire to paint again growing stronger. But your reverie was shattered when the shower curtain abruptly opened.

Joel stood there, stark naked, a mischievous grin on his face. “I meant us both shower,” he said.

You instinctively covered your body, shock and embarrassment flooding your senses. “What? NO! Go away!” you exclaimed, trying to shoo him away.

Joel laughed, unfazed. “Come on, it’s fun, trust me,” he said, stepping under the shower head beside you.

He reached out to push your hair back, but you stopped him again. “I said no, Joel,” your tone was firm, shifting from surprise to frustration.

Joel’s smile faded, replaced by a look of determination. He didn’t budge when you tried to push him out of the shower. Instead, he stood there, unyielding, his arousal blatantly obvious.

“You think this is a joke?” he muttered, turning off the shower head. When you moved to turn it back on, he grabbed your hand, yanking you out of the shower.

“Joel!” you protested, your body dripping wet, but he didn’t listen. The water left a trail of droplets as he dragged you into the bedroom.

He threw you onto the bed, pushing you onto your back. “You think I’m fucking joking?” he snarled.

You tried to sit up, but he shoved you back down. Fear shot through you, realizing this was no joke. Joel climbed on top of you, straddling your chest, his balls hitting your chin. “Joel, please get off me,” you begged, feeling claustrophobic.

He taunted you, hitting your face with his dick. “Suck my dick,” he demanded.

Your eyes widened in horror. You’d never done that before, only helped him with a handjob during your birthday vacation. “Wh-” you began, but he seized the opportunity, shoving his dick into your mouth.

You gagged, his sadistic chuckle echoing in your ears. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, thrusting harshly into your throat, making you gag over and over. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the water from the shower.

“Come on, I know you love it,” he taunted, gripping your head with both hands and forcing himself deeper into your throat. "That's it," he groaned, thrusting shallowly.

The sound of your gagging and choking filled the room. You took breaths through your nose as he thrust deeply one last time, and you felt a hot, steamy rope of his cum hit the back of your throat, its salty taste overwhelming. You finally managed to break free from his grip, sitting up and spitting his cum out of your mouth.

“What the he-” you started, but Joel cut you off, hitting you square across the face. Shock washed over you, your wet hair clinging to your skin, your throat hoarse from crying and gagging. You felt terrified and overwhelmed.

“GET AWAY FROM ME,” you shouted, standing up, naked and affirmative.

Joel seemed momentarily shocked by your defiance. “Excuse me?” he said, stepping closer as you instinctively backed up.

He grabbed you, pulling you close. “You forget the facts, sweetpea,” he said, his voice cold and possessive. He sat you down on the bed, brushing your hair out of your face, his fingers tracing your skin with a soft, sinister touch. “I bought you… and that means you’re mine.”

Joel's grip on your arm loosened slightly, his eyes softening just enough to make you question your own fear. "You need to understand something," he said, his voice low and deceptively gentle. "I'm doing this for us. I want to protect you, to make sure you're happy."

You tried to pull away, but his hold was firm. "Joel, this doesn't feel right," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You can't treat me like this."

He sighed, his lips curling into a semblance of a smile. "Oh, but I can. You see, you've let me into your life, into your heart. And now, you have to trust that I know what's best for you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and anger surging through you. "This isn't love, Joel. This feels like control."

Joel's eyes flashed with something dark, but his voice remained calm. "Don't say that," he murmured. "You don't understand. I care about you so much that sometimes it scares me. I just want to keep you safe."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You can't keep me like this. I'm not some object you can own."

His expression tightened, his voice dropping to a softer, yet still firm tone. "You're not an object. You're my partner, my everything. I need you to understand that. I need you to trust me."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to think of a way out. But Joel's presence was overwhelming, his dominance subtle but pervasive. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "I want to make you happy," he whispered, his lips grazing your neck. "I want to give you everything you deserve."

Your resolve wavered, the fear and confusion clouding your thoughts. "Joel, please, this isn't right."

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that threatened to spill. "Shh," he soothed, his voice almost hypnotic. "Don't fight it. Just let go. Let me take care of you."

You closed your eyes as his words continued, "Don't overthink it," he murmured, his voice almost a lullaby. "Just trust me."

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menlove · 1 month

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now i'm curious .. why do you think john was gay?

disclaimer: this is not bi erasure & if anyone tries to start discourse w me about that i do not careeeee sorry. i care deeply abt bi erasure but he never labeled his own sexuality & as a figure of the past it's more than fair to speculate that when he talked abt his attraction to women it was from the pov of a gay man dealing w comphet. if he were alive today and saying he was bisexual i'd leave it alone but he's not so i'm not. sexuality can absolutely be fluid! and he very well may have been bisexual! this is just my personal theory & interpretation of things he's said through the lens of viewing him as a gay man. MOVING ON.

i need you to imagine all of this to the benny hill theme. let's go

with the beatles by alistair taylor pg. 98 (at least in the pdf copy i have- there's no actual page numbers so it might not match up exactly if you have the print copy)

and from the same book like a paragraph down- this one is not AS crazy bc there's a million explanations but also not being able to get it up for the one woman you've fantasized about forever...... oh brother

in a description of an auctioned off audio tape:

this :|

this from JOOOOAN BAEZ. JOAN BAEZ.

(source)

"It’s a plus, it’s not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists."

this infamous quote (source from the wonderful @amoralto who is a great resource for beatles archiving)

"He was completely open and uninhibited with her, as she learned to be with him, owning up to his deepest sexual fantasies—like one of making love to a woman in her eighties, or even older, whose veined and wrinkled hands would be covered in diamonds. Over time, she became accustomed to his particular style of backhanded compliment. 'Do you know why I like you?' he remarked on one occasion. 'It’s because you look like a bloke in drag. You’re like a mate.' Yoko laughingly replied that she thought he must be 'a closet fag.'"

john lennon: the life by philip norman (take him w a grain of salt. also the doc i have for this one is html so i truly would have 0 clue on what page number this would be) BUT this is also corroborated by a yoko quote herself in a 1981 new york magazine interview

no, no, no by yoko ono which. what do i even need to say.

"I remember it, vaguely. I was out of me mind with drink – when you get down to the point where you drink all the empty glasses, that drunk. And he was saying, 'Well, come on, John, tell us,' something like that, 'Tell me about you and Brian, we all know,' like that. And obviously, I must have been un– uh, f– frightened of the fag in me to get so angry at that. You know, when you’re twenty-one, you want to be a man, and all that. And for the first time I thought, 'I could kill this guy.' I just saw it, like on a screen, that if I hit him once more, I – that’s gonna be it."

this other infamous quote uploaded in an audio by @amoralto (source)

"John believed in my work as an artist wasn’t accepted in part because I am a woman. He got angry when people said about me, 'She’s not a woman, she’s a female impersonator.' John said to me, 'If I had been gay and gotten together with a guy who was talented like you, after ten years that guy would have become famous as an artist in his own right. Maybe we should come out and say, 'Actually, Yoko is a guy.' Maybe that will do it!' That made him laugh a lot. John learned about women’s oppression from me, but I learned a lot about men’s vulnerability from him. He expressed his vulnerability, unlike a lot of other men. I learned that it’s not just men oppressing women. Men also suffer, they feel fear and guilt. For example, I thought the fact that men buy prostitutes was terrible. It filled me with indignation. But John explained it differently. 'It’s humiliating for a guy to buy a whore,' he told me. 'It’s proof that he’s rejected, he’s just so desperate.' I had never thought of that: for me who go to prostitutes, sex is connected to being rejected and humiliated. I always hated people who committed sex crimes, but through John I tuned in to their pain. John told me that it was unfortunate for the poor guy whose sexual preference was a crime and something to be feared. John’s perspective was, 'I’m lucky I’m normal.'"

yoko interview with jon wiener in come together: john lennon in his time. just..... whatever the hell is going on here.

interview w lisa robinson in hit parader "a conversation with john lennon" 1975

"With his four months’ greater experience, Sheridan was an ideal guide to the Reeperbahn’s more exotic diversions, like the Schwülen laden. Stu Sutcliffe later wrote home in amazement that the transvestites were 'all harmless and very young' and it was actually possible to speak to one 'without shuddering.' Though raised amid the same homophobia as his companions, John seemed totally unshocked by St. Pauli’s abundant drag scene; indeed, he often seemed actively to seek it out. 'There was one particular club he used to like,' Tony Sheridan remembers, 'full of these big guys with hairy hands, deep voices—and breasts. But they used to make an effort to talk English. There was something about the place that seemed to make John feel at home.'"

another from john lennon: the life so take it w a grain of salt

so many excerpts from skywriting by word of mouth

and more!

and thats all i'm hunting down for now but he also like Continuously went on and on and and on and ON about how his relationship w yoko worked bc she was so much like a man/mate/what have you

#the first whisper of discourse on this and we're shutting it down but JFASJFSDFJ GAY JOHN COMPILATION LETS GO

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clubdionysus · 2 months

Text

[BAD DECISION #57] Buttons

warnings: the big gallery auction!!! wahooo!!! the entire plot was building to this!!!!!! he is on his knees begging!! rooftop escapades <3, semi-public, oral (f), fingering, phonecall??? during??? jungkook is insane????, readers underwear in jungkooks mouth?? readers underwear in jungkooks... underwear?, a v horny jk lmao

a/n: all currency is in korean won!

wc: 11K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Gallery days always feel a little more placid than they really should do.

Where you think there should be chaos, there is calm; testament to how meticulously you plan. It's the weeks leading up to the shows that are the real stress. Endless errands are run, and countless logistical issues are checked. You work damn hard. The fact you can breathe normally right now, a few hours before doors open, is proof of it.

"You're a lifesaver," Shinwon, Jina's assistant (and Ryu Gallery's stand-in head coordinator), breathes out a sigh of relief. Having taken over her role since Jina left for maternity leave, he's been finding the adjustment hard. The responsibility of orchestrating shows weighs heavily on his shoulders. He hadn't realised quite how much of the heavy lifting Jina had been doing. "I don't know how you do it."

Shaking your head, you laugh. "Ah, it's easy once you get used to it. Get a few more shows under your belt, and you'll be grand."

It's not like you're vastly more experienced than him, it's just that you've built your way up to this. Started small. Learnt the ropes.

Shinwon had connections that put him on a high rung in the ladder, not accounting for the fact that it's damn well scary up near the top. The fall from grace is far less forgiving. Don't look down is the advice he'd always been given for this very reason.

You've had the luxury (or misfortune) of working your way up.

The levels beneath you don't scare you in the same way they scare Shinwon. If you end up back down there, you know how to climb back up. He ran before he could walk; just a product of his privilege. It's nothing you can really hold against him.

Still, it does fill you with a little bit of pride. You've worked hard, and it's paying off.

"Doors are in an hour and a half," you tell him, passing over a stack of auction guides. "Can you be an angel and put these around the place?"

Everyone in attendance will get one upon their arrival, but you know what people are like once a flute of champagne has passed their lips. Won't hurt to have spares available.

With a nod and smile that says a silent thank you for taking the lead, Shinwon is on his merry way.

Looking around the place, you take a second to appreciate all the work that has gone into this show. In the middle of the main gallery area is an empty easel and Taehyung's supplies. A pole is set up directly opposite it.

The idea is simple: Taehyung will do a live work inspired by a routine performed by Danbi. It's all very romantic, how terribly besotted with her he is. Destined to be a muse, nothing could make you happier for her. It'll also be a good money maker—people will be blind bidding throughout the night. The highest bid at the end of the auction will win the work.

It's one of multiple Kim Taehyung originals on offer tonight. He's been making waves on the art circuit lately—you've even got an international line set up for foreign bidders. The fact he's giving up his time and his art to help Jeongguk out is selfless.

"DB, I wouldn't even have international fans had it not been for you pushing me so hard to expand myself," he had reminded you after you'd thanked him for the hundredth time that afternoon. "It's the least I can do—plus Jeongguk has promised he'll import my favourite wine for the restaurant once it opens, so it's a win for me, too."

