#she does draw on her lashes & eyebrows

[tigerr-cherry]

Leshy hates the lamb this, tsundere Narinder that , blah blah blah

WHAT ABOUT HEKET, HUH ??! WHAT ABOUT HEKET?!?!

[luveline]

hi baby if you feel up for it i'd love to request some fluffy fluff with sirius. maybe he's usually so reserved and stoic (because, cmon) and they're out with his friends and they're all making fun of him for being so lovey and doting on r

love u sm!

love you!! ♡ fem, 1k

"This is really lovely," Sirius says, your face turned to the light in his hand. "It's bright without looking out of place. Blue is your colour." 

"Thanks, bug," you murmur back, holding still as he cleans the smudged mascara from your lower lash line.

"Every colour is your colour," he amends. "It goes nice with your top." 

You rub your lips together slowly, sticky with gloss. His noticing makes all your make up efforts worth it. 

Sirius wipes his thumb into the tissue you'd given him and tucks it away, stroking your cheek one last time with his other hand before stealing yours to twine your fingers. Your friends have carried on into the pub, but it doesn't take long to catch them. Remus was kind enough to wait at the entrance, eyebrows raised. 

"What?" Sirius asks. 

"Nothing." It's clearly something. "At all." 

You figure it's between them and skirt past Remus with a smile, eager to hide away in the warm wooded walls of The Firestroke. The boys filter in behind you, following you through the entryway and past the bar to the table James has commandeered with Emmeline. 

He's fiddling with her hair, readjusting a bobby pin, another held between his lips. "It looks nice, Emme, you should have it out of your face more often." 

"Marl says that all the time. Hey!" She beams at you. "Come and sit by me." 

You laugh happily and slide onto the seat next to her. You, Emme, and James sit on the booth side while Sirius and Remus set themselves down opposite. A waitress arrives and Sirius doesn't wait for the others, ordering a round of drinks for the entire group, wherever they may be. They'll filter in soon enough. 

"And extra cherries for my girl, please," Sirius says, nodding to you as he does. "Thanks." 

"Ooh, for his girl," James croons. 

"Remember when he'd order stuff for me like that?" Remus asks. 

Sirius rolls his eyes, offering his hands to you from across the table. Honestly, you're slightly surprised at his behaviour today, but you won't look a gift horse in the mouth. You lay your hands in his obligingly and relax as he begins to draw shapes into the fronts of your fingers, tiny stroking lines that feel ridiculously good, even under the eyes of your friends. "He's lying. I'd purposefully get his food wrong when we were teenagers so he'd have to go up to the counter and correct it." 

"Like exposure therapy I never signed up for," Remus sighs. "It worked, too." 

Sirius laughs. He's handsome to begin with, the last burst of a tan from summer's end on his skin, his hair dark and lush in the shimmering light, and when he laughs it's a tenfold effect, the grey of his eyes suddenly mesmerising, the wicked curve of his smile softened into a sweeter thing that begs to be kissed, or admired at the very least. You let him keep one hand but turn the other inward to give him similar treatment, rubbing your fingertips up and down his palm in a ticklish wave. 

"Do that to me, mate, there's a good lad," James says, offering his hand. Emmeline bats it away. 

"Awfully jealous today, aren't they?" Sirius asks you, ignoring their teasing to curl your fingers in and cover them. 

"I…" You're not sure what to say. Does he not realise how sweet he's being? Publicly? He's not usually this open. 

"You okay?" 

"Fine, just…" Words fail you twice. You cringe at your lack of explanation, but Sirius doesn't falter in his nice touches. It shouldn't shock you when he slides his chair tight against the table and pulls your hands ever closer, his top lip scratchy with hair as he leans down to kiss your knuckles. "Siri." 

"Yes, darling?"

"Jesus," Marl says, announcing her presence with a faked gag. "What's your problem, Black?" 

"I'm deeply in love, McKinnon. Not that you'd know what that feels like." 

You melt in your chair as he kisses a short path to your wrist. You could write Marlene a ten thousand word essay on love if she needed it, that's how adored he's got you feeling. 

"Absolutely vile."

"So sweet!" Mary denies, plopping herself down in the chair beside Sirius', all pink tulle and flowery smells. Any other day you'd be jealous of her in a good-natured but undeniably insecure manner, terrified that Sirius was gonna turn to her and see her in all her dewy beauty, but he doesn't so much as look up, your hands now rubbed against his cheek. 

"He's had a bit of catnip or something," Remus says. 

"It's the eyeshadow," you try to explain. 

Sirius lifts his head severely. "It looks perfect, but it's definitely not the eyeshadow. I'd feel just as mad about you if you were covered in soot." 

"Good to know," you say breathlessly. 

"Oh, so you're feeling pathetic today?" Marl asks.

Sirius sighs as though he's been greatly inconvenienced and sits up properly, casting his gaze around the group for a lick of sense between them, if his slack eyebrows are anything to go off of. "You're all wrong. I'm this pathetic for her every day of the week." 

"Then what's with the PDA?" James asks incredulously. 

"Mate, first of all, look at her. And if you must know, it's our anniversary." 

You flinch, your gaze jumping to his. The group erupts with well wishes and 'why didn't you say so's, and James slaps his card on the table, insisting that the round is on him to celebrate. Your heart races as you make the calculations in your head, calming as you realise that nothing falls on today's date, not a half month nor a first date. 

"Sirius?" you ask while everyone's distracted. 

He takes your hand again and begins kissing your knuckles once more. "I'm lying," he says, as you'd figured, scratching your fingers with his stubble. "That's what he gets for prying… You really do look lovely tonight." 

You nearly swallow your tongue. "Thank you. You look lovely, too." 

He smiles, twining your fingers together to rest his face against the back of your hand. "Thanks, angel." 

[itsjusthockey]

Knight in Shining Armani - Juraj Slafkovsky

he's so boyfriend. Enjoy

send in requests. pls and thx

warnings: slightly suggestive?????

w.c: 1,426 (credit to gif maker) (don't steal my work)

You don’t smoke, not at all. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever even tried nicotine sober. However, in this very moment, you crave a cigarette, or something, anything, to distract you from the current hell you’re in.

You’ve always enjoyed charity galas with the team. They’re something to look forward to. They’re classy; they support a good cause, have great food, better drinks, and usually decent company. However, sometimes, at these events, you get unlucky, and tonight was one of those particular nights.

You’re seated at a lovely table with a few wives and girlfriends and directly next to a pretty blonde woman you’ve never met. She’s clad in a red dress, her lips painted to match, and she’s eyeing the room like a predator watching her prey.

You have to check yourself as you watch her a bit. You’re not one to throw judgment at someone you don’t know, but something about the way she’s watching the room sets your stomach a bit on edge.

The edge sets a bit deeper when you notice her stare lands on a familiar back, one you know all too well.

“Do you know who he is?” She suddenly asks you. “He’s insanely sexy.”

She points toward the center of the room, and you follow her stare back to your boyfriend. He’s standing tall in the center of the room, clad in an all-black ensemble that fits perfectly in all the correct places. He looks otherworldly as he smiles and throws his head back in laughter at something Arber says. He is absolutely gorgeous, and the fed woman beside you is right; he does look insanely sexy. However, you’re not particularly fond of anyone else in the world thinking that, but you

You must’ve stayed quiet for a bit too long because she raises an eyebrow and leans a bit closer to you, clearly waiting for an answer.

“That’s Juraj.” You finally say.

She hums and repeats his name softly to you, then leans in closer as if she’s going to tell you a secret.

“I came with someone else.” Her eyes dart back to your boyfriend. “But I wouldn’t mind finding myself under him at the end of the night.”

As she finishes her statement, she lets out a laugh, and you feel yourself grip your champagne glass tight. You shouldn’t be mad; you’re incredibly secure in your relationship, but that ugly feeling continues to grow.

“You don’t agree?” She asks.

You realize you’ve been silent, not offering her anything. You’re unsure how to approach this situation, but you also know you should shut it down.

“I do,” you smile toward her. “But he’s taken.”

