#art in motion owner

[cordeliawhohung]

Touch Me 'Till I Vomit (pet!au) [1]

ghoap x reader pet!au where simon keeps johnny as a pet, but can't keep up with his high sex drive and antics. in order to satiate him, simon decides to go looking for another pet to keep the silly pup entertained. sort of an introductory work bound to become a series of one shots like my mafia!au

cw: simon is a freak, non-con photography, a little dark content, nsfw, slight bdsm dynamics, owner/pet dynamics

Simon wasn’t a photographer, not a good one anyway, but he wasn’t to blame. His large hands were better fit for shredding meat than creating art, but he figured all art was good when the muses were beautiful. 

He had been on the hunt for nearly three hours by that point, wandering throughout the city where the population was thickest. Armed with nothing but his phone, Simon captured photos of various specimens that meandered throughout the streets as they went about their lives. There were roughly twenty pictures he had saved in his gallery of unsuspecting women he figured would be Johnny’s type. Pretty blondes in flowery dresses, alluring doe eyes looking out at the streets; he stole photos of any soft and sweet thing that he figured Johnny would have fun sinking his teeth into. 

A black mask and dark clothes wasn’t the most unsuspecting thing for him to wear on such an outing, yet it was to his advantage at the same time. Several women had caught the slight glint of the camera lens on his phone as he stole eternal glimpses of them. Many of them had even opened their mouths to protest his intrusion, until they looked at him, anyway. Not many people had the bravery or fortitude needed to stand up to a creature as wild and brutish as him. Their mouths shut with such promptness he nearly chuckled at how bashful they were. 

Hunting got more difficult as the sky grew darker. Fresh meat hid behind locked doors that Simon could have easily torn down if he had so desired, but that wasn’t the time. As the lights started to illuminate the street, he dived down into the depths underneath London where tunnels spanned for miles, spider-webbing just below the skin of the city. The stench underground grew more acrid the further he pushed and Simon couldn’t help but huff at it. This was why he enjoyed living out of town, off in some secluded home nestled in the cold embrace of trees and lavish fields. 

Made it harder for his pet to wander off, too. 

The sharp clicking of heels caught his attention as he waited just beyond the yellow line on the platform. Dark eyes flickered to the newest prey that approached, and Simon found himself drinking in the sight of her. Proper clothes covered her body with a simple blouse and a pencil skirt. Dark tights covered the expanse of her legs with its sheer fabric where it was beautifully topped off by a classic pair of heels. The sway of her hips was dramatized by the steps she traversed, her pace slow and careful lest she roll an ankle walking in those heels. 

She was dressed professionally, and if Simon had to guess it was for an interview. By the look on her face, it didn’t go very well. Distracted eyes stared down at the phone in her hand as her lips pressed into a frown. Anxious fingers tapped away as she typed out a message to someone — perhaps a lover? Someone would be crazy not to snatch up a specimen such as that — as she stepped down onto the platform. 

Before she could get too close, Simon quickly dug his phone out before stealing a photo of her. He had gotten so used to the motions he didn’t even have to think about it; not that it was difficult anyway. With her attention still focused elsewhere, he found he was able to snap a few more before she finally put her phone into her bag and began to pay mind to where she walked. She continued further into the platform, well past Simon, and vanished into the crowd as if she had never been there at all. 

Cute. 

It didn’t take long for the tube to take Simon to his stop, and it was even shorter before he seated himself in his car to head back home. The drive itself was the longest part of everything. Annoying traffic, bad drivers; he didn’t feel like he could untense his body until he approached the familiar sight of home. The old and dilapidated building wasn’t much more than an heirloom passed down in the Riley family, but it had quickly become his sanctuary. Seclusion meant he was safe. Seclusion meant he could love in peace.

Warm lights poured through the sheer curtains that covered the windows and were only disturbed by a figure pacing around just beyond them. Simon’s car died off with a sputter as he pocketed his keys before approaching the door. A thick deadbolt kept the house latched tight and secure, though he was confident Johnny knew better than to attempt to dash out by that point. Especially not that day when he had the prospect of such a good treat. 

Johnny was there to greet him at the door with a toothy grin, and the damn pup nearly knocked Simon over as he bounded up to him. His hands pawed at Simon’s chest as if he couldn’t get enough of him, and he didn’t calm down until the man grabbed hold of the collar around his throat. Blue eyes widened as he looked up at his owner, lips twitching with all the words he wanted to exclaim.

“Down,” Simon warned. 

“Did ya get the pictures? Like you said you would?” Johnny questioned, his body still unable to retain his buzzing excitement. 

Instead of answering him verbally, Simon gave a sharp tug on his collar before directing him further into the house. Ancient wood floorboards creaked underneath their weight as they entered the living room. It was devoid of all decor, unless cracks in the paint could be considered art. A rusted lamp was the sole source of light in the room, and the only thing even worth looking at was the glorious stone fireplace that sat against the far wall, but it was much too warm out to light. 

Simon pulled Johnny down onto the old sofa next to him, and the man instantly burrowed into his side, eagerly waiting to see the pretty pups. The phone screen illuminated both of their faces in sync as it blossomed to life, and Johnny almost salivated at just the prospect of what he would see. It didn’t take Simon long to pull up his gallery, and he scrolled to the first photos he had taken that day before angling it so that his excited pup could see it too. Twitching fingers reached out to swipe along the screen, and Simon watched as Johnny’s eyes dilated at every piece of meat he looked at. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he shifted on the couch, and all it took was a simple glance to see how worked up the poor pup was. A hardened bulge strained against the zipper of his jeans, and a groan reverberated in his throat as he continued to swipe through the countless choices put in front of him. 

“Si, they’re all so beautiful. Can’t I have them all?” Johnny whined. 

“Only one,” Simon countered. 

“I’ll be good,” Johnny said with a pout. 

“Just one, Johnny,” Simon repeated, voice more firm. 

Sighing, he continued to swipe through Simon’s phone as his eyes glossed over beautiful legs and delicious hips. It had been so long since he had last seen a woman it was nearly impossible to hold himself back. His body craved them in a way he couldn’t put into words, and he felt like the only thing that would offer him solace would be to burst out of his skin. 

His restless buzzing suddenly ceased when he caught sight of the last group of photos in the gallery. A beautiful woman had him utterly transfixed as she appeared to have descended down a long set of concrete steps. There was something about the troubled look on her face that had his mouth watering. Like he knew he would be able to fix it. Like he could bully the worry out of her with his cock alone. 

“This one,” Johnny said, his decision definite as he held the phone up for Simon to see. “I want this one.” 

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Objects in Motion

Part 2

Alpha!Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

Part 1 here

You’re deep in sleep when a loud bang wakes you.

Bolting up with a gasp, your heart pounds in your chest for a few minutes. You’re not sure what the noise was- a door slamming shut, or maybe something falling in the apartment above you, but the echo of it in your head keeps you awake for a while, hating that your anxiety doesn’t let you sleep.

.

You go to another dry cleaners, you do your best to avoid going out. You go to work, and back home for a couple of weeks, worried that someone will find you and scold you for what you’ve done.

You think about being scolded by him, you doubt you’d be able to last a moment in his presence.

After you’d ensured the safe delivery of the coat, did you finally research the owner.

William Russo, his stoic, borderline angry expression staring back at you through your computer screen had only made you aroused all over again.

This, this was the Alpha with a scent so magnetic, you couldn’t resist it.

He was rich, a CEO, and you could only look around your threadbare apartment and sigh sadly, there was nothing you could offer him that would interest him.

So, you try to move on with your life, work hard so you can afford to buy alleviators for your next heat, and stay away from alphas that would no doubt hurt you.

The art museum was a big comfort. On a Friday evening, when it was at its emptiest, you’d go in, and stare at all the paintings. You’d study the brushstrokes till your eyes burned, items like Starry Night, and Street Light were beautiful works that always made you dare to dream of a life better than the one you were in. Today however, The Lovers was the one that kept you most occupied.

Two people, with white cloths over their heads as they lean into each other, kissing.  Hidden from each other’s sight, you wonder if the painting only holds its romance because of the seemingly anonymity of the subjects. If the mystery was removed, would there be more love, or less?

It was kind of how you felt right now, pained, searching for something that you weren’t familiar with. An alpha, to call your own.

None of the alphas you’d met had ever been right for you. There was an entitlement written into them, the belief that your station was lesser, so you were supposed to submit. Alphas constantly lived with that air of superiority surrounding them, and they were easily upset when you did not give them what they wanted. 

The alphas you dated were wrong to think that submission was something freely given, in reality, it had to be earned.

You wondered if the alpha on your mind would ask nicely.

Probably not. It was a good thing he existed only in your fantasies.

.

Your omega privilege means you get to stay a little after closing. You smile gratefully in the security guard’s direction when he comes to escort you out.

“We’ve got a new piece coming in tomorrow. You won’t be able to stay late anymore, but I’m sure you’ll like it.”

You smile in delight.

“Do you know which one it is?” You ask.

“Not really, not much of an art guy, but it’s a big deal, really expensive.”

You nod, enthusiastically.

“Well, I can’t wait.” You reply, wishing the beta a good night when you finally reach the exit, pulling your jacket tighter around you to protect from the cold.

.

Not for the first time in his life, he feels the loneliness. 

It’s only that he’s never felt it quite like this. Usually, people just didn’t want him, his mother gave him up when he was a baby, and he’d never really understood why. Through his life, people had assumed he’d present as a beta, because he’d been a scrawny kid. Things had only gotten worse when at ten, his alpha denomination had shown through.

Then, everyone had wanted a piece of him, an opportunity to say that they’d fought an alpha and won, uncaring of his age and size- the world had forced him to become ruthless very quickly.

He’d let the world’s rejection shape him, and he’d only realised that when he’d met Frank.

Frank had made him understand, that alphas were not supposed to be cruel, but rather the very definition of safety and security.

He'd tried his best to ignore the hollow feeling inside of him, and that had worked.

At least, it had, up until he'd smelled that stupid coat.

Now, it was like someone had taken a piece of him and ran off with it, ripped a carefully placed bandage off and left him with an open wound. He could feel the absence, like if it was a whole other person in the room.

He wanted his omega.

It was all he’d thought about now, as he pressed the coat to his nose every night, struggling to catch her fading scent, he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep again when the scent fully faded.

He keeps going, maybe he even pushes himself harder, his work distracts him, helps him keep a clear head.

He’d even accepted a job to secure artwork for the museum, even though his specialty was protecting people, and Frank was usually the man that handled asset protection.

He’s following closely behind The Scream when he stops dead in his tracks.

One of his employees tosses him a confused glance, but he ignores it as he takes a deep inhale. 

He’d know that vanilla scent anywhere, the smell of apples mixed in and his heart gives an eager kick.

Surely not-

He turns his head, sees a painting of two lovers hiding from each other, kissing through a shroud of white cloth. He studies it for a moment, his mind racing at speeds he can’t fathom.

When the painting gets too far ahead, he turns and resumes his stride, thinking about all the ways he can do his best to get what he wants.

.

He gets permission to access the security footage of the museum.

Who’s really going to deny an alpha anyway?

Billy finds her, or at least the back of her head, and he can’t help the excitement that after weeks of searching, he’s managed to get lucky and obtain a lead on her.

He talks to the security guard that walked her out. With a sleepy voice over the phone, the man tells him that she’s a frequent visitor to the museum on Fridays, and she doesn’t cause any trouble so he lets her stay a little after closing.

“She just likes looking at the pieces, and I can’t be mean to an omega as shy as her.”

Billy’s mouth twitches upward, amused at the biological imprint inside everyone to protect omegas. The men who’d done her a favour to deliver his coat had said near the same thing.

It had made him fond, of a sweet girl, that would no doubt be spooked if he showed up at her home unannounced. Even if he now had the means to trace her back to her home, he couldn’t take the risk. He had to play this right.

.

When you hear Edvard Munch’s The Scream is on display, you vibrate with excitement. Instead of going the opening week, you wait till your usual time the next Friday, when hopefully there’s much less of a crowd to contend with.

It’s not completely empty, but you’re okay with the sparse crowd, you smile, tiptoeing to peek over shoulders so that you can catch a sight of it before you’re at the front.

You love everything about it, the colour and the expressionism of it, you wonder how much the paint has faded over time. The little paragraph beside the painting describes an infinite scream, a universal anxiety, and you think you can almost feel that as you stare at it, the idea that you’re being watched sending a nervous thrill down your spine.

When you move away from the painting however, the feeling lingers. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to shake the feeling, you don’t understand how a painting can have such an effect.

To clear your head, you find an impressionist nearby, Monet’s reflections of clouds on a lily pond, and you stand in front of it, letting out a long sigh.

When the distinct smell of bergamot hits you, you stiffen. 

Your heart squeezes into your throat, and you try to look around as casually as possible, betas turn to look at you as they scent your distress in the air. 

Did you feel like you were being watched- because you were actually being watched?

You take in another breath, and this time, you’re sure.

Cracked pepper, citrus- 

The alpha was here.

Someone says your name behind you, and you turn in fright.

There he was. Dressed down in casual clothes, trying to blend in with the people around him- as if an alpha as handsome as him ever could.

Billy Russo was devastatingly gorgeous up close.

But you were fucked.

Your eyes widen and you take a step back, knowing that this was definitely about stealing his coat. He would no doubt try to make you pay for cleaning- or worse yet- a new coat entirely.

Your body flushes with fear as you back away from him on shaky legs.

His head tilts as he watches you go, dark eyes caught on your retreating form.

“Don’t run, omega.” He says easily, taking a single stride as you back away, his presence looming over you, igniting something in your stomach like a match being struck.

You make a small sound in the back of your throat, and you do exactly what he says not to.

You run.

Well, not exactly.

More like a quick walk, looking back to see if he follows, you beeline for the bathroom, hoping to hide in there for a moment.

You groan, splashing your face with water, internally grumbling over what you've gotten yourself into.

You should have never grabbed that stupid coat with your stupid omega senses always searching for the right alpha. What did you think? That just because he’d had an amazing scent meant that he wanted to take care of you? 

No, he was probably going to scold you, and force you to pay him back, and you couldn’t afford three thousand for a coat. 

Your throat tightens in panic, your body flushes with fear.

You couldn’t think too much on what he would do if he caught you, all you needed to focus on right now, was getting away.

So you take a deep breath and you shed your jacket, tucking it under your arm and stepping out of the bathroom behind someone. 

There’s not a lot of people, but luckily you know the museum, and you take the most secluded paths that you doubt anyone unfamiliar to the museum would know of.

You sigh happily when you see the exit door in sight, making large meaningful steps, looking back every now and then. Behind you is empty, and you think that you might have actually lost him.

It sends a pang of sadness through you, but you shake your head to shove it away.

You look back once more when you push your way through the exit doors, making sure the path behind you is clear of any six foot alphas.

And you walk right into him.

You’re not sure it is at first, but his size and smell give it away. Your face is pressed securely to his chest, and his hands come up to grip your upper arms firmly.

You raise your head in panic, trying to wrench back from him.

“Relax omega, you’re not in any trouble, I promise.” He says, something in his voice that makes his words sound believable.

You whine in distress.

“Please, I’m sorry, I can’t afford to replace your coat. I shouldn’t have taken it.” You plead, voice wobbling with the struggle to speak under duress.

“Shh, little one, I’m not here to ask you for money.”

His words don’t register in your head, and you begin to cry. Thick swells of tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

“I can’t pay.” You struggle out in a tiny voice.

He grunts, his hands move to cup your face, your tears spilling onto his fingers instead.

“Omega.” He says meaningfully.

The command in his tone makes you look up at him, brain going quiet, the power of his voice catching your attention easily. His stern expression softens.

“I’m not here to make you pay for anything, and I promise you’re not in any trouble.”

You make a little sniffle.

“ ‘M not?” You ask weakly.

The corner of his mouth curves up.

“No, I just want to talk.” 

“Talk?” You repeat dumbly.

His thumbs trace over your cheekbones gently, a soft tingling sensation swims in your head and settles at the top of your spine. Your eyelids flutter as you watch him nod.

“I’ve been searching for you for weeks, omega, since you left me that coat drenched in your sweet scent, I haven’t had a clear thought since.”

You gulp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t be sorry just-” He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s looking for the right words, “Have dinner with me. Tonight. My treat.”

You take a deep breath, eyes widening.

“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

He lets out a swift breath, you worry that you might be aggravating him.

“What aren’t you sure about? Your safety?”

You feel your heart pick up its pace beneath your ribcage, tormenting your body with the feeling of panic.

You reach up, cupping his hands in yours and peeling them off your cheeks. 

“Alphas are… notorious for getting angry when they don’t get their way.” You reply anxiously, your hands uncurling from his, filled with so much trepidation. 

“I understand, but give me a chance to prove myself. There’s something between us, omega, you just have to open yourself up to it.”

You blink, stomach flipping as you debate your options.

You eye him warily, too afraid to say no, too scared of how he would react.

You take another step back, and his face looks pained, his body tense.

You shake your head, scared, taking another cautious step away.

“Please don’t run.” He says softly, it makes you pause.

Maybe… maybe a chance wouldn’t be so bad.

“What about lunch tomorrow?” Somewhere bright and public that would make you feel safer about being around him.

He lets out a slow breath.

“Lunch is great. Where?”

You think for a moment.

“We can meet right here, there’s a place not far from here with nice sandwiches.”

He inclines his head.

“Sandwiches are great.”

You give him a soft smile of amusement, still a little unsure.

“Okay, we’ll meet here tomorrow? Around 12?”

He nods, digging into his pockets for a moment before pulling a card out and extending it to you.

You blink, a little cautious, reaching for the obsidian coloured paper in his hand. You study the raised silver lettering, his name, his job title, his company.

“The one on the left is my cell. Let me know when you get here. If you want, we can look around the museum too.”

Something flips in your chest at the thought. You wonder what he thought of The Scream.

“No,” You mumble, shaking your head, “The museum is packed on a Saturday. I hate crowds.”

He nods in understanding.

“No crowds then, maybe we can take a walk in the park.”

“Maybe.” You reply, still a little unsure of this entire scenario.

“You're safe, Omega, I promise.”

You offer a sad smile.

“That's what they all say.”

.

He was going to kill every Alpha that had ever made you feel unsafe.

He sits in his car, after you'd denied his offer to at least take you home. 

Your scent fades where he'd touched you, his body demanding more. Apples, so fucking sweet his mouth waters. 

Halfway to his home, a text comes in from you, shyly informing him that you'd made it home.

He'd asked, wanted to make sure that you were safe as the late evening had turned to night.

He keeps it simple, types out a small message to put you at ease.

Thank you. Sweet dreams

.

.

.

A/N: Pretty sure y'all are gonna hate this. Sorry.

Also, just asking for more without leaving any kind of feedback makes me feel kinda used 😅

[k1ng-ej]

Can you make a piece doing JJK boys being clingy with their girlfriends/partners (not sure which you write for!) and if you don’t want to do all the JJK boys maybe Choso or Inumaki? Thank you :))

Notes: Yes! I do not write for Yuta (and maybe a few others I'm forgetting), but I had a lot of fun writing this! This is my first time writing for a few of these characters so i apologize if they are out of character or not as good as the others ! also, i love the art you did of choso with his hair down a bit ago hehe ! (Requests are open)

Warnings: A lot of waist grabbing, slightly suggestive with Toji

Features: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami, Choso, Yuji, Megumi, and Toge

JJK boys being clingy with you ₊˚⊹♡

Gojo

He's unafraid of displaying his clinginess, making it impossible to escape his touch in public or his incessant text messages. He always keeps a firm grip on your hand and has his arm securely around you. He reminded you of a puppy. He finds it difficult to communicate his emotions, particularly when he needs reassurance. However, as time goes by, you have become familiar with his gestures and discovered that his favorite way to seek comfort is by resting his head on your lap.

