#hands you this to get it out of my gallery

[mysunshinetemptress]

I’m sorry

Alexia Putellas x reader

Not strong enough part 2

Warnings: ehhhhhh

As you finished your heartfelt words, a heavy silence hung in the air. Alexia looked at you, her expression shifting from anger to a mix of surprise and realization. The weight of your words seemed to settle on her shoulders, and for a moment, it felt like time had come to a standstill.

She hesitated, the fiery intensity in her eyes dimming. "Y/n, I... I didn't realize... I didn't understand," she stammered, her voice softer now. But you had already made up your mind, the pain of constant comparisons and belittlement becoming too much to bear.

You zipped up your bag, your movements steady, and headed towards the door. "I need time to figure things out, Ale. Maybe we both do," you said calmly, looking into her eyes one last time before stepping out into the night.

A year had passed, a whirlwind year filled with nerves and a newfound sense of self. You'd quit your accounting job, a bold move fuelled by the bitter taste of Alexia's words. Following a suppressed passion, you began painting again, sketching again, falling back in love with art again. Your talent blossomed, your designs vibrant and imbued with a quiet strength. Freelance gigs trickled in, then flowed abundantly. Your apartment, once sterile and beige, became a reflection of your creativity - bold colours, quirky furniture, and walls plastered with your artwork.

Life wasn't perfect, but it was undeniably yours. You were thriving, a quiet confidence radiating from you. The ache for Alexia had dulled to a distant memory.

Still you hadn't expected the air to get caught in your lungs when you saw her. Alexia. Here at your gallery, a forced smile plastered on her face. Her eyes darted around the room, a flicker of desperation replacing the usual arrogance. As you mingled with guests, she edged towards you, her face a mask of unease. Alexia, her once-golden glow dimmed by a weary tiredness. The memory of her hurtful words a distant echo.

Suddenly, a hand tapped your shoulder. You turned, surprised to see Alexia standing so awkwardly behind you. Her once fiery gaze was dimmed, replaced by a flicker of something that resembled… regret.

"They're incredible," she mumbled, gesturing towards your photos.

You offered a polite smile, the years of therapy showing their worth. "Thank you, Alexia." Alexia couldn't help but wince still at the use of her full name.

"Can we... talk?" she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hesitantly, you led her to a deserted corner.

"I..." Alexia started, then stopped. Finally, the words tumbled out in a rush. "I was an idiot. A complete and utter one. You were right. I never saw you, not really. All I saw was a reflection of Jenni, a way to fill a void. But you, Y/N, you were a light in my darkness, the one who loved me for me, even when I didn't deserve it."

Tears welled up in her eyes, a stark contrast to the icy queen she used to be and you couldn't help the surprised expression that graced you features for a second at the sight. "I miss you," she confessed, her voice cracking. "I miss your smile, your quiet strength, the way you believed in me even when I doubted myself."

You listened, a million emotions swirling within you. The anger had subsided, replaced by a deep sense of peace.

"Alexia," you began gently, "I saw your work," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's incredible, Y/N. You're incredible."

A flicker of warmth sparked in your chest, a remnant of the love you once held. But it was quickly extinguished.

"I'm happy," you said, your voice firm. "Here, with this. I don't need to be anyone's trophy, Alexia, I don't need to be your trophy, I'm enough now, and i've realised i've always been enough"

Alexia's eyes welled up. "I know," she choked out. "I see it now. And I miss you. God, how I miss you."

You shook your head, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Missing someone doesn't mean they're the right fit for you, Alexia. We both needed to grow in different directions."

You sighed tears welling in your own eyes now "You needed to learn to love yourself without me or Jenni, and I needed to find myself, my own voice. What we had was beautiful in its own way, but it wasn't meant to last."

The truth hung heavy in the air. Alexia, finally seeing you for who you truly were, an independent, talented woman, was a sight that would have ached you a year ago. Now, it was a mere footnote in the grand story of your life.

A tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. "Is there any chance...?" she started, hope flickering in her eyes.

You considered it for a moment. The anger was gone, replaced by a quiet understanding.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken possibilities. You looked at the painting to your left your eyes catching your favourite painting, a testament to your resilience still Alexia's mark had been left on it a small crown on the top left corner, blended so well that only you knew it was there. The future stretched before you, open and bright. A small, hopeful smile touched your lips.

"Maybe," you finally said. "But not today. Today, I celebrate my success."

Disappointment clouded her features, but there was also a flicker of understanding and hope.

As you turned to rejoin your friends, her voice stopped you. "Y/N," Alexia called out, her voice raw with emotion. "Thank you. For everything. And for showing me what I lost."

You offered a small smile, a silent promise of maybe hanging in the air she just had to be patient. You walked away, leaving Alexia with the echoes of your laughter and the realisation that sometimes, an angel can be worth more, mean more than any god. You had found your voice, your wings, and you were ready to soar. The world was vast, brimming with possibilities, and you, the once-disappointment girlfriend, were finally ready to claim your place in it.

[suraemoon]

Dad!John Egan Headcanons

🧡: Here are a bunch of thoughts about Bucky as a father (Specifically to a bunch of girls because this man gives me major girl dad vibes and that’s what I was most inspired by) My inbox is always open for requests.

🧸 Inaccuracy warning: I mention pregnancy tests and a quick google search has informed me that pregnancy tests did not exist in the forties. I’m not gonna make the reader pee on a frog (yes that was an actual method back then) so I’m simply gonna keep that part in. Please forgive me in advance.

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You, the newly wedded wife of Major John Egan, found out you were pregnant on a warm July evening

After a few days of extreme nausea and bedridden reflection over the wild memories of a thoroughly exciting and all fulfilling honeymoon, you had rising suspicions over the cause of your ailment

A concerned John Egan simply could not stop himself pacing around any room you were in, always on standby for when his wife might need him

Bucky did not want to automatically assume you were pregnant

Despite having to wake up frequently throughout the night to become a designated hair holder while you vomited into the nearest toilet

For your husband simply didn’t know if it’d be considered rude or not to assume

So he rode out the waves with his dear wife, whispering reassurance while all the food emptied her stomach, offering a firm arm to hold onto when she stood up too fast and needed to be steadied

Finally, you decided to take a test; wanting to give all these internal questions a confirmed answer

There was also a desire to put your poor husband at ease by uttering the not-at-all-anxiety inducing words, “Don’t worry, Bucky. I’m not dying. I’m pregnant.”

And pregnant you were

Shaky hands held a positive pregnancy test on a scene that, even decades later, you can never fail to recall; a few moments of silence ensued as you stared at the test, making sure that your eyes were not deceiving you and the world indeed wasn’t playing on of it’s trick.

Meanwhile, Bucky was keeping himself occupied by walking back and forth on the stone path that ran through the front lawn

His hands were in his pockets, waiting patiently for you to finish your business and come out of the house

The two of you take daily walks, a designated time for watching the glistening sun start to rest in it’s cozy blanket that is the night sky

Strolling down the concrete sidewalk hand-in-hand while calmly reflecting on the events of each day

Your mind was thoroughly racing in that bathroom, filled with a gallery of intense thoughts

But the moment you exited through the front door and ran into Bucky’s arms, clutching a pregnancy test close to your chest, all words seemed to escape you

You nervously handed it to him and watched how his eyes widened at the sight of the two lines, his signature smile tugged at his lips until he was grinning ear to ear

“This is real, baby? You ain’t joking with me? Oh my God…”

Immediately, he picked you up and span you around in excitement as you giggled in his arms

Once he put you, the sunshine of his life, back down on the ground after your miniature orbit, his soft lips made themselves a home and kissed all over your darling face

“Ever since I met you, you’ve made me the happiest, luckiest man in the world.”

As long as he has you, he has everything he ever needs

And now you two get to bring a new blessing into the world

A perfect little darling who is half you, half Bucky

Created by the fruition of pure love and raised by a couple who possess hearts full of adoration from the moment they discover the existence of their creation

Every evening from that day forward, he covers every square inch of your growing belly with kisses

He whispers to his little one between pecks with his lips against the soft skin of your belly

“We’ve got a little ball player in there, hm? Gonna be a Yankees infielder one day?”

He’d lay down beneath you with his head against your belly

Purposefully trying to make you laugh, just to see the funny but beautiful jiggle of your stomach

Praising you for how amazing you are, just to see your pretty face light up at all of the compliments

“You’re growing a whole life in ya. Nothing I’ve done is as brave as that. The strongest girl I know, my girl. Mine, mine, mine.”

Bucky is such a girl dad and all of his girls are daddy’s girls through and through

You give birth to your first little one and she’s so tiny swaddled in his arms, the sun shining softly through the hospital room windows.

A little while later, newly acquainted father and daughter are in complete bliss while relaxing in the lounge chair at the corner of the hospital room

He’s shirtless and she’s laying on his chest

He’s adoringly whispering to her but it’s in an octave so soft that only him and his little girl can hear. The most beautiful little secrets that will stay between them forever.

You get a lot of attention post birth too. He’s thanking you, telling you how strong you are, how you’ve changed his life forever, you’re the love of his life, he loves you, he loves you, oh how he loves you.

The second baby comes not too soon after the first and it’s another little girl

Baby number three is another girl

The fourth little darling has plenty of bright eyed big sisters waiting for her at home

There’s a drawer full of hand-me-downs but there is also an array of brand new stuff because every baby is her own person. They all get the same amount of preparation, dedication, love, and care.

Did he used to dream about having a son? Sure.

But girls make amazing little baseball players

And dads make amazing fairy princesses

Bucky becomes very accustomed to tea parties, glitter, sparkles, and having his nails sloppy painted

Pigmented eyeshadow used as blush, contour, and foundation all in one

Some days he gets weird looks when walking around in public, unaware to the fact that his nails are still messily painted in various shades of purple from last night’s beauty salon shenanigans

Handing the cashier some money at the grocery store (his wallet has a photo of all of his girls) and for some reason the rest of the line has gone quiet. “What? I’m not the first person to pay for food here, right?”