A brief, annoyed look flashes over the women’s eyes. “By who?”

You throw on your sweetest smile and bat your lashes toward her.

“By me.”

The second that slips out of your mouth, her eyes widen in surprise, and then they shrink a bit, looking you up and down.

(Y/N).” You rip your eyes away from her hard stare and draw your attention toward a wife. “Your boy looks incredible tonight. Arbs said you picked out the suit? Gucci, was it?”

“Armani.” You state, glancing back toward your boyfriend, hoping he hears your telepathic plea to come save you.

A few of the other wives and girlfriends hum, signaling their approval of your masterful suit-picking skills, and you feel a rush of pride swell through you.

“Yes. He certainly looks dashing.” The blonde speaks up again, her eyes dragging up and down your boyfriend’s figure from behind.

You don’t think of yourself as a jealous person, but you’re not stupid. You don’t miss how she looks at the man you’re in love with. You also don’t miss the subtle lip bite in his direction and the slight glare she gives you. You resist the edge to roll your eyes. Instead, you take another sip of your drink and try to focus on any other conversation.

You’ve finally integrated yourself elsewhere when a hand gently taps your shoulder, causing you to jump slightly. You turn quickly to see Juraj’s gorgeous smile and bright eyes beaming down at you.

“Hello, beautiful.” He leans down to your ear, whispering. “Can I steal you away?”

You resist the urge to throw yourself into his arms and demand he take you home. Instead, you smile and nod, excusing yourself from the table with a smile. You begin to be swept away, Juraj's hand gently on your waist, when you throw one last look toward your table. The woman you’ve come to dislike slightly is staring hard, and you give her a slight smirk. You simply can’t help yourself.

Juraj leads you away from the crowd to a small, cozy corner. He quickly traps you between his body and the wall, gently brushing a strand of your hair out of your face.

“Are you having fun?” His eyes are genuinely curious as he asks.

“Yes.” You slightly lie. “But I’d be much happier if we were home in bed.”

He smiles a wide smile and gently brings his head down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. It’s quick, and when you meet his eyes again, you see they’re filled with nothing but love and adoration.

“Are you tired?” He searches your face. “If you’d like to go to bed, we can leave. I’ve done all the required mingling.

You move your hands up to his lapels, gently smoothing them up and down and then gently patting his firm chest.

“When I said being at home in bed,” you shift your gaze up to his eyes with your best doe-eyed stare. “I didn’t mean actually sleeping.”

You see a million emotions shift through his eyes and face, and within a second, he places his lips on yours again, this time and a little more urgently. Your lips move in sync for a few seconds before he pulls away, grabbing your chin to meet his eyes again.

“Let’s say our goodbyes.” You notice his eyes are a few shades darker. “I’m taking you home.”

He leads you away from your secluded corner, dragging you to say your goodbyes. The farewells are short and sweet, everyone oblivious to how fast Juraj pulls you around. In mere minutes, you’re in the safety of your car, and you’re sitting in the passenger seat, admiring the man beside you. It’s honestly annoying how perfect he is. Even his side profile is envious, and with the passing city lights illuminating him wonderfully, it’s taking everything in you not to jump him.

He must notice this because he drives a little faster and places his hand on your thigh. You are nearly breathless as he gently smooths your skin under his touch, and even though your thoughts are far from pure, you can’t help but let your heart swell with love.

You finally arrive at his apartment, and you run for the elevator, hoping the ride is short. It is, and when you finally make it to his apartment, you almost want to die.

Juraj, however, is nothing but a patient man. As soon as you enter, he drops to his knees and gently taps your heel. You smile the sweet smile and lift your foot, watching in awe as he undoes the tiny buckle, pulls off the shoe, places a small kiss on your leg, and then moves on to the next one.

When he finally finishes your shoes, he gets up, moving you back to your earlier position, trapped between him and the wall. His eyes are blown a bit, and the smell of his cologne makes you more buzzed than any of the change you’ve had tonight.

You finally make your move, pulling off his suit jacket and throwing it far away from you. He smiles and picks you up effortlessly, his hand gently resting on your ass. He gives it a small squeeze as he leads you to the bedroom, tossing you on the bed as you shriek out with laughter.

Juraj is a patient man, but even he has his limits. When he climbs on top of you, watching as you undo his shirt buttons, he’s quick to lean down and begin pressing gentle kisses to your neck. He continues his assault when you finally finish the buttons, tugging his shirt. He pulls it off, and you almost gasp. He truly is sculpted by the gods, and you can’t help but stare.

“Are you too tired, my love?” He asks, knowing the answer.

You shake your head rapidly, pulling him down on top of you.

“Not in the slightest.”

[rafescurtainbangz]

Mornings with Her +18 Minor DNI

Rafe x Female Reader

Ask: Can you write something about Rafe waking reader up out of her sleep by eating her out and when she wakes up her eyes start crossing?

Oral sex (female receiving), Rafe's POV, free-use

*unedited*

414 Words

Masterlist

Rafe’s POV:

“Mmmphf… mmm,” my sweet girl moans, adjusting slightly on the mattress. I draw my hands away, freezing in place not wanting to stop just yet. Sure, we’ll keep goin’ but there’s something about those sweet little noises she’s makes in her sleep that drives me absolutely insane.

“Rafe,” she whimpers as her thighs tremble.

Her pussy flutters around my fingers as I earn yet another orgasm. I draw my fingers between my lips, cleaning her climax off my digits before pressing gentle kisses against her soft thighs.

“Perfect… So, fuckin’ perfect for daddy. Even in your sleep, you can’t fuckin’ help it,” I chuckle breathily against her cunt before lapping my tongue, cleaning up the fifth mess of the morning. 

Her hands sink down her body, running over her silky pajama top, her bottoms long gone. My girl’s fingers find their way into my hair, scratching at the root before twisting tight. She tugs, drawing me closer to her, letting out another sleepy little groan.

I lightly lick her clit as I tease her entrance, swirling two thick around her hole, gathering her arousal before pressing them inside. Her back arches off the mattress, legs drawing in close. I rest my palm on her thigh, coaxing her open again, pressing her legs into the mattress.

“Feels good. Huh? Bet it does. Always gonna take care of you, baby,” I whisper as I pull my fingers out, pumping them back inside as I suck on her sensitive bud.

Her eyebrows furrow again; breathing increasing by the second. Then it happens, her breath hitches, lashes fluttering open wildly. “Fuck,” she moans, not completely awake, her eyelids fall again.

You with me, baby doll?

“Too - too much,” she whines. I glide my rough hand up her body, playing with her tits, brushing the rough pads of my fingers over her sensitive skin, feeling her nipples stiffen at the touch.

Her pussy tightens around my fingers again; body unable to stay still any longer. “Rafe!” She gasps as she comes too, cumming as well. Her beautiful eyes cross slightly before pinching closed, another gust slipping from her lips as she soaks my hand and the mattress below.

I continue to finger fuck her through the spurt of her climax as she grinds her greedy pussy into me like it’s her very first orgasm of the morning. 

“Baby,” she sighs, relaxing deeply in the mattress as I make my way to her flushed face, my lips matching hers. “Holy shit… Thank you,” she giggles sleepily.

“Mmm… Good morning, princess.”

[syrma-sensei]

→ Vociferous Tendencies.

gif credit.

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader.

rating: smut.

warning: slight dub-con, sub!dean, pet names, oral (female receiving), facesitting, edging, handjob...

summary: you're everything he dreams about.

Gorgeous. He can only say that she's gorgeous. Magnificent. Breathtaking. Just what he needs for his sore eyes tonight. After the three of them came back to the bunker, to do some research for the case they're working on, Dean called it a day after fruitless hours of digging through the lore.

His green eyes blink several times in stupor, a serious attempt to comprehend what he's beholding. God, he still can't believe it. His eyelashes bat again, eyebrows crooking in both bewilderment and astonishment. He can't understand. She was with him and Sam reading books and surfing through the internet just minutes ago, and she insisted on carrying on for more couple of hours. How could she beat him to his room so quickly? But does it really matter? He doesn't think so.