You find yourself now reclining on the couch, seeking solace after a heated argument. It was an unnecessary clash, and you wisely decided to distance yourself before uttering regrettable words. Suddenly, you hear the faint sound of Satoru's door creaking open, causing your gaze to fixate on the hallway, anticipating his emergence.

He had the appearance of a dog caught in the act, being confronted by their owner for their misbehavior.

Nervously, he made his way to the couch, anxiously settling into his seat. The fear of provoking a negative reaction from you lingered, making it difficult for him to relax.

While you were engrossed in your movie, you paid no attention to his gradual approach. This was a recurring pattern after your disputes. He would hover nearby, edging closer little by little. It was his unique method of expressing remorse and attempting to reconcile with you. Though it irritated you, it undeniably proved effective, for it was impossible to remain angry with him forever.

"Come here," you said with a dramatic sigh, invitingly patting your lap.

His face filled with joy, and without hesitation, he rested his head on your lap. Gently, you caressed his hair, soothing his scalp with a delicate massage. Occasionally, your hand rested on the side of his face, your thumb moving in a slow, comforting motion, tracing his cheek.

Geto

Suguru has a subtle way of showing his affection, preferring to express his clinginess in private. However, even in public, he can't help but steal glances at you or lightly brush his hand against yours as he passes by. Although he's not much of a texter, Suguru is fond of calling instead. So, when you're out and your phone unexpectedly rings, you can't help but be startled, but deep down, you already know it's him eagerly calling to inquire about your whereabouts and when you'll be returning.

A few minutes ago, he sent you a text instructing you to come to his room. You gently opened the door and stole a glance inside, catching sight of your partner in a state of complete relaxation, comfortably dressed in casual attire.

Timidly, you entered the room, gently closing the door behind you. With cautious steps, you approached his bed and slipped in beside him. He was dressed in a casual combination of a loose white shirt and black sweatpants. A cozy blanket covered him, and he promptly enveloped you in its warmth as soon as you lay down beside him.

His arm instinctively wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer to him. He planted tender kisses on your forehead and the top of your head, serenading you with sweet words. Your cheeks blushed, and you sought solace by burying your face in his embrace.

"Why are you so nervous? We've been together for months, yet you still seem so bashful around me, my love," he whispered gently, as his finger delicately brushed against your chin, tilting it upwards to meet his gaze.

"I'm not sure," you replied, offering a shy smile.

Your dopey smile was captivating to him. He adored seeing that smile, and it compelled him to draw nearer, pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss that made you feel as though you were melting away.

Toji

You've never encountered anyone as possessive as him. He shoots fierce glances at anyone who dares to cast a glance your way, and he constantly craves your affection, demanding kisses on a regular basis. Your neck is almost always adorned with his passionate marks, and no matter how many times you protest, he effortlessly silences you with a tender kiss.

"I'm home!" you exclaimed, shutting the door behind you. Initially, Toji was just renting a room in your house, but after you two became a couple, he became a permanent member of the household and no longer pays rent. As a result, you find yourself working more than ever before.

Toji loomed in the entrance, arms folded across his chest, his gaze drifting up and down your silhouette. The hunger in his eyes was a constant presence, causing you to squirm uneasily and your face to redden.

"Hey, have you eaten yet?" you asked softly as you brushed past him and made your way into the living room, which was adjacent to the kitchen.

"I did," he replied, firmly grasping your waist with his large hands.

You despised it when he behaved in such a way, yet you found yourself unable to break free from his hold. He forcefully drew you towards him until your back was tightly pressed against his figure. Without delay, he began to passionately kiss your neck. With each delicate touch of his lips against your flesh, an irresistible sensation of ticklishness arose, causing you to instinctively wriggle and yearn to distance yourself from him.

"Why are you always trying to distance yourself from me, baby?" he murmured softly into your ear.

"Toji, I've just arrived home after a long day of work, and the moment I step in the door, you're already all over me," you complained, gently removing his hands from you.

"I can't resist, you're absolutely stunning," he said with a smirk, trailing along as you settled on the couch.

Your moment of relaxation was abruptly interrupted as he forcefully pulled you onto his lap. You let out a groan of annoyance, reflexively wrapping your hands around his neck. However, he swiftly silenced you by passionately kissing you. At that moment, you realized that you couldn't complain any longer, as deep down, you relished in his neediness and his constant desire for your attention. Despite your fatigue, you couldn't help but feel elated that Toji truly wanted you and treated you with love and care.

His lips left a trail of passionate kisses down your neck, and your fingers became intertwined in the strands of his hair.

Choso

Choso is similar to a toddler that constantly follows you, tightly holding onto a piece of fabric from your clothes. He is tender and endearing, but also fears that his clinginess might bother you, causing him to frequently withdraw.

That only induces worry, and when you attempt to address the issue with him, his face turns as crimson as a ripe tomato, while he stumbles over his words and fabricates feeble excuses.

You found yourself in a quaint clothing store, browsing for new tops to replace the ones that suffered damage during your daring missions. Among the selection, you carefully lifted a vibrant, long-sleeved red shirt, unsure yet intrigued about whether it would suit your taste.

Choso was standing right behind you, his hand tightly clutching your shirt as he observed other shoppers. He was pleasantly surprised when you swiftly spun around to meet his gaze, a faint smile adorning your lips.

"What are your thoughts on this? Personally, I find it slightly too snug for my taste..." you lifted the top, examining it, before pressing it against your body.

"It's absolutely beautiful. You would look absolutely breathtaking wearing it," he boldly responded, shamelessly admiring you while he had the opportunity.

Blushing, you quickly tossed the top into your small basket and eagerly took hold of his hand, guiding him towards the checkout counter.

Nanami

At first, he didn't strike you as the clingy type. However, you were taken aback when he tiredly entered the house, removed his shoes, loosened his tie, and half-unbuttoned his shirt before collapsing on the couch next to you. His arm instinctively wrapped around your neck, drawing you close to him. Surprisingly, this became his routine every time he arrived home, and he would frequently message you during the day to ensure your well-being.

As he assured you he would be home soon, you decided to take charge of dinner preparations. Your utmost concern was to provide him with nourishing meals, especially after his demanding missions.

As you hear the door open and then close, your heart quickens in anticipation. Nanami enters the kitchen, his powerful arms wrapping around your waist, enveloping you in his embrace.

"Welcome home," you cheerfully greeted, spinning around and embracing him with your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Dinner smells good. How was your day?” he asked, his touch light but possessive as he held onto your waist.

"It was great! Tiring, but certainly nothing I couldn't handle. And how about you?" you said, flashing him a sweet smile.

"Same as always," he murmured, leaning down to gently kiss your nose. "Shall we eat?"

With a nod, you reach for two plates. Artfully arranging the food on each plate, you then make your way to the living room where Nanami awaits. Handing him his plate, you leisurely settle on the other end of the couch, playfully kicking your feet up and gently placing your legs across his lap.

You sat together in silence, savoring each other's company, a familiar ritual between you both.

Nanami was the first to finish his meal. He leaned forward, gently placing his empty plate on the small coffee table in front of the couch. Suddenly, you were surprised when you felt his large hands begin to massage your tired feet, a rare gesture from him. Without a word of complaint, you carried on enjoying your food. He was a true gentleman, always putting your happiness and well-being before his own.

After you had finished your meal and tidied up the kitchen, Nanami gently took your hand, guiding you towards the bedroom. There, he warmly embraced you as you two laid down, allowing your head to rest upon his chest, as you listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart. With his thumb, he tenderly traced circles upon your back, soothing you until both of you peacefully drifted into slumber.

Yuji

He is incredibly affectionate and caring, but he tends to be overly attached. His greatest concern is not being by your side if something were to happen to you. He consistently stays by your side, whether it is for a leisurely stroll, a shopping trip, or an important errand.

Sometimes he may be unable to accompany you, no matter how much he desires to. However, he reaches out to you, timidly requesting that you remain on the call until your return, providing him reassurance that everything is alright.

"Yuji, you do realize that I can simply text you, right?" you playfully chuckled over the phone as you disembarked from the train.

"I know, but if you don't reply to my texts, I'm left wondering what might have happened!" he complained from the other side.

You let out a contented sigh and shook your head playfully, all while sporting a contagious smile. To top it off, you were cozying up in one of his cherished hoodies. Your collection of his hoodies was a testament to their irresistibly soft and snug nature - an indulgence you simply couldn't resist.

"Do you know how incredibly adorable you are?" you asked, strolling along a bustling sidewalk towards your destination.

“I’m glad you think so. I love you y/n.” he said in a hushed tone, conscious of his surroundings and not wanting them to eavesdrop on this intimate moment.

"I love you too," you replied, giggling. You could imagine the slight blush he must have had, which made you giggle even more.

Megumi

Megumi may not be the touchy-feely type or a master of verbal expressions, but his constant stream of text messages makes up for it. Your phone is always abuzz with his messages, making sure you're always connected.

As you felt a vibration coming from your pocket, you instinctively retrieved your phone to see the latest message from Megumi.

M <3: 

Where are you? I miss you.

You:

Im just at the store megs. Ill be back soon :) 

M <;3:

Hurry up, the beds getting cold without you.

You couldn't help but let out a chuckle as you slid your phone back into your pocket. Afterward, you swiftly grabbed a handful of snacks from the shelf before making your way to the checkout counter. It's funny how Megumi reveals his need for attention only when you two are alone, and it seems like a significant portion of your time together is spent with him dozing off on your lap.

As soon as you finished paying for the snacks, you rushed back to his room. As you entered, his arms immediately wrapped around your neck, pulling you into a warm and affectionate embrace.

"Hey, Megumi. Hold on a sec, I need to take off my shoes." You chuckled, unable to reciprocate his embrace because of the bags you were holding.

Murmuring something softly, he backed away, allowing you the opportunity to remove your shoes. You carefully set the bags of snacks on his desk, and as soon as they were no longer in your grasp, he eagerly guided you towards his bed. With a playful roll of your eyes, you climbed into the bed, and settled in comfortably while he positioned himself on top of you.

With his head nestled on your chest, he closed his eyes tenderly. You sensed his entire body surrendering to relaxation, as his breath gently steadied, while your fingers lovingly became entwined in his soft hair.

Toge

You adore him with all your heart, but unfortunately, you cannot spare hours in his room, indulging in YouTube together. Due to his cursed speech, it makes it hard to communicate between the two of you, but the more time you spent with him, you began to understand when he spoke in rice ball ingredients. He demonstrates his attachment by sending you text messages at completely unpredictable times, requesting your presence in his dorm.

The very first time he did this, you truly relished the moments spent together, laughing at a few videos and snuggling on his bed.

You had just arrived back from a long mission when you received his message. Despite being tempted to decline, you couldn't resist. You found yourself drawn to his room, where darkness surrounded you, except for the soft radiance of a lamp and the flickering glow of the TV. He was seated on the bed, his relaxed shirt and comfortable pants giving him a casual appearance. His hair was disheveled, with a few strands sticking out, adding to his charm.

You greeted him in a tired manner, shuffling your feet as you approached and settled down on his bed. As you watched TV, he leaned his shoulder against yours, a comforting gesture that you had grown accustomed to. He always sought closeness with you, whether it was through your thighs touching, fingers gently brushing, or any other intimate connection. Your eyelids were heavy, and it was a challenge to concentrate on the video he turned on. Eventually, you kicked off your shoes and made yourself at ease in his comfortable bed. However, the moment your head touched the pillow, you succumbed to the peaceful depths of slumber.

It wasn't until after about 20 minutes that Toge realized you had fallen asleep. Swiftly, he turned off the television and tenderly covered you with a warm blanket, gently brushing away a few stray strands from your face. He planted a soft kiss on your cheek before snuggling up next to you, also succumbing to a peaceful nap.

[calder]

In every mainline Fallout game except for New Vegas, players can earn the loyalty of a dog known as “Dogmeat.” As part of the main quest of Fallout 4, Dogmeat assists in tracking down the antagonist, even if the player has never encountered him before. When you leave Kellogg’s home, Nick simply starts talking about Dogmeat as if he’s a known quantity.

Perhaps related to this quirk of the world, Dogmeat is first named in this game when the clairvoyant Mama Murphy recognizes him and addresses him by name. The game’s UI calls him “DOG” until he is recognized by Valentine or Murphy. It seems clear that this german shepherd is somehow an independent agent with a good reputation, or something.

Dogmeat does not have a loyalty quest associated with him, which is how the player would earn the other companions’ perks. However, upon finding Astoundingly Awesome Tales #9 within the Institute, Dogmeat becomes more resistant to damage. While this isn’t coherent or conclusive evidence of Dogmeat being a synth, it’s plainly prompting the audience to consider that idea. In light of these factors, his origins have been fiercely debated among the community.

The skeptics and “hard sci-fi” fans out there would have you believe that he’s merely a famous stray dog who solves crimes. But I believe there's something more remarkable at work.

There's a section in the Fallout 2 instruction book called the Vault Dweller's Memoirs, where the player character of the first game recounts what canonically happened. Due to Fallout’s famously terrible companion AI, if you travelled to Mariposa with Dogmeat, he would consistently run into the force fields and get vaporized. So, in the Memoirs, we learn that this is exactly what became of Dogmeat Prime, in canon. He loyally sprinted into a wall of solid light, and disappeared. What if our buddy simply awoke in a new, confusing place?

In Fallout 2, Dogmeat must be found at the Cafe of Broken Dreams, which is explicitly a liminal space. It appears randomly to travellers in the desert. The NPCs within are frozen in time, such as a young version of President Tandi, who mentions that Ian went to “the Abbey,” an area cut from the game. To gain Dogmeat’s trust, the Chosen One must equip the Vault Dweller’s V-13 jumpsuit, which Dogmeat recognizes as belonging to his dead master. You can also attack him to spawn Mad Max, who claims ownership of the dog. Max fits the description of Dogmeat's original owner given in Fallout.

There’s also the “puppies” perk in Fallout 3, which enables you to restore Dogmeat, in the event of his death. “Dogmeat’s puppy” inherits his base and ref ids. In other words, they ARE the same NPC, just renamed. So, the way this actually articulates is that whenever Dogmeat dies in combat, you can find him waiting for you back at Vault 101. In practice, it’s almost Bombadilian.

Lastly, please consider the following developer context.

In June of 2021, the dog who performed Dogmeat’s motion capture and voice for Fallout 4 passed away. A statue of her was placed outside of every Vault in the China-exclusive sequel to Fallout Shelter. She still watches over each player.

River's owner, developer Joel Burgess, honored her in a brief thread about her involvement in the game, and shared much about his thought process and design goals while leading the character’s development. The Dogmeat project changed course early on, after Mr. Joel saw a new member of the art team gathering references of snarling German Shepherds. This motivated him to bring River into the studio, so the artists and developers could spend time with her.

He wanted to steer the team away from viewing Dogmeat as a weapon, and towards viewing him as a friend. Everything special about Dogmeat was inspired by River. For example, whenever you travel with Dogmeat, he’s constantly running ahead of you to scout for danger, then turning to wait for you. This was inspired by River’s consistent behavior on long walks. The only way they were able to motivate River to bark for recordings was by separating her from Joel while he waited in the next room. Reading the thread, it’s very clear that he hoped Dogmeat would make players feel safe, encouraging them to explore, and to wonder. In his closing thoughts, he said the following:

-Joel Burgess

Mr. Joel felt it was important to express that the ambiguity of Dogmeat’s origin in Fallout 4 was deliberately built into his presentation. He also felt it was important that you know Dogmeat loves you. Dogmeat was designed, on every level, to reflect the audience’s inspirations, and to empower their curiosity.

The true lore of Dogmeat is a rorschach test. The only “right” answer is to pursue whatever captures your imagination.

[verbenaa]

air so deep and sweet

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.”

Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life! 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.1k 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, hand jobs, vampire bites, mentions/discussions of anal, vaginal sex, vampire sex, soft dom astarion

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

𝑎/𝑛: This is my first ever fanfiction despite a literal 20 years of reading them LOL i truly have lost the plot. Find me on ao3 too, my username is leadii 💕

ao3 here

masterlist

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Dim candlelight plays along the walls of Astarion’s studio, illuminating the discarded bolts of fabric leaning against the wall with haphazard grace, the threads of linens, silks, and cottons a riot of color against the muted walls. Spools of silken thread and tangles of ribbon lay sprawling across the work table, interspersed with pincushions and stray needles waiting to be threaded.

The studio itself is small, humble in its nature. Set aside on a small street within the city walls it wasn’t a far walk from your shared home, making it an easy decision to join him on the nights he decided to work.

Lush velvet draperies hang heavily across several leaded windows, while multicolored rugs layered themselves over the floor. Fat pillars of candle wax sit haphazardly upon several surfaces, filling the room with moving pockets of light, their dance helped along by the light summer breeze blowing through the open windows. It was undeniably one of your favorite places to be.

Despite Astarion’s initial claims to the contrary (if you could even call his half-hearted condescension to the concept such a thing), he was decidedly well suited for a life of domesticity. Much like a spoiled cat, he very much enjoyed his luxuries. Vials of scented oils, a soft bed covered with blankets and quilts, piles of books in the corners of rooms waiting to be read at his decision. You were very quick to learn that Astarion was nothing if not a creature of comfort. And he made it so very easy to spoil him, accepting your love and affection with open arms.

You nestle deeper into the nest of pillows that made up the corner you had decided to call your own, novel discarded beside you and your goblet of wine long emptied of its contents resting against the floorboards. With a small huff your attention turns from your surroundings to said owner of the studio, watching him weave the needle in and out of the fabric in his hands, focus intent on his art.

He had such beautiful hands, you couldn’t help but think. Hands as well-versed in sowing chaos as easily as they could thread a needle to create the tiniest of embellishments upon a single piece of silk. Hands as intimately versed in the art of death as they were in the art of drawing pleasure. Sometimes, you think, he is secretly desperate to prove that his hands no longer have to steal, cheat, or seduce for others and instead were capable to creating something soft and vulnerable for himself instead.

With a small stretch you sit yourself upright, adjusting the lovingly embroidered straps of the light linen dress you wore to compensate for the overbearing warmth of summer. You were always content to accept any creation Astarion made for you and your dress was no exception, tailored to perfection to sit on your curves perfectly with small decorations of lace and embroidery as he saw fit.

As though drawn by your thoughts, his carmine gaze glances up to meet your own. Astarion’s eyes linger upon your form as you slowly stand and stretch your arms high above your head, back arching slightly with the motion before you step to the nearest open window. A light breeze ruffles your hair as you rest your elbows on the sill, careful of the several plants currently residing there as your eyes move to watch the people below weave through the streets in the darkness.

“Dearest, do you mind lending me those ever-so-lovely eyes of yours for a moment?” His voice is a casual drawl. “I wish to seek your opinion on this particular color scheme.” 

You turn to face him from your spot at the window as he gestures to the work in his hand with a small movement of his wrist, and quickly step across the floor to stop at his side. You glance down to see the wooden embroidery hoop he holds with measured regard in one hand, the other carefully grasping a small, sharp needle. You lean in slightly to see better, your breasts adding the barest of pressure against his arm.

You focus your vision upon the delicate pattern of his needlework, the threads weaving together to create an intricate pattern of scrolling vines and abundant spring blossoms in a warm milky white adorning the collar of a cream colored linen shirt, the colors almost ethereal together in their similarity. 

“I hate to break this to you, but…I do believe it is simply cream upon cream,” you say with a small smile gracing your lips. “What ever is there for me to even give my opinion on?” 

“It’s called monochrome, my dear.” Astarion gives you a look of affectionate exasperation before continuing, “Despite what everyone seems to think, I am capable of subtlety when the occasion permits.” You briefly turn to look at him, an elegant eyebrow arching in amusement. 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs slightly before murmuring, “Certainly those pretty eyes of yours can see the differences despite the similarity of color?”