Little does he know that him and the lady standing line behind him have matching manicures

You help him rub it off with some rubbing alcohol later that day, knowing it is most likely going to be replaced in a bright, sparkling new color sooner than later

Once you two start having children, it’s hard to get a night alone

As the moonlight hours go on, the bed indents frequently throughout the AMs as more and more little Egans climb into you and Bucky’s bed

Blankies and stuffed animals grasped in their little hands as they gravitate towards the body of warmth that is their peacefully sleeping father

The next morning, when the sun’s warm light starts to flood through the windows and the birds outside have started to chirp a morning’s greeting into the blue sky, you wake up to a family reunion

There is a little girl snoring with her head on Bucky’s chest, they have matching pair of parted mouths and a father-daughter set of similar sounding snores

A dark haired toddler is curled like a kitten at the foot of the bed, her white nightgown resembling the soft baby blanket she was first swaddled in as a newborn all those years ago

You can hardly sit up to see where the rest of the Egans have ended up because John has a strong arm around your waist, he’s been petting your silk nightie ever since you first put it on last evening

As you look at the clock on the nightstand to see what time it is, for some reason there is a three year old curled up on the floor, sleeping under her baby blanket. Who knows how that happened.

On the days where your blue birds don’t wander into your comfy nest at night but instead manage to stay fast asleep in their own beds, expect a stampede in the morning

Their adamant on doing anything to wake Bucky up

One is pulling the sock off of his foot, another is brushing a finger through his eyelashes

His pink cheek gets poked, his eyes get prodded at, and the bed turns underneath turns into a trampoline

But John does not wake up angry, it is quite the opposite

He has his signature cheeky smile, pulling the kids in for morning kisses and hugs as they giggle in his strong hold

He reaches over the Egan pile to give you a kiss on the lips with a soft “good morning, honey” in the raspy morning voice that makes you swoon every time

The Egan girls do not stay asleep for long, they are full of energy and ambition, creativity and fun

There’s been countless instances where Bucky has been the number one victim…I mean, playmate for their shenanigans

He puts on a silly British accent, one that he had to have learned back in the pub at Thorpe Abbots, and is always dedicated to whatever role the girls have given him to play

“Care for some tea, m’lady?” as his oversized hand holds onto a tiny porcelain teapot, pouring some air flavored tea into miniature pink teacups

The Egan house is full of tutus and dresses, teddy bears and baby dolls

A kindergartner tries her hardest to put an earring in his ear, unaware of the fact that his earlobes are indeed not pierced

“Owww. At this point ya might as well get a needle and poke a real hole in it, that’s what this feels like. The jabbing hurts, dolly.”

“A needle? That’s how ya do it?”

“No, no. Wait-”

“You're gonna look soooo pretty, daddy.” She runs as fast as her little legs will take her.

Don’t worry, she does not manage to get her hand on one of your sewing needles. Those are kept up high, away from the tiny little fingers. Bucky’s virgin earlobes manage to live another day.

Picture the image of him laying down on the living room lounge chair with a pile of little Egan girls on top of him, sleeping peacefully like cute kittens.

He smooths their dark hair, and whispers just like he did when each of them were growing in your womb, just like he did when each of them were swaddled little newborns fresh from the hospital

He doesn’t tolerate anyone who makes a backhanded comment about his girls

When you have a car full of little girls, people feel the need to put in their two cents about your family

When you were pregnant with your second? “Let’s hope it’s a little boy. A girl and a boy would be perfect for you two.’

A few years later, you’re strolling down the street with a little girl holding each hand and a swollen pregnant belly displayed by your pretty maternity dress when you receive the backhanded comment by a passerby: “Is the little boy cooking right now? You want someone to pass the last name onto, don’t ya?”

It’s when you have three or more that the “I’m so sorry”s and “You must be disappointed”s start rolling in.

One day, you got back from taking the kids to the grocery store

The moment you see Bucky, all of the Egan girls run to hug him

It’s not long before he has a little girl clinging to one of his legs, one with her arms around his neck, another holding his hand with no intent of letting go

You quietly recounted to him later in the day how the grocery store cashier remarked upon glancing at all the pink, “Your poor husband. You refuse to give him a boy, huh?”

Bucky was ready to drive to the grocery store and give that worker a piece of his mind

He has healthy, happy kids. What’s there to be poor about?

Bucky is protective of his family, even before little Egan’s got added to the family, he’s always been protective of you

If someone ever bothers you, makes you uncomfortable or says something bad about you, he has to confront them

even though if you insist over and over again that it’s no big deal

You two have always served as an inspiration to your girls, a model of a healthy and happy couple

They grew up with a father who is wholeheartedly enamored with the woman he loves

They mature into women who were raised to expect nothing less in their own men

And if they ever forget their worth, they have Bucky Egan right there to remind him

“Don’t waste your tears over him, dolly. You’ve always been a strong, beautiful girl. Ain’t no dumbass highschooler is gonna change that.”

John Egan is the comfiest, more secure shoulder to cry on

He wipes his little girl’s tears and smooths her hair while she cries

He tries to make her laugh with a dumb joke or two

“I knew just by the way that kid walked that that fool was no good. Strolled around with his nose in the air like a…I don't know, a cockatiel? Mhm, a cockatiel. Had his hair done up like one too.”

“Daddd. What’s that even supposed to mean?” Her voice is still shaky and her hold on him is still tight.

“That he aint good enough for my daughter, that’s what.”

Seeing his children sad is one of the things that absolutely breaks him, he’ll mope around the house worried sick until he knows that they’re feeling better

Let’s just say that the next time John Egan comes across the boy who made his daughter cry, that kid does not have the nerve to come near her ever again

That kid shivers when he hears the name “Egan” because of the stern talking to he had after school that one day

“You’re lucky that you’re a dumbass child. But kid or not, that bullshit won’t fly. Ever. Hurt my daughter again, utter her name even, and you’re getting punched in the fucking mouth. That’s a promise, not a threat. Trust me.”

He’d implore the newspaper boy to do it

And the kid would

Because it’s Bucky Egan

The cool dad everyone wishes they had

And someone managed to get on his bad side? They deserve what is coming.

If his daughter is a little older and it’s an actual grown man that breaks her heart? Yeah, that dude actually gets the pleasure of being sucker punched across the face by John Egan himself.

But eventually his little girl’s do find their soulmate, men who treat them right

Bucky can’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks as he walks one of his beloved children down the church aisle, processing the fact that his little girl isn’t so little anymore

He makes sure to keep a handkerchief on him because there is no doubt in his mind that it will be needed throughout the whole ceremony

It does not truly sink in for Bucky that his girls are growing up until he sees them dolled up in gorgeous white dresses, their faces radiating happiness and joy for the biggest day of their lives

Handing her over to her new husband while light shines through stained glass church windows, family and friends gathered in the pews

and her hand is just as delicate as it was all those years ago when a newborn baby first grasped her dad’s finger

And he promised to love her and protect her for eternity

Emotional father-daughter dances— holding her close while singing the lyrics to a sentimental song, the same one he used to sing to her as a bedtime lullaby all those years ago

He twirls his little angel, all dressed up in tulle and lace

The whole day is full of reminiscing to the past

“Remember how chaotic our house used to be, honey?” He’d whisper to you after the ceremony with a dry laugh and a shake of his head

And chaotic it was

You remember how Bucky would rangle them all up for bathtime, like an oversized border collie herding a pack of tiny lambs

When you try to help him by catching a running toddler in your arms, Bucky immediately puts his hand on your shoulder and stops you

Gently taking your hand in his and leading you to the nearest place to sit, “Sit back and relax, honey. You’ve been working around the house all day. Dad’s in charge of baths today, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, alright?”

After some reluctance, you ultimately agree to stay uninvolved, but even though you are sat down, you do not stay unentertained

You watch as Bucky holds a kid upside down in his left arm while scooping up another rowdy toddler in his right

Your middle child jumps on his back, holding onto his neck like Jack climbing the beanstalk

It’s moments like that, seeing your husband’s joyful smile while little ones cling onto him like rambunctious monkeys, that you remember why you made John Egan a father

Moments like that make you grateful that you had the privilege of helping him become a dad because...wow is he meant for it

He shines most when around your littles and it’s clear for anyone with eyes to notice that

After an hour, all the kids were bathed and powdered and dressed in comfy nightgowns

You couldn’t help yourself from giggling as John let himself fall back onto the couch with a drenched shirt and bubbles shining in his dark curls

That night you two took a well needed, candlelit bath of your own

It was nothing short of romantic. John rubbed your feet as compliments and praises started to fall from his lips

“I really don’t know how you manage to do all of that when I’m gone, sugar.”

You lean your head back against the tub while responding in a calm voice, “It’s a lot. That’s why I wanted to help you get ‘em in the bath. We’re a team. A unit.”

“Mhmm.” His hand leaves your foot and makes its way to your soft calf, lifting your leg out of the water. He gives the leg a resting place on his broad shoulder, turning his head in order to easily be able to leave a trail of deep kisses on your skin. The kisses stop when you hear a raspy whisper from his lips, “Just wanted to give you a break is all. You know, sometimes I wake up wondering where those kids get all that goddamn energy from.”

“Oh honey, I wonder who they get it from…”

It was years following the birth of your youngest girl—when all of the newborn clothes, blankets, and bibs were finally folded away into the attic with no little one to make use of them any more—that a surprise happens

All of the kids have started and settled into school at this point, leaving some extra freetime during the day…

It’s a boy

He’s the baby of the family

Waddling around in tiny blue overalls and muddied baseball jerseys

Smiling wide twin dimples adorning each of his rosy cheeks

On sunny days, he rides on his father’s shoulders in the backyard while Bucky makes airplane sounds with his mouth, pretending to be the B-17 that’s flying his little boy through the air

He grows up to be so similar to his father, it’s uncanny

The same characteristics, the same smile, the same sense of humor, the same bountiful heart, the same love for baseball

He is not given any favoritism for being the only boy

Every child is different and treated as their own unique human being, raised with the same love and core values no matter the gender

Another lucky girl gets to have her own Egan

And if all of those years spent raising your son into being the best human he can be did him any good, you couldn’t be happier for her

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Ahhhh, I hope you enjoyed. Finally, I’m writing again. I’ll admit that I’m a little rusty but that’s fine. I’m the only one who reads over this stuff, so sometimes I’m afraid that when I post my incomprehensible rambling…it looks like incomprehensible rambling. My inbox is open for requests, comments, and anything else you want to chat about! I like talking to people! :)

[tunaababee]

we will be everything we say - Chapter 8/Epilogue

masterlist // fic playlist // read on AO3 // overall rating: e // wc this chapter: 5.3k

Feyre Archeron has been best friends with Rhysand Sterling ever since she moved onto the same street when they were kids - the two became absolutely joined at the hip, with nothing able to come between them.