“You can't be real.” He finally says, rasping hoarsely, his voice betraying him. His tongue darts out to moisten his dry lips only to realize that his throat is too.

Dean hears a chuckle, seductively beautiful, the red and black silks covering her body slipping down her skin almost tantalisingly.

“Oh, poor Dean,” She says, her voice is a tad sneering, “Still thinking I'm out of your league?”

His hands are itching to touch, to grope, to feel. Her glowing skin is making it hard to keep himself in check. He fists his hands on his sides.

“Is it too hard, Dean?” She cups her cheek tenderly, her palm is so soft against his skin, her touch is velvety, “To always have to see me but never have me?”

Dean bites his lower lip, a chocked groan escapes his throat when her other hand trails from his chest to his torso down to his clothed dick. She gropes his hardening cock so shamelessly, while gazing up at him through her lashes unabashedly.

“Yes, it is!” He growls when she presses harder, demanding him, “Wanna fucking touch you, baby,”

Her giggle warbles resonantly; something hypnotizing about her voice makes him dip his head and crash his lips with hers. She doesn't pull away or push him, she just takes his mouth as passionately as him. Dean moans into the kiss when she sucks and licks his lower lip. Before he can use his tongue, she breaks the kiss with a click of her tongue. His breathing is ragged, and his dick is pulsating with need.

“Please lemme kiss you more,” He whimpers, almost pathetically.

“Tsk, tsk, poor Dean, so desperate, aren't you?” She grins amusedly, pecking his lips swiftly. He chases her lips ardently, but she draws back, “Naughty, needy boy,” Her hand is on his crotch again, coddling and stroking gently.

Dean lets a helpless groan again, spine shuddering at the possessive hint at her voice. His hips buck into her hand, and she clicks her tongue again.

“Please...” He whimpers.

The pressure of her hand plummets gradually, a mischievous smirk flashing on her lips, “Please what, Dean?”

The word rolls off his tongue, “Please touch me, Mistress,”

She croons, a satisfied grin gracing her plump lips. With delicate hand on his hard chest, she deftly pushes him backwards, and his eyes fly wide. But instead of crashing on the ground, he lands on fluffy sheets and comfy pillows. And in a moment, she's by his side. Dean's heart palpitates aggressively within his ribcage as his eyes roam her figure in anticipation. He wants to roll over her and cage her underneath him. He's feeling a growing urge in his chest to fuck her, to make love to her... to worship her like a goddess she is. Chuck be damned, he doesn't recognise a god but her.

However, Dean Winchester finds his wrists somehow chained to the headboard. He gazes at her with dilated eyes. His cock is throbbing. She gives him a lascivious smirk.

“You like it, don't you?” She's not asking rathar stating facts, “To be completely at my mercy.”

Dean senses something is off, perhaps he's still taken by the daze. He still can't believe this. Him with the girl whom stole his heart effortlessly. Never did it occur to him, not in his wildest fantasies, that he'd be with her, let alone in such libidinous scene. Like she's said, she's out of his league even though she practically lives in the bunker with him and Sam. He always has to watch her plundering his heart day after day, and never be able to have her despite being it's her he wants the most. He just can't do it. Who the hell he thinks he is? He's not even worthy of her. Yet, she's laying next to him, barely covered by a thin set of lingerie.

Dean's Adam's apple bobs up and down. His throat is dry. Sweat is shimmering down his temples. His hands grabs the cuffs as he nods vehemently at her. She giggles amusedly and his heart flutters. How can she be so alluring with the simplest gestures! He looks again at her, green eyes glimmering in silent beseech. Her pretty grin drops, and a confused frown replaces it.

“What's wrong, pretty boy?” She cups his scruffy cheek, thumbing his skin.

Dean licks his lips, “I wanna... make you feel good too. Please, lemme worship you,”

He doesn't understand why he's that vulnerable now. But, somehow, it doesn't make him cringe or coil. On the contrary, he feels relieved.

She grazes a playing forefinger on his cheek, down to his chin then neck. Her lips puckering up approvingly, humming, “Such a good boy...”

The praise bolts through his spine down to his cock, making it nourishes to life again. She chuckles again, hand sliding down to it. It is when he realizes that he's naked. He doesn't remember stripping off his clothes, but he's naked, and his cock is painfully hard as she palms it gently. She's captivating, utterly distracting. She hoists herself up and he eyes her.

“I want you to eat me out, Dean,” She cooes, “Can you do that for me?”

“Please, Mistress,” He replies eagerly.

“Precious boy,”

His goddess sets herself upon his face, and he couldn't be more delighted. Dean moans against her cunt, and nuzzles his nose into her crack. He kisses her drenched hole aggressively, but she stops him.

“Easy, easy, sweet boy,” She says, taking his dick in her hand again. “Don't you cum before I tell you.” She orders, and he grumble.

Dean holds into the cuffs again, his mouth is working diligently on her cunt while she's pampering his cock with her touches. Whenever he's about to reach his pleasure, she eases down her touches, and that's driving him crazy, but oddly good. To not be in control and let her dominate him. He bucks his hips into her palm, and he practically fucks himself on her hand while he groans and showers his face with her arousal. Ecstasy sweeps over his body even though she doesn't let him release his load. Dean thinks he's in heaven, and his tongue is tasting from its ambrosia. Dean licks and sucks and kiss her pearl and she moans and mewls his name.

“Good boy, Dean. You can cum now.”

As if on command, Dean shoots his seed into her hand, and only then does he jerk in his bed.

Dean's eyes snaps open as realization casts down upon him. He curses under his breath and gazes down on his crotch. Great, so he's having wet dream like a teenager now?! But no, it felt so different, it was too real, too specific. His heart is still panging from its intensity.

Dean's body petrifies when urgent knocks bang on his door.

“Dean, wake up!” Comes her voice.

“Fuck!” Dean rasps and looks around him and fetch another jeans from the pile next to his bed. The last thing he wants is her knowing about his this weird, sexual dream.

When he opens it, he raises his eyebrows at her flushed face. She's panting, and her face is sweating as if she was....

Dean's eyes widen.

“We need to talk.” They say in unison.

to be continued...

[soulgazingwithbucky]

First of all i LOOOOVEEE ur stories,

Can i ask a Bucky x Reader Fluff. (You can add some smut if you want to)

Where the reader has this stutter thats shes really insecure about and Bucky just adores it and that he comforts her when shes tearing up because she cant talk normally without a stutter.

Thank you girll xx

hi my love, thank you so much for your kind words!! and thanks even more for your patience - this is my first official request and i wanted to make sure i did right by you!!

pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

warnings: smut!!! minors DNI, oral (f receiving), writer's first time writing smut lmfao, Bucky's your ex (at first), reader has a stutter but writer does not so feedback is welcome

word count: 2k

“She’s where?”

Natasha bites into an apple. Her elbows rest against the granite countertop as she watches Bucky through her lashes. He’s staring at her incredulously, waiting for her to clarify. She bides her time, chewing and savoring the fruit. The lackadaisical way Nat sways on her heels ignites Bucky’s rage. It takes every ounce of willpower to not grab the apple and pitch it to the wall.

“On a date,” Nat says dismissively, rotating the apple in her hand, trying to find the next perfect bite. She waits patiently for whatever emotion is bubbling beyond the cold stare to reach the surface.

“She didn’t tell me that,” Bucky says bitterly.

She cocks an eyebrow.

“She’s supposed to tell her ex when she’s going out?”

Bucky huffs. He hates the title.

“Because we all live in the same building. Could be a safety thing,” he grumbles, though they both know he’s full of shit.

The elevator dings, drawing the two operatives’ attention. You step out, clutch held tightly in your hand.

“Tell her yourself then,” Nat tells Bucky, pushing herself off of the counter. She passes you, squeezing your forearm. “Talk later?”

You can only respond with a nod as you approach the kitchen, slamming your bag onto the countertop.

“Hi,” Bucky greets gingerly, unsure if you’re aware of his presence. You turn to him briefly, a scowl still adorning your face.