Sure enough, upon further inspection you could pick out the slightest hint of metallic gold threaded throughout the creamy colored delicate flowers and surrounding vines, the only detail differentiating the colors from one another. The subtle shine of the golden threads were mesmerizing to follow with your eyes, the candlelight bouncing off of them creating fiery highlights on the raised embroidery. Like everything Astarion touched, it was undeniably beautiful.

“I suppose it looks decent.” You tease, pressing your chest further into his arm while your attention shifts to the elegant planes of his face. He was simply so easy to admire, the way his hair always seemed to fall so perfectly into place, his mouth held soft in concentration looked so inviting.

A noise of protest leaves his lips at the mere thought his creation was only ‘decent’, and you can’t help but laugh at the reaction while leaning in to press a soft kiss to his pale cheek.

“It must be so hard to have such artistic merit, Astarion. I’m afraid such a talentless individual as myself can’t fully appreciate such craft and workmanship.” You playfully lean your body back and throw a hand up your forehead in mock distress, earning a short laugh from him. 

“Despite such questionable opinions, you are far my talentless, my dear.” Astarion sets aside the hoop and needle to the far edge of the worktable and turns in his chair, settling his full attention on you.

“In fact, I would be more than willing to remind you of the several of the talents you possess.”

Slowly, he draws his eyes from your features to glance down at the twin pinprick scars decorating your neck before slowly continuing lower to finally rest on a spot above your breasts. He brings his fingertips to brush lightly against the skin, pressing against the delicate lace trim of the neckline, sweeping slowly and softly back and forth against the swells. He watches the sudden intake of your breath with interest before his eyes glide up to meet your own again. 

A slow, feline smile graces his lips. “Such a distraction, dearest. Especially when you press these lovely breasts of yours into me.” 

You match his smile with a sly one of your own.

“Can you blame me?” You give a half-hearted shrug, hardly caring that you had been caught in your so-called crime. “It’s quite hard to not want to be close to such a beautiful individual like yourself.”

“Ah yes, there it is. Talent number one: flattery.” 

He moves the hand tracing patterns against your skin upward, glancing touches against your neck, before curling his fingers underneath your chin to bring your face closer to his own. 

You knew he could easily see the effects of his relatively innocent ministrations, could view the inevitable pink beginning to decorate your cheeks. 

Could smell it in the blood beginning to race through your veins. 

Astarion had always known exactly what to say made you breathless and had never held back on using that knowledge to his advantage to make you weak to his whims. 

“Now be a good girl and take a seat.” His voice is low, hungry; he leans forward and both his hands find your waist and pull. 

You feel your body relax easily into his touch, letting him smooth your skirts out of the way as he brings you towards his waiting lap. Your hips instantly connect together, fabric the only barrier between you. You feel a telltale twitch beneath you, signaling his pleasure at the slight friction created by the connection and your hips grind against his own instinctually, the friction and pressure adding to the growing warmth deep in your belly. 

Astarion leans forward, connecting his mouth with your own in a scalding kiss, moaning into your mouth as his hips roll against your own, his growing erection pressing closer to your covered center. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself even closer to him as your hands card through the silver curls sitting at the back of his neck. Opening your mouth, you lick against his lips hoping he will open them for you. Astarion obliges, meeting your tongue halfway. 

Your tongue brushes against a sensitive fang, drawing another moan out of him and he slowly pulls away from the kiss, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as he leaves before moving to press small, sweet kisses across your jaw. 

“Would you indulge me a snack, dearest?” He presses a quick kiss followed by a small lick to the skin behind your ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down your skin.

“I suppose I could be convinced…” Breathy sighs fall from your lips as he peppers kisses down the elegant column of your neck. “Quite easily perhaps, too.”

“Will you give me a small taste, my dear?” he mouths the words against your skin, lips hot.

Your eyes fall closed at his kisses. “You know you don’t even have to ask to have my blood. I give it to you, freely, and I always will.” With a tilt of your head you grant him more access to continue his search.

“I don’t deserve you.” “Absolutely false. You deserve everything.” The words roll off your tongue with quick ease, certain you’ve never spoken truer words.

As Astarion moves the straps of your dress aside to hang off your shoulders and free the expanse of your neck and collar he finds the spot he had been looking for, laving the area with his tongue briefly before he bites down.

A split second of burning heat as his fangs dig into the flesh of your neck with as much delicacy as he can manage before he finally begins to suck, the pull of the blood leaving your body as he drinks brings a decidedly indecent moan to your lips, the heat of your core growing wetter with every draw of his mouth.

As Astarion drinks in your lifeblood in slow gulps, you feel his hands moving to the neckline of your dress and he grabs at it, pulling the fabric down across your chest, exposing more and more of you with every pull of the fabric. You had forgone a corset today in an attempt at comfort in an unending battle against humidity, trusting the bodice of your dress to instead keep your (somewhat questionable) modesty in tact. 

The rush of cold air combined with the sudden brush of his chilled hands against your breasts as he lets the dress fall to hang freely around your waist draws a surprised gasp from your lips. You move your arms out of the straps before burying them again in his silver locks.

He quickly brings a free hand up to grasp a breast, brushing his thumb over a newly hardened nipple. Extricating his fangs from your neck, his tongue moves to lick up the blood tracing down from the wound, not letting a single drop go to waste.  

“Such a delightful little treat,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing with every movement as your hips grind downward against his growing erection in slow rolls. 

His lips move further down your chest, no longer following the trail of fresh blood but that of the blood in your veins leading to your heart. 

Astarion presses a chaste kiss over the place where your heart beats, your back arching with the movement of his lips as he moves lower to capture a hardened peak. A soft cry at the touch of his mouth falls from your lips, the motion of his tongue drawing circles around the bud sending a flash of heat straight to your core. 

He laves at the bud, alternating licks and soft bites in a bid to stoke the fire inside you even higher, his free hand coming up to massage its twin with delicate motions.

Astarion cants his hips up into yours as he sucks hard at your breast, his prominent erection pressing into your growing wetness before his mouth moves to your other breast, continuing his ministrations.

“Astarion, please, I need more.” You whine, attempting to press harder against his erection in hopes the touch will grant a reprieve from the building heat between your thighs.

“As you wish, my love.” He grants your request with a whisper, his hands falling on your thighs to support you as he moves to stand, bringing you with him. Chair pushing back with the movement, he places you on the desk in front of him as his hips spread your thighs. 

Desperate to keep the connection between the two of your bodies, Astarion stands between your legs, pressing close. His hands skate up your body to land on your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at his own as a thumb brushes absentmindedly against your bottom lip. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, your eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips. 

“Lay back, love,” His words are a whisper as one hand makes it way from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His eyes never leave your own as your body relaxes, trusting him, and he leans you back onto the tabletop with care until your body meets the wood. 

Barely breathing, you watch as his hands made their way teasingly downwards, skating over your bared breasts to find the skirt of your dress, moving to push the thin fabric tantalizingly up your thighs to settle around your waist and out of the way. Astarion’s eyes settle upon a tiny, lacy pair of panties, the fabric the only thing keeping you from being completely bared to him. 

“You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.” Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

He was so beautiful it made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

With bated breath, you raise a hand to draw your fingers softly over his cheek, capturing his attention. 

“Promise me that you will tell me if this gets to be too much for you,” Your eyes meet his as you watch his expression fill with sudden affection at your request. 

“What a sweet thing you are,” Astarion brings a hand to cover the one you had placed over his cheek. “Thank you for always taking care of me so.” With a small movement, he turns his head to bring his lips to press against your palm. 

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” Astarion moves the hand that covers yours to flit down your body, teasing touches over your peaked nipples, down your belly, before brushing against the line of your underwear. A sudden intake of breath escapes your lungs as he watches your stomach jump with the touch. 

A smirk graces his face as he moves those same fingers lower, brushing lightly against the gusset of your underwear before pressing harder against the growing damp of the lace. His touch creates a sweet friction, your wetness mixed with the texture of the lace and the pressure of his fingers drawing a soft moan from you.

You whine as his fingers pull your underwear to the side, Astarion moving to slide his fingertips up and down your exposed slit, spreading your wetness. He makes teasing passes around the small pearl that rests above; close but never quite touching where you need him, your arousal aiding the smooth glide of his motions.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me, darling?”

“You know I always aim to please.”  The words are hard won but you manage to  give him a haughty smile nonetheless, trying to maintain the last shred of willpower you have left to pretend to be unaffected.

He moves to pump a finger shallowly inside you, not nearly deep enough to provide any relief. You gasp at feeling, attempting to roll your hips in hopes to bring his finger deeper. But just as quickly as he enters he leaves, eliciting a noise of frustration from you.

“Patience, patience.” He tuts, hands moving to your hips to tug at the lace resting over them. He yanks at the fabric, and you raise you bottom to aid him in finally removing them. Astarion pockets the pair with a smug look as his hands move to spread your thighs further apart.

With every push of your thighs Astarion bares you to him, your arousal glistening against your center in the low light.

“You know, dearest, I think I would maybe like to have a taste of something else as well.” You feel your cunt clench at the prospect, adding to the building heat deep inside you. 

“Consider me at your mercy, then.” A smirk from him at your blessing as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before your spread legs.

Astarion is supplicant before you as he rests his head on your upper thigh, unfairly close to where you want him most. Your hips jump in anticipation as he begins pressing tantalizingly soft kisses into the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

You feel his fingers touch you finally, delicately spreading your folds as he watches your most intimate place open for him. His thumb comes to rest against your clit, rubbing lightly at the small bud and you release a contented hum at the warmth of the pleasure inside your body growing with the movement of his fingers.

Your eyes fall shut at the sheer relief of his attention, his expertise in knowing exactly how and where to touch to drive you wild drawing a moan from you. Your hand falls from its place in his hair to land beside your head, jostling errant sewing supplies from their resting place next to you.

“Careful, darling. Watch those lovely hands of yours to not catch on a needle. I would so hate for you to bleed so needlessly.” A roguish smile alights his lips as he lowers his mouth to lick a slow stripe up your center, intent to collect as much of your wetness on his tongue as he can.

Your hand immediately finds its way back to his hair, gripping his silver curls mindlessly as he begins to work his tongue up and down your center, tracing patterns against your sex as he goes.

His tongue moves to finally circle your clit with small movements, intent to drive your pleasure higher and higher with every pass. His mouth moves lower, licking across your folds as he finds your entrance, tracing around it with agonizingly slow motions.

Astarion is quick to move a hand to rest over your belly as your hips jut up, applying soft pressure as he grows bold in his motions and his tongue moves to push inside of you. Your grip on his curls grows harder with every thrust of his tongue inside your body, head thrown back and moans growing louder as he brings you closer and closer to completion.

The hand resting on your stomach moves to press lightly at your clit, once again resuming the small circles round and around as his tongue continues its exploration deep in your core, eating you out with fervor. 

Astarion continues to lave inside you, his soft tongue whorling against your walls as his fingers expertly work your clit in tandem with your cries as your hips ride his face, thighs shaking as your orgasm barrels towards you. 

And it’s just like that when you cry out and finally come, his tongue moving deep inside as his finger strums your clit with practiced motions and the feeling is white-hot as you plunge into your ecstasy. He licks up your come greedily, tongue never stopping its endeavor as you ride the wave of your orgasm, breathy cries leaving your lips and hips rolling until your body finally relaxes. 

Shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm, your hand falls from Astarion’s hair to rest over your eyes as your breathing begins to even out and you finally come down from the high, Astarion cleaning up your cum until you can take it no longer, hips jerking in overstimulation away from his mouth.

Astarion places a light kiss over your clit before raising up from his knees back to his full height, your slick glistening on his chin and lips in the light of the candles as his still clothed cock brushes against your empty center.

Astarion leans forward, arms caging your head as he leans down to nuzzle your cheek whispering ardent words, “Out of all the beautiful things in this room, you are by far the most gorgeous.”

His admission momentarily stuns you. Astarion had never been shy in his admirations of your beauty and while you had grown more used to them during your time together he still managed to catch you off guard with such compliments from time to time.

“Can I please touch you? Taste you?” You pant, desperation coloring your words in the wake of his earlier admission as you begin to push yourself up onto your elbows. Astarion’s hand comes down and gently presses on your chest instead, and you lower yourself back down at the gentle command in the gleaming red of his eyes. 

“You can put that clever mouth of yours to use later, my dear. I have other plans for you, I think.” His eye rove your features before pressing his mouth upon yours in a fevered kiss, his tongue licking against your lips asking for entry. You can taste the essence of yourself on his lips and groan at the taste, opening yours to tangle his tongue with your own.

Astarion deepens the kiss as his hands find your own and grasping them gently, he brings them down his body to rest upon his still-clothed cock. 

“You said you wanted to touch. Indulge me, lover.” His lips never leave your own as he speaks the words, tongue sneaking out to lick at your bottom lip.

Your hands spring to action immediately to palm his cock through his leather pants before you find the laces holding him and undo them with deft fingers familiar with the task.

Astarion’s thick cock springs free of the confines of the pants and your fingers find the beads of precum decorating the tip and spread the wetness down his length. your fingers glide from top to bottom in smooth motions over the veined velvet of him, his essence aiding your ministrations as his mouth falls open from the sheer indulgence of your touch. His head falls heavily onto your shoulder and his lips move over the spot he fed from earlier, kissing and licking the area as your hands work him closer to closer to the edge. 

Lifting a hand from him you bring your fingers to your own wetness, drawing your fingertips through your slick before pumping two of them inside yourself in an imitation of his own motions earlier as you moan at the feeling.

Astarion glances down to see your fingers buried in your own cunt, the sight making him go impossibly harder as he watches you briefly pleasure the both of you. With a whine, your fingers leave your body to return to Astarion, a mixture of your arousal and come coating your fingers as your spread it onto his waiting cock, increasing your rhythm to rub him faster.

“Gods Above, you really are something else.” His pupils are blown out in lust as he groans at both the sight and feel of your hands working his shaft, one hand massaging the crown of his cock while the other works him closer to the base in quick motions.

A wicked thought strikes your mind, and you almost feel badly for even entertaining the idea. Almost.

You can feel his breath fanning your neck with every pass of your hands, his moans growing more unrestrained as your ministrations draw him to edge of completion. Without warning you withdraw your hands from his weeping cock, cruelly denying him the climax he was so close to.

Astarion’s head flies up from where it rests on your shoulder as a noise of disbelief leaves his lips and he shoots you a look of pure shock. The knowledge you caught him so unaware has you riding another kind of high, one you rarely had the privilege of reveling in.

“You little minx! Who knew you were capable of such cruelty. You’re going to pay for that, you know.”

Mischief settles on your features. “Maybe that was the goal.”

“Ask and you shall receive, little love. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His lips curve with a devilish grin, eyes glinting in the candlelight as his hands move to grip your waist, fingertips pressing hard into the soft skin.

“How should I make you pay for it, then?” He muses. “Should I shove my cock into that tight, sweet cunt of yours and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand? Or maybe I should make good use of that wicked little mouth of yours and fill it instead?”

His darkening eyes bore into your own, your cheeks heating at his suggestions as you shift under his contemplation.

“You do look quite beautiful like that, you know. Mouth stretched around me as I fuck your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You give an enthusiastic nod at the prospect, excited for whatever punishment he deems appropriate to hand out.

Without warning, you feel the hands upon your waist move to lift you up and flip you over, your stomach making contact with the table as your bare breasts press tight against the wood grain. His hand comes to rest in the center of your back, pushing you further into the surface. You move your head to rest your cheek upon the table, the coolness of the wood a welcome sensation to the quickly rebuilding heat inside you as your eyes glance up to meet his own in curiosity. 

“Too bad. I have another idea instead.” His voice is deep with promise.

Such trouble you had gotten yourself into, it seems. 

Cool hands move from your back to the forgotten skirt of your dress to flip it upward to rest around your waist once more, exposing your ass and glistening center to the warm air. 

Astarion brings his hand down hard against one of your cheeks, the sharpness of the spank making you cry out as surprise and pleasure mingle into one. He rubs the growing red mark left on your skin before bending down to press a his lips to it, soothing the area with barely-there kisses. 

He brings both hands to your ass now, rubbing soothing circles over the area before moving to pull your rear cheeks apart, allowing Astarion to see absolutely everything.

A wave of embarrassment hits you to be put on such display for his vision despite his knowledge of your body, and you fidget slightly under his intent gaze of your most intimate areas. 

“Astarion…” you let out a moan and he is quick to shush you as he moves a hand off your asscheek to brush his thumb in light circles over your asshole. 

“Maybe I should take you here instead, I know how much you love when I play with your pretty ass.” His voice is deep, eyes impossibly dark. 

“Oh fuck,” His words draw a ragged moan from your lips at the mere thought, setting your neglected pussy on fire with need.

“Prove to me you can be a good girl.” His thumb applies soft pressure before it leaves you to be replaced by his lips. He presses a soft kiss to the tight hole before kissing downwards and licking deep into your cunt without warning, lapping at your waiting wetness.

“Gods, Astarion…” your hips press backwards towards his waiting mouth. “Whatever you want, wherever you want, my love. I’ll do anything. I just want you inside of me.” Your voice is hoarse with need, no longer caring to win this little game you had started.

You feel Astarion’s mouth leave your pussy and whine at the loss, but he is quick replace your empty cunt with two of his elegant fingers instead, sliding them in and out at slow, measured pace. 

“Do you think I should let you come one more time before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk properly?” You are helpless to do anything other than nod your head in insistence, hoping he won’t rob you of your orgasm the way you had done to him. “I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

Astarion slowly pulls his fingers out of your body only to add a third finger on the plunge back in, drawing a cry from your lips at the sudden fullness. 

His fingers push deep and curl inside of you pressing against that special spot over and over again, driving you to new heights as the lightest veil of tears begins to dust your lashes at the sheer bliss of the feeling.

Noticing the tears, you feel Astarion immediately stop his ministrations and lean over your back to look into your eyes with concern, a noise of protest at the lack of motion falls from your mouth as his fingers slowly leave your body to rest on your hip, brushing calming circles on your skin.

“Is this too much, love?” Any trace of his teasing dominance is gone from his voice as he speaks the words to you clearly, looking intently for any indication you needed him to step back from the scene the two of you had created. “We can stop, darling, if you need to. I don’t want you to push yourself too far to please me.”

You smile at genuine concern evident on his face, blinking away the sheen of tears. 

Pushing your hips back into him with as much motion as you can manage in your prone position against the table, you lean your body up in hopes to press a kiss to his lips. Astarion leans in, mouth quick to meet you halfway in a kiss as his spare hand moves to cup your cheek.

“The only thing you are pushing is my patience, love. Please don’t stop.” You beg, hoping he will acquiesce to your desire to continue as you lower your body back down onto the table. “The only thing I want in this moment is to come so hard I can’t think straight and then to have that beautiful cock of yours inside of me in whatever way you wish to give it to me.”

“Insatiable. Who taught you such language?” His body follows yours down, back pressing against your own as his lips brush against yours as he speaks the words, the concern leaving his eyes replaced with mounting desire.

“Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to be buried deep inside you,” The hand on your hip makes its way back towards your center. “Make me the same promise I made you earlier.”

The words come to your mouth effortlessly.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” You recite the words softly, with ease. 

Quieter now, you whisper. “I trust you, Astarion.”

You know how much your words and trust mean to him, can see it in his unguarded expression. Astarion didn’t put much trust in the Gods, but he would never stop thanking whichever one it was that brought your paths together. His fingers gently graze your pussy, ringing around your entrance with soft, teasing touches.

“I love you.” Astarion says before pressing his lips firmly to your own, those same three fingers finally slipping back inside.

Astarion renews the pace of his fingers right away, pressing and curling with precise motions meant to bring you to the brink.