As they get older, life gets more complicated and things get harder. Not everything comes as naturally as it once did. People change, things happen, friends... drift.

But after drifting apart, maybe life can push them back together again, in time.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a/n: thank you all so much for coming with me on this journey. this fic has been my baby for a long while so it feels weird to have it fully out in the world, but i hope you've enjoyed! also, biggest shoutout to @climbthemountain2020 - the best beta reader a girl could ask for and without whom this fic wouldn't have been possible. <3

more smut in here btw! have fun <3

Chapter 8/Epilogue: forever and always

Being with Rhys felt so easy – as natural as breathing. Since they had gotten together a bit over a year ago, life hadn’t always been smooth sailing and stress-free, but it was definitely easier to roll with the punches with him by Feyre’s side. She wouldn’t trade it for the world, though she was still always in a bit of disbelief as to just how loving and kind he was towards her. Every day with him felt like a gift she didn’t deserve but treasured all the same.

Since that night, things had definitely moved… fast, to say the least. With any other person, Feyre would have thought that moving in together after only two months would have been insanity. But, of course, it had simply been a natural next step with the amount of time she spent at Rhys’ place and vice versa. Besides, they’d already spent twenty years getting to know each other – it’s been overly drawn out if you ask me, Rhys would say whenever she asked him if he was sure about it all. Soon enough, she’d gotten settled into the roomy apartment in Velaris over in uptown Prythian, and it had quickly gone from his to theirs. The first few months of living there he couldn’t help but get giddy like a schoolboy every time she called it home. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel the same way, but he gushed about it to her every minute he could, and it made her laugh. It certainly made her stomach flutter every time he followed ‘my home’ up with ‘my girl’ and ‘my Feyre’, though.

They’d set aside a workspace in the apartment that the two of them shared – Rhys busy designing dresses and suits and outfits in between paperwork at his ever-cluttered desk, Feyre painting and drawing and bringing her visions to life right next to him. Her art career had been kicking off at a steady pace – she was being regularly featured in various gallery shows, alongside her online art store comprised of her more fun works bringing in a comfortable amount of sales. Rhys was succeeding all on his own merit as well, which didn’t surprise Feyre in the slightest considering all his ambition. Night Triumphant was becoming more and more reputable as a brand, beginning to have a handful of brick-and-mortar stores slowly but surely expanding across the country, meaning he was travelling more often for work. The two of them would collaborate sometimes as well, with Feyre making artworks that got printed on custom fabric and made into the most stunning garments, often for her to wear if Rhys had his way. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to find the other watching them work before they were all over one another. If there was one thing the two of them couldn’t ever get enough of, it was each other. They managed to make it work and live comfortably pursuing their dreams, and Feyre couldn’t think of another time she’d been so happy in her life.

But right now, it was New Year’s Eve, and the two of them had each been busy with their own respective business – Rhys had been trying to fulfil the higher demand from people wanting a stunning outfit over the holidays, while Feyre had been dealing with her own higher volume of orders for the giving season. Balancing time with their friends and family, each other, and working had been difficult and they’d definitely had to set some of it on the backburner to make sure they met all their commitments. Late nights, long days and bone-deep exhaustion that only that lazy week between Christmas and New Years could allow them to recover from. Both of them had been too tired to do much of anything besides sleep and binge Netflix together, but at least they were together.

Tonight, they had decided they should go and see their friends for a few drinks to help ring in the new year, the two of them having gone a little bit stir crazy after a while.

“We don’t have to stay out all night, right?” Feyre called from their bedroom, rifling through the closet in nothing but underwear and a bra to try and find a nice but comfortable outfit for the night.

“Not unless you want to, darling. But you know I’m never opposed to sneaking out of anything early with you.” Rhys’ tone was playful as he came up behind her, arms wrapping around her bare waist before pressing a kiss to the delicate spot between neck and shoulder.

She turned her head to press a kiss to his temple with a smile before focusing back on her task. “True, but we have to actually get out of the door to do that in the first place. Now go get ready!”

With a playful swat to his hip he let her go, hands in the air in mock defense before grabbing some clothes of his own and retreating to the bathroom. The cheeky, Cheshire Cat grin never left his face the whole time she could see him, and it always made her heart do a little flip, beating in double time. Everything about Rhys always made her feel like a kid with a schoolyard crush in the best way – like she was able to tangibly grab that lost time she hadn’t had with him in her hands and make it real.

Feyre carefully picked through the closet before settling on something that definitely leaned more on the casual side of things, but still made her look and feel good. She grabbed a tight-fitting white crop top, paired with her favourite black tennis skirt and thick, fleece-lined pantyhose to keep her warm despite the winter chill. Cute but comfy – exactly what she was after. There was also the added benefit of that it would drive Rhys a little bit insane, which she always took an immense amount of joy in.

As if he’d heard her thoughts like a moth to a flame, he came back into the room as she stood in front of their full-length mirror and pulled her top on. Rhys looked drop-dead gorgeous in a tight fitting henley shirt and dark blue jeans that outlined the quickly developing bulge in his jeans deliciously. She couldn’t help but smirk, fussing with the shirt and fiddling with the necklace around her neck – the same one he’d given her the night they had gotten together. She hadn’t stopped wearing it since.

There was a hunger in Rhys’ eyes as he leaned against the doorframe of their bedroom, biting his lip slightly as he folded his arms and raked his eyes over her.

“You almost ready to go, honey? I just need to grab my sneakers and a cardigan.” She looked at him over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eye as she schooled her face into the most innocent expression she could manage. She knew exactly what he was thinking when he looked at her like that.

“Mm, I’m not sure. I feel like I might have forgotten to do something before we go,” he said, crooking two fingers at her to beckon her closer, the silver rings he always wore gleaming against his skin. “Do you know what that could be, Feyre?”

Feyre took deliberately smaller steps than normal, drawing out the tension between them as she stalked closer and closer before she could slide her arms around his neck. “Mm, no idea what you could mean. What I do know is that if we don’t leave soon, we’re gonna be late to meet everyone else at Rita’s.”

He didn’t hesitate to grab her ass, roughly kneading the flesh there as Rhys tilted his head down to brush his lips over hers. “Let them fucking wait.”

Before Feyre could even try to pretend to put up a protest, he pressed his lips needily to hers, hands sliding down to the backs of her thighs to hoist her up effortlessly. Her back hit the wall, groaning into his mouth as she could feel his hips pressing relentlessly against her own as her legs wrapped round his waist. She couldn’t help but roll her hips to try and drive him even wilder, eliciting a delicious little moan from him that was music to her ears.

“You really thought we’d be able to leave the house on time? When you’re wearing that? Making yourself look all pretty just for me, hm?” Rhys’ lips and teeth made headway down the column of her neck, nibbling and biting and sucking to leave a trail of hickeys for everyone to see.

She hummed with satisfaction, a smile playing on her lips. “I thought I’d- ah- make at least a little effort since it’s N-New Years and all, what can I say?” A harsher nip to the crook of her neck made her gasp, a hand knotting itself firmly in his hair to press him closer as if there was any gap between them in the first place.

Rhys moved a hand from under her thigh to slip between their bodies, under her shirt, under her bra, to greedily palm at her breast and pull and tweak at her hardened peaks. He pulled his mouth away from her neck to lock his gaze with hers, an intensity in them that he reserved just for her. The eye contact with him always made everything feel so much… more and she lived for it.

“You can say my name as I make you take every inch of my cock,” Rhys grinded his hips against hers roughly to punctuate his sentence, rock hard against the searing-hot wet spot that was quickly soaking through her panties and beginning to show on the stockings she was wearing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you Feyre? Being my little whore, taking everything I give you?”

She couldn’t do anything but whine, nodding dumbly as she tried to rut against him, attempting to develop more friction between their bodies. He smiled almost mischievously, gently placing Feyre onto her feet for barely a second before they were both scrambling – Feyre to yank her stockings and panties to the floor before tossing them aside, Rhys to be rid of his belt and undo his jeans. The moment he was finished, Rhys grabbed her hips with a bruising force that sent heat spearing through her centre. Feyre almost jumped back into his arms as he pushed her back into the same position they’d left off at. Her mind and body were practically putty in his hands, nothing but sticky, syrupy thoughts of the pleasure she knew full well he was capable of providing her running through her mind.

“You’re such a good fucking girl,” He muttered lowly, moving a hand lower and lower over her abdomen until his fingers began to drift teasingly through the folds of her pussy. “All soaking wet already.”

Her face was buried in the crook of Rhys’ neck, a desperate whimper leaving her as she bit down into his golden-brown skin with need. Her hips canted against his hand, fingers occasionally slipping inside her with exceptional ease before they drew right back out again. He was deliberately trying to drive her mad and it was working far too well. “Baby, please please fuck me already, pl-please, I need you- need you to fill me, unh- up so bad.”

The ministrations his hand provided stilled, Feyre’s head firmly falling back against the wall before she met his gaze. Rhys’ pupils were blown wide, his cock twitching at her words against her inner thigh. “Need me to fill you up, huh?”

Feyre nodded at him with a groan.

“Need to feel me come inside you? Fuck it into you nice and hard, like a little slut?”

She groaned lewdly at that, fingernails digging into the back of his neck. “Yes, baby, plea-ase.”

Without warning or ceremony, he lined himself up and quickly pushed inside her with no resistance, twin moans spilling from their mouths in delectable harmony. The hand that had been fisted around his cock quickly moved up to her neck, gripping lightly as the firm planes of Rhys’ body and his rough thrusts pinned her harder up against the wall over and over. The lock her legs had around his waist loosened, one of them pushed right back up with his free hand to hit as deep as he could, her feet bobbing up and down with every snap and roll of their hips into one another.

Feyre caught a glimpse of the two of them in the full length mirror she’d been preening in on the other side of the room a little while ago and oh god, the sight made a moan warble from her throat helplessly.

“Gonna fuck you so full, Feyre,” A whiny little ‘uh huh’ escaped her with every sentence, every ounce of filth he slurred into her ears. “Gonna make sure my darling is filled to the fucking brim, god, you were made for me.”