“H-Hi,” you respond before turning to glare at your fingers. The rings glint in the overhead lighting, an ornate reminder that you actually got dressed up for some asshole. You practically rip the jewelry off of you.

“Wanna tell me about it?” he says, watching the rings clatter onto the granite.

You look at him in disbelief. He was the last person you would want to tell about a failed date. But your discontentment is begging to pour out, bubbling inside you like magma in a volcano. You take a deep breath.

“I w-w-w-went on a–”

You feel your emotions impacting your speech, and you stop yourself. You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure, and start again.

“I w-went on a d-d-d–FUCK!”

You grab the closest thing to you–a knife block set–and throw it against the wall. The impact echoes through the tower kitchen, sending blades flying in all directions. As the empty block hits the floor, you slide down against the side of the countertop. Angry tears are filling your eyes, but you stare unblinking, refusing to let them fall.

Bucky says nothing as he swiftly collects the mess you've made before moving beside you. He slides down onto the floor, his even gaze on you. Your knees are to your chest, and you have a handful of your dress gripped in your fist. Your breathing is the only sound in the room, heavy and uneven with the effort of keeping your tears inside.

Even completely silent, Bucky is still one of the most comforting people you have ever met. His stoic gaze and quiet stares can be interpreted as robotic, intimidating, unnerving; to you, it has always felt calming, unjudging, a serene haven in a world that was often too loud.

And he was definitely a much better presence than the asswipe you just spent the past couple hours with.

“I didn’t know you had a–” your date gestures at his mouth with his fork “–thing. You know, my cousin stuttered, like, her whole life. It was so fucking annoying.”

He chuckles, then continues, “Not you, though. But she went to therapy and, swear, hasn’t stuttered since. It’s crazy. But, like, you know, it’s cool for you.”

You shoot him a smile too sweet to be genuine.

“Thanks. M-Means a lot.”

“W-What if,” you tell Bucky, “I don’t want to get r-rid of it? What i-if I like it? DId he e-ever think about t-th-that?”

“I don’t think he did, love,” he tells you softly.

But you hang your head, your face obscured for a moment. When you look back up, resting your chin on your knees, your tears flow freely. Bucky wants nothing more than to pull you to his chest, to wrap his arms around you, to comfort you, but he can’t. Not anymore.

“I h-h-hate this fucking st-stutter, Bucky,” you admit through gritted teeth.

“Hey,” he says, as if he should be offended for you. “Don’t say that.” He presses his palms on the ground, pushing himself forward, planting himself in front of you.

“But I d-d-d–” You get caught repeating the sound, and you press your lips together, your nostrils flaring.

“B-But I d-do,” you complete scornfully. “I d-didn’t even want to g-go on this d-d-date. I kn-knew this would h-happen. I-I knew I would g-get judged. It always happens.”

Not with me, Bucky thinks. He can’t help himself now, and he reaches out, pressing his hands on the sides of your head. The gesture surprises you, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Every part of you is absolutely incredible, you know that?”

Under Bucky’s earnest gaze, you feel the heat flooding your face. He brushes away a piece of your hair before pulling away.

“You’re one of the most skilled agents to walk through this door,” he begins. You shake your head.

“No, really,” he insists, pointing his thumb behind him. “I’ll tell Steve right now.”

You shake your head again, this time with a laugh, as you wipe your tears with your fingers.

“But despite being an absolute force in the field, you’re still the kindest person I know.”

You huff in disbelief. You can’t help yourself:

“Yeah, k-kind enough to still be t-talking to my ex."

This time, it’s Bucky who hangs his head. His nonsensical babble of excuses comes back to him: You both seemed too busy. He wanted to work on himself. This was more of a break than a break-up, really, if you think about it. Oh, and don’t forget: it’s not you, it’s him.

Now is as good a time as ever to tell you the truth: “You were too good for me. You are too good for me.”

He earns another laugh from you, but this time it’s devoid of any mirth.

“Yeah. Okay, B-Bucky.”

“No, angel, I’m serious,” he says, shifting closer to you. You cock your head as he doubles down.

“R-Really?” you say dryly. “T-The new girl with t-the fucking s-sp-speech impediment is too good for Bucky B-Barnes.”

He scoots himself even closer to you, his legs now on either side of yours. Your arms are drooped across your knees, and the bottom part of your face is obscured behind your forearms. He drops his head to meet your eyes.

“Yes,” he confirms, “the new girl with a heart full of gold, talents that blew us out of the water, and a speech impediment is too good for this idiot.

“I realize it now, doll. And I can’t believe I was too fucking dense to see it before. You’re too good for me, and I won’t argue about that. But I fuckin’ let you go, instead of staying by your side, making myself better for you. I’m stupid, doll, so stupid, you mean the world to me–”

You swallow Bucky’s words with a kiss, your hands moving to caress his face. He practically melts under your touch, and you feel his body shift with your lips on his. He’s leaning, leaning, leaning, desperate to be as close to you as possible, but the countertop against your back is proving it to be an impossible feat. He pulls away for a second, smiling as you whine at the separation, and hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you onto the granite. He chuckles at the way you yelp and wrap your hands around his neck, yet he wastes no time capturing your lips in his again.

Your hands move from his neck into his hair, giving his brunette locks a slight tug. He stifles a groan, his ears perking at a noise down the hallway. He brings your hands to his lips for a kiss before he steps away, listening intently.

“It’s t-twelve, Barnes,” you say. “S-Sam’s going to be c-c-coming out soon for his–”

“–midnight snack,” he finishes with a huff. He gathers your bag and your rings, offering a hand as you hop off of the counter. “C’mon, love. You must be tired, anyway.”

You wrap your hand around his arm as he leads you to the elevator. He presses the button to your floor.

“Everyone else says I don’t say a word,” he teases, “yet you won’t even let me finish a sentence.”

You let out an embarrassed chuckle, thinking of how you punctuated the middle of Bucky’s rant with a kiss.

“I-I just knew th-that you meant it, Bucky,” you say. “I-I know you.”

As you watch the floor numbers change above the elevator doors, Bucky keeps his half-lidded gaze on you.

“I know you do.”

In the comforts of your room, Bucky kneels in front of you to ease your shoes off of your feet. You release a relieved sigh. He steps behind you, and you feel his warm breath on your skin before he leaves slow kisses along your neck. He moves the strap of your dress before continuing his trail of kisses along your shoulder.

“B-Bucky…”

His fingers ghost over your other shoulder before gently slipping the other strap off. Your dress falls to the ground. You tilt your head back with a sigh as large hands run over your bare stomach and breasts. Your relaxed breaths turn into a sharp inhale as his fingers find your nipple, giving it a slight pinch.

“Let me take care of you, doll,” he mutters. You turn to face him, slotting your lips against his. He walks forward until you feel the bedframe behind your knees. You yelp, but his hands find your head and your back, lowering you until you feel the plush mattress underneath you. Bucky plants a kiss on your lips before moving to your neck and decolletage. His mouth takes it time on both of your breasts, swirling slow circles on your nipples, before kissing down your stomach.

Bucky murmurs a swear under his breath as he removes your underwear. He runs his thumb along your folds, nearly hypnotized by the arousal he now spreads to your clit. He listens to your soft whimpers as he draws agonizing circles.

He meant to take his time, but he can’t help himself. He missed you so damn much, and he’s more than eager to prove it. He moves his hand to his hardening cock, pumping as he licks a stripe along your folds.

Can’t waste a single drop.

His cock twitches in his hand at your gasp. You sound so needy, all for him. His mouth envelops your pearl, sucking and licking like he’ll never be satiated.

“Oh–f-fuck–Bu-Bucky.”

You lift your head to peer at Bucky, your hands moving to his hair. He releases you with a pop, meeting your eyes through the darkness.

“I’ve missed you, doll,” he murmurs, savoring your taste on his tongue.

“I m-missed–shit!”

Bucky has pushed a finger into you, curling and pressing against your g-spot. Your head falls back onto the mattress, your back arching as his mouth returns to your clit. He groans as your hands on his head push him closer. He adds another finger, quickening his pace. He feels you clenching around his fingers.

That’s it, doll.