Maybe you're being greedy, but you hope the night will be a win for you, too. A lot of hard work has gone into this. With Shinwon's continuous second-guessing of himself, you know that the likelihood of a spot opening up on the Ryu's curation team is high. Think that perhaps this could be the thing that really solidifies your presence; that you can not only draw in punters, but profits, too.

You're taking in the room around you when a hand sneaks around your waist, a familiar presence intruding on your personal space in a way that never really feels like an intrusion at all.

"Hey," you whisper, not needing to turn around as Jeongguk presses a kiss to your hair, squeezing you tightly against him. "You're early."

Having been caught up at Dionysus, Jeongguk had wanted to finally finish off the renovations he had been doing to the outdoor area of the bar. Once that was done, he'd have no more obligations with the bar other than casual shifts.

The tides really are turning. It scares him. Excites him, too.

"Managed to rope Yoongi in," Jeongguk says softly, punctuating his sentences with even more kisses pressed against your hair. Told you once that if you were his girlfriend, he'd kiss you in this room, right in front of everyone. The room is empty, now, but you are his girlfriend, so he'll take his victories when he can. "Got everything sorted in, like half the time."

There's a tenderness to the way he holds onto you. Close is never close enough. It's not like he gives it much considered thought; is just how he naturally gravitates towards you.

"Does it look good?" You ask of the bar. "Happy with it?"

Nodding, Jeongguk smiles. "Unrecognisable. Kinda sad, though."

"Hm?" You question. "How come?"

"I just... I've spent a lot of time in that courtyard," he mumbles. "Always makes me think of you, though."

"Of me?" You chirp with a little confusion, as if you don't also have incredibly poignant memories there that linger like the silage of Jeongguk's aftershave through the hazy smoulder of freshly cracked fireworks.

"Of you," he doubles down. Pulls away a little, turning you to face him, and you sort of wish he hadn't. How you'll ever be able to focus now that he's here is beyond you.

Smart in his dark slacks and leather shoes, Jeongguk's white shirt is buttoned mid-way up his chest. The silver chain he so often sports rests against his skin like it was made to adorn his body; so inherently his that it's unfathomable he's ever without it.

In the corner of his charming smile lays his silver lip ring, sparkling under the gallery lights.

It's his eyes though, framed by loose strands of his lightly waved hair, that always render you a little speechless. No other artwork compares.

"New Years," he simply offers. "It's all I can ever think about when I'm there."

So imperative is the memory of time spent with you, it eradicates any memory of Hayun there. He simply doesn't consider it. Now that the dust has settled, you don't think of it, either.

"Maybe there's a little magic in that courtyard," you offer. "Now that it will be open to punters, maybe they'll have their own version of our new year in it."

A lovely thought, it is, that perhaps there's something spectacular about that little space.

In reality, the magic came from stardust that had settled on your skin like glitter, and wrapped Jeongguk up in your cosmic chaos, too.

And so he just shakes his head. Smiles. His lip ring does the thing. You die a little inside, in the most pathetic of ways. "Impossible."

With a laugh, you swot him away. "I've still got a few things to sort out."

"Need a hand with anything?" He asks, always happy to help out.

Shaking your head, you really don't think there is anything he needs to do. "Tae will be here, in, like, five. See if he needs a hand with anything? I need to go and get changed."

In all black, you're casually dressed but know that the night ahead demands something a bit more spectacular. You've a few options with you, but one particular dress is in the forefront of your mind—just worry that it's a little too much.

The thing is, you're playing multiple roles tonight. You're not simply a curator, or a hostess. You're responsible for making people open their purse strings. Looking the part is important.

"Alright," he nods, dark eyes soft. There's a tenderness to Jungook today; his adoration for you quite literally pouring from his very being. "Go. I'll keep myself busy."

Pulling you in for a quick kiss, he sends you on your way. Regrets not telling you he loves you. Will just do it when he sees you next. Revels in the fact that he can just do that now. Doesn't have to go back and forth between his feelings. Is forward with them, 'cause he's secure.

Being together is just easy. It works. Makes sense in a way that nothing else has ever done before. You could chalk it up to the stars, or to some sort of invisible string that had looped itself around you both with a pretty little bow, but nothing would ever do it justice. Not divine intervention, not destiny nor manifestation.

No romance film has ever portrayed a love like the way he feels for you, and no love song could ever soundtrack the way you laugh together. Both holy and unholy in the same breath, no religion could ever make him worship in the way that he devotes himself to you.

If he were alive in the ancient times, he would have made shrines for you. Temples. Castles. Gilded in gold, everyone who visited would have known the sincerity of how he felt.

Instead, he has to settle with modern conventions of dating. Will give you a bouquet of flowers when he really wishes he could plant you a garden full of wildflowers; beautiful unconventional blooms that everyone will adore.

He half figures that maybe he should just blow caution to the wind. Build you a temple anyway. Fill it with glitter and gacha machines. Anyone who ever visited would leave with just as much admiration for you as he has.

By the time you've changed your outfit and checked yourself over a hundred times, Jeongguk is nowhere to be seen, but the door leading up to the rooftop has been left on the latch, so you take it as a safe bet.

Much like you hadn't turned to face the sound of Jeongguk's footsteps earlier, Jeongguk doesn't turn to face yours. The click of your heels echoes on the flat roof of the ceiling, and he knows that to take in the sight of you would be incredibly dangerous. His eyes remain on the city ahead of him. He knows the direction of home. His. Yours, too. Wonders if one day you'll share a home together.

Slinking your arm around his back, you hold onto his waist as his arm drapes over your shoulders. The city is growing darker as the dusky light of late spring sunset lays a thin curtain of pink over the skyline.

"Watcha doing up here?" You ask, squeezing his waist.

He doesn't reply immediately. Could tell you about his mindless thoughts about building a home with you. Could tell you he feels nervous about the night ahead; about whether or not they'll hit their goal, or if your ex will show up.

"Just wanted some air," he says, conveying everything that he needs to. There's a lot on his mind, and you aren't gonna push him to open up so close to the big event.

"Want me to leave you be for a little bit?" You offer, knowing that he seems to be hung up on his thoughts.

Jeongguk's grip on you doesn't ease, even as he shakes his head. "No."

A comfortable silence settles between you both, neither of you needing to say any words. You understand that Jeongguk shares when he's ready. Know that he's probably thinking of the right way to phrase his worries, or deliberating whether or not he even wants to share them at all.

"What if it doesn't work?" He quietly says as the light-speckled horizon glistens in front of you both.

With a small frown, you press your lips together. Know that he doesn't mean to be pessimistic, but it's natural to have worries.

"There's no reason why it shouldn't. Anything we earn tonight will help, even if we don't reach the total goal, Gguk." Turning your head to the side, you press a kiss to the side of his hand that's draped over your shoulder. Instinct-driven, he strokes against the side of your neck with his thumb. "We've got this."

Grouping yourself in with him, the responsibility is shared. The burden falls not on him, but on the both of you. It's always been this way. From the very inception of your birds, you've been a team.

Jeongguk takes solace in this. Has never really felt alone since that first night in Dionysus. Has been consumed by you ever since.

Pressing a kiss to the side of your head Jeongguk quietly admits, "I think I'm scared, B."

"Of course you are," you say softly. "You really care about this. I'd be surprised if you weren't a little scared."

Pulling back from him, you clasp his hand and begin to lead him away from the edge of the roof.

As he takes you in for the first time, Jeongguk thinks he might just die.

The dress you're wearing is one he knows well. One he picked out. One you've been saving for a special occasion.

You're sparkling in a way you never really have done before. Look like that damn disco ball he always used to tell you that you were, except far prettier than he could ever describe.

The fabric slinks over your body, and finishes a little higher up on your thighs than it really should. Your cleavage—dusted in shimmer—is visible, and Jeongguk might just choke when he remembers you're his girlfriend. It doesn't seem possible. How he managed to catch his very own shooting star is beyond him.

It's a dress that doesn't beg for attention—it commands it.

And if there's one thing Jeongguk is good at, it's following your orders.

Shaking his head, a grin blossoms on his pretty pink lips. In the corner of his mouth, his lip ring flips ever so gently. Light glistens on him in the most gorgeous fashion, your disco ball aura dousing him in eclectic energy that neither of you quite understand. Jeongguk just knows he's better when he's with you.

He encourages you to spin beneath his raised arm, fingers still loosely clasped together. Letting out a soft whistle, Jeongguk is speechless as the dress shines even under a dusky veil of early evening skies.

The fabric drapes over your body in a way that he's almost jealous of. Shorter than he thought it would be, but also far sexier than he'd realised, Jeongguk is certain that death will be the only outcome for him if he has to watch you schmooze other men while wearing it.

"You're gonna be breaking hearts tonight, Byeol," he promises you with eyes just as sparkly as your dress.

"So?" You grin. "There's only one I care about."

He could think of some flirtatious retort. Could joke with you. Could banter in the way that he usually would.

But he knows you'll have other men leering at you tonight.

Wants you to know that none of them compare to him.

Pulling you in for a kiss, hands on either side of your jaw, Jeongguk is so incredibly sincere as he mumbles against your lips, "I love you so much." He doesn't let you reply. Kisses you again. And again. Again, again, again. "So fuckin' lucky."

He's a little careless in how often he tells you of his affection. Doesn't care to hide it, nor pretend like it isn't how he feels. Spent so long denying himself of such simple human pleasures. Revels in it, now.

"Shush," you hush him with a smile. "Love you, too—but do you not think the dress is too much?"

You're a little cautious as you pull away. Feel insecure, even with his constant praising. Know that no one else will be dressed quite like this. It's a black-tie event, and most women will be in cocktail dresses, so it's not like you'll be totally out of place; you'll just be demanding attention.

"Since when do you ever care about being too much?" Jeongguk grins. Knows he's never given you any reason to feel that way. If anything, he'll always encourage you to demand more attention. "And no. You look gorgeous, B."

Rolling your eyes to hide the way you blush, you can't help but get a little smiley at such a compliment. "Yeah, but you have to say that."

"No, I don't," he says firmly. "You think I'd lie to you?"

"No."

"Exactly. So, stop fretting."

Tugging on your hand, Jeongguk encourages you towards the staircase leading back down to the gallery.

He guides you until you reach the very top of the stairs—then groans. Tilts his head back and squeezes your hand. Laughs through his wailing, standing totally still.

He'd been so confident, so keen, and now it seems like he's faltering. Squeezing his hand back, you silently let him know you're with him, no matter what.

"It's just... God, it's all out of my control, isn't it?" He asks when you question his sudden change in demeanour.

"Well, yeah," you reply. "But it doesn't have to be a bad thing, Gguk. Letting go of control is healthy."

He shakes his head. Realises now that his stomach is in absolute bits. The butterflies he got when he looked at you had disguised it for a moment. He much prefers the butterflies. Cast his eyes back to you, and finds himself cured.

Tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear, Jeongguk is ever so gentle. Isn't looking in your eyes as such, just at your face. At his hands. At how perfectly poised you are for him, like his very own star suspended in the cosmos for him.

"Hey," you say quietly, the silence between you not uncomfortable but indicative of the fact that Jeongguk isn't entirely at ease.

"Hi," he whispers back.

Edging away from him, but keeping your hands clasped, you get your back up against the wall. Pull him close.

Brows furrowed, there's a haze of confusion haloing around him. He's curious about what you're doing, but trusts you in such a way that requires no clarification.

As you lift your wrist above your head and delicately cross them over, you keep your eyes on his. Whisper, "Take back control."

The way that Jeongguk's large hand wraps around your wrists and keeps them pinned above your head is innate; as if he was put on the early to catch a star.

His hips press against your tummy as his nose nudges down to stroke against yours.

"Yeah?"

Nodding, you let your lips brush against his. "Yeah."