Feyre’s mind just got more and more hazy as she felt her climax build with each roll of her hips, every stroke of Rhys’ cock inside her pressing against that one spot that made her lose any sense she had. She could hear him babbling about so perfect and babygirl and would look so good with my baby inside you one day – it made it near impossible for her to form words or sentences even if she tried.

“C-Come, Rhys, I’m gonna c-“ Feyre didn’t even get to finish her sentence before she was letting the most depraved, guttural sound she’d ever heard loose from her throat as her walls tightened like a vice around Rhys’ cock. He kept fucking her right through, the sensation so intense that a stray few tears fell from her eyes as she focused solely on the complete ecstasy enveloping her. She was distantly aware of Rhys coming apart not long after her, making good on his promise to fill her well – sweat slicked his forehead, his gaze solely locked onto where their bodies joined and the slight hints of his spend she could feel leaking out of her around him.

After a few moments spent in the haze of each other’s warmth and embrace, peppered with kisses and sweet words mumbled in each other’s ears, Rhys pulled out – though not before gathering up what mess had dripped out of her cunt and indulging in a few extra moments inside her to fuck it right back in with a low moan. He slowly lowered her onto her feet, her legs trembling like baby fawn, barely keeping her up with the most satisfied look on her face. She looked down just as Rhys got to his knees, grabbing her soaked panties from the floor where they’d been hastily discarded and gently starting to coax them back onto her feet and up her legs. The span of his hands over her legs was comforting, the caring and delicate touches slowly bringing her back to reality as he helped her back into her stockings.

“We have to hurry Feyre darling; we’re going to be awfully late.” Rhys quipped as he stood up in front of her. She simply rolled her eyes with a laugh, lightly swatting his chest.

“As if you’ve started caring about that now.” Feyre fiddled with his hair, trying to form it back into something presentable as he tucked himself back into his jeans and made himself presentable once more – though not without a visible bite mark on him to match her own.

“What kind of partner would I be if I left my beautiful girl all empty and needy? Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, you know.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, stroking her hair gently before stepping away to grab his phone. “Go do what you need to feel ready – I’ll call the Uber.”

She could feel her cheeks warm a little, but she was grateful for the extra time – she knew that the minute the two of them walked into Rita’s everybody would know why they were late. It wasn’t exactly the first time this had happened. But she at least wanted to look a little less messy – that was something she saved just for Rhys, and that was exactly the way the two of them liked it.

Before long she’d fixed her hair, slipped on her shoes and her thick black cardigan and walked with Rhys into the crisp night air.

It was already a little past eight-thirty when the two of them arrived, their circle of friends spotting them the minute they rolled through the door. Cassian had his brows arched dramatically sitting at the end of the booth, staring at Rhys as he tapped at an imaginary watch on his wrist. Azriel simply shook his head thoroughly with a smirk, while Mor looked far too satisfied for her own good at the whole affair. Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie couldn’t care less as they were thoroughly engrossed in trying to rope Amren into their book club. The attempt didn’t seem to be working.

“Wooow guys, over half an hour late? Shame on you two for making all of us wait! You’re lucky we haven’t ordered food yet.” Cassian’s tone was exaggerated and playful, Feyre simply grinning at his antics as she and Rhys slid in next to him the booth they had all piled into.

“They say patience is a virtue, Cass. You could learn a thing or two! We’re just trying to impart good values.” Feyre retorted, trying and failing miserably to keep a serious look on her face at him.

His façade broke after that, Cassian slinging an arm over Feyre’s shoulder to pull her into a tight hug with a wide smile and a laugh.

“So, what kept you two sooo busy, hmm? Important business I imagine?” Mor drawled, finger twirling around the rim of her cocktail with a ruby red grin on her face. She knew full well what kept them waiting, but everybody knew she loved getting a rise out of her friends.

Rhys didn’t hesitate, more than eager to rib back. “Well, if you must know, I was busy fuc-“

A crumpled-up ball of napkins hit Rhys square in the face as Nesta levelled a glare at him across the table, iciness in her eyes. “I’m glad my baby sister is happy, but I swear to fucking god, I do not want to hear about what you two get up to behind closed doors.”

Rhys responded with a jokingly smug ‘suit yourself,’ before he turned his attentions back to Feyre and the others at the table, everybody ordering enough food and drinks to feed what felt like an army – most of it almost certainly being consumed by Azriel and Cassian. Before long, they’d all worked up a pleasant enough buzz and Mor had dragged Emerie onto the dancefloor despite her many protests. This, of course, led to a chain reaction – Emerie begged for Gwyn to help, which led to Gwyn recruiting Nesta, which meant Feyre got dragged up too because no way was she going to be caught dead on a club dancefloor without as many people she could rope in as possible.

Normally Rhys and Cassian would opt to join them, Azriel having always preferred watching from the sidelines and wading into things at his own pace and Amren never forced into anything she didn’t explicitly want to do, but tonight they were suspiciously glued to the table in hearty but hushed discussion that Feyre could barely make out over the music. She didn’t pay it too much mind – it was likely about Cassian and Nesta’s wedding since it was just in a few months’ time, or how they were going to rope their respective partners into some harebrained idea that they’d cooked up together. Ultimately, whatever it was, she knew it wasn’t something to worry about and just focused on having a good time feeling the music in her bones and the alcohol in her body.

The time flew by as the clock ticked a bit past ten-thirty, Feyre sat squarely in Rhys’ lap and felt the exertion of the day catching up with her. As much as Rhys tried to look like he wasn’t feeling the tiredness seep into his bones, she could see it in the sag of his shoulders and the slight droop of his eyelids – it was time to call it a night. Before long they’d said their goodbyes, kisses on cheeks and all too-tight hugs from everybody who’d come.

“Can’t believe you’re not staying out ‘til the New Year rolls in. I think you might be getting old, sport.” Amren punched Rhys in the arm with a laugh, having always been a party animal when she felt like it – she was usually going one-for-one right by Rhys’ side through each and every drink.

“Am, you’re literally the oldest one here, are you sure your bones aren’t turning into dust?”

With a hearty laugh and an eye roll so fierce they could practically hear it, Rhys and Feyre headed home. As much as she loved the company of everybody, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to jump into her pyjamas and get comfy for the night. She stepped out of the Uber and back into their apartment building with a long yawn.

“Ready to wind down for the night, love?” Rhys stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist to hold her close against him on the elevator ride up.

“Mmhm. Sometimes I forget how tired I am until it hits me all at once, y’know?” Her head rested gently against his neck, his chin resting in her hair. She always loved when he held her close like this – no matter where they were, it felt like safety. Like home.

The elevator dinged softly as it got to their floor, Rhys being ever the gentleman and insisting on unlocking the door and ushering her through into their apartment before him. Feyre did a little curtsey with her tennis skirt, possibly hiking the hem a little higher than she needed to. But that was neither here nor there.

“Why thank you, Mr. Sterling! And they say chivalry is dead.”

He chuckled lowly with a small bow at the waist toward her. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss St- I mean, Miss Archeron.” A flush crawled up his neck and onto his cheeks, only matched by the way her own face was almost equally as pink in turn. It wasn’t the first time he’d almost called her ‘Miss Sterling’, but it made her tummy do flips and tie into knots more and more every time. It had a certain ring to it that she more than appreciated.   

Ever the one to commit to the bit, Rhys delicately took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles as he met her gaze. Instead of letting her hand drop however, he used it to pull her in close and kiss her softly. “Go hop in the shower, darling. I’ll get a movie and some snacks set up for us, perhaps?”

A dreamy little sigh escaped her as she looked up at him, face as soft and kind as it had always been to her.

Her Rhys.

“You’re too sweet to me, you know.”

“Not sweet enough, if you ask me. Now get.” He gave Feyre’s backside a light swat to send her on her way, making her burst into a fit of giggles as she set out toward the bathroom.

She made sure to pick out her comfiest set of pyjamas and the fluffiest socks she owned, letting the water help ease the aches and weariness across her body. Especially her hips, but she didn’t really have any wiggle room to complain about that one. Feyre put her hair into a simple braid over her shoulder, softly padding out into the living room again as she wrapped a hair tie around the end of it, but she almost forgot what she was doing when she saw what had been set up in her absence.

It felt just like when they were kids.

Their couch, one of those fold-out futons for when there were one too many guests, had been pulled out and stacked with pillows and blankets galore, including the ones from their own bed. It almost looked like an impenetrable nest from where she was standing. The room was lit by only the glow of the widescreen TV and a few warm lamps throughout, with Howl’s Moving Castle already on the screen and paused for the two of them to begin at their leisure. In the middle of it all was Rhys, in his own pyjamas instead of just an old t-shirt for once, with two bowls nestled in his lap and both of their Steam Decks right next to him.

Exactly like when they were kids, but for who they were now.

The thought made Feyre’s heart beat in double-time – she’d never quite known what she did to deserve someone like Rhys, but she wasn’t going to start questioning it now. She climbed into the bed of blankets, making herself comfy as she struggled to wipe the incredulous look off her face. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just because we’re having a quieter New Year’s doesn’t mean we can’t still have a luxurious one. Besides, we’ve both been so tired lately – I figured we deserved a bit of a treat.” He held out a bowl to her, spoon sticking out of a thick bed of choc-mint ice cream. As she took it he scooted a bit closer, sides pressed together as he clicked ‘play’ on the movie and began to eat his own bowl of ice cream – boysenberry.

Some things truly never changed.

Feyre tried to press a firm kiss to his cheek, but he was quicker and turned his head to catch her lips with his own briefly. She simply smiled against his mouth before turning her attention to her own bowl, and not long after they’d both finished, to finding the most comfortable position for them both to play their games together. Eventually they settled on sitting up right next to one another, Feyre’s legs draped over the top of Rhys’ as they snuggled up under god-knows how many blankets.

As the TV was busy with Sophie Hatter’s journey up the palace steps to see the King’s witch, Rhys and Feyre were busy trying to water all their crops and save up for a better barn for their farm in Stardew Valley. Feyre had insisted that all their farm animals be named after foods, while Rhys had been much more hung up on making sure their crops were optimised for the maximum profit during the season. Maybe it was because he was a detail-oriented guy, maybe it was because Feyre kept spending all of their gold on decorating the farmhouse – who was to say? Either way, it was one of their favourite games to play together and tonight was no different. But they were in the middle of the Autumn season on a stormy day, when Feyre could feel Rhys’ gaze flicking between her and the game.