He looks up at you, your head thrown back in pure pleasure, your breasts rising and falling with your erratic breaths.

“B-Buck, you’re–you’re gonna–”

A flurry of swears fill the air as you release. Bucky groans at the feeling of you coming around his fingers. Your fingers loosen around his locks, and he rests his head lazily on your thigh, pumping his fingers slowly as your orgasm subsides.

He brings his fingers to his mouth as he rises. He smiles as you watch him hazily.

He rests beside you, eyes closed, expecting you to nuzzle yourself into his chest like you always did. Instead, he opens an eye at the feeling of your fingers hooking into his waistband. His hands move to your hips as you shift on top of him.

“I’m n-not done with y-you, Barnes.”

[neymiiie]

Eyes of the SEES members ~

I’ve always admired artstyles where every character has super unique and recognizable vibes, so decided to try it with the gang. Super fun, highly recommend!

In the process of designing these I developed headcanons for each of their eyes, kind weird but if you want to read me ranting about why I drew Yukaris pupils a certain way or whatever, feel free to click read more lol.

Makoto: I wanted him to look tired, so a lot of his eyelashes go downward instead of upwards, also eye bags because he has insomnia and you can’t convince me otherwise. I didn’t want his eyes to look hollow/empty, but I didn’t want to put super obvious highlights and I think it works? Idk. Also drew his eyes in a way that reminds me of the ocean at night (Atlus gave me a ocean/water motif and I run with it ok?). His eyebrows are kinda “messy” in comparison to the others but I think it makes his eyes prettier so it is in character to me.

Yukari: I wanted her eyes to look a little more intense and turned them a little to give them a slightly “angry look”. Yukari should have a light case of rbf imo. I feel like Yukari puts a lot of effort into her appearance, and she probably wears more makeup but I cannot draw that to save my life lmao. Her eyebrows are probably the least messy other than Mitsurus, for the same reason as the previous one. Also hard to tell, but I put hearts in her pupils because it’s cute. Really proud of these ones, they read like hers so well to me.

Junpei: Junpeis eyes were so fun to draw! I feel like he’d have pretty short lashes and slightly smaller eyes, but still very vibrant! I really wanted his eyes to look full of life but still pretty simple, and I think I did pretty well! They feel very expressive to me. Also I feel like he’d have naturally very thin eyebrows, so gave him that lol.

Akihiko: idk how I feel about these, but I guess they’re alright? Gave him a kinda intense stare ig. I gave him really long natural eyelashes because I feel like he’d have them (canonical pretty boy that he is) and I’m somewhat proud of them because I stuggle with making longer eyelashes look masculine so guess this is a win. Gave him an eyebrow slit because I was so sure he had one in p4arena only to find out he didn’t even have eyebrows in it. What.

Fuuka: I feel like Fuukas neutral expression would still look slightly confused/concerns so her eyes are a little droopy. Gave her short but thick eyebrows because I thought it would be cute. Her eyes kinda remind me of rain and I like that! Also sidenote love the fact that official art draws fuuka with teal eyebrows. The implication that she was either born with teal hair or is so dedicated to the dye job she even dyed her eyebrows is hilarious to me. I know blue is treated as a normal hair color in persona-universe but Fuuka is literally the only one with teal hair how is it not dyed but yosuke and chies is??

Mitsuru: I wanted Mitsuru to be pretty. I gave her thinner but crisp eyebrows and eyeliner. I was a little worried because before I started shading her eyes looked kinda evil?? Lol but they turned out better in the end. Didn’t do a lot of details in her eyes because it felt like it worked better that way, but gave her bright highlights in her eyes to make up for it.

Aigis: These are my least favorite, and the first ones I did. Not sure if thats awful, because I wanted them to be very different from the rest. I feel like Aigis doesn’t actually have this wide eyes but willingly widens them so you can see the whole iris. I feel like her eyes would look more normal at a distance, and most of her classmates just assume she’s got weird eyes because they’re an uncommon eye color (major “give her brown contacts please” energy). Made her eyes look like does target-thingys and slightly plastic-y.

Ken: I didn’t want his eyes to be to bright, but still lively and childish. I gave him round wide eyes + smaller and thicker eyebrows to give a more childish feel. His eyelashes are pretty short but made them point more downwards since they looked too cheerful when turned upwards.

Shinjiro: dunno how readable these are as shinji, but theyre fine. Made his eyes very dark and put bright highlights cause I thought it looked better than the grey he actually has. Also gave him major eyebags because man has not had a good nights rest since like. Last October (sorry)

[shirefantasies]

Hey, babes!

Honestly I have brain rot for the idea of the ‘woman of the group does sexy dance to help mission’ trope and like LOTR boys. I also have brain rot for them hearing her sing ‘I Wanna Make Love To You’ by Etta James.

Anyway can I request the elves reactions to reader do a sexy burlesque/strip style dance? Like they in the audience and how they’d react.

By elves I mean: Elrond, Lindir, Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir and Arwen

OK I’M YELLING (I went ahead n threw our girl Galadriel in there cuz gotta catch em all right? 😁) there’s not really a mission lol but hope this does it justice! My latest D&D session the other night ended with burlesque performance so this feels like the perfect time to post this hehe

The Elves Reacting to F!Reader’s Burlesque Performance

Warnings: suggestive obviously 😆

Thranduil

Sure, he knew you’d all but been dared to set foot upon the stage, but something in your resolute expression and the long robe you wore had Thranduil’s eyebrows raising. Nary did he expect the way your hand shot out, grabbing the pole the moment the lights dimmed, or the way your robe dropped, revealing the lowest-cut, highest-slit dress he’d ever seen you in. Breath hitching, he watched as a long wave of fabric draped between your gorgeous legs, which wrapped around the pole as you climbed it. Eyes darkening as you spun, he could hardly help imagining what, or whom, else they could wind around so, and if he would ever be so blessed to see the confident air overtaking you again…

Legolas

Frowning, Legolas disappeared further into the gathering crowd. Gimli was the one who’d dared him to attend the show, telling him he was sure no pointy-ear could handle it. How could it be so, simply a performance? The crowd looked far too eager for you to be putting them into any sort of- oh. You emerged onto the stage, forearms and down covered with feathers like the wings of a great bird. Your legs were almost entirely bare, skirt minimal and bodice little more than a corset. Twirling and pirouetting into poses the woodland prince could only describe as suggestive, you beamed innocently at the crowd and hid behind your feathers, lashes fluttering. Another performer emerged behind you, hands on your waist and fingers deftly loosening your corset… Gripping the arms of his seat tighter, Legolas leaned in, a yearning in his own fingers readily accepting his friend’s latest challenge.

Haldir

A dancer you were. That was a known fact whispered among those familiar with you, often calling you something of a knife-dancer. Curiosity got the better of Haldir when scandal colored whispers of your performance right outside the woods. Was it dangerous, perhaps? Pride flowed into the little smile of anticipation he wore as fast-paced music filled the room and flames were snuffed, leading you to slide gracefully into the dim. Crouching, you crawled to the edge of the stage with a bloodthirsty grin that sent shivers down Haldir’s spine. Flicks of your wrists revealed your famed blades, which you twirled, tossed, and dragged gently along the length of your tongue. Brows raising, he found himself leaning forward with new interest. What sort of dance was- Coherent thought ceased immediately when you tossed your blades, caught them, and began slicing away at purposefully shoddy seams upon your outfit, revealing more and more until the elf was on the edge of his seat…

Galadriel

Hearing of a new form of entertainment served only to pique Galadriel’s curiosity and draw her from her frequent solitude. After all, if it was making her people happy… She did not expect to see a lone performer upon a platform, elaborately feathered fans covering most of her figure, but there you were. Clad all in white, at least from what she could see near your feet, you slowly closed the fans. The long swaths of fabric that hung near the ground begun only at your hips, the expanse of your legs utterly bare as you extended them, moving gracefully across the stage as your fans accentuated every curve and undulation of your body. Jerking, you rotated, hips swiveling as you happened to face the Lady of Lórien, and watching you through her lashes Galadriel felt a devilish smile rise to her lips. She saw exactly why there had been such a buzz…

Lindir

There had been talk of you giving a performance of some kind, but all Lindir had been able to retrieve on the subject was that he should quite like to be in the audience, so with a light heart he shuffled into the crowd, pleased to be quite close to the stage set up for you. Perhaps you’d learned a new instrument under his nose and wishes to surprise him with a performance! Perhaps- You slunk to the center clad in, oh dear, quite a sheer skirt. Feeling a rush of heat to his face, he tried to focus upon the swell of music, largely successful until you ripped your top off, hips swinging lower as your layers thinned and thinned… You froze momentarily, wearing little more than your corset, and made direct eye contact with Lindir, whose eyes widened and body felt quite faint. Slowly, deliberately, you took up your dance once more, grinning at him as you began unlacing the back of your garment. His hands shot up, half-covering his face, but he couldn’t help himself peeking again and again.