The weight of his hips traps you in place, your body naturally succumbing to what feels right. His aftershave seems stronger, grip tighter. Everything about him is amplified, yet it doesn't come close to the chorus your heart is just dying to cry; declarations of love wrapped up in the sweetest of melodies.

A whisper would be enough. He's the only one who needs to know.

The pressure of his piercing against your lips as he presses down into a kiss always sends you a little bit insane. Today is no exception.

His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and you give him the access he so desperately craves. Whimper into the sensation of being with him. Reciprocate his hard kisses with your soft lips.

Once upon a time, when the tigers still smoked, this was forbidden; folklore of your former selves. Funny, how you know a love like this will become the stuff of legends. Eternal. Written in the stars to be marvelled upon by mature astronomers for decades to come.

No one will know who put the constellation of you in the sky. They'll study your shine for years, yet won't be able to fathom that you were willed to be that way by a mere mortal man; loved so purely that your legacy will remain in the cosmos forever. It's a beautifully foolish idea. Whimsical Impossible. Implausible, even. But with him? Somehow it feels feasible.

Though his kisses have strength behind them, Jeongguk's tongue is gentle as it strokes against yours. A mess of lips, and meeting of tongues, neither of you care to keep quiet. No one's gonna find you up here. This is a space in time reserved for you and Jeongguk alone. The rest of the world can wait a moment longer.

You'll retrograde, and unlike Saturn or Pluto, it'll be better for everyone—'cause you'll also inevitably go direct again, and it'll be so much more fruitful if Jeongguk's mind is at ease.

You do, however, regret giving him leverage, 'cause all you want is your hands in his hair. The hand of his that isn't keeping you secure squeezes at your waist, and you're reminded of just how much you like giving up control to him.

Curved into a smile, Jeongguk's lips leave yours far quicker than you hoped they would. With a casual shake of his head, he decides that he's ready for the orbit to continue. Doesn't mind if he gets a little dizzy in the process.

"C'mon, B," he says as he positions you in front of his body, and encourages you down the stairs. "Save it for later. Best behaviour tonight."

You whine a little, regretfully far too turned on than you really should be at a time like this.

Still, you accept his encouragement down the stairs, and make sure your fingers are intertwined with his as you walk on down to the exhibition hall.

"Oh, I can pop this in the cloakroom for you," you chirp without much thought when you notice his bag tossed down by the podium at which you'll be conducting the auction later on that evening. Black leather, you recognise it from your time spent in his room. It's usually tucked beneath his desk.

"Actually," he interjects. "There's something I wanna talk to you about—we don't have to do it, but I kinda just had a passing thought, and maybe it could be helpful—"

He begins to ramble, but it's cut off by your laugh. "Just tell me."

A little bashful, and somewhat nervous, Jeongguk reaches for his bag. The zip scrapes open, and he retrieves a small box from a nearby printing shop. "Now they're nothing fancy, and I just kinda mocked them up because I wasn't sure if we—"

"Gguk," you laugh. "You're rambling. Tell me."

"Sorry," he grins, passing you over the box, figuring that he may as well just show you his idea.

Lifting open the box, you're greeted with the familiar scent of fresh ink. It's always been one that you've loved: newspapers, books, magazines. There's a nostalgia to it. Inside sit a wedge of business cards—except when you pull them out, you realise they're something different entirely.

"So what I'm thinking," he begins as you study one of the cards. "Is that people can buy these cards, right—" he points to an empty space on the back of the card "—and however much they spend is written on here. When the restaurant opens, it can be redeemed. So, like, put in 50,000 now, and then in like six months' time, if they come for a meal, we comp through however much is on their token. Like a gift card, or a voucher, or I dunno, even a bar tab. Just to build a little extra capital up and also give them something tangible in return. Build brand loyalty."

"This is smart," you tell him with a smile.

"It's just something we discussed at uni once," he says a little sheepishly. "Some festival did it to raise funds for booking acts. I just figured it wouldn't hurt to try?"

"It wouldn't hurt at all," you tell him, wanting him to know that his ideas are just as valid and worthwhile as yours. Feel guilty for not just including him right from the start. "We could set up a stand near the cloakroom? There's space for it, and it'll mean everyone will pass it."

"Yeah?" He says, a little unsure of himself.

"Yeah, Gguk," you encourage. Stand on your tiptoes and give him a gentle kiss before pressing the box to his chest. "Go. Tae is near the cloakroom. You guys have full control. Set it up how you like."

"Are you—"

"I'm sure," you promise. "Go. I'll see you in a bit."

With a silent nod but a smile so bright it's practically blinding you, Jeongguk walks backwards for a few steps. Doesn't want to take his eyes off you. Pursing your lips, suppressing a grin, you blow a kiss in his direction, which is enough to satisfy him. He blows one back, then turns to head down the hallway.

Sighing so deeply the tides could change, you look around the room. Mutter to yourself, "Let's do this."

You always think you're not quite right for the glitz and glam that comes with the artistic industry, but come show nights, it's a surprise just how at home you feel.

Surrounded by art, and people who appreciate it, you're able to discuss your passion at length. As much as you love the art cafe, there's so much you can say about paint strokes with couples who come in for a fun date activity.

Watching on from across the room, Jeongguk thinks you shine brightest like this.

His view of you is obscured by the easel Taehyung is working at, and the routine Danbi is performing on the pole. Though Taehyung has seen Danbi like this a hundred times over—how her muscles work and flex beneath her skin, and the concentration yet serenity on her pretty face—he's never painted it so explicitly.

The stroke of his brush comes with ease, just like Danbi's movements appear to be. They really do make the perfect match, Jeongguk thinks.

When he glances back over to you, noticing how you're holding the little charm on your necklace, he wonders what people think when they see you together. It doesn't matter, really, but he hopes you're the kind of couple people grow envious of. He knows damn well he'd be jealous of himself.

And as the space beside him fills with a looming presence he would rather not acknowledge, he knows he's not the only one.

"Cleans up well, doesn't she?" A voice that Jeongguk had forgotten was quite so arrogant says.

Swigging back his drink, Jeongguk deliberates whether or not a reply is owed. If he felt like the dig was about him, he'd ignore it, but you're the one being spoken about. Of course he's not gonna just let it slide. Will be a petulant little brat about it.

"Seokmin," Jeongguk grimaces, deliberately getting his name wrong again.

"We both know you know my name," Seokjin smirks, adjusting his posture and broadening his shoulders. Lowering his voice, there's something sinister about the way he mutters, "No doubt you hear it in her sheets from time to time."

It's sort of funny how you considered roundhousing Hayun with a chair the last time you saw her. Jeongguk is thinking of doing something very similar to Seokjin.

"I know your name 'cause you're a clingy ex who won't stop sending her flowers," Jeongguk scoffs. Considers being vulgar. Mentioning the way you whine his name. Respects you too much to do it, though. All he really wants is for Seokjin to leave, so he lays it straight. "The auction tonight is for my start-up, so don't waste your time. I'm sure you won't want to lose your money to me, and frankly, I don't want it."

"You're right," Seokjin nods. "I'd rather not give you a penny, but I'm particularly interested in one of the listings."

Opening up the pamphlet, Seokjin pretends to skim through it until he finds the listing. Doesn't need to. Already knows which number it is. It's also right at the front. He's making a big old song and dance out of things just to piss Jeongguk off.

"Ah!" He continues. "That's it. Number one."

Jeongguk grates his jaw. Keeps his eyes on you. Is hard in his gaze. He doesn't want you to look his way and see the state of him, but he knows that his breathing exercises only calm him so much. You're the one thing that really grounds him.

" Experience for two at Pot & Paint Art Cafe ," Seokjin reads aloud. " Expertly hosted, it says, but we both know who'll be looking after the winners, don't we? Would be a waste for me not to win it."

He's deliberately trying to push Jeongguk's buttons. A few months ago, it might have worked.

But a lot can change in a few months.

"I might not bother taking anyone with me," Seokjin continues like the vapid narcissist he is. "Just me and her. I always hated that cafe, but there's that chair of hers—the one in the corner, her favourite..." he trails off. Smirks. "Yeah, I hate that cafe, but it can be fun when it's just me and her."

Jeongguk knows he should be angry. Knows that the 'correct' response to Seokjin's baiting should be red-hot fury.

But instead, Jeongguk just laughs .

It's not sarcastic. Not cruel.

If anything, it's hearty. Loud. Makes his head lean back, shoulders lifting to his ears. Has you glancing in his direction, smiling too—until you notice who is standing directly beside him.

Brows raised, you recognise the expression on Seokjin's face well. Knows that he'll be scoffing soon. Rolling his eyes, maybe. A year ago, you might have cared.

Now, all you can do is find your eyes dragged back home to a smile you never want to lose.

"Ah, that's funny, man," Jeongguk says with a shake of his head. "No, really. That's, like, the most deluded shit I've heard in weeks, and trust me, you should meet my ex. You'd get on like a house on fire. 'It can be fun,' " he imitates Seokjin, voice all goofy. Laughs, again. "Oh, fuckin' hell, man. That really tickled me. Good joke."

If he were to psychoanalyse himself—which he won't, not now that he has a therapist to do it for him—he'd probably realise he's developed a nervous response to stressful situations. Did the same exact thing when you told him you wanted to end things back in the Dionysus cloakroom. Had laughed and told you no.

The idea of Seokjin being with you, especially in the art cafe, makes Jeongguk feel sick, quite frankly.

And so, even if he seems unphased, Jeongguk has no qualms in asserting his dominance. Sure, he may be younger. Might not have his shit together.

But you love him in spite of it all.

He doesn't need Seokjin's approval.

"Look, I dunno why you insist on chasing around a girl half your age," Jeongguk says with a flippant arrogancy that can only ever be charming from a man like him. Though you're only a couple of years younger than Seokjin, Jeongguk reckons it's his youth that Seokjin is really envious of, so he plays into it. After all, it's the only thing money can't buy. "But I've been doing exactly what I said I would back at the tennis club: putting that youth of mine to good use. She's not interested, mate. So, if you don't mind, old man, stop looking at my girlfriend like she's yours."

Patting Seokjin's arm just to ensure that salt is rubbed into the wound, Jeongguk smiles as he walks away. Doesn't care to play nice. In fact, he doesn't care to play at all. Whatever game Seokjin wants to play, he can play alone.

Jeongguk slinks through the crowd that's watching Taehyung paint, and heads straight for you. He places his hand on the small of your back, joining your conversation. His spare hand reaches out to shake hands with the associate you've been talking with.

You're all smiles as you introduce him.

" Ah, the man of the hour graces us with his presence," You beam. "This is Jeon Jeongguk, the founder of the restaurant we're raising funds for this evening."

"Unique," the older gentleman you've been speaking with says as he shakes Jeongguk's hand. "It's an innovative way to get investments. I'm impressed."

Knowing him as well as you do, you're sure Jeongguk will throw it all back to you, so you don't let him.

"He's a sure bet," you assure the gentleman. "Hands of Midas, this one."

"Oh, I'm sure," he kindly agrees before you excuse yourself and leave Jeongguk to chat with potential investors.

As you depart, you subtly rub his back just to give him a little boost. He doesn't need you hanging on his side for the whole night. Will do well to speak with the art snobs independently of you.

After all, he's building a brand and needs to be the face of it—not just known as the curator's partner.

"Doing well, isn't he?" Seoyeon purrs, passing you a champagne flute as you join her by the bar.

Taking a sip, your eyes are locked in on him. He's laughing, now. Cracking jokes. Is so charismatic it's hard to forget how shy he can be.

"Incredibly well," you fondly praise. "He never would have done this a year ago."

"And who do we have to thank for that?" Seoyeon giggles, nudging against your shoulder. Her hair is loose, tiny plaits scattered throughout. Yoongi is across the room with the boys, a single plait secured in his hair, too. They really are a perfect couple.

It's interesting that you'd think that of them.