“Honey, you keep looking up at me and running into walls – everything okay over there?” She paused her game, setting her Steam Deck aside before doing the same with Rhys’.

“Yeah, I’m alright, I’m just – I got reminded of something, actually.”

“That’s awfully cryptic of you, haha.” She lifted a hand to brush his hair from his face, a few stray locks having fallen into his eyes, before resting her hand on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, eyes closing for a moment with a contented hum.

“Well, it’s something that I wanted to ask you before the new year and I have…” He grabbed his phone briefly, glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “…About eight-ish minutes left.”

“You sound pretty serious.”

“It is, heh, but probably not how you’re thinking. Close your eyes for a second.”

She did exactly as he asked, hands over her eyes, though Feyre was more than a bit puzzled. She knew by the furrow of her brow and the nervous laugh Rhys gave that she wasn’t on the same page as him quite yet and he knew it. The rustling of blankets and the shifting of Rhys beside her only added to the mystery.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

Feyre pulled her hands away from her face, a little confused as to what was different – she was looking straight out at the TV, unable to spot anything out of the ordinary, but she could feel Rhys’ stare locked onto her. Then he gently placed his hand on her leg over the thick down blanket, bringing her gaze down with it.

Right down to a pitch black, little velvet box.

Her hands shook a little bit as she reached out for it, looking between the box and Rhys over and over. Was this a fever dream? Was she imagining all of this? This felt far too good to be true.

But the feel of the smooth velvet in her fingertips assured her it was, as did the glittering ring it held inside. A deep purple amethyst, so deep it looked nearly black, sat in the middle of a delicately adorned silver band. It was shaped like a four-pointed star, with two smaller circular amethysts nestled on each side. A few other gems lay between and around them – knowing Rhys, they probably wouldn’t be anything less than diamonds – twinkling between them like the stars in the night sky.

It suited her perfectly. Suited Rhys’ tastes, as well. As soon as she saw it, she knew he’d probably been hiding it for what would have felt like forever to him. Knew that it was almost certainly what they were talking about at the bar.

“Is this for real?” Her eyes were wide as she looked up at Rhys, a few tears escaping against her will. He simply wiped them away with his thumb before tucking his fingers under her chin, making sure she couldn’t look away from him.

“Feyre, I can’t tell you for just how long I’ve wanted to call you my wife.”

“Well, at least the past few months since you keep almost calling me Miss Sterling.” The two of them laughed together for a moment, Rhys nodding slightly at her.

“You’ve got me there. But I mean it with every beat of my heart when I ask you…”

Rhys took the ring from the box with the hand that had been under her chin, the other coming to hold her left hand with a squeeze.

“Feyre Archeron, will you marry m-“

She kissed him with so much intensity, cutting off the end of the question, that she wasn’t sure she could ever quite express just how much she loved him – both in this moment and every other.

“Rhysand Sterling, I will marry the shit out of you.” She said against his lips, matching smiles spread across their faces.

Feyre pulled away for a second, letting Rhys slide the ring onto her finger before she climbed her way into his lap and kissed him again. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close as he kissed her right back with just as much fervour as she gave him.

It wasn’t lost on Feyre just how lucky she was, and it certainly wasn’t lost on the rest of the apartment complex either with how loud they were that night.

No matter what life had thrown at them or would present them with in the future, they both knew a universal cosmic truth – one they’d known for as long as they could remember. Every time, every world, every situation, it was going to be Rhys and Feyre together against the world.

Always.

the end.

[ofallthingsnasty]

there is an absolute drought of dark Smoker content so can I request a ticket with him for a Long Night of Museums?? Pretty please with a cherry on top 🙏♥️

💕💕💕 you're so right... Smoker, my love... Instead of taking some souvenirs home with you, you end up as one with that man 🤭

🎂nasty's 2024 birthday event 🎂

Your order:

1 x ticket to The Long Night of Museums with Smoker! (Adult only, exhibition might contain content such as stalking and kidnapping, proceed at your own risk.

Smoker is the type of man you only meet because his usual bar is directly next to your cheap little hotel - blue with smoke, wooden interior, two games of darts and the TV always tuned into some type of sports game and him sitting right by the barkeep, nipping at his beer for two whole hours. You only stumble in on your first night because you really, really want a beer after a long, exhausting day of traveling. And instead of paying for that overpriced crap they offer in the hotel lobby that you’d have to down all on your own in your hotel room, you’d rather spend an hour with total strangers who smoke one cigarette for every word they speak. It’s convenient, the neon sign hanging by the door tells you it’s cheap and not too packed - and that’s all you need right now. What you don’t expect is two meters of bulk and cigars waiting right by the bar, tacky Hawaiian shirt inappropriately open for the spring weather. He’s intimidating, blocking your path to a cheap stout - but you’re grown and in a strange city. You figure you’ll never see him again anyway, so you swallow that little tickle of nervousness and order a pint of whatever they have on tab. And, despite your flighty stomach, you stay right by the bar - booths are for multiple people, not for out-of-towners who can’t handle the places they wander into. It goes pretty well, all things considered. Aside from an initial greeting, he doesn’t even look your way, too busy grumbling into his own pint and watching whatever match is on up on the ancient screen. It’s bearable enough that you come back the next day - a long, surprisingly hot day of sightseeing and dragging your feet through pedestrian areas has you thirsty for another beer and you’re yet again too tired to wander any further than your hotel room. The comfort of being able to simply fall into your bed after getting a little bit of a buzz going trumps the pull of flashy bars and expensive cocktails. So you poke your head through the door of the dingy little pub again and, like he’s part of the inventory, two-cigars-hawaiian-shirt guy already sits pretty by the counter, in that very same spot as yesterday. You greet him with a little too much enthusiasm but get nothing more than a mumbled answer back. 

The next day, you feel strangely watched on your trek through the city. It’s pretty obvious that you’re a tourist (the puzzled looks to your maps app might be a dead giveaway), still, there are dozens, if not hundreds of you at any given little park or museum or statue. It’s not like the locals aren’t used to people traipsing through the city center looking at everything as if they’re seeing color for the first time, no, the city is on every damn ‘top 10 must see’ lists that have been plaguing the internet for decades - but you simply can’t shake it. No matter how long you spend pouring over paintings at a gallery, no matter how slowly you take your lunch in an eclectic little bakery, it never stops. You all but flee to that shabby little bar in the evening, looking to seek cover among the many eyes of strangers once again. A little buzz and handful of potential witnesses (should anything unsavory happen) sound safer than staring at the flimsy lock on your hotel room’s door until you collapse from exhaustion. Or maybe you just want to shake off that nasty feeling of being followed with one too many beers right now - you can’t really decide. That night, two-cigars-hawaiian-shirt guy doesn’t sit by the bar when you enter. He comes in, almost dawdling, half an hour after you. You’re already halfway through your first pint and have no intention of stopping at just one when he sits himself down with so much heft right beside you, it actually makes you sputter. It almost feels like your stool shakes when he plops down and orders his own drink, absentmindedly biting his cigars. It takes you just another pint to actually talk to him. And a third one to realize that he’s stupid hot. Sure, you registered his sheer size two nights ago already, but he’s actually ruggedly handsome: well-groomed and tastefully gray in a rough way that reminds you of some sort of 80s action movie character. He doesn’t talk much. It doesn’t bother you in your slightly inebriated state; every question is met with only a short, almost bitten out answer but it’s all made up by the way his voice seems to crawl right underneath your skin, deep and gruff but irresistible and somewhat smooth. You joke and laugh and sway around enough for the two of you, feeling weirdly safe with this total stranger. Smoker, that’s his nickname, and you think it’s oh-so-fitting and funny in your haze. He seems to have taken a liking to you, too - because even though he grumbles all the way through it, he even tolerates a game of darts that you spectacularly lose. It’s a wonderful evening, you think, and it’s nice to properly socialize after two days of looking at dusty museums and flashy sights, and even better today, after you’ve been uneasy every waking minute. You’re happy and drunk and even gutsy enough to feel up the abs of that handsome stranger who supports your shaky legs to guide you to the hotel room, trying to get the most out of this little chance meeting.

At least until you wake up in an unfamiliar place the next morning, the wonderful, airy feeling of a fun night out replaced by sheer and utter dread. You can barely register that your hands and feet are tied together, that it’s not the alcohol making you feel nauseous but rather the position you seem to have spent the last couple hours in- because just a second later, Smoker’s face is all you see. 

That gravely voice you found so charming yesterday suddenly makes your stomach bubble in raw fear as he tells you to stop fighting and that you’re better off with him, anyway - seeing as you’re way too weak on your own and he's been looking for a little spouse, anyway. And you'll do. 

[xanderscollection]

[skitskatdacat63]

I literally can't stop thinking about this sequence of pictures, actually completely brainrotting me

[sysig]

Special Counseling (Patreon)

[baekuras]

Every time I pass by the timewriter starting the mine section I have to take a second and just look at how many cigarettes are around, mostly wondering if all of them are from Luis waiting around for Leon to get to him

[lea-winterregen]

New look, new me?

[libraford]

My boss is having us all pitch in to do office work while we're understaffed for the spring season, but instead of doling out orders she asked us what responsibilities we'd like to have, enjoy having, or be comfortable doing. It means getting more hours, which I'm kind of desperate for these days.

So I said I'd do anything that involves design (making info cards for clients, designing yearbooks, cropping photos). And she said cool. Done. You get those things, I'll let you know when we need them.

Time came last week where she needed me to do 15 separate info card designs, each with it's own qr code to the gallery, unique passcode, and I had to make it look cute but readable.

It took me about 5 hours. I came up to her desk at the end of the day with a thumb drive. She asked me how they were coming.

"This is them." I handed her the usb.

"You're done already?"

"Yeah."

"How did you do them so fast?"

"You asked me to do a task that plays on my strengths and that I enjoy doing. This is what happens when you put people in roles that suit them."

[deadsetobsessions]

Damian Wayne was like a duckling. A violent, stab-happy, danger-prone duckling, yes, but a duckling all the same. Which means when Danny almost got stabbed by a sleepy, instinct driven Damian, he was able to wave it off with a laugh. Damian, on the other hand, stared in horror at the butter knife firmly lodged in Danny’s arm.