Elrond

Housing a troupe of performers was certainly an unusual set of circumstances, but not in the slightest beyond the reach of the great homely house. Indeed, at encouragement from Lindir to let music fill his halls, Elrond acquiesced to a performance, unknowing of the so-called ‘dancers’ who would emerge after the exuberant wind section. In fact, it wasn’t until they called you out that Elrond’s eyes widened, brows expressive as ever as they flexed in great shock. You were lowered down on ropes, sitting with your legs largely bared and swinging. Garments- quite the loose term- of drapery covered the rest of your form, but as you leaned back in your swing, you began twisting, swiveling, removing one veil after another… Elrond found himself looking this way and that, but his eyes could never leave you for long. Feeling his gaze darken and his hands flex, he wondered what he had gotten himself into…

Arwen

How scandalous could it be? Many a friend or even a family member or two had rolled eyes and whispered harshly about your performances, but Arwen was not afraid. No matter what it was said to be, she would experience it for it to be so in her mind. Thus she found herself in the audience of the very subject of contempt, the somewhat smaller ratio of maids to men not lost upon her. A great fount was all Arwen could see at the center of it all, at least until one bare leg slowly arched from its edge. Blinking, Arwen watched as it was followed by another, each of them kicking some water onto the crowd before your hands gripped the other side, flipping over to render most of your body visible. Hanging from the sides, you swiveled your hips, head innocently rested upon your folded arms as if your…ahem…rear end were not moving so. Sitting up, you let go, dropping back into the water with a splash before emerging again and grinningly tossing water on more patrons. Arwen found herself mirroring your expression, following your every motion with interest and a strange sense of elation.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[sunlightmurdock]

If you’re still doing the prompts, can you pls do ‘being carried/tucked into bed, after having fallen asleep on the couch waiting for your partner to come home’ with Parent Trap Bradley and Mama Bradshaw ?? 🥹 thank you! xx

Rooster’s home late, and for the first time in six years, it’s on purpose. He’s not proud of it — he didn’t ever think he would be this kind of husband. The kind of man who comes home late, hoping that his wife might have already gone to bed.

It isn’t that he doesn’t want to see her. It’s not that he doesn’t want to sit down and have dinner with the kids. He does. He wants all of that, so badly. He just can’t stand seeing that look in her eye again today.

Sitting opposite her and knowing that she doesn’t love him anymore. That it hasn’t been the same for that little bit too long.

He swallows and kills the engine, sitting there in the drivers seat with his forearms braced against the wheel, solemn. She’s going to leave him, he knows it — and he’s trying to make his peace with it. He doesn’t know how he’s going to cope when he doesn’t have this anymore.

He hopes that she’s in their bed. It’s the only time that things feel remotely like they used to. When her eyes are closed and she’ll slip unconsciously closer, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his chest. When she closes her eyes, she still wants him, and that’s what he’s been holding on to.

He’s silent as he enters the house, locking up and setting his keys down, walking through into the living room. He barely even notices her, apart from the discontented sound she makes as she shifts to find comfort.

Bradley turns his head and looks down at her asleep on the couch. It’s made up, so she planned to sleep here. Her brows are knitted together, he knows that she’s having a bad dream. He knows just about everything there is to know about her.

Briefly, he considers leaving her there — unsure that the first thing she’ll want to see when she opens her eyes is the man that she’s planning to divorce. But he just can’t. She’s his wife. He sets his things down all together and shuffles around to the front of the couch, crouching down to her, peeling the blankets back.

She’s asleep in his shirt. He swallows softly, wondering to himself what she’s going to wear when he’s gone. He decides that he’ll leave her some, then sits forwards and kisses her forehead softly.

“It’s just me, baby.” He whispers, shifting her into his arms as smoothly as he can. Still, she stirs. She’s been a light sleeper since the twins were born. “‘M gonna take you to bed.”

She presses her cheek to his clavicle, knowing from the feel of it that he’s still in his flight suit, not bothering to open his eyes. It makes her heart ache to know that he stayed at work this late just to avoid her.

One arm under her knees and the other around her back, he holds her close and kisses the top of her head. Maybe he should say that he’s sorry. He isn’t sure she’s even awake to hear it. She considers saying sorry too.

Neither one of them do.

He carries her through into their room and sets her down in their bed, pulling the sheets up just to her chest — knowing she hates them near her face. Leaning down, he kisses her cheek softly again. He won’t dare kiss her mouth.

She swallows, eyes shut, tears brimming as she listens to him potter around the room, getting undressed and preparing to go and take her spot on the couch. As she prepares to open her mouth, she hears his footsteps drawing away. Only down the hall. He’s checking on the kids.

It takes a while, but she hears him come back and fiddle with taking his watch off. He always forgets that.

“Hey, Bradley?” She croaks out, blinking finally and hoping that she doesn’t finally burst into tears.

He turns towards her, wearing now just a loose pair of shorts, then raises his eyebrows expectantly. His cheeks are red. She knows he’s been crying.

“Could you come back to bed? — Please.” She whispers. He blinks, his lashes heavy and wet. There’s a beat of silence between them before he nods, then pads across the room towards her.

He slips into bed, lying on his back, closing his eyes in the hopes that it’ll soothe the headache he’s getting. She shifts across the bed slowly and rests her head on his shoulder, sprawling her hand across his bare chest.

“I love you.” She says quietly, like it’s a goodbye. Bradley swallows the lump in his throat and drapes his arm around her shoulder.

“I love you too.”

[scarlettjohanssons-mistress]

Winter painting

Warnings: First meetings, alternate universe - canon divergence,

Word count: 1.9 K

Pairing: Carol Aird x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Y/N feels like she's not good, she feels sad and she's tired.

But seeing a woman on the street indirectly invites her to draw again, and not only does it make her feel better about drawing her, it also makes her feel better in other ways.

Requests: OPEN

[Main masterlist] [Carol masterlist]

She was twenty-five years old and depressed.

Y/N was twenty-five years old and in a terrifying depression.

She knew her family had a history with the melancholy episodes that occurred every winter; but this was different.

College was killing her in one way or another.

Her family had hated the mere thought that their eldest daughter would have preferred to study, rather than marry the perfect prospect in their eyes, and not only had she decided to study, she had decided to start studying fine arts.

Pratt Institute offered an exceptional curriculum for those who wanted to study the fine arts.

Y/N knew she had a special gift with drawing. She never said it, but she knew it. Her grandmother always told her.

But, she was tired. The pressure of college, constant creator's block and bouts of melancholy were only making her paintings disastrous. At least that's how Y/N saw it.

Moving to New York had also hurt her melancholic attacks.

While she was almost always in constant conflict with her family, moving more than two thousand kilometers away from them, and from her only support, her grandmother, was difficult.

At least not everything in life was bad. New York in December was spectacular, almost magical, and her nice room in a building near downtown Brooklyn only helped this almost ephemeral romanticization of her college life.

————————————————————————

This vacation Y/N was not going to be able to travel back to her hometown because her parents had decided to travel to Travel to post-war England to visit one of her great-aunts, who was even more absurdly rich than her own parents. So, the woman decided that to kill some time and get some money of her own, she would work in a coffee shop near downtown, and in the evenings she would stay at home, anyway, it was a vacation and she wanted to rest.