You, a cosmic entity; Jeongguk, stars for eyes. You're just as perfectly aligned as the Mins are.

"He'd have done it eventually," you smile. "Just needed a little push."

"Well, aren't we glad you were there to do it," she kindly says, then begins to ask about some of the auction listings.

You're thankful for the excuse to ramble on about it.

In a way, you're practising your pitches. Are a little bit nervous about standing on stage in front of everyone there and beginning an auction. While you won't be the one actually calling the bids in—you've hired someone from the local auction house for that—you still have the duty to present all of the items first.

It doesn't take long for Jeongguk to excuse himself from his conversation. Had gone in search of you earlier, but like the shooting star you are, you'd evaded him. Seoyeon squeezes your arms as he approaches you and makes her own excuses. Wants to give you this moment with Jeongguk alone.

His eyebrows raise upon seeing this, but a smile also graces his lips.

"Am I really such terrible company?" He playfully asks you, reaching for your hand. He lifts your knuckles to his lips and presses a sweet kiss against them, knowing better than to be so outwardly affectionate with you in a professional environment.

"Oh, the worst," you nod. "I only stick around for the money."

"A gold digger and a man without a penny to his name," he assesses, standing shoulder to shoulder beside you. Both looking out to the sea of people in front of you, it feels like you're on dry land when you're together. "What a pair we make."

"The stuff of Hollywood films," you hum in agreement. "Next time we're at a motel, that can be our cover story."

"Next time?" He smirks. "Thought you said it'd never happen again?"

"Well, beggars can't be choosers now, can they?" You sigh as if you're really bothered by the lack of financial stability your relationship offers you. Maybe it's naive, but you really think it's inconsequential. You'll be stable one day; for now, you're stable in so many other ways. "If it's the only way we can afford to hook up, then I guess we'll have to."

"And they say romance is dead."

Glancing up to him, you're amazed at how flippantly you speak of such matters, now.

"Let's not pretend like it's the worst place we've ever—"

"Byeol," he quietly scolds you, but he just can't help that damn smile of his. "We're here for business, not pleasure."

"Tell that to Jeongguk up by the roof a couple of hours ago."

"Still thinking about it?"

Your subtle grimace is hidden well. "Regretfully."

He smiles when he hears this. Is vindicated by your relentless desire to be with him. You're so flippantly vulgar when it comes to your desperation, and he finds it far hotter than he thinks he should, as if human attraction has never known such a karmic pull before.

Gaze hard on the crowd of people all mingling and chatting, he wonders how long it would take for anyone to notice you weren't around. If anyone would look for you, and upon failure, would look for him too. How easy it would be to work out exactly what's going on.

And yet he can't help but ask, "How long until the auction?"

"About twenty minutes," you guess. Haven't checked the time in a little while, but pride yourself in your judgement of time passing. Still, you reach for his wrist. Check his watch. Smile. "Yeah, twenty minutes."

Jeongguk weighs up his pros and cons. Tries to give it considered thought. Clasps your fingers with his, then says, "I need your opinion on something."

The way you let him guide you out of the room is damn near comical. Anything he asks of you, he'll likely get. Plus, you like that he values your opinion. Makes you feel seen. Heard. A lot of the things he does make you feel that way.

He's dastardly confident as he leads you down the hallway and back to the stairwell that takes you up to the rooftop.

"Something out here," he tells you over his shoulder.

You're not really sure why you don't protest. Don't tell him that now isn't the time to be going up there; that you're expected to be in the main hall very shortly.

His pied-piper grip on your attention has you following him regardless. Off you trot, up and away.

The inky-black skies have already spilt into the horizon. Lights spread through the valleys that surround the city, like whispers spreading far and wide. Rumours. Much the ones you could envisage trickling through the city's artistic elite if they noticed the Ryu's darling and some rogue tattooed charmer galavanting away together.

In all likelihood, no one would care.

It's just fun to pretend like you and Jeongguk are something worthy of the story books; as if the New York Times would have to cease its chart, for all the tales would be of Jeongguk and his star. Your adventures, far and wide. Paperback, hardback, special editions. Devoured by masses, adored by those who just got it.

But you're none of those silly little stories you dream up together. You're not wanted by Interpol, you're not star-crossed lovers, and you're definitely super spies, either.

You're just a guy and a girl.

Yet when Jeongguk has you alone on that roof, back pressed to the far wall, and his kisses feel as cosmic as they do, it'd be easy to pretend you're so much more.

"My opinion?" You mumble through the kisses you really don't want to stop. Whine a little as his strong hands begin to roam your body, squeezing and stroking wherever they can with little regard for the dress you're wearing. He might've been the one who bought it, but he wants it off just as much as he wanted to see it on. "You wanted it? On what?"

"On how quickly you think it'll take for me to make you cum."

"Gguk," you groan, as if your hands aren't working your way down his shirt. Miraculously, through no fault of your own, his buttons end up threaded through their loops. Undone. Oh, no . His chest is far more exposed than it was. Totally has nothing to do with you, or the fact that you like his chest just as much as he likes yours. "We can't."

"We shouldn't ," he corrects you. "But we most definitely can ."

As you laugh, he pulls back slightly. Tucks hair behind your ear. Gets his eyes on yours, and it's only then that you realise he must have planets in them now. Entire solarsystems. They just shine in a way that can't be earthly.

"You know how pretty you are after we fuck? You literally glow, Byeol," he praises. "I reckon people will want to bid more if they see you like that."

"What?" You laugh, bashful at the idea of people seeing you in a way that's reserved for Jeongguk and Jeongguk alone. "Fucked out?"

"Nah," he smirks into your lips, pressing down into a soft kiss. "Just pretty—but I can make a real mess of you if you'd rather? Ruin you, if you want."

"They'd never let me back here," you assure him, pushing him away, and then pulling him right back.

"Fine," he smiles, his body moving entirely up to your will. If you want him away, he'll go. Will respect your wishes. Be the gentleman you know him to be. But you haven't told him 'no', yet. Chess remains unspoken.

As his lips find a new home in the crook of your neck, chess is the last thing on your mind.

"I can play nice, too," he mumbles against your throat, wet kisses being pressed to your skin. He's obsessed with the scent of your hair, nose stroking against you. Groaning as he does so, Jeongguk doesn't care to hide the way you make him come undone. He's weak, and he wants you to know it. You gave him control earlier, but he doesn't want it. "I can be a good boy for you, hmm? Would you like that baby? Like me on my knees for you?"

Tall, broad, Cruel Summer-coded Devil; Jeongguk on his knees for you is the last thing you need at this moment.

Yet somehow it feels like it's the only thing you need, now that the thoughts have been planted.

They'll blossom in your head. Ideas of him, and his catastrophic eyes looking up at you. The feeling of him taking ownership of your sex with his mouth, and your heart with his eyes. Like vines of ivy, you'll become ensnared by him. Will realise too late that it's poisonous—and by that point, what else is there to do but succumb to a little death?

"You're literally gonna make me cum in like 5 seconds if you keep that up," you tell him. "I might die."

He doesn't mention it, but he does smile when he realises you've started talking like him. So integrated into one another's lives, it's getting harder to remember a time when you weren't utterly besotted.

"Keep what up?" He plays dumb, just as bratty as you so often like to be. You're not the only one mirroring. He's just as influenced by you as you are by him. "I just wanna make you feel good."

"You do," you softly moan into his touch. His lips are intentional against your throat, but it worries you. "No hickies, Gguk."

He nods, sucking just a little longer than he should but not hard enough to leave a mark.

Though he apologises, he's boyish and brass when his vulgar lips beg, "Just let me suck on your clit, instead. Please . I'll be so quick. I promise."

"Gguk," you whine, as if your body isn't one or two terms of endearment away from folding.

"I'll make you cum so hard," he whispers against your lips. "All on my tongue. You want that, huh, baby? You want the taste of your gorgeous cunt in my mouth?"

"I don't think you'll be quick enough," you reply between frantic kisses. This is a blatant lie, and you both know it.

"Let me try," he pleads.

Pressing kisses along your jaw, Jeongguk skillfully works his lips down your throat, chest, valley of your breasts. Is interrupted by your dress, and takes it as an invitation to skip it entirely. Crouches. Holds your hips as he kisses up your thighs.

The rooftop isn't private. Anyone could walk up at any second. The danger of it all excites you just as much as it terrifies you.

"I'm on my knees," he states the obvious, his hands creeping up the front of your dress. "I'm begging ."

Pathetically, all you can do is gasp a little as he pushes the fabric up. Curses when he's greeted with your lace-covered cunt. Lets his nose nudge up against you, just 'cause he can think of few scents he loves more. He knows it's the pheromones that make him this insatiable, but he doesn't give a fuck. Would wear you like a perfume if he could.

"Five seconds," you compromise. "That's all you get. Just a taste."

He doesn't argue against it. Knows you well enough now to know that timing just isn't your thing.

Instead, he pulls back. Hooks a finger beneath the fabric of your underwear, and tugs it to the side. Almost fuckin' whimpers as he watches strings of slick arousal cling to the lace.

He spreads your pussy apart with his fingers, and swears he might die at the sight of it.

Desperately wet, Jeongguk loves just how keenly your body responds to him.

If you had control over it, you'd hold back. Wouldn't give him such satisfaction—but you can't, and so you both have to live with the knowledge that sex will only ever be this good with him. You'll just have to stay with him forever, or something dumb like that, you guess. Shame.

"Gonna waste your time," you warn him.

"Just looking," he mumbles while his nose strokes up against your clit. "Doesn't count yet."

"You're bending the rules, Koo," you gently tell him. "Behave yourself, or you won't get anything."

"No," he whines. "Please. I just... God, B. You don't understand how fuckin' hot you are." And then he smiles. Shakes his head. Presses a single pouty kiss just above your clit. "My pretty girlfriend and her gorgeous cunt. Fuck. I love you."

Part of you thinks he's just saying it to buy time.

But you know it to be true, too.

"I love you, too," you whisper, stroking your fingers through his hair.

His tongue gently traces against your clit. Once. Twice.

"Doesn't count," he says again, voice hushed against you, the warmth of his breath cooling his spit.

"Five," you begin to count down.

Afraid he'll miss his chance, Jeongguk wraps his lips around your clit, latching onto you with such incredible force it's impossible to keep counting. Immediately, he just sort of takes your breath away. It'd be romantic if it weren't so sordid. Hands tangled in his hair, you keep him pressed to your pussy.

"Oh, fuck," you moan. "Feels so good."

But Jeongguk is dressed like a gentleman tonight. Will follow your rules, just like he always has done.

He pulls away before you've even really begun to acknowledge the sensation of pleasure he commands through your body. He's catching a quick breath, too. Looks up at you, eyes devastatingly doe-like.

"More?" he poutily asks.

And you just can't stop yourself from nodding, fingers still raked in his hair. "Yeah, baby. More, please."

He doesn't need telling twice. His lips press kisses against you, tongue stroking. With long, flat licks, and sharp, direct flicks, he varies his rhythm like there's music in his veins. Is an expert at the melody of you. Can play along without any sheet music. Just needs you as his conductor.

And conduct, you do.

"Fingers," you whimper after no more than a minute.

"Hm?" Hums against you as if he isn't desperate to do more. He just wants you begging, now.

"Finger me, Gguk."

Again, he doesn't need telling twice. His long middle finger pushes into you, curving instantly. He knows your body well enough now to know all your weak points. When your legs do a little involuntary shake, he knows he's found what he's after.

"So fuckin' good," you whine, head tipping back, one of your hands reaching back to hold onto the wall for support. "Keep going."

A second thick finger is pushed into you with ease. So desperate for him, you know that you'd probably even be fine with three. It'd be no match for his cock, and how perfectly it stretches you out. The thought of it alone is enough to make you moan.

"Oh, god," you breathe out as the sensation of building pleasure washes over you. You're so much closer than you really ought to be. Just a natural consequence of the honour you think comes with fucking a man like him; knowing that you make an earth-bound deity like him weak, too.