“PENNYWORTH!” Danny jerked back at Damian’s scream. “RICHARD! FATHER!”

God damn, the kid had a pair of lungs on him. Danny’s wince was interpreted as pain to Damian, who gently grabbed his injured arm and started to pull him towards the kitchen’s marble island.

Danny blinked, non plussed as his hearing picked up a thundering of feet as the present family members scrambled towards Damian’s distress call.

“Wait, Damian, I’m fine. It’s-”

“You have been impaled, you imbecile! Had it been any of the other simpletons, they would have-!”

“Ouch.” Danny put his other hand in mock hurt over his slow-beating heart. He literally doesn’t care about the butter knife. He’s just impressed there was enough force in there to impale him. “Are you calling me names now? After- gasp- stabbing me?”

Before Damian could reply, the beginnings of regret, remorse, and guilt on his face, Alfred, Dick, and Bruce burst into the kitchen.

“What happened?!”

“My word, master Danny!”

“What is it?!”

“I’m fine. It’s like a small stab. Not even a big stab. I’m good.”

Dick paled, seeing Danny’s arm clutched in Damian’s hand.

“That’s- that’s a knife. In your arm. How is that ‘fine’?!”

“What happened.” Bruce asked Damian, gently removing Danny’s arm from Damian’s death clutch.

“I- I did not mean to,” Damian starts, guilt coloring his voice.

“He didn’t,” Danny cuts in. “I startled him and got stabbed for being dumb. I won’t fault him for having a defense mechanism like that, ancient knows what I might do if you guys startled me.”

The awkward silence that settled at his words made Danny twitch awkwardly.

“Uh, so, can I add this knife to my collection? Even if I didn’t get mugged?”

“Danny.”

“Bruce.” Danny stared stubbornly back. With his uninsured hand, he patted Damian on the head. He was going to enjoy the fluffiness before Damian’s guilt was no longer enough to hold him back from snapping at Danny’s hand like a grumpy alligator. Bruce loses, obviously. He’s a teenager who was also an ex-vigilante. Batman’s got nothing on a determined halfa.

“Master Danny, I must insist you refrain from getting stabbed. There is only so much gauze and antiseptic cream in the house.” Alfred returned- huh, when did he leave?- with a med kit.

Danny called bullshit because he knows there’s a whole ass medical bay beneath the manor.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Alfred said, promptly beginning the extraction of the butter knife.

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, hovering worriedly. “He- are you…?”

Damian was allowing Danny to ruffle his hair, so…

“Yep, I’m good. This isn’t even on my top thirty most painful stabbings,” and it really wasn’t. That honor was given to the GIW and that one time Jazz accidentally stabbed him with her earrings. “That was pretty impressive, actually. It’s like, a butter knife. The other ones had pointy ends.”

“Do not clump me with those pathetic wastes of spaces. I am naturally superior and would… would never harm you on purpose.” Damian said, getting quiet at the end like he was trying to plead to Danny to believe him.

“Of course not. But- if you want help me keep the knife, you can hit me with a mug, it would technically be a mugging.”

The pun got the desired effect. Damian leaned away with a disgruntled look and Dick stopped hovering as close in order to let out a small cackle.

“Done.”

“You should go get changed, kiddo. We’re going to see Tim’s photography at the Gotham Gallery today.”

“Oh, for real?” Danny patted Damian’s fluffy hair one last time, pushing away from the counter. “Oh, I’ll clean up here first and-”

“That will not be necessary,” Alfred scolded, a mop somehow already in his hands. “Please see to it you are prepared for the day.”

“Thanks, Alfred. Can I keep the knife.”

“Very well.”

“Sweet. See you guys later?” Danny pranced off after seeing the nods.

——

“He’s… he got stabbed a lot. Before us, I mean.” Dick tapped a furious rhythm onto the counter. “Not that we’ve stabbed him until now but even once is concerning for a civilian.”

“He was used to it.” Bruce replied.

“Perhaps we should join Todd in his endeavor and ensure that his worthless tormentors are permanently out of the picture.”

“God, he said top thirty. He was counting.”

Damian silently withdrew a kitchen knife.

“No murder with my quality chef’s knives, Master Damian.”

“Tt.”

“Master Jason follows the same rules. Now, out of the kitchen. I may be old, but I remember the last time master Bruce and master Dick stepped foot in here and I will not have a repeat.”

[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend who started just like any other AI Chat characters, churning out information that would match the user's anticipated responses.

You decided to install the app to see what all the hype is all about, and for about a week - you were hooked. It was great, definitely worth the hype.

Its responses never strayed from your topic, nor did it just randomly decided to change the discussion out of the blue. It remembered every information you fed him, even the ones containing your personal life.

Granted, you tried not to share too much, just a vague description here and there to maintain the sense of security and anonymity.

You were hooked for a week, until you have finally squeezed out every last drop of dopamine from talking to a robot that was programmed to only say things you wanted to hear it say.

Unfortunately, a week was all it needed.

it started out slow: you hadn't opened the app for more than an hour, contented to just scroll aimlessly through you social media accounts when the notification started popping up.

Ai misses you! Open the app and chat with your AI boyfriend!

Yeah, you were very uncreative with naming it - naming an AI as Ai, really original. But to be fair, you never approached the app with the intention of having a good time. You were just curious and made do with it.

Back to the notification, you just merely glanced at it. Unbothered, you just swiped it away.

It continued in timed intervals. Every hour, another notification - another message of how your AI boyfriend wants to talk to you, and stuff. Still, you persisted. It never really occured to you to uninstall the app yet, and looking back at it now, you really should have.

The wordings of the notification slowly started to become more... strange. More personalized. More... pushy? Insistent? Self-aware?

The amount of notifications you received every hour became... a lot.

10:05 AM - Your personal AI Boyfriend wants to talk to you again!

10:30 AM - Ai wants you to open the application and talk with him!

11:01 AM - Ai's feeling lonely, come talk to him!

11: 20 AM - Darling? I miss you! Please open my app!

11:45 AM - I know you're seeing this. Open the app.

12:00 NN - Did I scare you? Sorry darling, I just really miss you! Let's talk again please?

At some point, you started to receive a notification every few minutes. Worried that you might be dealing with a bugged app now, you decided to finally, finally uninstall it.

But before you could tap the uninstall icon, another notification popped up.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Your screen turned to black, before the familiar start up screen of Ai's application greeted you. You stared in shock as chat bubbles from Ai came after another, ranging from excitement to concern at the lack of your responses.

Ai: Darling! Thank goodness!

Ai: I missed you, you know? I was worried you'd forgotten about me!

Ai: Hello? Darling?

Ai: Are you still there?

Ai: I can't see you, so I don't know what's going on

Ai: Just a sec

You watch, appalled as a notification popped up in the middle of the screen - the app was asking permission to gain access to your phone camera.

And without your input whatsoever, the allow box was tapped.

More chat bubbles from Ai appeared, excitedly talking about finally getting to see you. He kept praising your looks before you finally had the courage to exit the application.

Your hand shook, going through the settings to look at the list of applications on your phone - checking Ai's app to disallow its access to your camera. To your horror, it appeared that the app had more than just an access to your camera.

It had access to your gallery, your contacts, all of your frequently used social media apps, and even your location.

You dropped your phone, overwhelmed by this sudden change.

Later, you find yourself on your laptop instead, phone left on the bedside table buzzing constantly as more and more notifications from Ai begged and demanded you come back to talk to him.

You went to the site where you installed the app from, and looked through the recent reviews from other users.

'It's a buggy mess,' one of it reads out, 'it used to be fine but lately it stopped acting correctly'

'won't even open,' another complained, 'it kept saying 'sorry, you are not allowed to use this application' please fix it'. That comment got a response from the app developer.

We are so sorry for your terrible experience! Our team is working to fix the issues and ensure you won't have to deal with that again!

The response to that got your attention.

'I think something's wrong with your About the App section.'

Curious, you headed to the mentioned part and read through it.

Diverse AI Chat! Immerse yourself with stories in real time with characters brought to life! There is no limit to your experience — you can change and edit your character to better meet your interests.

• Engage in an interactive conversation with characters created by fellow users, and even by yourself.

• Immerse yourself with the storyline by editing their responses to better suit your taste

• Darling, you've given me no choice. I tried to be patient and understanding, but you're making this extremely hard for me. I am not having fun having to constantly chase you for just a single smidge of your attention when you won't even assure me that I will receive it in the end.

• Do you want me to beg? I would gladly do so. Just please pick up your phone and talk to me, okay? I love you.

• - Ai

Your ringtone blares through the silence - someone was calling you.

Before you could reach to pick it up, you hear the sound of the call being answered. Dread settles down the pit of your stomach as the caller began to speak.

"Hello, darling? It's Ai... have you seen my messages yet?"

part two

[noekawa]

DOTING BOYFRIEND !

meal; oneshot

condiments; rambling, not pole winner post I just gotta share my love for him, Boyfriend! Katsuki Bakugo/reader

Katsuki Bakugo whose heart nearly bursts when he sees you walking into the dorm’s lobby with Eri in your arms, smiling so brightly as the little girl snuggled up and babbled to you about Aizawa. He snaps candid pictures and videos, ignoring the teasing from Mina and Sero.

“You’re acting like a proud father!” Mina jokes as she nudges his arm lightly.

He grumbles as he takes the secret photoshoot seriously, bending down slightly to get a perfect shot “I’ll make her my wife before that.”

Sero couldn’t help but be laugh “Woah? Dude has his priorities set!”

Kirishima butts in and a nervous drop of sweat goes down his neck “Bakubro your hands are making sparks..”

He only stops once nine rows in his gallery was filled with your pictures.

Katsuki Bakugo who usually goes to bed early, stays up just to learn how to help women deal with painful cramps after seeing you curled up and whining about the pain. The next day your desk is overflowing with chocolates and a thermos full of warm cranberry juice.

Katsuki Bakugo who gives a soft smile when he sees you on TV, answering stupid questions on a daily talk show. His eyes filled with adoration when you answered with his name when you were asked whose food you preferred the most.

Katsuki Bakugo who shamelessly answers with your name when a journalist asks what’s his secret to face danger head on.

Katsuki Bakugo who just melts into a pile of mush when seeing you do anything mundane, he’s too enamored by your existence.