You give into the sensation of every movement of his fingers, mouth open and eyes falling shut at the feeling and it’s not long before he has you once again close to your orgasm. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you whimper as your thighs begin to shake.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion brings his other hand down your body to brush lightly against your clit. He sounds as lost in desire as you feel. “Want to feel you come on my hand. Can you do that for me, sweet thing?”

His words have you clenching hard on his fingers, the pressure of them against your insides combined with the fingers of his other hand brushing light, concentric circles over your clit have you coming within moments of his request.

“Such a good girl to give me what I want so easily.” You barely hear the words that fall from his lips through the haze of your ongoing orgasm, the feeling of his breath on the skin of your ear serving to only enhancing the moment.

Your body spasms around his fingers and cries of ecstasy fall from your lips as he continues, working you through your orgasm while his lips press soothing kisses anywhere his lips can reach—your face, your neck, the tip of your ear. 

“That’s it. You always look so beautiful when you come for me.”

Slowly, finally you feel your body begin to relax through the haze of your orgasm. Your mind comes back to you and you release a small laugh as your breath starts to even out, feeling him leave your body. Without breaking eye contact, he brings the fingers that had filled you so deeply to his mouth and licks them clean. The sight of it sends a wave of heat right back to your cunt, a shudder of anticipation running through you.

“I think you already succeeded in your wish to make me unable to stand.” You pant.

“And to think I haven’t even fucked you yet.” His cock is hard as his eyes scan your form from the flesh of your core to the flush of your cheeks, your eyes glassy with a haze of lust.

“I think I want to fuck you just like this.” He whispers into your ear as his hands run soothingly over your back. “I like you this, on display as you wait for me.” You desperately attempt to push your hips back to brush against his uncovered cock, looking for any bit of friction.

You watch him from your place on the table, the lithe way his body moves as he takes off his luxurious silk shirt to expose his chest.

His beauty was almost otherworldly as the dancing candlelight illuminates the carved marble of his skin, light and shadow creating a moving chiaroscuro upon the planes of his body.

He looked like a god.

“You are so beautiful.” Your words are a mere whisper as he moves his thick cock to finally brush against your center, slicking himself in your spend as the tip catches against your clit, drawing twin moans from you both.

Grabbing your hips, Astarion positions himself at your entrance and begins to slowly push inside, so familiar with your body he barely needs to guide his cock.

His head drops to press a kiss to your shoulder before righting himself again, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your walls closing around him as he slides in, your wetness aiding him as he bottoms out and his hips press hard against your own. 

Low moans escape you at the sheer feeling of his cock stretching and sliding home and your hands move grasp for purchase on the desk as he slowly begins to rock back and forth. 

“If only you could see yourself now,” His voice is deep as he watches himself pull his cock out of your body almost completely, only the head left resting shallowly inside you before pushing forward with a hard thrust, hitting a place so deep you let out a ragged cry at the feeling.

“Gods, Astarion, just like that.” He fucks you hard, the force of his thrusts pushing you back and forth with small motions, breasts pressing hard against the wood of the table as one of your hands finds his own still holding your hips. You grab at his wrist in hopes he will take it, needing to touch more of him. Sensing your need Astarion takes your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss on the back of it before resting your joined hands on your lower back. 

“No one takes my cock like you,” He pants through his thrusting. “You were made for me, weren’t you?” 

Supplications fall from his lips as he moves in and out of your body, showering you with worship as if you were his own private deity. His words further kindle the rising flame inside your belly, every touch of his cock against your walls serving to push you closer and closer to your third orgasm. 

“Only you,” you pant, hips canting back into his own to match the rhythm of his thrusts. “No one else.”

You feel so incredibly full with your body positioned like this, every movement of his cock has him pressing hard against your sweet spot, the feeling like heaven as cries fall from your lips.

“I love how wet you get for me, darling,” Astarion can feel you tighten around him as you grow nearer to your orgasm, your body trembling and cunt pulsing with pleasure as your hips drive back into his own. The feeling of you so close to your orgasm has hips losing their rhythm, his eagerness at the two of you reaching your end together driving him to move harder with every press inside you.

You love seeing him, feeling him like this. His hips finally moving with wild abandon, chasing pure instinct as he moves fast and deep inside your body. A hand comes up to settle in your unbound hair, softly gripping the silk-like strands in his fingers and in his passion he pulls softly, the motion lifting your head. His lips lower to your ear as his back presses fully against your own, the feeling of his cock moving even deeper inside you unmatched. Between his chest against your back and his cock moving so deep he was practically rutting inside, you were almost certain your cunt had never felt so full. Breathless whimpers escape your mouth at the feeling, eyes closing in complete ecstasy as the sound of his own moans against your ear leaves your cunt clenching hard as he hits your g-spot over and over again with each deep thrust.

“Beg for it. Beg for me to let you cum.”

And beg you do.

“Please, Astarion!” A chorus of pleas rise from your throat voicing your desperation as his tongue licks the shell of your ear, the hand in your hair tightening slightly with every word and moan that falls from your lips. 

You can barely think as you feel your orgasm careen towards you, unintelligible in your words as you lose yourself in the feeling of your bodies. Astarion’s cock hits that deep inside spot at your front wall once more, and you finally let go, orgasm taking over your body, stars behind your eyes in all-consuming pleasure. You recognize Astarion nearing his own end, his hips rutting into yours as you ride out your orgasm on his cock, cunt squeezing him in a vice. He comes with a drawn-out moan as he paints your insides with his cum, hips shuttering until his thrusts slow down.

Astarion stays inside you, cock softening as he rubs his hands up and down your sides as you both come down from your high, his cold cheek pressed against your shoulder. With deep breaths you take air so heavy and sweet with your shared lust into your lungs, the weight of Astarion on your back an anchor to the world.

With one final pump Astarion pulls himself from your body, watching as your empty cunt weeps with a mixture of his and your own cum. Before he can stop himself, he reaches two fingers up to catch the cum on his fingertips, gently pushing it back inside you before it can fall out onto the table resting below your hips. 

“Wouldn’t want you to waste a single drop, my love.”

You whine and buck your hips, overstimulated after coming so many times in a row. With one last press of his fingers, he leaves your cunt, leaning forward to place a kiss on the small of your back.

Astarion grabs a discarded piece of silk off the table beside your head and he gently wipes at the mess that threatens to leave your body before cleaning his own spent cock. As your breathing returns to its normal pace, you push yourself up slightly. 

“Silk. Really, Astarion?”

“Only the best for you, my love.” Astarion is quick to help you off the table, steadying you as you sway slightly after being in the same position for so long. He presses a kiss to your lips as he helps pull your dress back up over your breasts and into place. 

“I would ask if I was too rough, but I know you better than that.” His remark makes you laugh as you lean into him, throwing your arms around his neck with a wide smile.

“You know, I think I’m missing a tiny piece of my clothing,” Your eyebrows raise as you gesture to his pocket where a tiny piece of darkened lace sticks out from. "You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

“Why bother?” Astarion gives a casual shrug as he waves off your query. “I’m just going to take them off of you again when we get home.” 

He stuffs the underwear in question deeper into his pocket, patting it securely before flashing you a crafty smile.

“After all, I haven’t even had my dinner yet.” He leans in, setting your heart aflame with a passionate kiss before grabbing your hand to lead you out the door and into the waiting night.

[tojipie]

Toji’s first time at the club with you after he gets out of prison?

prison bf series linked here !

content: smoking, alc

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toji had missed a lot of things besides you during his time in the slammer.

car rides, casinos, weed, movie theaters, the whole 9 yards really. but if you held a gun to your boyfriends head and asked him what he missed the most? he might just slip and say it was booze.

toji sits on one of the leather couches in your private section, rolling his glass in salt before filling it with a drink you can’t pronounce. beside him stand 2 bar carts packed to the brim with everything he’d need to get shitfaced, courtesy of the club’s owner who seemed to owe him more than a few favors.

you see his eyes physically flutter back into his skull when he takes his first sip, savoring the tart liquid as it flowed over the salted rim and down his throat.

long behind were the days of sneaking sketchy prison hooch and stale cigarettes. the late nights you sit quietly across from him, watching him enjoy himself with a soft smile.

“feel good?” you ask with a giggle, taking a chaste sip of your own drink.

the older man nods, running a shaky hand through his hair like he almost can’t believe he’s got all this alcohol to himself.

“c’mere.” he says, motioning towards himself with two fingers. you set your drink down and sink down next to him, intertwining your legs. the older man traces circles into the skin of your thigh while he savors his liquor.

“you wanna go dance, pretty?” he asks, reaching down to lightly massage the skin of your calf.

you think it over a little before grabbing his hand to lead him to the dance floor, you pause when he doesn’t budge.

toji chuckles quietly, throwing back a shot before explaining himself.

“without me i meant.” he laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “i’ve got a few bottles to finish off, right? go make friends.”

you debate over leaving your boyfriend to his own devices, could a 30 year old man fresh out of prison really be left alone with a week’s worth of booze? no, probably not. your suspicions are confirmed as soon as you see him flick a lighter in your peripherals.

“hey!” you chastise, waving the flame out with your hand. “no smoking inside.”

the cigarette in his mouth droops as he looks up at you, clearly unamused.

“since when was that a rule.” he mumbles, throwing the cig on the table in front of him.

“i can handle you drunk, but i honestly can’t handle you drunk and smelling like tobacco.” you chastise, pressing a kiss to his forehead to soften the blow.

“you’re on babysitting duty then.” he muses, voice already starting to slur. “y’r gonna watch me polish these bottles off n’ as soon as i’m done we’re gonna go dance, ok?”

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taglist ! <3 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies @wheredidmycrowngo @unknownspecies @ushygushybaby @ebiharachan @hoshigray @crazychaoticizzy @denypipa @watyousayin @tempest1art @sakuraryomen01 @kariito-art @vkeyy @mxtokko

[tinytennisskirt]

𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭'𝐬 m𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

MINORS DNI w/ RED HEART FICS ALMOST ALL FICS CONTAIN SUGGESTIVE CONTENT thank youuuu

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬:

𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐧:

The Card and The Heart (x ZweigTwin!Reader) ♡

A Chaotic Reunion Pt1 (childhood bestfriend art! x reader- reuniting and rekindling)

A Chaotic Reunion Pt2 (childhood bestfriend art! x reader- rekindling and new romance)

Rumours (x fem!reader- miscommunication trope)

More Than Anything (childhood bestfriend art! x reader- slowburn? angsty? fluffy romantic ending)

Cottage Culture (childhood bestfriend art! x reader - ft. patrick, slowburn, close friends, cottage getaway, fluff)

Good Luck Charm (x gf!reader- sad to fluff, proposal)

Kisses (x gf!reader- hurt/comfort)

The Motions (x girlfriend/wife!reader- wedding, honeymoon, pregnancy) ♡

A Slippery Slope (x exgirlfriend!reader- apologies, rekindling, hurt/comfort if you squint)

Fresh Laundry and Other Things (x reader- flirting, fluff, laundry and coffee and music)

The Couch (x pregnantwife!reader- fluff, a little smut, pregnancy) ♡

Small Victories (x tennisplayer!reader- fluff, angst, recovery and slowburn friends to lovers)

Never (art x girlfriend!reader- breakup, angst, bittersweet)

Kiss Me (art x bestfriend!reader- fake dating trope with a twist, slowburn, super sweet)

Let It Linger (dual timeline- MRTA! art x bestfriend! reader / post divorce! art x estranged best friend reader- pining, yearning, slowburn)

From Pain To Promise (x bestfriend!reader- pining, yearning, angst, MAJOR TW, happy ending)

Wounds and Words (x bestfriend!reader- pining, taking care of wounds, drunk confession)

Chrysalism (x fiancée!reader- rainy day, shower sex, domestic love) ♡

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐙𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠:

Hall Pass (x Art'sGirlfriend!Reader) ♡

Angel Pt1 (x singlemom!reader - slowburn/age gap)

Angel Pt2 (x singlemom!reader - slowburn/age gap/tension and wanting)

Angel Pt3 (x singlemom!reader - slow burn, age gap) ♡

Rematch (ex-situationship!reader- enemies to lovers, smut)♡

Tease (x fem!reader- tease, hidden fluff, friends to lovers) ♡

Patrick and His Pattern (x girlfriend!reader- angst, mean!patrick, breakup) ♡

Sweetheart (x babysitter!reader- age gap, girl dad! patrick, smut) ♡

Those Three Words (friend turned lover! reader x player turned loverboy! patrick- fun, sweet, am ‘i love you’ confession, and hurt/comfort)

Sweet Tooth (x bakery owner! reader- post-canon player turned bf! patrick, flirting, the motions, falling in love, fluff)

𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐡:

The Gymnast (x gymnast!reader- tension, threesome, smut!) ♡

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

- patrick taking your virginity (blurb) ♡

- best friend!patrick who is totally not in love with you (headcanons with a plot)

- boyfriend!art who knows you like the back of his hand (headcanons)

- art giving you a tummy bulgeee (requested blurb) ♡

- you, art and pat singing some trashy song in the car (headcanon)

- Q: who is more likely to develop a crush for stupid reasons?

- Mark Rebellato Era headcanons

- vampire boyfriend! art (headcanons with a plot) ♡

- meet the donaldsons (almost-fic blurb)

[just-aake]

Boundless Devotion - Part I

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Warnings: slight angst

Words: 1991

In the training yard of the castle, the sound of clashing steel fills the air as the Captain of the Royal Guard, Steve Rogers, faces off against the eldest princess and heir to the Romanov kingdom, Princess Natasha. 

The sun shines on the area as the two circle each other, carefully watching the other’s movement.

Surrounding them, some of the castle’s staff and the other knights pause in their activities to watch the match with anticipation. 

The captain lunges forward first, his polished sword gleaming in the sunlight. With a swift flourish, he aims a diagonal strike at her midsection.

In response, Natasha sidesteps the attack gracefully, her own blade moving smoothly to parry his sword.

The crowd watches with rapt attention as Steve continues to press forward with additional powerful swings, but the princess evades every strike, stepping as if she were dancing.

On a particularly powerful thrust, Natasha ducks under his attack, extending her arm to him. Then with a twist of her wrist, she expertly hooks her blade around his sword’s hilt and applies pressure. Using his momentum against him, she jerks the sword out of his grasp, sending it spinning through the air. 

The blade lands with a clatter several feet away.

Then in a swift and uninterrupted motion, she hooks her leg around the back of his knee, sweeping it out from under him. 

Her sword points at the captain’s chest in victory, ending the battle, as cheers and applause erupt around them.

With a quick twirl, Natasha holds her sword behind her before extending her hand to the captain. Steve gives her a grateful smile and takes her hand as she pulls him to his feet. 

He dusts himself off before giving her an exasperated look.

“Did you really need to show me up in front of my knights?”

Natasha gives him a smirk, replying.

“Well, I have to keep you humble.” 

Captain Steve Rogers was the one who trained her and her younger sister, Yelena, ever since they were little. Years later, they have both mastered their sword and martial arts skills, becoming one of the best in the kingdom.

Glancing around, Steve gives a stern look to the surrounding knights who rush to resume their training. When he turns back to Natasha, he nods in the distance.

“Looks like you have some guests, your Highness.”

Natasha brushes her hair out of her face, turning to look at the directed area.

At the edge of the training yard, she finds you standing alongside another noble, Lady Kate Bishop. 

Kate waves excitedly at her in greeting, and the golden retriever next to her also jumps in place, matching his owner’s energy.

Visits to the castle from the two of you were not surprising. With both of your noble families having prominent positions in the kingdom, it was natural that the four of you, including Yelena, would end up forming close bonds, having known each other since you were children.

Kate is Yelena’s closest friend while you are hers.

Well, you two used to be close.

However, ever since the incident last year on the night of her birthday, you’ve kept your distance from her, only seeing or talking to her when necessary. 

Even now, Natasha can see that the only thing holding you in place is Kate’s interlocked arm in yours.

Your body is turned towards the castle, and your eyes are looking everywhere else but her.

Natasha sheaths her sword at her side and walks over to the two of you. She is knocked back slightly when the golden retriever leaps at her in greeting, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

Natasha chuckles and pets his head, “Well, hello to you too, Lucky.”

Kate’s excited energy follows, moving closer, which in turn pulls you forward also. 

“That was amazing! You have to teach me that move!”

Natasha releases the dog with a final scratch before letting him return to his owner’s side. 

“I’m sure Yelena can show it to you the next time you two practice,” she tells her.

Kate nods to herself, reminding herself to ask the younger princess about it later.

Natasha turns to you, giving you a hopeful smile.

“How have you been, Y/n?”

You give her a slight bow in acknowledgment, your eyes still averted from hers.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking, princess.”

Natasha's smile drops slightly at your neutral response. 

So far, her interactions with you have been like this, formal and distant, unlike the usual banter and casual teasing that typically characterizes your friendship.

Before she can ask anything further, Natasha notices a slight movement in your arm as you discreetly tug Kate, trying to get her attention. 

Kate turns to look at you in question and sees your pointed stare as you tilt your head subtly towards the castle.

Her mouth opens in realization, and she turns to Natasha apologetically.

“Oh, that’s right! I’m sorry, Natasha, but we have to get going. Y/n has a meeting with the queen.”

You are practically dragging her away as she finishes talking, offering Natasha a tight smile and a small farewell bow.

Natasha’s shoulders slump in despair as she watches you rush away.

It was disheartening to see her closest friend become almost like a stranger, but she can only blame that incident which caused this rift between the two of you. 

Sighing sadly, she pulls out her sword again and heads back toward the center of the area to resume her training.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha is practically sprinting to the dining hall with how fast she is walking through the hallways.

Guards and maids dodge out of her path as she rushes by, already understanding the need to hurry, judging by the time. 

As she approaches the entrance of the dining room, the guards open the doors for her to enter. Stepping into the room, she is immediately greeted by the queen’s reprimanding voice.

“You’re late, Natasha.”

Her mother, Queen Melina, sits at the head of the table while her father, King Alexei, occupies the opposite side. Yelena is positioned on the table's side facing her, subtly shaking her head in warning as her eyes gesture meaningfully toward their mother.

Natasha thinks back to how she spent the remainder of the day after her encounter with you, destroying the training dummies around the training yard in frustration.

By the time she realized how long she’d been training, the sun had already set. 

Deciding there was no point in making up an excuse, she settled with the truth.

“I lost track of the time,” she replies.

In response, Queen Melina nods at the chair closest to her, indicating for her to have a seat. 

When Natasha sits down, a member of the kitchen staff places a plate of dinner in front of her before stepping away.

In an attempt to break the tension, King Alexei claps his hands together and exclaims joyfully.

“Great, the family’s all here! Let’s eat!”

The members of the royal family start eating their meals, except for Queen Melina, who instead turns her attention to Natasha.

“I heard that you were at the courtyard today, training with the royal guards.”

“I was,” Natasha responds casually.

“What about your studies?”

“I already finished them all.”

“If you had told me earlier, I could have given you the next part of your lessons,” Melina admonishes before continuing her lecture. “You are about to be crowned soon as the next ruler of the kingdom. There’s always more that you can learn.”

A small snicker from Yelena catches Melina’s attention, causing her to direct her lecturing tone to the younger princess.

“And you should not laugh at your sister. At least she finished her studies. I heard that you didn't even show up for your lessons. Where exactly were you all day?”

Yelena shrugs nonchalantly before looking down next to her chair at the Akita dog eating from her bowl.

“Fanny wanted to go out for a run, so we spent the day out in the fields.”

At the sound of her name, the dog looks up attentively.

In response, Yelena gives her a gentle scratch on the head, before turning the dog's face toward her mother.

“You can’t say no to this face,” Yelena coos. 

Melina gives the two of them a deadpan look before shifting her gaze forward to her husband.