"Hold that thought, baby," Jeongguk whispers, pulling away from you, fingers still stroking up against your g-spot. His lips are covered in your arousal, the sheen of moonlight making him look ever so pretty. "Phone."

Your eyes are locked on him, even as he takes his phone from his pocket to check the caller ID.

And to your fucking shock, he answers it.

It's more than that, though.

He answers with a smirk. Looks up at you as he says hello—and then silently lets his tongue slowly drag up your cunt.

"B?" He questions down the phone a second later, the pace of his fingers increasing. "She's just walking off some nerves, I think."

And his tongue is back on you, phone held an inch or so away until he hears the person on the other end finish. You're so scared that the stop-start nature of his teasing will push you over the edge. It's the textbook play to make you cum just that little bit harder, just how Jeongguk really loves it. He's already had a few glasses of champagne tonight, but he'd rather have yours any day of the week. There's just no way in hell you can let it happen, not when he needs to go and face people afterwards.

"The rooftop, yeah," he says, smirking as you widen your eyes. "Nah, you don't need to grab her, I'll go."

He mouths at you to shush, his pretty smile shining just for you.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he says down the phone. "Typical isn't it? Climax of the evening, and she's nowhere to be found. Don't worry, though; I've got this, Hobbes. Yeah, yeah, I'll make her come. No worries."

When he hangs up, his lopsided grins doesn't even think to utter an apology.

"Hear that?" he teases. "Gotta hurry up and cum, baby."

"He's gonna disown us both," you tell him, but Jeongguk just shakes his head. Nudges his nose up against you. Presses a kiss to your clit, then gets back to business.

It's like an old dance at this point. Jeongguk knows all the steps. He could make you cum so easily if he wanted to—and now, he does want to. He's had his fun. Knows that no matter how hard you cum, you won't be fully satisfied until he fucks you.

"Cum before he starts looking for you, and he'll never know," Jeongguk shrugs his shoulders, then begins to rub small circles on your clit with his other hand. It's a combination he knows has lethal outcomes.

Your legs are frail and limp as he begins his relentless pursuit of your pleasure.

"That's it, babe," he husk. "Cum for for me."

Like the collapse of a damn, the sensation of Jeongguk's fingers spills you over the edge. The trembling of your whines and the shaking of your legs give it away. Your grip on his hair is painfully tight, but he kinda likes it.

"Attagirl, baby," he praises, then wraps his lips around your clit for the final few pulses of your orgasm. Moans against you. Nods. Pulls away from you slowly. Laughs. Rests his head against your thigh. "Just cancel the auction. Let me fuck you, instead."

Laughing now, too, you shake your head and encourage him to his feet. He's about to nudge his nose against yours when you stop him in his tracks.

"Uh-uh," you shake your head. "I've gotta go schmooze people."

"But I just made you cum."

"And you know I love you for it," you promise. Hold his chin so he can't sneakily divert his lips as you press a kiss to his cheek, then whisper in his ear, "But you also know I'm gonna return the favour later, Gguk."

"I'll die before you get the chance," he whines.

You sigh with a smile. Glance behind yourself to check that the coast is clear, before you do something you would have never dreamt of doing with anyone else.

Hooking your thumbs beneath either side of your underwear, you quickly shimmy them down your legs, until they're by your ankles. Stepping out of them before they reach the floor, your elevated heels act as a saving grace, you're sin dressed up in a pretty dress.

Jeongguk watches on, wholly bemused. Licks his lips when you stand directly in front of him, then silently lets them part as you press the soaked fabric against them.

He welcomes your underwear in his mouth. Sucks the taste of you from lace, his heavenly eyes closed, lashes splaying on his cheeks.

Without a word, you pull them back. Begin to fiddle with his belt buckle and find it incredibly easy to loosen. Unbuttoning his trousers, you're well aware that you're pressed for time, but you don't care. Nothing else matters.

He groans as your hand dips down into his boxers. He's so hard. It's gonna be damn hard for him to hide it. Might have to send you back down alone.

But when you start jerking him off with the same hand that's holding your soaked underwear? The wet fabric pressed against him as your other hand grips his hair to keep his eyes on yours?

God, he thinks he'll die .

But then you've got that look on your face—the one that Jeongguk know means no good. Wrapping the fabric around his thick shaft, you pump his cock once more. Twice, because you just can't help it. Readjust him. Get his desperate desire for you obscured. He's in boxer briefs, which helps. They're tight, and if you angle things just right, he can hide the fact he's two damn strokes away from coming undone.

You do his trousers back up. Belt, too.

"I'm literally gonna cum in my pants," Jeongguk groans, all pathetic and stroppy.

"No, you won't," you grin, though you'd kind of love it if he did. Turning to walk away, you call after him. "C'mon! I need to run to the bathroom, quickly. Can you tell Hobes I'll just be a minute?"

Jeongguk is right behind you. Lifts your dress as you walk ahead of him just to squeeze your ass cheeks. You let him. Just sort of ignore it, because it's not exactly an unusual occurrence with him.

Part of you is worried about this whole no-underwear thing. It's a short dress; all it'll take is a little stumble to flash an entire room of people you're trying to impress.

It's painfully clear that your desperate need to fuck Jeongguk at all times will surely one day be detrimental, but for now, you'll hope for the best.

"I'm so fuckin' hard I'm gonna die," he tells you again. Is a little sterner. A little more convicted. Has fully convinced himself that mortality lingers on undelivered orgasms. "I can't talk to Hoseok like this. What if he thinks it's for him ?"

"He'd probably be up for it as long as Joon could join in, too," you tease him, then add, "But it'll probably help if you stop touching my ass."

"Okay, firstly, what's yours is mine. And secondly, please don't put that mental image of Joon into my head—"

"Kinda hot."

"Byeol."

"What? He's got great thighs."

"Keep this up, and I'll bend you over mine," he threatens, as if the prospect of getting spanked doesn't excite you even more.

"Oh, nooo," you feign distress. "Please, don't do that! I hate it when you do that!"

Laughing, Jeongguk does give you a light spank just before you start heading down the stairs. "You're the fuckin' worst."

"S'why you're with me," you beam. Even if Jeongguk can't see your smile, he can hear it. Knows how radiant you must look right now.

Gently brushing the front of his trousers, Jeongguk checks to make sure his cock is as disguised as it can be. Hopes it just looks like he's packing—of which he most definitely is, but that's beyond the point.

Once you reach the bottom of the stairs, Jeongguk squeezes your side just before you head in opposite directions. It's a silent comfort. He touches you so often, not because he likes to be a nuisance, but because it eases that part of his brain that really is a nuisance.

Picking up one of the complimentary mints by the front desk, Jeongguk bites into it as he heads towards the main gallery hall. He knows that as much as your taste is his favourite thing in the world, it's not exactly appropriate for such an occasion.

Then again, nor is having your wet thong wrapped around his cock, but that's neither here nor there.

"Find her?" Hoseok asks as Jeongguk tries to slip into the room unnoticed.

Nodding, Jeongguk also reaches for a champagne flute on the tray being carried by a server.

"Yeah, she's just checking herself over in the bathroom."

"Okay, good. Oh, also—" Hoseok reaches over to tweak one of the buttons on Jeongguk's shirt. Looking down, Jeongguk realises he'd left far more undone than he thought he had. "—If you're gonna tell white lies about what you're up to, don't get caught red-handed. Or glitter-handed, would be better, I suppose. Maybe you should have gone to the bathroom, too. Checked yourself over, Cassanova."

Scrunching his face up, Jeongguk doesn't have time to respond before Hoseok swans off again. It's far better than his boner being noticeable, but it's embarrassing nonetheless. Better Hoseok notice rather than anyone else, though.

One day, the pair of you will be able to control yourselves, but it is not today. Likely won't be tomorrow, or the next day, either. In fact, it probably won't ever happen, but you can pretend like dignity will one day be a trait in your repertoire.

Still, when Jeongguk notices you smiling and chatting with important people in suits a few minutes later, he can't help but think you look incredibly dignified.

Then he remembers you're without your underwear. Considers dying again.

Through the speaker system, Shinwon's voice calls the room to attention. Unbeknownst to you both, it's perhaps the third time he's given a small indication for people to gather in the main hall.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the skills auction is about to commence. Please join us in the main Gallery Hall. Auction directories are available at the back of the room."

The chatter quietens down, and it's up to you to lead command of the room.

There's no stage, thank god, just a podium for the auctioneer to stand behind. The underwear situation would have been dreadful otherwise.

Jeongguk watches on with unbridled adoration as you work the room. It's one thing to see you command a conversation amongst friends. Another, amongst professionals. But this? All eyes on you? Everyone sparkling in your presence? It's an honour.

He wonders how many people will begin to adorn themselves in glitter as a result of you. Wonders if you realise just how captivating you truly are.

The audience laughs when you're a little bit awkward in the most charming of ways, and they cheer when you reveal the first ticket item to be one you personally submitted.

"Now, I may be slightly biased, but even though this is the first item of the night, I think it's just as valuable as some of our later items. Someone always has to go first, though. It's an honour to kick off the auction with a private evening for two at Pot & Paint—arguably the city's finest artist establishment," you joke, knowing damn well that you've got nothing on the Ryu. The audience laughs with you, which does settle your nerves a little bit.

"Hosted by yours truly," you continue, "It's the perfect opportunity to unwind and indulge in your own artistic talents. Included are all the materials you'll need, four hours reserved off just for you, and complimentary drinks throughout the evening. Hosted by yours truly, I'll be there to assist throughout the night. Perfect for a date, for friends, or family. This is a money can't buy experience, as we don't typically do private rentals. There's a reserve of 50 thousand won."

Pitch complete, you pass control over the auctioneer to kick off the bidding process. Taking a deep breath, you'd been able to hide just how nervous you were while you were speaking. Your body language is far more reserved now that you're no longer performing.

Glancing up, you find Jeongguk in the crowd, and it all just sort of melts away.

He pouts his lips together. Presses a kiss into the air. Smiles, when you smile, too. Nods. You did good, B.

The auction starts with ease. Ten thousand, then twenty. Before you know it, the fifty thousand threshold has been hit. Your first real victory of the night. Sure, fifty thousand won won't buy you much—some cutlery, or maybe just a couple of pizzas for the team after a hard day of working at the restaurant—but it's a start.

You haven't been keeping an eye on Jeongguk's bar tab idea, wanting to leave that to him, so you really have no idea how things stand at the moment.

The bidders are random audience members. There's not much buzz around this listing—after all, people are here for the big items like Yoogni's custom furniture and Taehyung's art—but it's a nice way to ease the crowd into bidding.

Your eyes follow the raised papers when new bids are called.

But then eighty thousand won is called, and the elation that's been simmering in your veins freezes over.

Standing towards the back of the crowd, hand raised, smirk present, is Kim Seokjin. Every bit the asshole he always has been. Has that look upon his face you always used to hate; I win.

"Ninety thousand," calls a far more comforting voice from across the room, and just like that, your blood feels warm once more.

Gaze hard; Jeongguk is locked in on you. There are stars in the space between you, but it feels like a black hole is about to swallow you right up.

"A hundred thousand." Seokjin's voice booms through the room, but it isn't enough to shatter the vibrational pull Jeongguk has on you.

"A hundred and fifty thousand," Jeongguk calls out, raising his hand. Doesn't care how ridiculous the price might be. What he's doing isn't making a bet. Not really. He's making a promise.

I've got you, baby, his slow nod and furrowed brows tell you.

"Two hundred," Seokjin calls without missing a beat.

Jeongguk glances across to Seokjin. Glares. Briefly considers throwing his champagne flute at Seokjin's head.

Instead, he refocuses on you. Ups his bid. "Two fifty."

"Three hundred."

"Three fifty."