And while she hated the bourgeoisie, to which, ironically, she belonged, she also had to admit that she hated her job.

She didn't know if it was the coffee beans, the smell of the flavoring syrups, the Italian coffee machine that always broke down in the mornings, her partner Francis who every morning flirted with her, with some hope of dating her, or maybe it was her boss, a bitter man who reminded her of her own father.

But, at the same time, hating her job made she appreciate her evenings all the more.

She would make herself a cup of chocolate and sit on the balcony of her apartment. She would sit in search of something to cheer her up, something to inspire her, but it never came.

Until she saw her.

Her eyes roamed over her from head to toe.

Black sneakers, slim ankles and calves that were only increasing in proportion. A brown fur coat that hid the clothes she wore; a coral-colored scarf, but that even so, despite that, left a little skin in sight, white, firm and elegant; a defined jaw, and a round chin, thin lips, well defined and outlined by a red lipstick, red perfection; an odd nose, not long, not curved, not upturned, but pretty; eyes as blue as the sky and protected by long, dense lashes, obviously made up with some mascara; perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrows; and blonde hair, short and combed, it looked and Y/N was almost sure she had taken at least a few hours to fix it.

Y/N had never seen a woman with that presence, with that elegance, and with that beauty.

The woman was staring at a sideboard in front of her building, so, quickly Y/N went back inside to pull out her drawing blog and began a quick sketch.

The long legs, the misty coat, the elegant hair, the hands covered by leather gloves.

The woman walked away from the sideboard and continued walking, until she was lost in the horizon.

Y/N closed her eyes and tried to vividly recall every color and texture of the woman.

She went back into her apartment and pulled out the crayons.

After finishing the perfected sketch, he began to fill the drawing with color. The cheeks, the hair, the scarf, the skin and the muscles of her neck.

What will it feel like to kiss her neck?

What will it feel like to run your fingers through your blond locks?

What will it smell like?

What will your perfume be?

Thoughts wouldn't let her continue with her drawing, so she simply left the blog on the table by the balcony and went inside for a third and final time.

————————————————————————

The next time Y/N saw the blonde, she was accompanied by another, equally beautiful, brown-haired woman. The blonde had the same coat, but the brunette had a much darker one. Both wore a pashmina instead of a scarf.

They both looked at the shop window that the blonde had seen the previous time.

Y/N took out her notebook again and began to perfect her drawing, as she watched the two women enter the store.

In the end they only stayed for a few minutes, leaving empty-handed, but leaving Y/N to finish her work.

As the blonde walked where she had come from, while the brunette looked around, until her chocolate eyes met Y/N's. The latter quickly put the blog away and tried to hide her face by putting the cup of green tea she was drinking in front of her.

And before the brunette's insistent gaze roamed over her disheveled figure, Y/N slipped back into her room and closed the door.

Back in the privacy of her home, Y/N admired the work she had done.

And for the first time in months, it didn't seem catastrophic.

Yes, I wasn't happy with the final result (she hated working with pencils and in her college notebook), she knew I could have done a better job with the textures, the colors, the shadows… the red of the lips seemed almost pale, almost one-dimensional; the hair lacked that semi-golden glow it possessed. But it wasn't absolutely horrible.

Y/N turned the page to look at her latest drawing. A memorial portrait of her younger sister. There were so many beginner's mistakes that Y/N almost wanted to pull the hair out of her head.

Finally, I was making progress.

————————————————————————

Days passed, and the mysterious blonde never physically appeared again. But in Y/N's mind she never left.

Another day, she had decided to take out her easel, canvas and acrylics, and thanks to the confidence she had gained from her last drawing, she decided to start a landscape painting. Snow-covered New York was something worth capturing.

She started with the sky, moved on to the trees, and when she least noticed, a brown coat and a blonde mane appeared in the frame.

Admiring the top of one of the trees.

By the time Y/N realized it, it was too late, she was almost done with the beautiful woman in the painting.

Even without her here, she couldn't stop painting it.

She put her things in and set the canvas down for the paint to dry. She left her cup of hot chocolate in the sink, grabbed her coat, put on her boots and left her apartment.

She needed to see Fred.

————————————————————————

Y/N met Fred one day on the city subway.

Fred was studying psychology at Columbia University in the City of New York, but they always went to the same café to study.

They became fast friends, Fred trying to psychoanalyze each and every painting in her surrealism class as well as its colors, while Y/N was always trying to bring out the blond man's artistic streak.

When the woman arrived at the man's apartment, she hadn't even finished taking her coat off her shoulders when she asked the question:

What does it mean when you can't get someone out of your head?

Fred got excited and ran up to his room. He returned with more than three giant books in his arms. He was going to psychoanalyze her.

Freud said that love was an idealization of the subject himself, because it came from the Id. A narcissistic aspect from which no human being was free.

Fred explained to Y/N that humans juxtapose attributes of their own ideal id on the other person to generate an emotional bond beyond the sexual.

Y/N returned home and admired the now completely dried painting.

She did not attribute anything to this mysterious woman, she had not even crossed words with her, how could she attribute anything to her?

————————————————————————

Christmas had passed without accidents.

Y/N had decided to go celebrate at the home of one of her friends.

After several drinks, she ended up falling asleep on her friend's couch.

They woke up, ate some reheated food and Y/N went home.

Just as she reached the front door of her building, Y/N rummaged through her purse to find that she didn't have her keys with her. She was literally left on the street.

She had to walk to the corner and find a pay phone. Her friend confirmed that her keys were in her house. She asked her to stay outside and wait for her friend's boyfriend.

Y/N sat down on the outside stairs and took out a small notebook that she always carried. She took out the pen that her friend had given her the night before and began to draw the phone she had been on minutes ago.

Y/N began to be guided by the sunlight, until out of the corner of her eye, she could notice a shadow, and before her head turned, a voice interrupted her.

"Excuse me, do you know what day the store across the street is going to open?"

And in front of Y/N's eyes, stood the blonde, her muse.

Sapphire eyes, defined red cheeks, with a few freckles scattered all over her face.

"I don't know. "

Y/N could tell that the corners of the red lips were pulled down a little.

"Ohh"

Y/N was metaphorically struck, so she hastened to remedy her mistake.

"But, I live in this building, and my balcony overlooks the premises".

"Oh, in that case, could I leave you my phone number so you can let me know? Really, it's urgent that I buy a gift. I should have bought it from the first day, but, I decided to wait," said the blonde, letting out a genuine and deep laugh.

"Sure, you can write it down."

Y/N turned the page and handed the woman the notebook and pen.

The woman quickly wrote down her number, but by accident, she saw the multiple drawings in the notebook.

"Thank you very much…"

"Y/N"

"Thank you very much Y/N"

"You're welcome."

The woman held out her notebook to her, causing their fingers to brush for a few seconds.

"Well, that's that, Merry Christmas." the blonde said goodbye.

"Merry Christmas."

The woman started to walk away, but suddenly turned around to find that Y/N's eyes had not moved away.

"I like your drawings," the woman winked and then disappeared for good.

Y/N felt a constant tickle in the back of her neck and lower stomach, her hands were sweating, and she felt a warmth running from her neck to her cheeks.

Y/N opened the notebook to see the woman's handwriting.

Carol Aird

+16469806357

Note:

It's literally my favorite fanfic. I LOVED writing this.

I hope you enjoy it

I appreciate the reblogs, the likes and the comments

taglist: @littlebitchsposts // @xxsekhmet

message me or send an ask to be added to my taglist!

[marvelmusing]

Game On

The Sequel to Uncle Sasha

Pairing: Modern!Aleksander Morozov x Fem!Reader

Summary: You step up your game with Aleksander, and it doesn’t take long for you to reap the rewards.

Warnings [18+]: suggestive flirting, sexual frustration, pining and longing

My Masterlist

»»---------------------►

Aleksander’s car gleams in the sunlight, glossy windows and clean seats on display as you climb out of your own car. You hadn’t parked next to him on purpose. In contrast, your backseat is covered in flecks of dirt that had escaped from the plant carefully perched there. Your mom’s birthday present, that you had been taking care of since it was a sprout. You were rather proud of it. 