Alexei chokes on his food in slight panic when he realizes her attention has now turned to him.

“Our daughters have inherited your adventurous spirit,” Melina remarks accusingly.

“That’s my girls!” Alexei exclaims proudly before he catches the sharp glare from Melina. “I-I mean, girls, your studies and lessons come first. You know how important they are to your mother.”

Melina sighs defeatedly, shaking her head at his poor attempt at scolding. She returns her attention back to her eldest daughter.

“I have scheduled several meetings for you this week, Natasha. They’re with the daughters from some of the noble houses, so be sure not to miss any.”

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Natasha brings her cup up for a drink as she asks for more information.

“What are the meetings for?”

“To find you a partner, of course.”

Natasha spits out her drink in surprise, coughing as she reaches for a napkin.

“Mind your manners, Natasha,” Melina chastises.

Ignoring her mother's reprimand, Natasha exclaims in outrage.

“Why am I looking for a partner?!” 

Unfazed by her tone, Melina answers her question with a serious expression, “Taking on the responsibilities of the kingdom is a lot for one person. You should have someone at your side.” 

Natasha makes a sound of disagreement and gestures at her in accusation.

“A couple of months ago, you told me that I was fully prepared to take over the throne,” she reminds her mother. “You’ve never mentioned that I needed to have someone back then!” 

“Well, that was before I realized that you have obviously made no attempt at looking for a potential partner. So I took the liberty to invite these lovely candidates to help you get started, and you will meet with them.”

Natasha huffs and crosses her arms, shaking her head in disbelief.

Seeing her reluctance, Melina continues, declaring, “If you cannot find someone by the time of your coronation, your father and I will choose one for you.” 

Natasha’s eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open in shock at her words.

This was not fair.

Throughout her life, her parents have never shown interest in her romantic relationships before. Suddenly, they decide that she is not capable of taking over the kingdom unless she has someone by her side. 

As Natasha tries to come up with a way so that she can get herself out of this situation, an idea comes to her mind.

“What if I’m already in a relationship with someone?” Natasha asks.

Three sets of eyes stare at her with varying looks of disbelief on their faces.

Yelena speaks up first, giving her a skeptical look.

“Nat, you’re popular throughout the kingdom, but the truth is, you spend more time with your sword than you do holding a lady's hand.”

Natasha subtly kicks her sister under the table in response to her comment, causing her to curse in pain. 

“Watch your language, Yelena,” Melina reprimands her before resting her clasped hands on the table and focusing on Natasha. “But she’s not wrong. I have not seen you romantically close with anyone,” she points out accusingly.

Without hesitation, Natasha smoothly lies, “We’ve been meeting in secret.”

Melina examines her critically, and she matches her mother's intense stare.

When Natasha’s gaze doesn’t waver, Melina relaxes her posture and relents. 

“Alright then, if you could tell me who you are in a relationship with, I will cancel all of the meetings.” 

The name rolls off naturally on her tongue before Natasha can even stop herself.

“Lady Y/n Dreykov. I’m in a relationship with Y/n.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

[thecapricunt1616]

Allspice (c.b oneshot)

𝐵𝓁𝓊𝓇𝒷 (𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐵𝒯𝒞): You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly.  Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh.  “Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table. 

♡ O.S Inspo: Forever & Always - Fearless (TV) ; "Was I out of line, did I say something way too honest, made you run and hide like a scared little boy?" ♡ Pairing : CarmyxAFAB Reader as little physical description possible | She/Her pronouns used, NO use of Y/N :) ♡ Summary: You have a very successful Culinary Review blog, the social media manager of one of your new hometown restaurants 'The Bear' has been dying to get you out to try their food. But since the EC is a bit of an overzealous competitor, you end up having to go back for round 2- you end up having a delicious dinner, and a free show.

♡ W/C: 4,381

♡ Posted Date: 03/18/24

♡ A/N: FIRST THING: I am HORRIDDDD at writing Claire- I'm much better at writing Carmy cause were alot more similar- so this Claire isn't gonna be CRAZY canon, but I think she got the job done. Anyway- EEEEEP!!! Here is my VERY FIRST ONE SHOT EVER!! Inspired by my amazing, wonderful, PRECIOUS FLOWER @daysofyellowroses that can be found here :) AAAAA!!! My precious Rose I hope you enjoy this, It could ABSOLUTELY have a part 2 if y'all like it. I ended it here cause I'm sooo wordy and I didn't want it to turn in to a multi-chap. fic by mistake...but ofc if y'all want more just tell me and ill get RIGHT TO WORK!!! I really hope this comes off how I saw it in my head. There's no smut/sexy stuff, just mutual pining and flirty teasing, I hope thats ok!! aaa here we goooo!!! Enjoy <3

♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Drinking alcohol (Literally it LOL)

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Being a Food Critic wasn’t an easy gig, as much as people wanted to believe it’s simply going to famous restaurants, trying their most popular dishes- and giving your opinion, it was much more then that. 

Each and every aspect of the restaurant was under your review, from the second you walked in the door, you were judging everything. From the atmosphere, to the music, to the decor, to the comfortability of the furniture all of it, was to meet your expectations if the owner of the establishment wanted a good review.

Today was finally the day you'd review one of the restaurants that had sent 3 requests for you to feature a review of them on your blog. 

The Bear. Interesting name, you thought.

With the rugged name- you’d assumed a more millennial hipster-New American vibe. But when you’d arrived- you were quite…impressed? That instead of leaning into that all too common aesthetic, it was more of a classy, comfortable vibe. 

They’d not even had bear art, anything of the sort. It was pure comfort, mixed with subtle class. The kind that spoke to the cost of the dishes- but wasn’t in your face obnoxious. The only ‘Bear’ was the little golden bear embossed into the leather menu you’d been handed when seated at the table. 

The way you did your reviews was…a tad unusual - some chefs in the industry called it ‘unfair’ but you called it…the fairest things could be. Instead of telling them when you’d be swinging by for a review since where’s the fun in that you’d call, make a reservation under some random name, and they’d know you’d accepted their offer when the review had been posted on your blog. 

It felt most honest and fair because you were one of the most renowned food critics in the country right now. If they knew you were coming- any EC with a brain would spend the night before your arrival, prepping the entire restaurant and staff - assuring they’d be on their best behavior to try and squeeze a higher grade out of you.

 But you were just a reader once upon a time, years ago- when you realized in culinary school that the making of the art didn’t interest you, it was the observing. Food wasn’t just about taste, but rather the whole experience. And if every famous food critic you’d taken interest in back in the day- never got a true experience due to their notability? You’d never have gotten into this field. So, you were most keen on keeping things fair. 

A woman with mousey brown hair comes up to your table, dressed in the typical waitress slacks and black button up shirt. “Hello! Welcome to The Bear. My name is Sam, have you dined with us before?” she asks. 

You sit up in your chair, peeling your eyes from the menu. You give her a small kind smile “I haven’t” you replied, urging her to continue her script. 

“Well welcome in, we're so happy you chose to spend your evening with us. So for our menu” she opens it in front of you. “Here” she points “are our wine options, fabulous selection this month. Then we have draft beers right next to it. On the following page” she points “all of our craft cocktails, then this,” she points in the bottom corner. 

“Our house cocktail - Just called The Bear. It’s wonderful, if you like old fashions you’ll love this - made with Bearface Triple Oak Whiskey.” She said and you nod. 

 “That please. That’s what I’ll start with” you said and she nodded. 

“I’ll get that right in. But quickly, just so you’re aware” she flipped the page and pointed. 

“These - are the dishes of the month. Each crafted by one of our two head chefs, they change monthly so if something calls to you I recommend you try- because it won’t be back” she said. You raised your eyebrows a bit in surprise and nod. 

“Thank you” you said and she gives a nod before heading off to the bar to put in your drink order before heading off to tend to other tables in your section. 

Having an alternating menu intrigued you, for such a high end establishment- one with a Michelin star at that- implementing such a menu would consistently have their star at risk. One dish, one app, one drink- that was not up to par and it would be revoked. You guessed the owners of this place liked living on the edge, as if being in this industry wasn’t already being constantly on edge. 

You gaze over the menu, the Chilean Seabass sounded like a fair assessment. Seafood was quite difficult to get right, especially in the springtime before peak season, and you’d be able to judge the consistency of the chopping and such because there was a fresh tomato corn salad that came with it. That was your rule when you came to judge restaurants, one main course, and one dessert.  

You’d felt like the main courses were the true stars of the show anyhow, and it would be unfair to muck up your palate with an app that was usually something easy to get right (since they were usually fried, covered in cheese, or some kind of carb). And the dessert usually showed the restaurant's creativity, which you loved to see, so 2 dishes was your max. 

The waitress returns with the cocktail, setting it down with a napkin under it. “Here you are, now- have you decided on a starter?” She questioned and you shook your head. 

“Straight to the good stuff, I’d like the Chilean Sea Bass please. And for dessert,” you flick the page and your eyes settle on the words savory cannoli - hmm, imaginative indeed. “And uh- The Michael Cannoli?” You said, shutting the menu and handing it to her. 

She nods with a smile, jotting down the order into her notepad before taking the menu and holding it to her chest. “That will be out soon as possible. Enjoy your drink” she said and headed back to the kitchen. 

You sit back sipping the cocktail and humming. She was right, much like an old fashioned, but floral notes. Almost…chamomile? Yes! That was it. Very interesting.

You slipped your iPad out of your bag, opening up your journaling app and grabbing the pencil out of the little sleeve. You quickly snapped a picture with your phone of the drink, airdropping it to yourself and adding it into the entry and writing;

‘To start; ‘The Bear’ house cocktail- initial thoughts ; not too sweet, strong (but not overpowering), chamomile? Some kind of herbal tea flower’ 

You take another sip, letting the flavors sit on your tongue a moment before swallowing. “Mmm!” You hum to yourself, finally realizing where the herby taste beneath the chamomile was coming from that gave it that oaky piney taste. 

‘Angostura bitters- will confirm!!’ You wrote just as someone approaches your table. You look up to see a man, short brown hair, stubble. He was smiling, holding a plate. 

“Hello! Here we have Arancini with our house-made pesto, courtesy of Executive Chef Carmen” he placed the dish in front of you next to your iPad. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking up at him, scarcel confused. 

“Wrong table” you murmured, thumbing the dish back in his direction lightly. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Nope- ah, he- he said this table.” He replied. It did smell fantastic, and any other day you’d never deny delicious, deep fried balls of risotto dipped in smooth, decedent pesto- but you’re working right now and it’s not fair. 

“Well, you can tell him” you lifted the dish, offering it back. “I have a system. And I’m unsure how he realized that I’m coming here, tonight, but I dislike cheaters. And he should know if he’s read my blog- I don’t muck up my palate with grease before I try the main course.” The plate was so close to him now it was nearly digging into his chest.

He nodded quickly, taking the plate without another word and briskly walking back to the kitchen. You sat back in your seat with a slight scoff. 

He thinks he can win you over just like that? How did he even know you would be here?

You picked up your pencil once again, adding a note. 

For the chef; Arancini smelt delicious. Didn’t order it, so I didn’t taste it . Presentation wise; 7/10. Pesto looked like it was spooned in the dish a tad bit messy to me. 

You smiled to yourself, you knew he’d read the final review once it was posted. And since he wanted to be a little cheater and get a overall higher score since he was trying to weasel you into trying extra dishes- you’d kick his ego down a few extra pegs for fun. 

You sat, nursing your drink, adding extra little notes here and there, as well as editing a blog post about Ghost Kitchens you’d been working on and how they were ruining the mobile order industry on the side. You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly. 

Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh. 

“Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table. 

You swore even in the ambient lighting, his cheeks flushed slightly. “You- uh- you declined, my Arancini. Why?” He asked, holding his hands behind his back, the position making his already toned and tattooed arms appear more muscular. It makes him all the more impressive he has all these tattoos and still made it in this industry. I can only imagine the shit he got for them. 

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his boldness. “Because that’s Cheating. Mr.Berzatto. I’d assume you know my work well. Considering you know what I look like, so- why try to cheat? You know how I feel about appetizers. It’s a scapegoat.” You shrugged, locking your iPad when you realized he’d been peeking at the notes. 

“Messy” his eyes narrow. He scoffs a bit, alluding to the note you’d written a short while prior “Messy?” He asks again, you laugh a bit.  

“Mmhmm! Oh, was it you chef? Wow…I mean- now that I think about it” you shook your head, now just messing with him since you see how much he was dying to impress you. “I could’ve sworn- the pesto it just..was too loose. Overblended maybe? That’s why it was impossible to plate without making a mess.” You shrugged, cutting up your fish carefully and spreading the vegetables with your knife to observe the cohesivity of the cuts. 

He scoffs, “too- too loose?! W-y’know what. No. No. It- you’re gonna try it.” He demands and you look up at him, nearly laughing at the seriousness of his tone. 

“That depends. Bring me a pesto worth trying and I’ll think about it. Now” you wave him off casually “I can’t work with the chef over my shoulder. So- Shoo chef don’t bother me” you teased and he shook his head. 

“Game on.” He muttered, heading back to the kitchen.  

You smiled to yourself, the Arancini absolutely isn’t going into the review. But you’ll humor his ego by trying it.

You cut the fish thoroughly, checking the texture and the evenness of the seasonings slathered on the skin, writing little notes as you go along. The cuts of the vegetables were pristine. Nearly perfect. The only misshapen pieces were clearly cosmetic defects of the vegetable. The chef that cut these was immaculate with a knife. 

When you took your first bite, you nearly moaned. The fish was buttery, the skin was crispy, slightly spicy, tangy, the flesh melted in your mouth. The risotto was so cheesy and buttery and wonderful. You could eat this meal every night for the rest of your life and never get sick of it. It was the best Sea bass you’d ever tasted. 

You opened your iPad again, jotting down notes about the flavors, the mouth feel, all the usual points you hit in your review. 

This meal is a 9.2 out of 10. 

You write at the bottom. Very fair score, you never had rated something as a 10. Something being a 10 would be- you don’t even know what it would be. But it would be what the score says, perfection. And while this dish was wonderful, and very very good- it was not perfect. At least to your heavily trained palate. 

You finished what you wanted out of the meal, pushing the plate to the side and not soon after, Carmen was back at your table. He placed the plate in front of you, 3 perfectly circular Arancini discs were placed equal distance on the plate, and truly beautiful pesto, sat in the dish alongside it. It frankly was immaculately plated. 

“Unbroken pesto. Sorry again, about the last one.” He said, watching you carefully. You hum as you grab your fork, splitting one of the discs and digging out some of the risotto. 

“Could be firmer.” You said, eyes flicking to his. He nods, clearing his throat a bit. 

“It’s not- uh- it’s” 

“Fresh” you finished for him, raising your brows and he nods. “So- since you’re frying it. You cook it for about..a minute- maybe forty seconds less than you usually would.” You said, daintily taking the bite off your fork. 

“Heard..” he nodded, waiting for your reaction. You hummed a bit. 

“Great balance of parm and butter though. I’ll give you that. Neither overpowers the other, that’s hard to do considering the notes” you added, cutting up the crust and tasting it. 

“Mm-“ you scrunch your nose and his face visibly drops. “Mm-mm…no- not peanut oil…why would you do that? It totally overpowers the breadcrumb with this like…cheapy taste. I’d say it would be way better if you fried it in sunflower oil” you added, digging out more of the risotto and dipping it in the pesto before having a bite and humming. 

“This though” you point at the little dish of green sauce with your fork. “This is great.” You add and he nods. 

“Ok-yeah…ok…” he nods, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Thank y’for trying it.” He said and you nod. 

“I’ll be back for a fair assessment. I think I’ll pass on the cannoli tonight, and just get the bill. Thank you” you slipped your pencil in the case before putting your iPad in your bag and holding your hands on the table in front of you. 

“Y-y’re coming back” he said, sounding slightly surprised. 

You shrugged “well- you clearly want a full review based on your behavior tonight, Chef. So I’ll humor you. I won’t tell you when of course, so just pray that it’s a day like today-“ you paused, looking around. “Where things seem to be running…alright.” You sat back in your chair casually with a small smile. 

“I look forward to your review.” He gave a nod and headed back to the kitchen. 

It was 3 weeks before you’d decided to return back to The Bear spring had quickly turned to early summer, and you thought you’d given enough time for your little conversation with the head chef to slip his mind. 

It was 9:20, 40 minutes before closing. You did promise to come back at a random time, and no time is more random then a Friday night less than an hour before the kitchen closed. 

You pulled open the door, stepped in and headed up to the host stand where the same man that originally offered you the Arancini stood. “The picky critic returns.” He said, tapping his pen against the reservation book absentmindedly. 

“She does” you smiled a bit. 

“Well lucky f’you cousin said you get a table any time, right this way” he leads you to a booth near the back, where you had a perfect view of the restaurant. Much cozier then before, right next to the doors of the kitchen where you could hear the back of house crew buzzing about. 

“Same cocktail as last time?” He asked and you raised your brows in slight surprise as you sit. 

“No waitress?” You asked, getting comfortable and setting your iPad down next to the empty plate. 

“She’ll be over, just figured a friendly offer couldn’t hurt” he said with a small smirk. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “House cocktail please, and thank you. But don’t count on kindness boosting your hospitality score-“ you stop, realizing he never gave you his name. 

“Richie” he said, sticking his hand out to shake. 

“Richie.” You repeat, giving him your firm professional shake. 

“House cocktail comin’ up” he said and headed back to the bar. You mulled over the menu, lemon chicken picatta, that sounded like a perfect dish to judge this time around. 

A few minutes later, Richie returns, setting the glass down in front of you. “Waitress should be by momentarily, enjoy your meal” he said, heading back to the host stand. 

A bit after the waitress came to take your order, the restaurant had begun to die down. You were going to be the last person served tonight it looked like, since in 5 minutes they would stop seating people. 

You added additional notes to your section about the cocktail, getting a better photo of it for your blog when you hear a bit of commotion up front.

You look up, to see a woman with curled brown hair in navy blue scrubs, her hands on her hips, talking with Richie with a frustrated look. There were tears in her eyes, you couldn’t help but tune in to their conversation. 

“Richie, please let me see him- he- he hasn’t said anything and I…I just need to hear him say it to my face. Please!” She begs, tears were streaming down her face now. 

Richie looks around nervously, tugging her to the side so they weren’t standing right in front of the host stand. You lean over just a bit- not so much it would be noticeable, but enough your nosy ears could continue to pick up what was being said.

“Claire. You shouldn’t be here…I’m sorry- he told me-he said that..that you can’t come here anymore. It’s too much and he will apologize when he can find the words. But he can’t. So please before he sees you. Leave” he said softly, attempting to soothingly rub her arm and she jerks away like his touch burned her skin. 

“Fuck you, Richie. Get him. Now. I’m not working on his time anymore. This is my time now. I’ve waited around enough for him. I’m done waiting. Either get him yourself? Or I swear to god I’ll go in that kitchen and embarrass the fucking shit out of him” she hissed. 

Your eyebrows raised, shit. Whoever fucked her over should at least be warned. 

He snorts, clearly amused before stepping back and raising his arms in defeat. “Have at it ClaireBear.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think he’s gonna take kindly to you startin’ w’him in his house? Be my guest.” He shrugged, going back over to the host stand. 

And then it clicked. She’s here for Carmen.  

She laughed dryly, sarcastically, like a woman who’d had it. “You think I’m scared? Richie? You think I’m scared of little Carmy who couldn’t even check out a library book by himself? mm?” She goads him, arms crossed, chest heaving with rage. 

His head snaps back to look at her, brows raised in shock. “Kid- I really think you should go calm the fuck down, because Y’re not gonna like the way that this conversation ends w’him- at all.” 