Anyone who doesn't know you would most likely think nothing much of the unfolding bidding battle. It's an auction. It's what happens. They just really love painting, apparently. The best—or should that be the wealthiest—man always wins.

The issue is that Jeongguk can bid all he likes, but you both know he doesn't have the money to pay for it. The only person he'll be cheating is himself when the night's earnings are tallied, and he'll have lost out on however much a genuine bid could have been for the private use of the art cafe.

This place is full of art lovers, critics, and collectors. Though it was never a high-ticket item, it was still one that you know you could have made money from.

Everyone can see Jeongguk and Seokjin battling it out. Nobody else is even gonna bother.

Their bids inch up and up and up. You wish you had never mentioned that you'd personally be at the winners' beck and call for the duration of their time spent in the cafe. You know that's what's motivating Seokjin right now.

"Five hundred thousand," he says, hand raised, an arrogant smirk being rightfully ignored by you.

"Six hundred," Jeongguk counters, growing impatient with this stupid fuckin' game of cat and mouse.

And so Seokjin decides to really rub salt in the wounds of Jeongguk's financial instability. He doesn't know much about him, but he knows he's just finished school and is relying on fundraising for his business.

It's cute, Seokjin thinks, that Jeongguk believes he can satisfy a girl like you.

"One million won."

There's silence. A gasp or two.

Until, all rather suddenly, there's a sigh. A cough. A hand raised towards the back of the room, far behind both Jeongguk and Seokjin.

Husky as he speaks, the new bidder draws a stunned silence from the room when he simply says, "One hundred million won."

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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

Note

Hi! I'm not sure if you're taking requests but i wanted to ask if you could write one with Pedro where they're dating but reader is not famous, she is actually a young artist that runs a small business on Instagram. And everyone is shocked that he's with her, but he is so proud of being her boyfriend and is VERY supportive of her both in private and in public. That's, thank you 😊💕

the actor and the artist - pedro pascal x artist! female reader

Summary: you’re hosting your first ever art show and the paparazzi make you wonder if you’re good enough.

Word Count: 1.4K

Content Warning: age gap relationship, insecure reader.

Note: I fking love this request @rosaliedepp *kisses your forehead* I hope you love it. 🫶🏼💜

You remember where you first started, selling your artwork on Etsy, your prices were so cheap they undermined the hours of hard work, pain, sweat and tears that went into them, still you only managed to sell 3 works in about 12 months, you were stumped. Feeling like you should just give up, like it was a lost cause and your art wasn’t really as good as you originally thought it was. Until it happened.

You thought it was a scam at first, these scammers were getting crafty these days and the Pedro Pascal, messaging you on Etsy wanting a custom piece? Come on, didn’t seem likely and you weren’t stupid. You remember asking him to DM you on Instagram, his offical page, giving the email your username on Insta and within minutes receiving a direct message from the Pedro Pascal’s offical Instagram page that at the time, had 2.4 million followers, the white tick surrounded by the blue circle was confirmation it was really him and not some bot, or scammer.

He had been generous in his compliments on your works, even suggested making a business Instagram account to gain more traction, within the hour of messaging he had placed an order and left a very generous tip, he had even followed you and kept in contact regularly upon the arrival of his artwork, you figured it was because he didn’t trust you after he had sent that much money.

It was the opposite of what you thought that kept him talking with you, he thought you were sweet, talented and had real potential and knew he could help you where you needed it; not lacking in talent but recognition. If people actually saw your artwork, people would buy them. And they did, once they saw that Pedro had uploaded an image of your artwork in his house, that he followed you, your page blew up overnight, and you had Pedro to thank for it.

Which leads you to the present, two years later and 12 months of you two officially being a couple, even though things were fairly ‘new’ for the two of you, people had suspected things had been going on for longer. People of course had said their two cents online and you opted to ignore it.

Here you were in the cold evening of New York City, in a gallery room that was cleared just for your artwork, which would be showcased then auctioned, you had heard some big names were invited, ones in which you were terrified to see, let alone meet.

“You doing okay sweetheart?” Pedro’s voice scared you, pulling you back to reality as the room was half filled with people, something you’d failed to notice in your dissociative state. You offer him a smile as he hands you a glass filled with champagne.

“A bit nervous, hoping this will help.” You take a sip, your red lipstick that matches your ruby red silk, spaghetti strap dress, smears on the rim of the glass, you clutch your purse as a last resort for stress relief, feeling the tension build as more people arrive.

“I’m shitting myself, what if they don’t sell, what if they don’t like it? What if they don’t like me?” Your rambling makes Pedro chuckle, he steps towards you, his matching burgundy suit presses against your dress clad skin. His free hand caresses your hand and your hair tickles his fingers as you lean into him.

“They’ll be stupid not to love you, or your artwork. You’ve got this sweetheart.” You look at the genuine look on his face and can’t help but fall in love all over again, this man was truly a blessing in your life.

“You’re right, I’m powerful and wonderful and a fucking great artist. To us baby.” You clink your glasses together before throwing your head back, swallowing the liquid for courage before walking to the stage that had a microphone and your most iconic artwork on the wall behind you.

You’re standing in front of dozens of well known celebrities, but the champagne gives you the courage to smile at them as they watch you with wondering eyes. “Thank you all so much for joint us this evening. It’s truly an honour to host this event and to have you all here. Just a reminder that 35% of all purchases goes to the highest sellers choice of charity.”

The group cheer as you welcome them, pleased by your selflessness to give away money to donate to charity, Pedro is standing by himself off to the left of the stage and you give him a sweet smile.

“I wouldn’t be here without my biggest supporter, he’s changed my life for the better. This is the biggest moment of my life and thank you all for joining me along on this journey. The auction begins in 15 minutes so please don’t go anywhere. Stay and enjoy as long as you like, have a wonderful evening everyone.”

The applause goes straight to your head, people clapping and cheering for you as you walk off the stage, meeting Pedro at his side and giving him a kiss on the cheek, he doesn’t mind that you leave a lip shaped lipstick stain on his skin.

The auction is intense, your latest piece was the biggest success, it was sold for $360,000. That to you, was insane, you had earned that much money on one artwork. The years of hardworking was finally coming to pay off, not to mention one charity of a buyers choice was going to have received a very hefty donation.

“I can’t fucking believe it, that was insane. Thank you so much for coming with me, I couldn’t have done it without you.” You muse as you’re locking up the store, Pedro blushes at your compliment. “You did this all yourself sweetheart, money can’t buy talent.”

You shiver as the cold air hits your bare shoulders, the skin forming goosebumps immediately, your teeth are chatting at the freezing temperatures, curing yourself for not bringing a jacket. Pedro takes off his suit jacket, leaving him in his long sleeve-white button up dress shirt as he wraps the jacket around you, the smell and warmth of him bring you back to reality. The warmth holds you in its grasp.

“You didn’t have to do that, thank you.” You look up at him, thankful for the kind gesture. “Of course I did sweetheart, let’s get you home.” The perfect moment between you was spoiled as you see and hear paparazzi come swarming and shouting in your direction, probably after seeing the event posted online.

“Hey Pedro Pascal! What’s it like dating someone not talented on your level? Is it because you want a normal life?” The man snaps pictures of you and Pedro together, holding hands and Pedro shielding you from the cameras as the flash is blinding you.

“She is more talented than me. She’s an incredible artist, not that I have to justify it. Please leave us alone we’re very tired.” Pedro takes your hand and you try to walk away to get to his car which was parked right outside of the gallery, was it a good idea, no. Was it convenient, yes.

“What’s it like dating someone significantly younger, do you think she’s dating you for the money?” Pedro opens your door and puts your seatbelt on for you, before shutting the door and turning to the men following him.

“She’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met, not that it’s any of your business. Goodnight.”

He turns and makes his way to the car, starting it and driving off away from the flashes that blinded his eyes only moments ago. He notices you’re quiet, too quiet.

“Are you okay?” He seemed to be asking that a lot lately.

“I don’t know. They’re just mean, I love you Pedro, I do. I just don’t know how you deal with that- it’s so invasive and just horrible the things they’re saying about me, about us.”

His hand rubs your bare knee as he drives, his eyes not leaving the road until he comes to a red light mere streets from your shared apartment, “don’t listen to a word they say. They’re just looking for a reaction. If you’re happy then we’re good. I know I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you.”

“You always know the right things to say Pedro.”

“I gotta keep my girl happy, don’t I?” You can’t help but smile at the comment, he truly was a blessing.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x fem reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x artist reader #pedro pascal age gap fic #daddy Pedro pascal

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highvern · 8 months

Text

Track 12: Wildflower - 5 Seconds of Summer

‘’I see the color in your veins // It makes me smile, it makes me shake’’

Pairing: Chwe Hanson (Vernon) x reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: stoner!vernon, camboy!vernon, camgirl!reader, stoner!reader, exhibitionism, mentions of facials and fingering, non-idol au

Length: ~600

Note: paying homage to my namesake

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy!

Mixtape Series: Me & You Masterlist

main masterlist

This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!

User: chewmeup is live with tastelikehoney !

The swirl of red and purple lights illuminates your scantily clad figure, shivering slightly in your boyfriend's hold as you watch viewers pour into the chat. Several you recognize as frequent flyers, but a few new names pop up here and there. Since you started streaming as a couple, both your accounts witnessed a rapid increase of subscribers.

“Hi guys.” You smile, fanning the smoke away from your face as Vernon exhales before passing the bong to you.

Taking a deep inhale, you read some of the comments while gently combing through your boyfriend's hair.

MILFMAKERGYU: hey pretty girl ;)

420jun: mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry

You roll your eyes at the usual antics. Vernon remains silent behind you, reading comments as you plant languid pecks across his cheeks and chin. Something about the camera and the intoxicating smoke filling your veins made you extra touchy, desperate to feel everything the man beneath you had to offer.

hwasaJA: oooo is that a new set?

Vernon uses his nose to nudge you away and towards the computer screen, one of his hands settling on the back of your neck and allowing his thumb to stroke below your ear.

“It is!” You smile. “Do you guys like it? Someone sent it to our P.O. box last week.”

MILFMAKERGYU tipped $250

i.m.whatiam: ur welcome :)

Boowho donated $100

Boowho: lets get this show on the road

“Someone’s eager,” Vernon tsks.

Usually, nothing happened until a certain number of tips came through but when one person tipped others immediately followed until dollar signs filled the screen and you hit the quota only a few minutes in.

Turning in place, you smirk at Vernon before standing.

“I guess we’re starting early tonight, babe.” You say loud enough for the mic to pick up as you round the chair to stand behind.

“You don’t wanna ask them?”

Memyselfandbi: ask us what?

Memyselfandbi donated $200

MILFMAKERGYU: yes, i’ll be your third

Rolling your eyes, more curious questions fly through the chat window and so do tips; each attached with a request to decide whatever will happen between you and Vernon tonight. Auctioning off different things wasn’t new to your streams but tonight was a surprise to celebrate the highest earning month either of you had experienced.

“Since you guys are being so generous, we planned two options. If you vote for mine, you’ll get to see my baby treated right. And if you choose his, then we’ll all be bored.”

“Not for me,” Vernon grumbles.

420jun: i vote whatever you want honey!!!

“Aw that’s sweet,” you giggle.

Vernon snorts. The chat is full of people simping for you, trying to gain a second of attention with similar messages. Luckily, he isn't as easily swayed by your batting eyelashes.

“If you choose mine then Honey is gonna ride my fingers for the camera.”

“And if you wanna see me with cum on my face you should pick mine.” You sigh, tracing your nose along the curve of Vernon’s neck, nipping gently at his ear to make him jolt.

The chat descends into chaos as a moderator unlocks a poll. More tips flood in, attempting to sway your decision but you and Vernon spare a glance at each other with knowing smiles.