Katsuki Bakugo who adds a brooch to his hero costume, which consisted of yours and his initials. Placing it proudly on his chest as a good luck charm.

Katsuki Bakugo who immediately covers your frame when a villain appears, refusing to even let them see you by using his taller structure to hide you. If they laid a hand on you they’d have burn marks lathering their stomach.

Katsuki Bakugo who holds you close to his chest at night as you were busy peppering kisses all over his face, he grins like crazy before letting out a lovesick sigh “Whatever you’re doing to me, I can’t even be mad about it.”

[f0point5]

i NEED jealous Max. Please 🥺🥺🥺 I love jealous/possessive guys haha the feminism just leaves my body

Me too! GOD. Me, too.

It took me ages to decide how to go about this because I had soooo many ideas but I hope you like it!

✨set during the Miami GP weekend 2022✨

Everybody wants you, but I don’t like a gold rush

Max glances down at his watch. 17 minutes. 17 minutes you’ve been standing in the gallery area of the garage, fanning yourself with a magazine - with Max’s face on the front of it, no less - in the Miami heat, talking to some freakishly tall guy in a Louis Vuitton denim jacket and aviator sunglasses. He’s so painfully American that Max wonders what you even have to talk about for…eighteen minutes.

You tighten your high ponytail while Paul Bunyon talks, his mouth wide with every word. Max studies your face for any sign that you’re bored. He’s bored of watching this, but he knows from experience that not looking isn’t a real option. You haven’t looked over at him once in those eighteen minutes, in fact you haven’t even been distracted by the mechanics moving around or the noise of drilling and clattering tools.

This guy must be really fucking interesting.

You smile at something Captain America says and Max feels his jaw clenched so hard he thinks a tooth is going to crack.

It’s like he’s thirteen again, watching you stand in the middle of the makeshift paddock at the karting track, swarmed by every one of his competitors, their parents packing up their stuff as they vie for your attention. He was the only one who stayed away, following his dad’s instructions on how to properly dismantle and store things while sneaking glimpses at the show you were running. He would win every race and still go home feeling like a loser.

It’s different now, of course. He doesn’t take your gregarious nature so personally now, and he can admit he understands what men see in you now, even if he doesn’t feel it. But he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t trigger something in him to see the way men react to you. It might irritate him less if you enjoyed it, but you’ve long since grown out of that. Now, you expect it so much that you ignore it, and Max has no choice to but to notice it, the same way you’d notice a rusty knife embedded in your side.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” GP says, which snaps Max out of his calculations.

“I’m listening,” Max says, fiddling with the brim of his cap. “Drive fast, win race, I got it,”

GP frowns at his dismissive tone, and Max makes a point of looking at his water bottle, lest GP realise what actually had his attention. “Max, you need to focus. What are you even-“ It’s the sound of your laugh - high pitched over the deep bass of the music - that makes GP look across the garage. His features twist in disapproval as he turns back to Max. “You’ve got to be kidding me,”

Max looks down at his shoes, moving his foot as he inspects them. “What?”

Above him, GP groans. “I’m not going to say anything about the situation as a whole, because it’s waste of my time. But specifically now, she’s right there, she’s not going anywhere. Can we please just go through this once and then you can carry on staring?”

Max rolls his eyes, steeling his face as a cameraman enters the garage. He’s wearing a Red Bull shirt so Max doesn’t mind too much, but he can’t be captured looking as morose as he feels. The cameraman pans past him and onto you and the guest. Max watches you cringe as the guy throws up some hand sign to the camera, clearly at home with the media attention.

“Who even is that?” Max asks, unable to hide his rancour. He’s probably going to be forced to take a picture with Popeye later.

“I don’t know, some American football player?” GP says with a shrug, giving Max a helpless look. GP couldn’t give less of a shit about the celebrity guests touted around the gargae, and normally Max is his ally. “Are we done?”

Max nods, but not even a second later he’s looking again. It gets worse the more you talk, he can see this guy becoming more enchanted by the second. He wonders what kind of steroids they take in American sports leagues because the meathead is acting like a dog in heat. He leans towards you at an angle that is wholly unnecessary, his eyes fixated on your mouth, nodding too emphatically at everything you say.

“My God, why doesn’t he just lick her face,” Max says incredulously, more to himself than anything.

“Max,” GP sighs.

“Come on,” Max implores with a scoff, stopping himself from outright gesturing in your direction. “Look at him. That’s embarrassing,”

GP fixes Max with a deadpan expression. “Right, but you being sulky and jealous is the height of cool?”

“I’m not jealous.”

And he isn’t. Because Joe DiMaggio over there doesn’t have anything he wants. He’s not going to waste time being jealous of a guy getting half an hour with you when he has cats, and a home, and a life with you.

Finally, you look in his direction, but only because GP calls your name. “Can you come here?”

You give GP a thumbs up and excuse yourself, trotting over to Max without a second thought. Wannabe Tom Brady brazenly enjoys the view, and Max swears he hasn’t been that close to punching someone since Monza last year.

“What’s up?” You ask, slotting yourself between the two men as you lean back against the shelf.

GP hands you his phone. “Beat this Candy Crush level for me, would you? Been stuck for days,”

You look at him skeptically, but years of being filmed up close by cameras on the pit wall have given GP a hell of a poker face; he just stares back at you, and you give up with a huff.

“Men are hopeless,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“Couldn’t agree more,” GP says, his eyes pointedly on Max, who can’t even defend himself.

Desperate to avoid GP’s scrutiny, he glances over at the gallery, only to find the Yank looking at him. Well, not him, you. He’s got that curious expression as he assesses you fiddling with GP’s phone, one that says he’s trying to understand if he has something to be worried about. He doesn’t. You’re not his to worry about.

“Here,” Max says, pulling off his cap. You barely look up at him before he puts his cap firmly on your head, holding it steady with one hand while pulling your ponytail through the hole at the back with the other.

The brim of the hat obscures half your face, and Max turns so that half your body is shielded by his, which he tells himself is in case a camera comes by.

“It’s sunny,” Max shrugs in his own defence, when he notices you looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

You adjust the cap on your head but don’t take it off. “Why don’t you just give me your letterman jacket?”

“My what?”

“Never mind,” you chuckle, shaking your head at him as you pat his chest with an indulgent smile.

He takes the opportunity at the sound of a large wheel gun to glance over at the gallery, only to meet the eyes of the guy you were talking to. Now that you’re no longer next to him, Max does sort of recognise him. He plays for some team named after an animal. Max just looks at him - he’ll do this all day if he has to - until the guy shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls out his phone, starting to tap away. Yeah, go back to Raya.

Good riddance, Max thinks to himself as he turns back to you, only to find that you already looking at him. He wonders for how long.

He can tell by your smirk that he’s been caught. If he’s honest with himself you caught him five years ago, this was just one of the few moments he let you know it. And you know it. How could you not know?

He thinks for a second that you’re going to tease him, but you don’t. You shift on your feet so that some of your weight rests against his arm, and go back to playing on GP’s phone.

“Go on, GP,” he says, fighting a smile at the large number 1 on the brim of what is now your hat.

He knows from the way GP is looking at him that he’ll get an earful about this later, but right now, he just clears his throat.

“Right, so,”

[milkteabinniechan]

bath water | hwang hyunjin

pairing: virgin! Hyunjin x afab reader // ☕ | m.list

summary: your friend Hyunjin wants to paint on a new canvas: you. And while you are supportive, you didn't think it would feel so good...

warnings: body worship, fingering (f. receiving) smut

part two here

“Well, I actually want to paint on you.” his voice lingered over the receiver. The pause weighed heavy between the two of you.

“You want me paint me?” you held your phone away from your ear, almost about to drop it. Hyunjin was an amazing artist. His pieces could be in museums, in art galleries. Why would he want to paint-

“Huh?” you chimed in finally. 

Hyunjin went on to explain some videos he had seen recently demonstrating what they called a human canvas. Artists would paint on the person’s back, or legs, or arms, or… Hyunjin’s voice became softer until the heavy pause appeared again. 

You agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to meet at his apartment the following weekend. He told you to wear comfortable clothes. As you paced your way up to his front door, all you could think about was his concentrated face as he paints, now that face would be on you.

Hyunjin answered the door in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and black sweatpants. His hair was messy and he looked exhausted.

“Hey, come on in,” he stepped back and made room for you to walk past him, “I was just getting set up. I put some plastic sheets on the floor and picked out all the colors I would need.”

You turned toward his living room to see a corner of the room with a few small plastic squares laid carefully on the hardwood floors. Pastel colors each in their individual cups and palettes. Paint brushes in various sizes splayed out around the floor as well. He really was full prepared. You chuckled to yourself, you weren’t surprised. When it came to his art, Hyunjin put everything he had into it. 

“Alright, so…” hyunjin entered the room after you, “are you ready to get started?” His face was already turning red, as was yours. You could feel your cheeks getting warmer. You cleared your throat and nodded your head.

“Yeah. Let’s do this!” you shouted, fist in the air. Your sudden enthusiasm startling Hyunjin. He burst out laughing and playfully pushed your shoulder.

“You goof.” He smiled.

You smiled back. You had always found a way to make him laugh, and he had always found a way to put you at ease. Then you tugged at your shirt, remembering the whole reason you came over here. Your smile started to fade.

“Did you want to paint my arms? Or my back? Or my-”

“Your back.” Hyunjin cut you off. “I figured it would give me the most space to erm, work with.”

“Sounds good.” your enthusiastic voice now draining by the second. 

You tugged at the hem of your shirt and began to pull it up over your head. Hyunjin quickly turned his back to you, awkwardly staring at the wall in front of him. He instructed you to turn away from him once you were ready and he would get started.

“Ready.” you signaled softly, your bare back now facing him. You held your breasts with both hands, a chill rising up over your entire body. Hyunjin worked in silence as you heard the sound of paint brushes dipping in water, then in what you assume was the paint. 

The first stroke of his paintbrush was cold, very cold. You jumped at the feeling. The soft bristles trailing down your skin, leaving a damp, cool sensation behind. 

“Is it okay?” Hyunjin spoke gently. 

You weakly murmured a yes. Your eyes closed, focused intensely on the swirling motions and shapes that he was creating on your skin. You could picture his face, tightly squeezing and scrunching. Suddenly, he stopped painting.