And with that, she shoves open the kitchen door. You couldn’t just sit there and not watch- this was the juiciest drama you’d ever been privy to in person, and this means he’s single. You slightly curse yourself for being so giddy that this means the sexy chef would likely be on the market. 

Your foot catches the door before it closes, leaning against the frame. She storms in, eyes frantically darting over the kitchen. 

“Carmen.” She barks, the entire kitchen stops moving and looks at her, as if they were in shock and awe someone would ever raise their voice to him in such a way. 

He rounds the corner, holding a pan of focaccia dough that he nearly drops at the sight of her. He blinks a few times, squeezing his eyes shut as if she’d disappear when he opened them again. 

“The fuck are you-“ his eyes meet yours, his face going pale quickly, he looked white as a sheet. “Leave.” He orders her, slamming the dough down on the counter. 

“Leave?!” She laughs coldly, “you’re gonna tell me to leave?! You’re a fucking pussy Carmen. A pussy. Y’know- it was charity giving you a chance. Pity work.” She spits and you blink a few times, taken aback by such harsh words. 

Is she serious? She thinks anyone could believe dating a super hot, ripped, talented, chef prodigy - that was charity work in any sense of the word?

He scoffs, “Charity?” He chuckled dryly. “Claire- you begged me to fuckin’ be with you! You-you-y’re a fuckin gnat! Claire! You- all you do is-is fuckin’-” he runs his hand through his hair, his chest heaving in anger, “You dont know me, Claire! Alright? There- And I-I-I don’t want you i’m-i’m sorry-” 

She laughed, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “You-” she whispered, her chest shaking with a sob. “You- fucker- I- I gave you a chance…” she whispered and gripped her wrist sadly. “I- I was there for you, Carmen- when no one else could fucking stand you.” she croaked.

“And I never asked for you too- please- just…leave me alone-” he shook his head. “Leave. Please…just-pretend we never happened, it was a mistake, Claire.” he breathed, clearly utterly defeated, and It sounded like he’d told this girl these same words multiple times. 

“M-Mikey would be sick- Carmy, he’d- he’d hate who you’ve become…” she said meekly, and with that- something behind his eyes snapped.

“Claire I’m not DOING THIS I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKIN’ RESTAURANT. WERE OVER. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME! YOU MEAN NOTHING CLAIRE!” He roars, the veins in his neck popping out, angrily and aggressively pointing to the door. “OUT. get the fuck out. G-get out, b-before I-I-I fuckin- holy fuck” he finds his composure once more, even though his breath was still ragged from his outburst, flicking his hand next to him his entire body trembling with panic. 

She looks to her left and right, she’s not that- 

Your thoughts were quickly proven wrong, when you see she was stupid enough to grab a pan off the stove to whip at him. 

“Aht!” the spanish woman standing a few paces to the right said, quickly grabbing the arm with the pan and twisting it behind her back. “Drop it.” she hissed. 

Carmen looks between the two of them, utterly in shock. “Y-y’were gonna hit me?” He asked her, face twisting in rage. “Fuck you. Fuck you Claire.” He seethed, taking the pan from his employees grasp and tossing it in the sink with a loud clatter. 

“Get the fuck out” you told her, grabbing her from the handle of the woman who’d stopped the assault, shoving her towards the kitchen door and into the front of the restaurant. “Y’re a fuckin crazy bitch.” You laughed dryly, giving her a hard shove for good measure. 

“Oh and who are you” she straightened herself out, pushing her bag up on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Glad to see that Carmy still needs someone to protect him. I’ll gladly give up that spot.” she said, causing you to laugh. 

“Oh my god- you are pathetic. He just spelt it clear as day sweetheart- you are over. O-v-e-r. He doesn’t want you babe! And no, he doesn’t need my protection- I was enjoying dinner and apparently a show until you went batshit bitch.” You snip, plopping back down at your booth. 

She scoffed “he doesn’t want anyone. The only thing he wants - is to remain miserable. Good fucking luck, whoever you are.” She said before stomping out. 

“Yo she was really gonna throw somethin?” Richie asked as he walked over. Thankfully, it was just you, him, and the bartender in the front of the restaurant.

You nod “thankfully she didn’t realize I was there- Carmen would have had a nasty burn, and a concussion.” You said, taking a large sip of your drink. 

Carmen comes out, eyes meeting yours immediately. “Fuck- I- don’t worry y’re meal is comped and don’t…don’t worry about a review, i’m sorry- I-I guess it wasn't in the cards f’r us to be featured on y’r blog... I’m really so sorry… Shes- ah..” he rubs his arm nervously, trying to find the words. 

“A woman scorned” You teased, and he snorts a laugh, nodding a bit.

“Hell hath no fury, right?” He joked, sighing a bit. “It’s uh…it’s my fault I guess…I uh- I should’ve dealt with that…I've been putting it off” he said and you nod a bit.

“You off the clock?” you looked at your phone for the time, 10:07. 

“Shit- fuck- sorry- I’m so sorry- give me like- I was making y’r food…and then-” you shook your head, stopping him.

“No- No…I was uh-Asking to see if you maybe wanted to..have a drink with me? Not-not like…professionally…” you shrugged, stirring your half full cocktail with the bar straw that floated in it. 

“Sure- uh…sure- I’d like that lemme..lemme go change, i’ll be right out” he nodded, heading back into the kitchen.

[soraviie]

they're possessive.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader    ━ navigation

━ about: angst with a side of spice, slight humour idk I just be doing shit

━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━ what y'all think of this one? please let me know

NAMJOON | A greedy, spiteful, spindling arm comes up on your waist, pressing you tightly against its just as equally greedy and spiteful owner's form. While aggravating, the gesture is of no surprise. You don't even jump when the grip begins to press more on your ribs than you'd necessarily like. You drive an elbow into his side, momentarily meeting those narrowed eyes of his.

You're annoying.

I don't like him.

Am I supposed to care that you don't like him?

The argument is held entirely mute. He knows you know and you know he knows though poor Daniel — he's all together clueless.

"Hello, you must be...uh, ____________'s boyfriend? Right?"

Delicately, you snort in your palm, immediately sensing the way Namjoon's muscles tense on the other side of your blouse. The heat of his palm resting on the small of your back is scorching.

And whether it's from that or the minuscule way his jaw clenches, repeatedly coming to a brutal grind to then release only for the motion to repeat in endless circles; whether it was the tightness of the smile — there's a tight tick at the gap in the small space between his mouth curving upwards and his cheek that says he's not actually smiling despite appearing very much so — or whether it was something as simple as the fact that his eyes had been tracking your every minute for a solid piece of ten minutes now that delivers this easy deduction right in your lap.

He's into one of those moods.

There's a distinct coldness in his eye, a sort of a less than impressed expression that anyone, even someone so generally lost as Daniel could pick up on.

"We were just talking about the role of guilt and class consciousness," he trails off, squeaking slightly at the very end. You don't exactly fault him for it. Having a large man towering over you, feasibly blowing smoke out of his nose would put anyone ill at ease. "In....s-sustainability m-m-marketing. Yes."

"Smart, my ______________, right?" Namjoon chuckles to himself lowly. Daniel echoes the laugh, regardless, of how nervous the cadence of his voice is. Once again you don't fault him for it. A stranger would have no trouble believing that Namjoon's laughter is in good faith. He's honed the subtle art of being a fake a little bitch but you who knows better...well, you know better. You know that the kiss your darling — your huffing, festering, seething darling — presses upon your temple is far from good faith. The way his fingers squeeze your grip, all greed and jealousy, is so far from good faith it's downright atheist.

"They a-are," Daniel stammers, gaze flitting between Namjoon and you. Stupidly he's fallen into the trap.

"So you like my ___________?" he wilts underneath the weight of Namjoon's glare. "My ____________?"

Fed up with the nonsense, you push his hand away. His head darts to sit on the floor.

"Just go," you order Daniel and without hesitation, the coward scurries off to the dark dingy corner he came from. So perhaps you also didn't like him, it still wasn't a reason to act like that. And Namjoon knows this because though obstinate, there is a bashful glimmer that prohibits him from looking you in the eye.

"Your ____________?" you scoff. "Presumptious, no?"

"No," he spits. The lights flash overhead, a cacophony of colours that's mirrored in the dark of his stare that's abruptly grows fixated on your face. The room reeks of champagne, stale air and someone's vape smoke and this man stands in front of you — annoying, determined, aggravating and he loves you.

And because you love him just as much you let it slide with the only protest offered being an eye roll.

"You are mine."

YOONGI | "Do you...want to have a drink?"

His entire silhouette is downturned. Had you been an uninvested bystander you'd probably call his pouting expression comical because how does one manage to look that sullen in the middle of his own award ceremony. But alas you're not an uninvested bystander, you're a confused person thrown in the midst of your partner's raging emotions.

He doesn't speak for such a long time you're ready to open your mouth again, certain that he simply didn't hear your offer but then he answers, quiet and lifeless:

"No, thank you."

You observe his hands. His hands that do the speaking when his mouth cannot and unsurprisingly, you find them quite anxious. His nails rip at the bed of his skin, pulling the strips one by one. You cringe at the sight and place your palm upon his however when he fails to move, you pull back. So he doesn't want to talk.

Surreptiously, you scooch away, giving Yoongi his space but like a bullet he darts out his hand to catch you by the elbow, pulling you back down.

A singular "please don't" that dies somewhere in his throat barely manages to reach your ears, nonetheless, you oblige and the tension in his rounded shoulders eases, if a bit.

Safe to say the walk back home was awkward.

"You're..." he speaks so suddenly, you jolt hearing his voice in the otherwise deadly silent staircase. "I thought I was always the first one you sent your lyrics to?"

It's such a weird question that you stop dead in the tracks and half turn to him on the overtly glamorous stairs to his penthouse. You never did like them. And now he's standing here atop of these stairs wearing a multitude expressions that simultaneously reveal everything and nothing. The line of his mouth is set down — grim and annoyed, his eyes are turned at an angle — the one that meant trouble, deep trouble yet the look within them was sad. You'd call it insecure though never aloud knowing he didn't appreciate such a thing.

"You're the first proper person I sent them to."

"Proper," he scoffs. "Is she not proper? Standing on a stage, receiving award for the song with your lyrics."

"She wasn't back then. Back then we were just dreaming idiots while you were already a star," you justify. He doesn't seem to like the explanation.

"Those lyrics meant so much to me, you know," he breaks. Not a lot but just enough, a break in the otherwise pungent dark. "It was as though you'd pried my ribcage open and prodded at my heart. I've never felt so...bare."

Automatically, you let out "I'm sorry" despite not knowing what you're apologising for. A bad habit he'd previously chided you for. He shakes his head either saying there's no need to say sorry or rejecting it altogether.

"Are you angry with me?"

Yoongi breathes a long, strained sigh, dejectedly shaking his head.

"No...no, it's not you I'm mad at."

"Then who?"

He fails to answer, instead choosing to run up the stairs where you were starting and to your surprise taking your hand into his.

Leading you back home, he asks, all casual:

"You love me...right?"

"Of course, I do!" offended, you retort. "What kind of qu-!"

"Say it out loud."

"What?"

"Say out loud that you love me. That you're mine."

To further feign his relaxed state, he begs for this whilst punching in the code for the doors — each ding of the number dragging on and on in the stilted air of the hallway.

"Please, say it."

You give a small smile and lean into his arm. You finally get it.

"I love you and I'm yours. Don't worry."

Not much is spoken after that.

JIN | "Let's just do it, okay?"

"Huh?!"

His eyes widen, clearly mocking your outrage as lithe hands press the bowl out of your fingers, dragging you by the sleeve out of the country house. The morning is utterly fresh. Birds shriek and lilt their songs, perched just outside the window on the growing orchard, dew still glistens in the green grass and the world is at peace.

Or it was.

Before this demon decided to ruin your life.

As per freaking usual.

"I meant let's get the berries, you pervert," he dares to roll his eyes. You try to break free of his grasp but just like anchors board ships the strength of his clutch is unbreakable.

"It's 7 in the morning, Seokjin!"

"Seokjin," he echoes derisively. "No one calls me Seokjin."

"Lots of people do!"

"Then how about you don't."

"Ok, Mr Kim, whatever you say."

"That's even wor-no, actually on a second thought, I like it."

"Ugh, you're disgusting!" you snap, whilst for reasons unbeknownst to yourself still putting on shoes and a shawl. It's not like he even was your friend. The relationship you two shared in between the confusing circle of relatives, friends and acquaintances was exactly that — confusing. He was a friend of your cousin, somehow, a God's joke if anything, and hence why you found yourself be dragged by him in the rustic country house in the throes of upcoming summer. Funnily enough when he'd been introduced to you, Seokjin was presented as "shy and introverted, wouldn't hurt a fly, wouldn't speak a word". It had turned out to be the furthest thing from the truth. At least when it came to you. It was as though it was his life's mission bestowed from the ancestors to grate every single one of your nerves.

"Disgustingly handsome," he brushes off, unconcerned by your low growls and huffs of protest. Footsteps tremble the old wooden stairs underneath your butt, signaling a possible saviour.

"What are you guys up to so early?" Jae rubs the sleep out of his eyes, coming to stand before you and dropping his drooling head upon your shoulder. You welcome your head with energy never displayed before and Jin's expressions grows frighteningly lax.

"They squeezed this guy's head too hard in the military," you throw a thumb at his bristling figure. "He's lost it."

But Jin doesn't laugh instead his nose scrunches as though he'd smelt something deeply affronting all the while his eyes don't leave Jae. Suddenly he reaches to pry Jae's fingers away from your shoulder, gently albeit firmly guiding you away.

"This one needs some fresh air," he stiffly belts out and before you know it you're both out of the door. The fresh air is indeed nice — it hits you like a pleasant wall and rubbing at your tired eyes, you shuffle in the general direction where there was a splotch of green growth — raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries, though the latter Jin didn't trust at all.

You trudge along in silence, battling the thorny undergrowth along the well-trodden narrow path snaking through the field. However, the closer you get to the berries, the more fuss Jin puts up.

"They'll eat me alive!" he cries out, violently shooing away the black masses of hungry mosquitoes. "I'm too delicious to be out here!"

You perch a hand on your hip, giving him a thoroughly disapproving glare.

"If you were going to complain about coming here, why even bother?"

"Well how else was I supposed to get you all to myself?"

You think that even birds fall quiet hearing that.

"...what?"

"What?"

You both blink at each other.

"You...you want me...all to yourself?"

Jin laughs abruptly, the sound falling strained and nervous and in the soft light of the rising sun, his neck begins to glow bright red.

"Haha what nonsense," he chortles. "I see you're getting delusional, dear."

"What?!"

"WHAT?!"

Like a deer caught in headlights, Jin stands before you, hyperventilating slightly and letting the mosquitos, just as he said, eat him alive.

"Dear?" you arch an eyebrow. "I'm your "dear" now?"

"No. You're a "deer" you misheard."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You don't make any sense."

"No, you."

"No, you!"

"What are you five years old," you mutter underneath the nose before erupting into a teasing smile, curling a finger around a non-existent strand of hair. "So you want me all to yourself, huh? How flattering."

Jin rolls his eyes, once again swinging his arms around like some crazed caveman.

"We're going home now," he orders gruffly, turning on the heel.

"Jae's at home."

At the mention of your supposedly mutual friend, his expressions grows stormy once more and reaching backwards, he wraps his fingers around your wrist.

"Then we're going somewhere else," through gritted teeth, he pushes out, legs falling and rising, creating an angry stomp to which you titter along with.

"Oooooh, so you can have me all alone?"

He casts you a wicked glance from the corner of the eye, ultimately shrugging at the suggestion.

"Not really, I left the condom at home. But if you feel risky I'm down."

HOSEOK | After the fourth hour of being forced to listen to rock music at ear-splitting volume, Yoongi had enough and with an egregious sigh of displeasure, he rolled out of his studio and went to Hoseok's cave of misery.

Without knocking, he opened the doors, nearly crumbling from the force of the bass.

"DO YOU MIND NOT MAKING EVERYONE DEAF?!"

Very slowly as though pulled from a deep haze, Hoseok turned around, blinked for a while and only then understood the request.

"Sorry," he muttered, turning down the volume.

Yoongi examined him before letting out another sigh.

"If you're that worried about __________'s ex just tell them to dump the stupid reconciliation thing and return home."

"That's not what I do."

"And what do you do, Hoseok? Suffer in silence?"

The lone figure, illuminated only by the cold light of the laptop before him, didn't answer and Yoongi didn't prod any more.

"Just don't end up regretting it."

With those words reverberating through his head, Hoseok found himself running through the downtown streets, in search for even a sliver of you. A strand of hair, the corner of your jacket — anything. When at last he did, he found you happy, in the arms of another.

No.

No, he doesn't think so.

"You're so sweet," you muttered into his neck as he let himself be angry, glaring hatefully at the dark ceiling. The grip he had on both of your hips will undoubtedly leave bruises but selfishly he couldn't bring himself to care. If anything he wanted more. People couldn't be trusted, they would try and with him being away so much...why shouldn't he mark you up all nice and pretty so people who didn't deserve you wouldn't bother you...

He digs his fingers deep into the flesh.

"Wrong thing to say," Hoseok growls. "I'm really pissed off."

"What I mean is you have nothing to worry about," you defend hastily as you cup his face in your palms. Hoseok would like to say he felt so much better, that the little monster clawing on his chest would be satiated with the sacrifice but it was far from so. "I'm yours and only yours."

"Well, obviously I know that. How about we make sure others know that as well?"

JIMIN | The slam of both doors comes at a perfect time, creating a singular, decisive cannon shot of "BANG" and then there was silence. In times like these, you praised your past self in choosing the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. You doubted you could go out there - in the cold and heartless battlefield.

It was in the middle of the night, in the midst of a restless, frowning sleep that you hear the bedroom doors crack open. The left upper hinge was faulty, it creaked too much every single time. You always promised to take a look at it but in the end you never did.

Cautiously, fearing your wrathful outburst, a hand brushes over the covers and a warm weight evens the other side of the bed. He knows you're awake and he knows you know but still for a moment you pretend to sleep. An apologetic kiss is pressed against your jaw line; those two hands, now emboldened by your inaction come to rest around your form, wrapping you up like spiders did the witless flies flying into their webs.

"Why are you like this?" you ask him, not daring to give even a single glance backwards. It was always easier to speak if Jimin remained faceless. "Have I ever given you a reason to distrust me? To check me like this?"

"You know it's not yo-"

"Don't tell me "it's not you but me". That's bullshit."

"But it is me," he argues, blowing a harsh exhale of working up anger. It moves your hair and you sink tiredly into the mattress.

Two hands sneak their way underneath the covers, finding the warm flesh and then pressing it closer into him like he wants to mould you into him. Create one creature out of two.

"I'm sorry," you can hear the wistful sadness in his voice. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

"No. Not crazy. Just...lonely. Complicated."

"Complicated," Jimin echoes with a faint mutter. "Are we..."complicated"?"

"I don't know what we are."

Silence envelopes the room until at last you gather enough courage to look at him, settling on the other hip. The room is dark so it's hard to see and know for certain but you know it. Like a piece of some inherent knowledge stored in the marrow of your bones, you know the expressions marring his face. Anger — churning and acrid, loneliness — bitter and all enveloping.

Adoration — suffocating and sickening.

Yearning — stinging and all consuming.

Wish for you to live better than this, have better than these meaningless arguments spinning round and round with no reprieve — soft, selfless, devoted.

Jimin was all around a confusing man as if whoever made him didn't know how much to put into him so they poured everything into this one person and so he was everything.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" you sigh, tracing the side of his cheek. Readily he accepts the slight touch, nuzzling into it like a stray cat would after overcoming the initial fright fueled by disappointing past.

"Be gentle with me, please. Be kind."

"You were not kind."

His gaze darts downwards, embroiled in deep shame.