No matter what they decide, they’ll get both in the end. A win win for everyone.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan

#svthub #vernon smut #svt smut #vernon x reader #svt x reader #seventeen smut #vernon fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #vernon fic #svt fic #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #vernon imagines #hansol vernon chwe #🫡 highvern

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tj-crochets · 6 months

Text

My next project! It’s going to be a super scrappy rug to go under a piano bench but it seems I have wildly underestimated how much fabric and batting that will take so now I get to go piece together more scraps and cut more batting scraps down to size

(this is not the finished center of the rug, I just kinda loosely coiled it to see how much more fabric I needed)

Was about to post this, realized the scale is not obvious at all. It’s about a foot and a half at the longest point

#sewing #sewing wip #scrap management #absolutely devastating my stash of 2.5 inch scraps #it’s great! cleaning out my scrap drawer!#I think I will make myself at least start on an auction fill this weekend though #I have five left and like six months to make them in #I should really get working on those

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chroniclesofbts · 7 months

Text

Call Me Home Part 5

Idol hybrid BTS x hybrid foreigner reader

Warnings: implied sexual themes, smut, angst, fluff, polyamorous relationship, name calling, night terrors, drug use to cause shifting, auctions

If you’re not 18+ please, do not interact.

As always, my works do not represent BTS in any way, this is purely a work of fiction.

Fingertips on my face wake me from my slumber, softly running around my face. My eyes flutter open, greeted by a fresh faced Jimin, a sight to behold. His face is still swollen with sleep, flushed slightly pink. He smiles when he sees I am awake, pulling his hand from my face.

"Good morning" He whispers, gesturing to the still sleeping bodies around us. He pulls me into his arms, guiding my face into his neck and sighing at the contact. Jimin's scent is unique, it has undertones of the pack scent, Cedarwood, but his Juniper Berry scent is more concentrated here. The soothing smell relaxes me further against his body, melting into him.

"Mornin' Jimin" I whisper, clinging to him. Looking over his shoulder I see Taehyung starting to wake and bury my head into Jimin's neck, not ready to get up after the long night. Movement from behind me alerts me to the rest of the pack slowly waking. Arms encircle my waist, rumbling from their chest soothing the nerves. Namjoon runs his fingers through my hair, coaxing me to come out of hiding. I look up at him and am met with a smile, eyes showing happiness.

"Morning Doe, ready to get up? We can't do much outside until you bare at least one of our marks, but the maknae's have been wanting to show you the game room." He speaks, slowly, keeping his eyes trained on mine. The authority he holds sends warmth through me, my animal wanting to submit.

"Still with us, baby?" Jimin's breath tickles my ear, causing me to shiver.

"Mhm" I hum, leaning into Namjoon and seeking out his warmth.

"Tour time?" Taehyung's voice chimes in from behind Jimin where he was more koala hugging than cuddling with Jungkook. Jimin sits up, pulling me up with him while directing Jungkook to find my small suitcase with the few items of clothing I was given.

"Hoseok ordered some clothes for you last night, they should be arriving tomorrow. For now, you'll have to either wear ours or what you have." Jungkook said handing me one of his shirts and an outfit from my bag to choose from. I grab his shirt and my shorts and stand to go to the bathroom, when Jungkook bends down and picks me up.

"No walking this week, doctors orders" Jungkook says while smirking.

"They didn't say I couldn't walk" I whine, not bothering to fight the muscle bunny. He sets me down and closes the door behind him as I fight a sarcastic remark about how I was left to walk, knowing he will stay while I change and not let me lift a finger if I did. Lifting his shirt to my nose, I pick up the smell of the pack, and his vanilla scent. The comfort of being able to finally smell them makes me smile, hating how they had to wear blockers when choosing their packmate. I dress quickly, startling when a knock sounds out on the door.

"There's face products and a toothbrush under the sink for you" Hoseok's voice comes through the door. I nod, before quickly thanking him once I realize he can't see me. When I finish getting ready for the day another knock comes on the door.

"Can I do your hair?" Jimin says, slowly opening the door and peeking in. I nod, earning a smile from him. He makes his way into the bathroom, picking up a brush and some bottles of hair product.

"Your hair is soft" he murmurs, focusing on brushing away any knots and tangles. He finishes my hair and pats my head, grabbing my hand and leading me to, a now empty room.

"Y/N! Come see the game room!" Taehyung speaks excitedly, tail swinging back and forth to match his mood.

"Okay" I giggle, now being pulled by two large cats. They stop in front of a door, opening it to a room filled with large tvs, comfortable chairs, couches, and blankets.

"It doubles as our movie theater too" he says, continuing to pull me to the large floor couch that Jungkook is sitting on. Jungkook looks up and smiles, scooting over for Jimin to sit, then pulling me onto his lap.

"I can't wait for you to smell like pack" Jungkook sighs, shoving his nose into my scent gland.

"Y/N! Jin-hyung made you some food!" Taehyung says as Jin enters the room.

"Why didn't you make us some, huyng?" Jimin and Jungkook pout.

"Yah, you're capable of making your own food!" Jin shouts, "It's already made downstairs, go eat" He mutters, soft for the maknae's puppy dog faces.

Jungkook slides me out of his lap as they jump up, yelling that they will be right back, before rushing out the door. Jin takes the opportunity to sit down next to me and start to feed me some fruit. Blushing, I let him feed me the fruits, humming in content. Jin smiles, cleaning my face where the juice has dribbled down my chin with his finger, sticking it in his mouth and sending tingles down my body as I watch him suck on his thumb. He chuckles, proud of the reaction he saw, giving me a knowing look.

"Don't let the maknae's push you too much, okay?" Jin said as he fed me the last of the fruit. "They aren't used to waiting"

I nod my head, leaning back on the couch just as the boys rush back into the room.

"Out" Jimin says, pulling Jin off of the couch. Jin smiles at his antics, letting the shorter man push him out of the room as he chuckles. They begin to show me all of their different gaming consoles, games, and movie selections. Taehyung beginning to scent my neck slowly, my senses flooded with the pack scent and his own lavender. His scent is relaxing, soothing me back into his arms as I show my neck to give him more room. Jimin puts on a random movie, his tail curling around my thigh. Jungkook turns the lights down, coming back and laying across us all, curling his head in my lap while grabbing my thighs with his arms. Being surrounded by the maknae line may have been a mistake as both Jimin and Taehyung begin to scent me in tandem.

"S'not fair you smell so strong of Kookie, want you to smell like me too." Taehyung mumbles against my neck.

"Wear my clothes next" Jimin's request was more of a demand as he nips at my gland.

"Wanna make you pack, make you ours" Taehyung says, his voice deaper showing his animal instincts are closer to the surface.

"I want to mark you, please let me mark you, let me make you ours" he continues, his teeth scraping lightly against me.

"Tae, we can't, hyung's will be mad" Jungkook speaks up from my lap, watching the scene before him.

"She should be pack, be ours" Jimin mumbles

"She would have to be with us at all times if we make her pack" Teahyung reminds Jungkook.

"But, won't the hyung's be mad?" Jungkook whispered

"They want to mark her too, Namjoon almost did in his animal form last night when she was disobeying him" Jimin points out, causing me to gasp.

"Please baby?" Taehyung whispers in my ear, a whine escaping from my throat.

"Your funeral" Jungkook says, sitting up and pulling Jimin further away from me to prevent Taehyung from becoming dominant if he does mark me.

"Say yes, let me make you ours" He whines against my scent gland, my neck showing submission naturally because of his pheromones. One second I can feel his rough tongue licking around my neck, the next, pain. I cry out, not expecting it to hurt, before my cries turn to a moan as the pain blurs to pleasure. I can feel Taehyung's emotions, feel the link settling. I also feel distant panic and nervousness, oh, the rest of the pack. The door slams open and in comes Namjoon and Yoongi, eyes shining in the darkened lights. I shrink against Taehyung, who is still licking my mark to soothe it. Jin comes in next, his face showing disapproval.

"I told you not to let them push you too much, and now you've let Taehyung mark you before you were ready." Jin sighs, causing Yoongi and Namjoon to growl.

"We talked about this" Namjoon growled at Taehyung, eyes fully taken over by his animal.

"Move over to Jimin and Jungkook baby" Taehyung whispers in my ear, drawing another growl from the two in front of me. I slowly scoot over and am immediately pulled by two sets of arms back in between them.

"Taehyung, you broke a direct order" Namjoon said

"Technically, you told Yoongi not to mark her" He sassed back, immediately regretting it when Yoongi pounced on him, shifting midair.

"Stop! I didn't say no!" I cried, trying to escape the cage of arms holding me back as Taehyung shifts.

"Take her to the den, Hoseok is there waiting to check her mark and make sure this doesn't mess up her heat schedule" Jin tells the boys holding me. Next thing I know, I'm over Jungkooks shoulders again. I thrash around trying to help Taehyung, feeling his emotions through the half bond.

"It'll be okay Doe, let's go see Hobi" Jungkook tries to soothe.

"But I wanted it!" I cried desperately.

"Y/N, you aren't able to be marked until your counseling is completed, we all agreed, he just didn't listen" Jin huffed.

"Speaking of which, you're late to your first session, and we need you to change into this turtle neck to cover up the mark for now." Hobi's voice came from the hallway we were walking towards.

"Go, we will deal with him" Jin said to Hobi, Namjoon and Yoongi already cornering Taehyung in the room.

Taglist (open):

@dachshunddame @minjianhyung @minhanbyeol @m00njinnie @famousdelusionobservation @danielle143 @dragons-flare @kimsaerom

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hiskillingjar · 1 year

Text

rosemary's baby

Relationship(s): Ren Hana/Reader, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Extremely Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Brain Break, Breeding, Impregnation, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Length: 3000+ words

Summary: Fox always wanted a baby of his own. You should be so lucky to be the one to give it to him.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50675575

"Such...perfect...breeding material."

Your eyes shot wide open and terrified at the dark intention behind his words, pulling tightly at the thick bondage that was keeping you belted and spread out on his bed (was it even his? Had you been given the luxury of seeing his real self yet?), like a medical specimen pinned down and ready for examination, for dissection.

Your heart hammered desperately fast underneath your rib cage as he paced around the bed, his tail wagging idly behind him, a dreadfully amused look in his golden eyes.

"Oh god," You murmured softly, looking back towards the ceiling and doing your best to steady your breathing, lest you hyperventilate and send yourself into a panic attack.

"I know, pet, I know." He chuckled, a little breathlessly, his voice dripping with a cruel kind of desire as he leaned down towards you, the soft wisps of his hair grazing your cheeks as he ran a claw down your trembling body, assessing you like breeding stock . "But I know what you crave. I know what your body wants, even more than you do. And I know what I crave as well..." He said, then kneeling on the bed and moving close to you, the claws replaced by the soft pads of his fingers. He hadn’t worked a day in his life, not properly. "Such gorgeous breeding stock…and you're so fertile right now. I can smell it."

"Mmph..." You whimpered helplessly, your expression tight and your face hot as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to squirm underneath him a little more, trying to get away from all of this.

You were more scared of this than anything else he had done to you, more than the filming room, more than the threats of auction, anything. He had invaded you countlessly before this, of course, but never to such a degree that he would take away every ounce of bodily autonomy that you had, reduce you down to an object to be used for something so invasive.

You could feel your sense of humanity dilapidating with every second as he tilted his head, still assessing you with a hungry look on his smiling face.

"Your body is perfect for the task. And yet, here I am," He didn’t even try to hold back a laugh as his touch trailed down your sternum and to your trembling belly, his expression lost in thought for a moment, like he was thinking, imagining what he could do to you. "Without a litter to call my own." His voice was soft for a moment then, considered. "Maybe I'll fill you up and get the job done right now."

Your eyes shot wide again as he placed a hand on your thigh and pinned it still, forcing your body open for him, the cool air on your hot cunt making you flinch again.