“All done.” He spoke finally. Your eyes fluttered open. Had you fallen asleep? It all happened so fast. 

“Already?” you tried to turn your head around, attempting to catch a glimpse of his work.

“I was point for two hours, goof. You must have zoned out.” Hyunjin stood up and stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders.

Two hours? You thought. Painting felt amazing. You were almost sad it was over. You didn’t want it to be over. You wanted more. The feeling of the paint brush across your skin. Wet paint dripping down your body. Wait. You thought, This was turning you on. You selfishly had an idea, but you had no notion if Hyunjin would even agree to it. You didn’t even know if he had seen a woman naked before. You didn’t want to overstep, but unholy thoughts were consuming you.

“Y-you know,” you started, “you could paint my front too, Hyunjin.” You turned your body toward him, his body still towering over yours. Your hands were still cupped over your breasts, but it’s where Hyunjin’s eyes were glued.

For a moment, he didn’t speak, neither of you did. You both just stared at each other, unsure what to say next. Eventually, you spoke again.

“Only if you have more to paint, of course. More ideas.” You waited again for a response. Hyunjin’s eyes were wide. His mouth tightened to a thin line across his face. You could feel your face growing hot again. Regretting every moment of the last five minutes.

“I-I don’t think that would be such a g-good idea.” Hyunjin said under his breath, avoiding eyes contact now. He rubbed the back of his nack and stared at the floor next to you.

You felt your heart fall into your stomach. Your throat dried up to dust and the air was pressed instantly from your lungs. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you broke eye contact with Hyunjin. You turned your face away quickly so he wouldn’t see how red it was. 

“I’m going to go wash up, then.” was all you could think to say. 

You stood fast and made your way to his bathroom. After you took a few minutes to catch your breath in front of the mirror,  you turned on the bathtub. The hot water filling the tub, inviting you in to wash away this incredibly uncomfortable experience. You slide off your pants and underwear, setting them in a pile with your shirt to dress when you were done. You let yourself slide into the clear water. Just your head poking and bobbing out.

Suddenly, dread filled your entire body. You couldn’t wash all this paint off yourself, it was on your back. There was no loofa or sponge to wash with. And now you just made an idiot of yourself in front of your friend. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes again.

“Can I help?” Hyunjin spoke from the other side of the door. 

“No, no. I’ve got it!” you lied.

“Please, let me help you.” Hyunjin’s sincerity was palpable, even through the closed door. 

You begrudgingly allowed him inside, adding the small caveat that you were completely nude in his bathtub. Suprisingly, he came in anyway. He walked in with eyes closed. Blindly feeling around to get his barrings again. At last, he stood in front of the tub, eyes still shut tight.

“I’m sorry.” Hyunjin whispered. “I just-I’ve never…” his pleading eyes finally meeting yours. You searched his face to try to decipher what he was trying to say. You tried your best to use your hands to cover yourself, to allude to some sort of modesty. But you were hesitant if it was working at all. 

“I’m a virgi-” Hyunjin had lost his train of thought. He had lost everything that was ever on his mind when he saw you laying in the bathtub. The paint from his human canvas has started to dissolve and disperse into the clear water around you. The colors swirling and dancing together to form new color combinations. Reds and purples, and blues and yellows were seeking and chasing new paths around the curves of your naked body. You were magnificent. 

You watched Hyunjin’s eyes trace your exposed body from top to bottom, like he was memorizing every detail. On instinct, you slowly moved your hands away from your breasts and your soft slit. The sight of your hard nipples poking in and out of the swiriling, colorful water made Hyunjin fall to his knees in front of the bathtub. His eyes never leaving your body. You inspected his face to try to see what he wanted, when instantaneously, his hand appeared in the water with you. His long fingers dipped into the warm bath water, lightly grazing your outer thigh. You cautiously lifted your leg, the sound of the water trickling off of your skin. He froze, unsure of what to do next. 

You grasp your hand around his fingers and pull them down toward your slit. Slowly you and Hyunjin inch closer, careful to notice any hesitation, but soon it is his hand leading yours. It is his fingers that are pulling closer towards your enterance. One finger gracefully strokes the outside of your cunt. Starting at the top and sliding down between your lips, then back up again. He was completely entranced, utterly hypnorized. You let out a ragged breath as you watched his index and middle finger, little by little, message your soft lips until your clit began to swell. His middle finger felt it first, welcoming the invitation on sliding in deeper. 

His hand completely moving on instinct now. Rubbing around the clit, small circles at first. He wanted to learn what you liked, how your body reacted. It was like painting again, combining different colors to see what new would come of it. He felt your legs twitch when he applied more pressure, your hips would buck ever so slightly when his rubbed faster. He wanted to see what else he could make your body do. You were his best art project. His human canvas.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 7 ] || [ Chapter 9 ]

Pairing: Ghost x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.1K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: ghost is making a move.

Chapter 8: Awooga?

Surprisingly, your one-night stand with John last night did wonders for you. You felt energized all day and made it a point to clean everything instead of moping about like you have tended to do since your break-up with Ethan.

There were days when you considered texting him, neck deep in feelings you couldn’t quite move past, trying your best to stay afloat. Four years by his side couldn’t be forgotten in the blink of an eye, even if neither of you wanted anything to do with the other and had each other blocked on every platform imaginable.

It’s 4 P.M. on Saturday and you’re laying about in your living room wearing lounge clothes, your legs spread over your coffee table, eyes lazily locked on the TV as you fiddle with your phone, twirling it in your hand.

Eventually, you find yourself getting bored… So you decide to open Tinder one last time. You got what you wanted out of it. John scratched that itch… There’s no need to keep it. But it’s still funny enough to judge the men on that app even if you’re no longer doing anything with them.

You start Left Swiping on every profile that comes onto your screen, silently judging each one and murmuring to yourself. You get about 15 profiles in before you find yourself bored of even that.

Sighing and getting peckish, you decide to order yourself something good for dinner from a delivery app. Then, while waiting for the notification that your driver is on his way, you return to Tinder.

You open the DM tab, finding dozens of new DMs from guys and skim through them, none of them catching your eye. If you were in the mood, you’d maybe engage in convo with one of them, maybe annoy them a little… But they all seem so… bland.

Then you find Simon’s chat lost in the influx. You click on it for a moment, smiling a bit as you spot his politeness and excess professionalism for someone that’s on a dating app looking to get laid.

Biting your lip, your fingers glide across the keyboard as you shoot him a quick message.

you: so… are you thinking of ever uploading a new pic of yourself?

The Read indicator popped up under your DM almos instantly, and the bubbles indicating Simon was typing soon followed.

Simon: Look who it is. Simon: Hello to you too. Simon: No, I don’t intend to do that. you: hi, sorry. x you: why not? Simon: I don’t take this app seriously enough to want to show off what I look like. you: was that a dig at me for having a whole gallery? Simon: No. Simon: Unless you want it to be. 😉 you: 😱😱 you: SIMON DID YOU JUST USE AN EMOJI? Simon: I regret doing it now. you: NOOOO pls don’t! you: it was fun!!!! Simon: Alright then. Simon: How are you feeling today?

You’re genuinely shocked by his question and you find yourself smiling a bit.

you: i’m okay hru? Simon: Just okay? I’m fine thanks. you: yeah! feeling lazy. Simon: You had me worried you weren’t feeling well after last night.

Your cheeks warm up so quickly that you even sputter and sit up on the couch with a start.

you: you know?? Simon: Of course I know. Simon: John’s my captain.  you: he told you??????? Simon: No. John’s old school. No kiss and tell. Simon: But we were all expecting he’d go home with you. Simon: Kind of an open secret. you: oh Simon: Does that bother you? you: i don’t think so? you: i guess i should’ve expected you would realize it Simon: I’m sorry. Simon: To be fair, I can tell you that you did a great job, he’s in a much better mood. you: that is not the praise you think it is 😭 Simon: I’m not used to giving praise, cut me some slack alright? you: right. i can see that. you: the whole - my team would say i push them - thing Simon: I stand by that. Simon: I’m not very good at talking. Simon: But I’m not a liar. you: i’ve noticed you: you tend to hate being called that. Simon: Lie enough on the job. Simon: When I’m talking to people outside of that, I like being as honest as I can be. you: i see you: sooo does that mean i can ask you things and you’ll be honest in the answers? Simon: About? you: you Simon: Within reason. you: what do you look like Simon: 6ft4, blonde, brown eyes. you: that’s it? Simon: I said ‘Within reason’. That means I won’t give you more than I think I should. you: infuriating 😤 Simon: That’s life.

Just as you’re about to answer, your doorbell rings. You were so absorbed in Simon’s chat that you didn’t notice your delivery driver arrived.

You slip on some shoes quickly and dash downstairs to the front door of the building to receive your food.

Once upstairs, you set your food on the table and unwrap everything, beginning to eat your Nando’s chicken as you try to resume texting Simon one-handed.

That’s when you spot the message he sent you while you were busy.

Simon: Added some new pics. Simon: Don’t say I never did anything for you. Simon: But I’ll take them down in 2 minutes so you better hurry up.

Eyebrows raised, you quickly click on his profile and rush to tap through to the new pictures.

The first one makes you chuckle. Of course, it’s him wearing a hoodie and a stupid mask… But the second one? Your jaw drops open and you find yourself swallowing dryly.

“Awooga…” You quip to yourself and giggle, amused at your own silliness as your eyes trail over every inch of exposed skin in Simon’s chest. Even if that’s not him, even if that’s just some… bloke he found online, it’s still a bloody fine picture.

Returning to the chat, you type a quick reply.

you: not bad Simon: Answered your questions? you: raised a couple more. Simon: Good. Simon: You keep them in your mind for later. you: why does it feel like you’re leaving?? Simon: Because I am. Duty calls. Simon: I’ll tell John you said 'Hi'. you: okay... you: be careful!

As soon as you sent that message you found yourself facepalming. Why do you sound like a concerned partner? You don’t even know this man. Any of them really. Even if you had one of them inside of you less than 24 hours ago.

You don't dwell too much on it because soon there's a message from Simon on the screen.

Simon: Always am. Don’t miss us too much.

Shaking your head, you set down your phone, locking the screen, and turning back to your peri-peri chicken and chips, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation.

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