"I don't share. I don't want to share," spitefully, he mumbles, brows coming to knit together in a frown. "Why should I? You're mine. Only mine. Like I'm only yours."

"I don't get jealou-"

"But I want you to."

A pause. His fingers come up to lay upon your palm where he intertwines your fingers, perhaps so you couldn't escape. Not that you even considered.

"I want you to be jealous. I want you to be possessive. Just like I am. So I wouldn't feel guilty," he pulls in a shuddering breath, almost chickening out but then saying it after all. "So I would feel wanted."

"Oh, Jimin," you breathe yet another sigh but decide to not argue anymore.

TAEHYUNG | Whilst the legs clamping down on yours and preventing you from making a grandious exit of his apartment, doors slamming shut and everything, are present, a clearly discernible expression on his face is extremely lacking.

With features carved of stone, Taehyung sits on the other couch, pretending you were not even there, save for the occasional muscle flexing in his legs to keep yours locked in between his. For over an hour not a word was spoken, not a glance exchanged. Even Tannie grew fed up with the display and took his nap to the plush bed in the corner.

"This is ridiculous," you scoff, once your tailbone began to feel too numb. "My moving in was supposed to put an end to your...episodes."

He doesn't speak but you could almost swear that the vitriolic way his lips curl, he was mutely mocking your choice of words.

"It's like you're depressed."

"I am depressed," obstinately, he agrees, voice rumbling a low, irritated register.

"What for?"

"Well, I guess I just find it hard to get past the fact that the love of my life, my moon and stars," he accentuates the words with an intention you're too annoyed to grasp. "One who has agreed to be my spouse one day keeps flirting with a man clearly infatuated with them."

"Oh, for the love of god," you cry out, throwing your hands up in the air. "Yes, he has a thing for me but I shut it down. I known him since we were kids!"

"No, please, rub it in some more," theatrically, Taehyung grumbles. "Rub in the fact that we we raised different and that I lost so much time with you for no other reason than our mothers popped us out on two separate geographical locations."

"Did your mother also drop you a lot?" you hiss. "Because there has to be a clinical explanation why you're so...so...!"

"So what?" utterly calm, he cocks an eyebrow at you and you know you had swam into deep, infested waters but still you spit it out.

"So...possessive! I hate you!"

You whip around, arms crossed, determined to sulk for a year if needed.

"Hate me?" Taehyung laughs but there is no mirth to be had or reflected be it his voice, posture or gaze. "As if. You're sitting here in between my legs not forcing me away, not even trying to set yourself free because...you hate me?"

You loathe it when he's baseless and even more when he isn't.

"Would you let me go then?" you spite him but he meets your disdain in equal if not surpassing measure.

"Let you go?" he inclines his head as if the suggestion in itself is ludicrous. "No, I don't think so."

"How dare you?!"

"Perhaps I phrased it the wrong way," firmly, he stares you down. You were fairly sure there were more agreeable cliffs you could rather take on. "I mean it would be entirely pointless for me to let you go or for us to part since we both know you'll come crawling back to me and I'll be doing the same. The end result never changes so why waste our time?"

Ah, yes, the breakup. The one forbidden topic no one ever brought up. The one that whenever just mentioned made Taehyung cry and you grow red with rage. Thus you rage.

"Well do you want to repeat that? Is that what you want by acting like this?!"

But Taehyung doesn't even bat an eye.

"I understand your outrage," he states coldly. "But whatever the reason, you and I will sort out our differences and live happily ever after."

"Is this you sorting things out?!" you let your voice rise into a painful shriek, pointing heatedly at where he'd folded his legs over yours, prohibiting you from simply storming out. After a prolonged stare down, languidly he lets up, putting his hands up in a supposed defeat. Though it sure felt like a bout of attitude.

"There. You're free now. Want to run away?"

"I'm not the one who runs away."

His jaw clenches in a death grip and for a second the pain in his face, makes a person you knew best entirely unrecognizable.

"Okay, you want the truth? You want the hard, honest truth?"

"If you're even capable of that," you sneer.

"The fact is everyone in your life, including your mother has told me, to my face that I'm not worthy of you. That I'll never be right enough for you. That I'm stealing you away from your beautiful, pre-determined path of being with your childhood best friend. Of staying in your home. And seeing how hard you struggle to fit in here, I realize that I'll never be enough. I'll never be able to soothe your aches that I myself caused by bringing you here. So I shout to the world, to them, to myself, to you that you're mine because lately I'm beginning to feel like each passing moment you're slipping through the cracks of my fingers. I'm getting desperate and that's why I'm depressed. Is that so unreasonable?"

By the end of it, his chest is heaving up and down, barely gathering enough breath to power through the breakdown. You wet your dry lips, sinking listlessly into the sofa.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

He drops his head on the backrest, lips curling downward. He really is depressed.

"Despite how I may feel about them, you still love all of these people. They're your support system, one I cannot replace. I just wanted you to be happy."

You sit on your respective ends, mulling your own thoughts. Still sulking, you touch his pinky, curious if Taehyung will accept the gesture. He doesn't look at you but immediately his own little finger wraps around yours.

JUNGKOOK | "You're a caveman!"

"Whatever."

"A chauvinist!"

"Sure."

You hit him square in the chest. It does fuck all.

"Gym rat," you mumble sullenly, begrudgingly accepting your bitter fate of being used as a pillow. It's not like you had even plans to go anywhere but finding yourself restricted because of this weirdo was completely different than just simply being lazy.

"That's not even an insult."

"I feel like a hero trapped by a creepy villain," you continue to fuss but Jungkook who has all of his limbs wrapped around you like a human cage appears mighty relaxed. His eyes are closed, there's a smirk playing on the ends of his lips, threating to burst at any given moment and at times it even seems he'll fall asleep.

"If that's what you feel."

"Jungkook, you're seconds away from going full Golumn!"

"Was he really that problematic? Or should other people mind their own business more and not interfere into the domestic lives of others? What's mine is mine. I would also hate having you be lugged away to a mountain to defeat some evil edgelord."

You cry out — defeated. With a content sigh, Jungkook can feel your body relax in his hold.

"You're impossible."

"Listen, babe, I told you I'm a lot to handle. I'm not legally liable for the consequences of your own actions."

Breathing right into his Adam's apple you curl your palms, briefly considering into pinching him. Painfully.

"You sly son of a-"

Jungkook presses a palm over your mouth with a throaty laughter.

"Let's get along with your future mother-in-law, why don't we?"

Spitefully, you lick at his palm but the only thing it causes is laughter.

"Good idea," much to your horror, he licks a bold strip along your collarbone. Your palms relax from the sheer shock of his actions as your nose crinkles in disgust at the sudden wetness alongside your flesh.

"Gross."

"Just fluids, babe," he points out and settles deeper into the covers, arms restlessly caging you in. From the very moment he first came home, pushed all his weight on top of you with an incoherent "miss you" they hadn't eased.

Still, you suppose this was some sort of progress from the temper he worked up in the earlier days. Recalling your little storm cloud and how he would thunder when threatened made you almost smile. In retrospect, it was just him being...really in love. The way he explained it, was that at times it simply overwhelmed him — this love he held for you. Hence why despite your grumbling and grousing, both you and him knew you weren't against it. It made you feel...wanted. And though you supposed someday in the future, the matter would have to be looked at by a therapist, currently you decided to sleep. His embrace was so warm after all.

And then in the border between wakefulness and sleep, there comes his soft voice, softly clinging to the background of your mind.

"You know you could kill me and I think I'd still love you," he chuckles lowly to himself, pressing a cheek against the crown of your head all the while softly swaying you both to rest. Unproblematic, gentle rest. "You're a bit terrifying in that way."

"I wouldn't do that," you deny hazily, your mouth falling open against his shirt. You always drool on it and he never complains.

"I know."

tagging: @rmstdio; @pinkcherrybombs; @devilsbooksworld; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria' @chimchimmarie; @smalliechelle; @koostarcandy; @flitzerj; @royallyjjk; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi267; @jung-nika-hoseok; @jminssiii

[natsarrownecklacx]

Cruelty Is An Art Form Pt.3

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count- 2,800

Summary- Your the daughter of one of New York’s most known Mob leaders. Unfortunately, you’ve caught the attention of New York’s most feared Mob leader, Natasha Romanoff.

Warnings- 18+ fic minors DNI, Smut, choking, dub con, dark Natasha, kidnapping, allusion to murder, allusion to somno

Part One Part Two

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

You wake the next morning to the feeling of a feather light touch tracing over the curve of your hips and down the outside of your thighs before looping back and following the same path back toward your hips.

You sigh and snuggle into the soft pillow beneath your head, the gentle touche keeping you in a comfortable, sleepy state.

“That feels nice.” You mumble into the pillow, already feeling yourself drifting back to sleep. 

A deep, raspy chuckle sounds off from somewhere beside you. Your brows furrow in confusion, the noise unfamiliar to you. 

“There's a lot of other things I could do to make you feel good, Angel.” The voice chuckles and this time you do recognise it. Recognise the nickname the owner of the voice calls you by. 

Your eyes fly open and you bolt upright in the bed. You shuffle away from her, wanting her hands off of you. You look at Natasha in shock, not only was she watching you sleep but she was touching you so sweetly, so gently, you almost mistook her for someone else.  

The widow tilts her head to the side, a faux look of hurt on her face as she asks, “What’s wrong, Angel?” She smirk, something you’ve come to realize she does a lot, even for only having known her for a few hours. “You didn’t seem to mind my hands on you while you were sleeping.” She says, her eyes darting down at the way your thighs instinctively clench together.

Natasha moves to crawl toward you on the bed, keeping eye contact as she does. She moves toward you until she’s right in front of you, stopping to really look you in the eye for a moment before swinging her leg over your lap and sitting herself there. 

She gently moves her hands to cup your face, her thumbs moving slowly over the apples of your cheeks in a soothing motion. You close your eyes against the feeling, her ministrations causing a low heat to form in your chest.

Natasha smiles to herself, seeing your defenses lowered; it was almost too easy. She leans in, her hot breath fanning across your face, making your eyes flutter shut. She traces her lips lazily from your cheek to your ear, taking the lobe gently between her teeth and making you gasp quietly. You bring your hands to rest on her hips unconsciously, squeezing and pulling her into you. 

“You know…” She says, her voice low, directed right into your ear, her hot breath against your skin making your head swim with something dangerously akin to need. “... you made such pretty noises while you were asleep.” 

Deft fingers land on your abdomen over the fabric of your t-shirt. She takes a second just to push down, not too hard, but adding enough pressure to make your breath shudder.

She trails her hand up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and over your collar bones until her hand rests lazily on your neck.  She doesn’t add any pressure just yet, merely tests how far she can go before you let your better judgment pull you back. “With my hands running over your body.” 

To Natasha’s delight a quite whimper falls from your lips, your eyes screwed tightly shut and you push forward, increasing the pressure of her hand on your throat. 

“You were so soft.” She says, trailing her free hand down your sleep shirt and slipping it underneath until her hand rests on the smooth expanse of your stomach.

“So warm.” The feel of her bare skin meeting that of your stomachs shouldn’t have made Natasha so desperate to rid you of your clothes. To take her time undressing you, slowly, with care, kissing every expanse of smooth skin revealed to her, needing to hear how her lips in different places would pull different noises from you. But it did. 

And usually she’d hate herself for having a feeling like that. For needing anything. For wanting you, it seems, beyond just one satisfying encounter, not that she’d gotten it yet. But she supposed it was good, useful, to feel this way, considering her plans for you. So she doesn’t let herself feed into that hatred, or the anger that comes with it. 

Instead, she tightens her hold on your neck, not enough to cut off your supply of air or to really hurt you, but enough that she could see the effect it has on you. Enough that if she let herself, if she left it there, you’d get light headed pretty fast. 

“And so responsive.” Your hips jut, underneath her, against the mattress and Natasha swears she can almost feel her eyes light up.

“I wonder.” She continues on, slowly dragging her nails down your stomach, stopping just above the lining of your sleep shorts. “What kind of noises I could pull from you if you were wide awake.” 

Natasha slips her hand inside your sleep shorts, expertly finding your center through your soaked panties and pressing down, loving the choked moan it rips from you. “Aware of every little thing I do to you.” She leans in, her lips ghosting over your pulse point. “Clenching those pretty thighs desperately every time I make you come.”

Your head tilts back, your lips part and you release a long, stuttered breath. She has you where she wants you, she’s sure of it. She just has to use a few more minutes coaxing you into that fuzzy headspace and then she can- 

Your hips grind down into the mattress, a needy whine falling from your lips as if you could sense she was going to make you wait.

Natasha loses herself before she can catch up to what she’s doing. She growls against your neck, the noise rousing you slightly from your headspace, her fingers pull your panties to the side and you snap back to yourself, thankfully, before she makes contact with the most intimate part of you. Your eyes fly open and you push the redhead away from you.

Letting her bare hand touch you there would be too real, too intimate.  That would NOT be happening. 

She lands next to you on the mattress, a look of pure frustration on her face as the groans. “God if you keep teasing me like that I’m going to explode.” She says, running her hands through her hair and standing from the bed. You try to ignore the neediness in her voice.

You stare at her in shock as she makes her way toward the door, your voice only coming back to you when her hand rests on the doorknob. “What about you huh? What happened to doing things differently with me? Your words, remember, not mine.”

Natasha turns to look at you, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. She cocks a brow at you, an amused smile on her face. “You're still alive, aren’t you.” She says, as if proving a point. 

She pushes herself off the wall, striding over to you and taking your face in her hands once again. She runs her thumb over your bottom lip, her eyes move between them and your eyes as she says. “If you were any other girl I would have fucked you dumb and gotten rid of you already.”

You scoff and jerk your head away from her with a look of pure disgust on your face. “I suppose I should count myself lucky then should I?” 

Natasha shrugs, taking a step away from you. “I guess that depends on your definition of lucky. That’s the third time in less than twenty four hours you’ve let me work you up but refused to let me make you come. If you're even half as sexually frustrated as I am right now, then no, I wouldn’t say you're lucky.”

You scowl at her, hating her for talking about you as if you're some needy little whore who’s only desire in this life is to get off.

You open your mouth, ready to tell her off, but then realization dawns on you and you suddenly find yourself grateful for her having said what she did. 

“So you didn't, I mean, last night…” A deep blush forms on your cheeks. You feel ridiculous, you let her feel you up, three times, but this makes you blush? The realization makes you look away, embarrassment taking a hold of you.

Natasha seems to find the meaning behind your words and moves to sit in front of you on the bed. She doesn’t sit close enough to invade your space and she pointedly does not touch you. 

She calls your name, asking you to look at her. You do, wanting to get whatever this is over with and have to question what you're seeing when you see the genuine look in her eyes. 

“The old way I touched you while you slept is what you felt when you woke up.” She says, her voice serious, her eyes looking into yours. “I wouldn’t do that, okay. Not to anyone.” 

You take a second to look her over, trying to decide if you believe her or not. You do, oddly enough, and you nod your head at her in understanding. Now that you think of it the only time Natasha has touched you is when you respond to it and the second you pull away, she stops. 

“Plus.” She says, pulling you from your thoughts. All trace of sincerity is gone from her features, a more teasing and suggestive tone to her voice now. “The first time I make you come, I want you to be awake. Trust me, it's something you’ll want to be able to enjoy fully.”

You scrunch up your face, crossing your arms over your chest. “What makes you think I’ll let you do that?”

Natasha laughs and stands from her place on the bed, making her way toward the door. “Oh you will, Angel. And what's more, you’ll beg me for it.” 

Natasha opens the door and steps out, telling you to get dressed and meet her in the living room in ten minutes before she leaves, closing the door behind her. 

-----------------------------------

You make your way toward the living room, wearing a pair of oversized sweatpants, a tank top and an open flannel to top it off, all of which you found in the drawers of the guest room.

It's not like you’ll be going anywhere, no one will be seeing you other than Natasha and you really don’t care what she thinks of you. If anything, maybe your casual dressing will ward off her apparent horniness. 

You walk into the living room and spot Natasha immediately. She’s sitting on the couch, a book in her hand and a mug on the coffee table in front of her. Hearing your footsteps, she tilts her head toward you in recognition, but doesn’t look up from her book. 

A rush of annoyance flushes through you, though you're sure it has more to do with the fact that she apparently likes to read more than the fact that she apparently doesn’t think you're important enough to stop half way through her page.

Of course she likes to partake in your favourite hobby, because why would she let you have that without ruining it for you. Not that she could know, but she’s annoying you so it doesn’t really have to make perfect sense, she just is.

It's only now that you really look at her and take in her appearance. She’s wearing the same clothes as last night, her suit jacket thrown over the back of the couch, her sleeves are rolled up just over her elbows and her shirt open just enough for her black bra to peek out.

Her red hair is messy, you can tell from looking at it that she hasn’t yet tended to it today, but it still frames her face so prettily. There’s a darkness under her eyes that tells you she hadn’t slept well last night.

She looks tired, disheveled, and hot. So, so hot. 

Natasha finishes her page, dog earring it before closing it and putting it down to turn her attention toward you. “You look comfortable.” She says, a teasing tone in her voice that reminds you who it is you're thinking about. 

“I am, thank you.” You say, unamused, walking over and plopping yourself down on the couch next to her. You toss yourself onto it with such force that it jossles Natasha a little.

The redhead huffs, shifting in her seat and grumbles, “Oh by all means, make yourself at home.”

“I will.” You answer with much more confidence than you feel, just to annoy her. Which seems to work considering she narrows her eyes at you with a downward tilt to her lips. Good. Fuck her. 

“We’re having guests over later.” She says, making a point of grabbing her coffee and taking a long sip, humming as she swallows.  Your stomach grumbles and she smirks. “Hungry?” She asks, a fake attentiveness to her voice. Bitch. 

You narrow your eyes at her, choosing not to answer her question but to ask one of your own instead. “What do you mean “we’re having guests over?”

Natasha shrugs nonchalantly and takes another sip of her coffee. “It’s not like you’ll be going back to wherever else you called home. So ya. We’re having guests over.” 

You move to curl against the coroner of the seat, your knees bent and legs pulled towards your chest, wanting to move away from her.

It’s the first time she’s mentioned anything about your future, or if you’d even have one.

You want to be relieved, her words alluding to the fact that she plans to keep you around for a while, to have you call this place home. But all you feel is hurt. Dull and heavy hurt weighing on your chest. 

You don’t want to go the rest of your life, however long it may be, without seeing your father again. Or your friends. Or anyone else you’ve come to care about, even the smallest bit, through all your years on this earth. 

Natasha sighs, seeing the distant look on your face and stands from her place on the couch.

“Maria’s made you breakfast. It's in the kitchen. Eat it, or don’t, I don’t particularly care either way. Just don’t make a mess, it’s bad manners.” 

With that she walks out of the room to god knows where, probably her study, and leaves you alone in the deafening silence to think about your future. 

—---------------------------------------------

It’s fifty minute later when you hear a knock on the front door.

Natasha emerges from wherever she’d been to find you in the kitchen, having wolfed down the food Maria had made you.

She’s changed from the outfit she had on earlier in the morning and last night, now wearing an outfit similar to yours, minus the flannel. Her hair is brushed, the curls of red falling neatly around her shoulders. She looks refreshed, comfortable. It’s weird seeing her this way. She almost looks just like any other person would on a Sunday morning in their home.

Natasha raises a brow at you, acknowledging your compliance with her request not to make a mess, seeing as you’ve even loaded your dishes into the dishwasher. But chooses not to comment on it, something you appreciate.

She walks from the kitchen without saying a word. You know your mean to follow her, she wouldn't have sought you out otherwise.

But she hadn't even spoken to you. So really, fuck her. You stay sat at the counter, cup of coffee held tightly between your hands, the near burning heat of it granting you something to focus on other than Natasha’s retreating footsteps. 