"No, nononono, please, don't," You babbled, your words pleading and desperate as your eyes began to well with tears, your face flushed and hot. “Fox, sir, please, I don’t want it, please please please, don’t-”

"Mmph, are you thinking those thoughts, my pet?" He whispered with a salacious grin, his tongue darting out to lick his teeth in a lustful leer as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in your tears, your desperation. It seemed that your pleading was just getting him all the more excited. "Are you already thinking about a litter of my puppies growing inside of you?"

You wanted to sob, you were so wound up and frightened of the idea, but you couldn’t deny that you were thinking about it quite intently, now that he was saying all of these awful things. Your face was flushed and your body invited him closer, however involuntarily you would have claimed it to be, as his touch trailed down to your inner thighs, feeling the smear of pre-cum against your skin.

"Isn't that what you want, my pet? Your body certainly wants it," He breathed out a sigh, his voice dripping with perverse lust, the grip on your other thigh tightening just a little further, his claws digging into the soft skin, marking you with bleeding red. "You're craving it, aren't you? Even if you protest otherwise." He whispered, bringing his face close to yours again, his nostrils flaring, scenting you.

You whimpered again, jerking your head upwards, away from his invasive gaze, and biting your lip as he took a long inhale of your scent, sweat, tears, pre-cum pooling down your thighs at the sound of his threats, how fertile you already were.

Could he even smell that?

"A puppy of my very own. You could give that to me, pet. Isn’t that a wonderful thought? Aren’t you proud?" He breathed out an unsteady exhale, looking down at you with an expression of relentless hunger despite how frightened you were, despite how much you were trying to avoid his gaze. "Or perhaps two or three, filling your womb with my litter." He whispered, his mouth practically watering at the thought. "So many pretty, little puppies..."

“God,” You moaned helplessly, whimpering as your body squirmed and twisted even more. Your fluttering eyes went to the ceiling again as you pulled at the belts around your wrists, praying for a God who wouldn’t listen, your lips trembling and babbling prayers for somebody, anybody. “This isn’t a dream. This is happening, this is really happening…”

"Mmmph,” He ignored your pleas and moaned softly, pressing his face into your middle and straddling one of your spread legs, pressing his hips down against it, letting you feel just how excited this idea was already making him. "Such soft flesh, and those breasts…” He mumbled hotly into your skin, nipping and biting as he stared down at you like a man starved, trying to meet your eyes and show you just how much he wanted this. “So swollen and red and ready to feed my children."

You gasped, high and keening and desperate, as he dipped his head and tongued your nipple to emphasise his point further, as his hands went up and caressed your tummy, groping the soft flesh (imagining how it would look when you were carrying his young).

You would have to get used to sharp teeth on your breasts though, if you were to carry his young, as they would surely have teeth and fangs like his...god, he even had you thinking about it. Little babies with fur and ears and sharp teeth, suckling at your breasts…it was the thing of horror stories, and yet, you felt your clit twinge at the idea.

"Your body was made for this," He breathed out raggedly against your breast, his voice dripping with lust and desire as one hand went down to your other thigh and pushed it upwards, spreading your legs, getting you ready for him to take as he pleased. "A body made for breeding, pet..." His other hand then went up to your breast and groped hard, threading a claw through the ring through your nipple as he nipped and sucked at the other, making you shriek. "All those lovely curves. Those full hips, those legs...those breasts made to be nursed by hungry, hungry pups." He whispered hotly, breathing against your ear as his hips continued to rut down erratically. "Imagine it. My puppies filling you, and…hah, and sating themselves by your flesh."

"Mph..." You moaned softly, your eyes fluttering as he pressed himself against you, his whispered words hot and breathy in your ear as he groped your thigh, your chest, rutting himself down against you so that you could feel just how hard he was.

Would he let you play mother, you wondered?

Would he let you leave the role of a pet, a barely living and breathing sex toy that he didn’t even have a name for, and actually be a person again?

Maybe it would be worth the invasion, if he promised you that small mercy.

"Look at me. In my eyes.” He snarled then, the hand on your thigh reaching up and gripping your chin, pressing your head back against the pillows of the bed and staring down into your eyes, his own almost feral with desire. “You could be a perfect little breeding doll, for me and me alone. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to serve me?"

You tried to pull back as his grip on your chin tightened a little more, his claws digging into your soft cheeks and piercing your skin, making you look up into the mad glint of his eyes, his tongue licking his jaws again indulgently.

He really meant every word of this.

He was serious.

If there was a God, they weren’t going to save you. Not from this.

Maybe a part of you was relieved by that, that you had no chance of being saved from this life that Fox had been so generous to give you.

A small part that was growing with every day.

"And I'll never sell you either," He then shook his head with a little smile, an expression you hadn’t seen on his face before, that gave away a boyish innocence that you didn’t expect to ever see from Fox. "You'll belong to me, forever, I can promise you that mercy, pet. You’ll give me as many puppies as I want, and I’ll keep you, forever and ever, and make you mine…”

You whimpered helplessly, your wide eyes watering as you took in an unsteady breath, before you were jerked out of the quasi-trance that he had put you under, as he shifted to kneel between your spread thighs, and reached down to unzip his suit trousers.

"NGH!"

You grunted loudly as you were suddenly, without warning, stuffed full with his hard cock, sliding inside of you with barely any effort you were that wet, your eyes squeezing shut out of impulse as your body grew tight and tense, your muscles straining against the belts that bolted you to the bed.

You could already feel the base of his knot swelling as he rutted his hips down against yours, your body moving in time with him. The sensation by itself wasn't wholly overwhelming, you had taken him plenty of times and in much worse scenarios, but...that combined with the ideas he'd put in your head throughout all of this was making you cry out and whimper.

"Imagine how lovely you’ll be, nursing our babies. Those little sweet little puppies that came from you," His voice was a ragged whisper in your ear, looking you over as he thrust his cock deep inside you, in and out, a relentless machine working hard for what he wanted. "Feeding them from your body, taking care of them, loving them...do you...do you think you could do it?" He then purred, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he brought a hand down to cup your breast again, toying with the swelled nipple as a means to tease, not to torture. “Would you do it for me, baby?”

You bit your lip as he groped you, as he toyed with all your most sensitive spots and got your mind hazy and delirious with pleasure, so you couldn’t possibly say no to his offer, but you couldn't deny that even without the pleasing sensations, it was...a pleasant thought.

Taking care of your children with your body, tending to little beast-kin pups that looked like him and you combined, conjoined, a mixture of the very best of your features and the very best of his.

You had nightmares about the prospect in your real life, but that was a lifetime ago now. That was an entirely different person. The person you were now understood what a privilege it would be to do this for him, to carry and birth his young.

He was always so generous with you.

"Do you want that?" He whispered, his voice almost sounding sincere as he continued to thrust into you, as the hand on your chin went upwards and cupped your cheek gently, a sign of affection usually reserved for lovers. “Do you want my children?”

"Yes...yes, sir," You panted, your mind half-mad (all mad, certainly) as you took desperate lungfuls of air, just trying to keep present and conscious when you were so close to losing yourself.

"Good girl, gooood girl," He purred with his own delirious smile, his hands gripping your body, his caresses becoming more possessive, more lustful, and more demanding. "Say it again...say you want it with your words, baby. Come on now."

"I want to be your breeding doll," You moaned open-mouthed, your body arching and your head thrown back as you thrashed underneath him, like you were possessed, losing yourself in your own pleasure as he slowly eased and pressed even deeper, his knot spreading you wide open. "I want your puppies!"

His own face was a little flushed just hearing you, and his breaths became ragged and his expression feral and hungry.

"You'll do it all and you’ll do it so perfectly, sweetheart,” He murmured, his breathing heavy and his hand squeezing your chest even harder, marring your skin, your soft flesh. “You'll be my pet, my little breeding doll, yes, yes, always. You'll raise my litter of beautiful little puppies...they'll be our family. Do you hear me, pet?" He growled then, a mad grin of sharp teeth growing wider as he looked down at you, his whole body shaking with lustful excitement. "Do you hear me? They’ll always have us, always…we’ll never abandon them or hurt them, will we?"

“No, sir,” You murmured, your voice slurring as your cunt swallowed his knot greedily, your muscles clenching so tight that Fox couldn’t resist a long moan, pressing his forehead against your collarbone as he pounded even deeper.

“Good girl,” He growled, his golden eyes growing dark with desire as he glared back up towards you. “You’ll be such a good mother, such a good mommy…”

You whined softly, pressing your naked body up against his (the best that you could while you were still belted down), totally boneless despite how much you were struggling, as he pressed a hungry kiss to your mouth, claiming your lips in a rare display of possessive affection for you. His eyes were wide with excitement, his body pulsing with desire as he claimed you completely.

His breathing came out short, heavy inhales against your neck once he pulled away from the kiss, as his mouth continued to work desperately for more of you, bites against your jaw, your neck.

“I caaan’t,” You whined desperately, squeezing your eyes shut and panting against his skin as he placed a hand on your throat, his lips against your cheek, almost a kiss. “Nghh, too much, please…”

His grip on your throat tightened slightly. It's not quite a choke hold, but it's getting there.

"Shhh..." He whispered softly, his mouth breathing hot and heavy against your cheek, giving you a little nip, adorning you with more bruises that tied you to him. "You can do this, mommy. You want this. Need it. "

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as he gripped your throat even tighter, your breath stuttering and your body incredibly tense as you focused all of your attention on normalising your breathing, feeling the pulsing heat of his cock pounding into your cunt. His grip on your throat was slowly tightening just a little more, the pressure now bordering on actual choking.

He wanted you to feel him completely, and for you to give him everything you had.

Your sanity, your mind, your body, your womb.

“Tell me you want it,” He demanded with a shocking amount of finality to his words, biting his own lip so hard that it was almost rupturing the skin, making himself bleed from his own desire. “One more time, so I know. So I know…”

"Breed me," You pleaded, your eyes fluttering as you looked up at him, like he was the God that you were praying to. "Give me your puppies, Fox, please..."

Fox’s fingers tightened around your neck as he heard your desperate words, his lips trembling just a touch against your cheek as he let out a low grunt from the very back of his throat. He pulled back from your cheek and ran his tongue over the patch of marred skin on your shoulder, his teeth slowly beginning to sink into you again, his mouth tasting with desperation to be even closer to you.

You couldn’t hold back a pained moan as his mouth worked aggressively against your skin, as he devoured your body with lust, hunger, and pleasure, his sharp teeth puncturing the delicate skin of your shoulder and his hips somehow moving faster and more erratically, on the very precipice of pleasure himself. His breathing was heavy as he felt your body surrender completely to the pleasure, and all he could think about is giving you more and more of it.

"I've got you..." He whispered, a low growl against your neck, his words catching just a touch as he pressed a bloody kiss to your jaw. "I'm not letting you go until I'm done with you. "

"Never let me go," You slurred softly, your mouth staying open with desperate gasps as his grip on your neck tightened even more, your vision starting to go fuzzy. “Never let me go…”

With that, with a vicious snarl from the very back of his throat, a second aggressive bite pressed into your shoulder, and his claws digging deep into your chest, marring you with bloody injuries as he always did, he stilled with a spasm, and you felt him spill deep, deep inside of you.

Finally letting go of your neck, Fox drew back and pressed his body against yours, his grip on your chest slackening as he let out a deep and long sigh of satisfaction. He buried his head against your neck uncharacteristically, searching for the warm space between your shoulder and your jaw, and his mouth resting against your skin as he panted, doing his best to recouperiate as you lay slack underneath him

You were barely conscious as you took in your own heaving breaths, but you could feel him move your thighs to rest over the top of his knees, hitching your body up and…well, giving his puppies the best chance inside of you.

You didn’t stop a delirious smile coming to your face as you felt his seed inside of you.

You would lie here for days if you needed to.

To give him what he wanted. And what you surely wanted now too.

#the price of flesh #fox tpof #ren hana #ren x reader #ren x mc #fox x reader #fox x mc #i've been thinking a lot about the inherent body horror of pregnancy so. this i guess #this is part of kinktober i just wanted to do a separate posting for this since it's a long un

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