The front door opens and you hold your breath, needing to hear who Natasha has just welcomed into her home. Is it a man? A woman? Multiple people?

Your eyes dart almost instinctively toward the rack of butcher knives arranged neatly on the counter. Bold of her to presume you wouldn’t use them on her. 

Maybe you wouldn’t, but the same couldn’t be said for whoever just walked through that door if they tried anything. You stand from your seat, a sudden need to feel at least somewhat protected taking over you in a wave panic. 

You round the counter in a hurry, hearing more than one set of footsteps coming toward the kitchen. “She’s just in here.” You hear Natasha say, but you don’t hear whoever she’s talking to respond. 

You lunge for one of the large, sharp blades, your fingers closing around it just as you hear Natasha enter the room with her guests.

“What are you doing, Angel?” She asks and you can’t help but rip your hand away, empty of anything that could protect, and whirl around to face her, your arms somehow ending up crossed behind you and pinned between you and the counter. 

“Nothing!” You answer, maybe a bit too quickly. 

Natasha fixes you with a hard look, one that tells you she knows exactly what you were doing and would not be forgetting it. You gulp, feeling a pinch of fear rise in you. 

Natasha moves her eyes away from you and glances behind her, the expression on her face a lot softer, almost happy, as she looks back at you. “I want you to meet someone.” She says, stepping to the side to reveal the sweetest looking old woman. 

“Angel, this is my babushka.” She says, gesturing to the older woman and putting her arm around her fondly. “Babushka, this is y/n. My fiancé.” 

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

Part four

A/n- Proud of myself for sticking to the schedule 💪🏻 Pls lmk if ye like it ( feed my motivation to acc finish a series for once 😭 )

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Claire Windsor (Souls for Sables)—no propaganda submitted

Alla Nazimova (A Doll's House, Camille, Salomé)—She was a proud lesbian, she was a director, she was artsy and experimental, she was instrumental in the rise to fame of Rudolph Valentino, she had the worlds biggest strap on energy

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Alla Nazimova propaganda:

"HOT as hell. GAY as hell. TALENTED as hell. Producer, director, writer, actress. A silent era superstar who is credited with having coined the term "sewing circle" as a code-word for gatherings of lesbian and bisexual women. Has been called "the founding mother of Sapphic Hollywood" and was the owner/operator of the Garden of Alla Hotel in West Hollywood, which she bought in 1919 and sold in 1928 after deciding she wanted to go back to Broadway. In addition to starring opposite Valentino in Camille, she also had an affair with BOTH of his wives (Jean Acker and Natacha Rambova). In her day, she was one of the most influential women in the business."

"Nazimova was primarily a star during the silent film era, and her career in film started when she was almost forty. She was openly bisexual, and was engaged in two lavender marriages during her life while she carried on relationships with women (including at least one, and possibly two, of Rudolph Valentino's wives). She was brilliant and an autodidact - when she first moved to the United States from Ukraine, she spoke no English, but taught herself "in about five months" and went on to work as a screenwriter (among other things). Her predilections lay in art film, and she's credited with starring in / producing / directing one of the first American art films, the adaptation of Oscar Wilde's play Salome (1923). She has an elegant and commanding presence in all of her films, and is an absolute sensation to watch in motion."

Gif link, another gif link

A great actress who also produced a great deal of her films, Nazimova is absolutely mesmerizing to watch. She was also bi and coined the phrase "sewing circle" for sapphic celebrities.

[wnbnny]

to the boy of golden sunlight- hwang hyunjin(h.hj)

summary: your love lasts forever, through the boundaries of time.

warning: angst if you squint??, fluff, and that's it you're good to go:)

to the boy of golden sunlight, i love you.

you would quietly whisper in the night, willing the breeze to carry the words to your lover miles away from you.

to the boy of golden sunlight, i love you.

hyunjin had always thought you were the most beautiful being on earth. if he was your sunlight, you were his moon. calm and quiet, just like the waves crashing against the shore on a calm summer's night. the calmness to his passion, the muse to his inner poet. you two balanced each other out perfectly.

so when you would have little arguments with him, he would do everything to get you back. he couldn't lose you, not now, not ever.

you loved him too, in your own quiet way. you loved everything about him, from the way his eyes would crinkle up into thin creases when he smiled to the way he would kiss you goodbye every single morning without fail. you loved him with all his imperfections, loved him even through every argument you had with him, no matter how big or small.

"hi hyun," you giggled softly when he wrapped his arms around you in one fluid motion, nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"had a good day at work?"

hyunjin worked as the proud owner of his own art gallery, having taken interest in art when he was young and dreaming of being an artist or art curator . recently, his studio had begun to rise in popularity, leading to quite a number of famous art curators taking interest in him, so he was always extra busy these days working with clients and whatnot.

"mmm," he hummed, turning you around from where you were cooking at the kitchen to press a soft peck to your lips.

"hyun, i'm cooking, the food will burn," you laughed, turning around and trying to ignore the irresistible pout on his face as best you could.

"aside from one grumpy old art director that kept bugging me to sell one art piece to him , it went well," he sighed. "i've got even more meetings with clients lined up tomorrow, i don't think i even have time to finish that painting of you i'm doing by the end of the week." he frowned, eyebrows creasing slightly.

"well, i'm always available anytime you need to rant," you smiled, finishing up the pasta you had made and putting the pot in the sink to wash.

hyunjin stared, arms finally disentangling from you after back-hugging you for so long. then something clicked in him.

"marry me."

"what?" you stilled in your movements, turning around to look at the man you had called your lover for years.

"marry me." hyunjin stated, taking your hand.

as the soft glow of the lamp cast shadows and hazy light over the shared apartment you two owned, he had never felt more at home, more comfortable, more relaxed, more in love than he had ever been before. right then and there in that moment, he knew he wanted to marry you. wanted to hold you forever, wanted to call you his. he would always love you, now and forever. and he didn't need gaudy displays of affection, no grand gestures, for him to know that you loved him too.

"i'll get a ring soon, flowers, anything you want. but marry me one day." it came out so simply, so softly in the quiet and comfort of your home, his home too.

"i love you," he whispered, thumb brushing gently over the knuckles of your hand as he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

"i'll marry you," you sniffed, tears dripping down your face. "my boy of golden sunlight."

[poppy-metal]

need need NEEEED to feel like coach patrick and i are a team so bad like really wanting to play the best you’ve ever played and win because hes the one who trained you and perfected your technique and you know he’s on the sidelines watching and believes in you ☹️☹️☹️ not a clue in your mind that part of him is only doing this as bait for tashi and art and not because he just really likes coaching you...!!!

wanting to make him proud when he’s holding your shoulders and bending down to look you in the eyes during a pep talk. telling you how easy it’ll be for you to crush the guy you’re playing against when you look nervous. having him ruffle your hair and hold your bags and running right to him once you’re off the court im actually going to be sick i need him immediately

no because it's a different kind of hurt - you'd thought you were a team. on eachothers side. take your feelings for him and the sex off the table, he's just a good coach, when he puts his mind to it. it's the feeling of not being alone, of having someone in your corner to turn to when you've hit that winning move. when you run to him after dropping your racket and you jump into his arms and he spins you around - you don't want to say it feels fatherly - not with the way you cum on his dick - but the support - the guidance of someone older than you. the elation of making someone else proud, of striving to continue to make them proud. it's addictive. it's heady.

nothing makes you happier than when you can see genuine pride in his eyes - and he has the kind of grin on his face that splits it - shows off his teeth - and his dimples and his cheeks crease - you feel like you've accomplished something truly marvelous. like you're doing something with your life that makes it worth living. it breathes life into your lungs. it's what drives the motion behind your swings to hit the ball. what's tingling in your fingers after every win. you don't care about the medals around your neck or the screams from other people. your eyes swivel to seek out patrick always, always, a dog seeking approval from it's owner, a worshipper looking to glow in their gods attention - eager and hungry.

when he holds you and crushes you to him so hard you feel your lungs squeeze and your ribs too, and you feel the movement in his chest as he laughs - that's what you live for. you want to bottle the feeling and sip from it everyday.

so when the events of your match against art happen - and you realize you were essentially a conduit for patrick to get closer to two people who are not you, it feels like your life force is ripped from your hands. sapped from your very being. a flower wilted.

and yet still, when you're back home - you feel that ache in your chest. that longing for tennis - that longing to hit a ball with a racket. and you hate patrick even more for not only making him fall in love with you, but with tennis itself, when it was never something just to be shared between the two of you. it was never an intimate or romantic connection. it was false.

when your phone pings with a text from him and it reads you don't have to like me to work with me and win. I want you dripping in gold. I'll see you tomorrow for drills.

you have to wonder if you're just a doll now. and if so, how do you become hollow like one? a machine with no feeling. you don't know how, but if you're to survive being around patrick and not breaking- you'll have to find out.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Congratulations!!

If you feel inspired by this combo and have time, could you write a ficlet using "I", 🍨, 🥰 or 😂, and 🔨?

Thank you!

(Apologies if you already got this ask--my device froze when I sent it the first time, so I don't know if it went through)

Thank you so much! 🥰I still remember your lovely comments on the mer-dude fic, so I hope you enjoy this little bonus! 🦕❤️🧜🏻‍♂️

Of mates and mer-dudes

Words: 996

Rated: T

Tags: summer camp AU; mer!Steve; established relationship; flirting; sexual tension; fade to black

Notes: Set in the same universe as Just add water

“Hammer.” 

“Hammer,” Eddie repeats dutifully. Dustin spends two or three seconds trying to drive the nail in with the object he's been handed, until he realizes it's a screwdriver. 

“Very funny. I said hammer.” 

“Apologies,” Eddie mutters, chucking the screwdriver back into the mess that is their toolbox with one hand and wiping his sunburnt forehead with the other. “I think we've been out here longer than is strictly healthy. How ‘bout we call it a day and head back to camp? It's almost dinner time.” 

Dustin scowls. The hair under his Thinking Cap is matted with sweat and he is red-faced and splotchy. An unavoidable side effect of working out on the secluded pier all afternoon. 

“We can't just stop now, it's almost done,” Dustin claims, gesturing at their rickety construction of wood and mesh - it’s supposed to be an oversized fish trap, even though Eddie thinks it’s turning out to be more of a funky modern art installation. “This'll work, I know it. This time, I'll prove that Lovie is real. All those past times, it got away too quickly, but if I could just-” 

“Jesus, kid,” Eddie groans. “You and your lake monster. You don't know when to give up, do you?” 

“Give up?” Dustin scoffs. “If Thomas Edison had given up, we'd still be lighting candles. If Homer Ahr had given up, we would've never walked on the moon. I sure as hell won't-?” 

“The fuck is Homer Ahr?” 

Dustin heaves a long-suffering sigh. 

“Only mission control's chief engineer, Eddie? Honestly, that's the kinda question I'd expect from Steve, not you. Where is he, by the way? I thought he wanted to help us.”

“No idea,” Eddie admits. “Lucky bastard.” 

Dustin draws a breath, probably to ask what he means, but Eddie is saved by the sound of the dinner bell floating over from the camp grounds. 

“Okay, you gremlin, off you go,” he says, pushing the kid towards the sound before another argument can break loose. “We can finish this tomorrow when we aren't dehydrated and grouchy.” 

Dustin grumbles. “What about you?”

Eddie waves him off. “Be there in a sec, lemme put away your shit first.” 

He starts picking up their scattered tools, throwing them back into the box. Only when he's sure that Dustin is well out of earshot does he collapse at the edge of the pier, naked feet dangling over the water's surface. 

“Man,” he says. “That kid, right?” 

There's a soft growl from behind him, and the barest of sloshing sounds, and a shadow falls over him. He only just manages to suck in a breath - knowing he'll need it - before a massive snout pushes between his shoulder blades and he goes plummeting into the lake. He’s dimly aware of the toolbox going down with him, and then the world vanishes in a whirl of bubbles.

He resurfaces to the feeling of arms wrapping around his waist and massive fins brushing his legs, and the sound of laughing voices - one human, one very much not so. He tries to glower at their owners, but actually needs a second to part the sopping curtain of his hair.  

“So fucking hilarious, you aquatic asshats. I thought I told you to quit doing that.” 

Lovie the lake creature just chirps merrily and dives back under again, splashing him with her fins as she goes. 

Steve shrugs. The motion makes tiny droplets of water run down his bare shoulders and collarbones, bringing out his freckles and moles and tiny, glittering scales. Eddie wants to lick them. He has long stopped worrying about what that says about him.

“Sorry. She just wants you in the water with us. She likes it when the flock is together.”

His smile is apologetic, but his tail curls around Eddie’s legs in the water, fins wrapping around the two of them possessively.

Because, see, here's the thing. Over the past year, Eddie has not only discovered that his infuriatingly pretty fellow camp counselor is a mermaid and the guardian of an ancient lake creature. He has also somehow managed to score said mer-dude as a boyfriend and been adopted into the lake creature's flock.  

“She never does that shit with Buckley,” he grouses, even though Steve’s words make something flutter in his chest. Steve's touch, also - hands on his hips, fins on his ankles. “She's part of the flock, too, isn't she?” 

“Yeah…” Steve blushes, a delicious pink hue on wet, sun-tanned skin. Eddie wants to lick that, too. “But Robin isn't my…” 

He trails off into an unintelligible mumble after that. Eddie wrinkles his brow. 

“Your what? Come again, fish boy, I didn’t-” 

“My mate,” Steve blurts, and the fins on his hips flutter excitedly under Eddie’s fingers. “Robin isn’t my mate.” 

Eddie feels his mouth drop open. The water is unpleasantly cold against his flushed skin. 

“Wait,” he says when he finally remembers how to form words again. “Hold on a second. When did that happen?” 

Steve’s face is still scarlet, but his lips start twitching when he meets Eddie’s eyes. “That’s just the way she sees it. You can’t expect her to think in human standards. Now c’mon, we gotta get to dinner or the kids will wonder where-” 

“Oh, no!” Eddie interrupts him, mouth tugging into a stupid, wide grin of his own. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You don’t get to tell me that we’ve been mer-mated for God knows how long and never officially consummated that sacred connection. I’m gonna get a mer-divorce if you don’t-” 

“Oh God, shut up,” Steve groans, and kisses him. 

As he gets dragged off to their favorite little shore, well out of sight from the camp grounds, Eddie bids a brief mental farewell to the toolbox lying abandoned at the ground of the lake. He’ll have to make up some story about where it went when Dustin asks him, but that's a problem for later. 

For now, he’s got other things to think about. 

More celebration ficlets

[honey-crypt]

a/n: wrote this during whiteboard night with the elliott squad @fuerrziah @sonicsbigmassivepersonality @pxtofawn @razberry-cookie cuz i can’t do digital art (yet) soooo… enjoy!

word count: 1k

warnings: nsfw (minors dni), public sex, messy sex, drunk sex, mentions of cheating, unhealthy coping mechanisms (farmer uses drinking to cope with their breakup), elliott and the farmer ruin gus’s storage room, “oh! that escalated quickly!”

summary: you got your heart broken by your dumb ex-boyfriend and need relief. good thing elliott’s here to help you out!

★ frunk duck [drunk fuck] - elliott x farmer ★

You couldn't help it, though; you had just been dumped by your boyfriend Alex and you had to drink your sorrows away. Of course, the only place to do so in a small, buttfuck town like Pelican Town (other than enjoying a beer at home) was going to the Stardrop Saloon. Just a few drinks, you said, just a few drinks was all you needed to get that asshole off your mind.

Then you saw him, Elliott, sitting alone at the bar and nursing a pint in his hand. You approached the writer and took the bar stool next to him, “Hey,” you gave him a short greeting before waving Gus down and ordering your own beer. The redhead eyed you and offered a smile, “Hello. What brings you here at such a late hour, my friend?”

“Alex,” you grumbled. Gus set the beer in front of you and in a flash, you downed it and let out a low burp. Elliott raised his eyebrows at the scene, “Oh, dear. What did he do this time?”

“Fucked a random chick from ZuZu City when we were supposed to go out on our date,” you let out a stale laugh. You then beckoned Gus down and requested him to pour some shots. Despite the concerned look in his eyes, the bartender honored your request and placed five or so shot glasses down on the table, “Pick your poison.”

“Vodka,” you answered. Gus grabbed a bottle of chilled vodka from the rack and poured it into each shot glass, “Enjoy, let me know if you need anything, okay?” The saloon owner left to attend to other patrons. It was a surprisingly slow night for the saloon, only seven patrons beside you and Elliott inside.

“Wanna join me?” you held out a shot of vodka to Elliott. He stared at the shot and gently set his beer down on the wooden table, “I would be happy to. What shall we toast to?”

You raised your shot, “To not letting assholes walk all over us.”

Elliott raised his shot after you, “Cheers to that,” you clinked the other’s glass with your own and took the shot in one swift motion, the burn of the vodka and its chilly temperature coating your throat. Soon, one shot turned into two, then three, then so on until you could barely remember why you were drinking in the first place. You swung your bodyweight to the side and faced Elliott, his face red and eyes hazy from the alcohol.

“Ellieeeeee,” you leaned into the writer and muttered in his ear, “I have an idea…”

“Y- Yeah?” he hiccuped. You nodded, more so headbutting the poor fella, and giggled, “You- You should fuck me,” the redhead’s eyes widened at the proposition but smiled nonetheless, “Okay!” Elliott grabbed you by the hand and pulled you off the bar stool, walking you towards the backroom of the saloon.

Now, here you were, getting your guts stirred up like fresh spaghetti by Elliott’s thick, juicy cock. It was a prettier cock than Alex’s, longer and thicker, utterly delicious to suck on. The way he mewled and stifled back moans when you blew his dick was simply a sight to behold. He tasted sweet, from his lips to his weeping cock.

He then lubed your hole up with spit and a leftover lube packet he had in his coat. You didn’t ask where or why he had a travel size packet of lube in his coat, you were too busy getting yourself fucked dumb by a handsome, freckled man with an unnatural toned body for his lifestyle.

It was a treat to see such a gentleman give into his primal desires, his need to fuck and to breed any pretty holes he bore witness to. His cock was like a spear, stabbing you with a pleasurable pain. Your eyes lit up when Elliott made contact with your sweet spot, “There! There, right there!” you moaned to him. Like the obedient puppy he was, Elliott followed your direction and continued to abuse that one spot of yours, his cock pistoning in and out of your hole over and over and over and-

You clenched down on Elliott’s dick and held back a cry, as you climaxed. Elliott held onto you and covered your mouth while you rode out your orgasm, sober enough to know that any loud noise from the backroom would arouse suspicion.

You went limp in Elliott’s arm, too dumb to move or make a sound. Elliott took the chance to resume his motions, using you as a human fleshlight to chase his own climax. He quickly followed in suit, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his whimpering moans while he shot ropes of cum deep inside you.

Elliott and you remained still for a few minutes until the redhead’s cock went soft and he was able to pull himself out of you. Some cum spilled from your hole and joined the collection of fluids on the floor. Elliott hastily wiped the liquids away with his handkerchief and pocketed it back into his coat. He snapped his fingers in your face, trying to see if you were mentally there enough to get up and get dressed, but he only got soft babbles in return.

“Elliott, (Y/N)?” the two of you turned to face the owner of the voice. Gus stood in the doorway with his arms crossed in annoyance and disappointment, “Please tell me you got… no fluids on my produce,” the bartender entered the backroom and made a beeline for some of the boxes. Once Gus confirmed that the produce was fine, he stated, “You two are banned from the saloon for the next month.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” answered Elliott. He redressed you and threw your drunk, fucked dumb ass onto his back, “Bye, Gus.”

“Bye, Elliott. Bye, (Y/N),” the bartender bid you both farewell, as Elliott carried you out of the Stardrop Saloon. Guess you have to drink at home for the next month!