Adjusting the plant in your arms, you tug your overnight bag from the backseat, and slam the door shut with your back. With your arms full, you make your way across the yard and up the steps of your parents’ front porch. Using the corner of your elbow, you open the front door with only minimal struggle, and shut it with a kick of your foot. Following the sound of voices, you head towards the kitchen. You’ve almost made it before you bump into your mom. You smile brightly at her.

“Happy Birthday!” She smiles back, opening her arms to hug you. You’re careful not to crush the precious plant between your both. It’s only as she’s withdrawing from you that she notices the plant. Her smile widens, as does your own. You know she had been after one of these for a while now. But you’re surprised when she narrows her eyes at you. 

“Did you and Aleksander plan this?” You frown at her words, and your stomach flips at the sound of his name. 

“What do you mean?” She smiles as she inspects one of the leaves, and you follow her into the kitchen. Aleksander is there, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. He’s leaning against the refrigerator with a drink in hand, and your eyes flicker down to the open collar of his shirt, dipping lower to the well fitted trousers he’s wearing.

You’re vaguely aware of the fact that your mom is still talking and may need some sort of response soon. Turning back to her, you see her pull a beautiful pot out of an equally beautiful gift bag - you can only assume that the pot is Aleksander’s gift. She slides your plant into the pot and picks it up to show you. 

“A perfect fit.”

You nod, not quite believing how unintentionally coordinated you had been with Aleksander. Raising your eyebrows, you can only mumble a small,

“Huh.”

Your mom doesn’t seem too phased by your muted reaction and tells you she's going to place it outside. You should be following her.

Instead, you jump up to sit on the kitchen counter opposite Aleksander. His brows draw together disapprovingly. But this isn’t his house, so you ignore him. Your phone buzzes beside you, and you glance down only to spy a message from Alina:

that dress makes you 100% fuckable 

tell uncle sasha i said hi 

Your cheeks warm, but you smile and roll your eyes affectionately at the message. The dress in question is a pretty yellow sundress, folded up carefully in the bottom of your bag, which you’re planning on wearing it tonight when the rest of your mom’s guests arrive in the hope of catching Aleksander’s attention. 

Though it looks like the outfit you’re currently wearing has also gained his attention. 

“Did you buy them with holes in?” He asks, nodding towards your jeans as he takes a drink. Of course, you ignore the sight of his throat bobbing as he swallows.

You swing your legs as they dangle over the countertop, eyeing the frayed edges of the gaps where your knees poke out from the denim. You nod.

“It’s fashionable these days.” A subtle jab at his age that he accepts with a casual shrug. 

“Just worried you’d scraped your knees.” You run your fingers over the frays, playing with the strings of torn fabric as you contemplate your next words. 

“Well, I’m sure my Uncle Sasha would kiss them better if I did.” Fluttering your lashes, you glance up at him. Your breath stutters in your throat as his eyes lock with yours. There’s a dangerous glint in their depths, and you shiver, licking your lips as his own part to say something. He moves forward, and you lean closer, eager for him. 

A door slams in a nearby room, and the sound of voices gets louder as people move down the hallway. You and Aleksander spring apart. He hadn’t even touched you, yet your heart is racing as more family members enter the kitchen. 

You manage a few minutes of shaky smiles and halfhearted greetings before you’re slipping away with your bag in hand. You don’t spare Aleksander a glance as you walk through the open doorway, too worried by what you might see. 

Even in the safety of your bedroom, your heart continues to pound. You press your hand against your chest as you attempt to catch your breath, leaning back against your closed door.

There’s the sound of footsteps on the steps, and your heartrate spikes. Your mind races as the person walks down the hallway, and for one moment you think they’ve stopped outside your door. Then the footsteps continue, moving into the guest room. The door shuts behind them, and you allow yourself to breathe once again. 

Thoughts consume your mind. Had Aleksander been planning on kissing you? Part of you can’t believe it. It must have been some vivid daydream your mind had created.

The picture of Aleksander’s eyes haunts you, tempting you to unzip your jeans and shove your hand down into your panties and relieve the ache mounting inside you. But you know from experience, that indulging in these thoughts will only make you crave him more. Any pleasure you manage to grant yourself now will be irrelevant once you rejoin the party and see Aleksander.  

Instead, you cross the room and sit at your vanity table, throwing your bag onto your bed on the way there. There’s only a moment of hesitation, as you watch yourself in the mirror. Are you really doing this? Then Aleksander’s eyes cross your mind again, and your need burns brighter. Yes, yes you were. 

»»---------------------►

The sundress sways delicately as you walk, and your mood has vastly improved. You look good, and you feel good too. You’ve been busy helping your mom with the final few touches, before the last of the guests arrive. Meaning you haven’t seen Aleksander. 

Even as people begin to arrive, you don’t spot him. You don’t hear his voice, or laugh, anywhere. Granted, you are still very much playing hostess, and don’t get a moment away. As you finally manage to get a drink for yourself, your mom calls out your name, and asks if your dad and his friends need more drinks. You blink at her for a moment, realising you hadn’t seen any of your dad’s friends - not just Aleksander. 

“They’ll be in the summer house.” She tells you, and you nod. 

The summer house is a very small cabin tucked away at the bottom of the yard, and you can hear laughter and conversation filtering out from the windows as you approach. The lights cast a comfortable glow over the people inside, and the pool table has been set up in the centre of the room. 

Aleksander is lining up his shot when you enter, and his eyes stay fixed on you even as he hits the cue ball. There’s a mixture of sympathetic and teasing remarks as he misses whichever ball he had been aiming for. His eyes meet yours as he straightens up, and you swallow nervously. You do feel a little bad, you know how competitive Aleksander is. But you also feel a small thrill run through you.

You distracted him. 

Avoiding Aleksander, you weave your way through the people, and it doesn’t take you long to find your dad. It’s as you’re trying to remember what everyone wants to drink that Aleksander appears at your side. To your credit, you only jump a little. The corner of Aleksander’s mouth twitches into a near smirk, and you narrow your eyes at him. Then he offers to help you. 

“Aleksander, I told you I’d be fine.” You insist as he follows you through the yard as you head back to the kitchen. You hadn't really expected him to revoke his offer of help, but after your stunt this morning you certainly hadn't expected Aleksander to willingly spend time alone with you. 

You're thoroughly confused when he decides to make small talk with you. You know the puzzlement is there, sitting in your eyes, as he places empty glasses on a wooden tray. You pour the requested drinks, and answer Aleksander’s questions about your job and your family. It feels like how things used to be, before Aleksander smiled at you whenever you entered a room. 

Eager to escape whatever this is, you pick up the tray and spin around, wobbling slightly. The heels you had chosen were only small, just a little something to make yourself feel cute, but they knock you off balance regardless of their height.

Aleksander’s hands are on your waist before you can even register that you're falling. You turn your head, nose brushing against his chest before you look up at him.

“Careful milaya.” His hands are warm, his palms covering a large portion of your body, and they slide down ever to your hips as he adjusts his hold on you. “We don't want you hurting yourself, now do we?” His voice is soft and low, and you shake your head blindly in response. Just like that, you melt. His dark eyes are fixed steadily on your face, unlike yours which bounce frantically in an attempt to take in every inch of his face. 

You can feel how flushed you are when you step back outside, the cool evening air doing little to soothe the warmth of your skin. Especially since Aleksander keeps a careful eye on you as you carry the tray full of drinks. He carries another tray with one hand, whilst the other hovers at your lower back, his fingers ghosting along your spine whenever you lean too close as you struggle in your heels. 

You give out drinks enthusiastically, in the hope that you’ll be able to slip out unnoticed by Aleksander. Once your tray is empty, however, it isn't Aleksander that prevents you from leaving. You hear your name being called, and you head over to the source. A woman with dark hair and glittering dark eyes to match. You vaguely remember her name is Zoya - one of Aleksander’s friends. 

You smile and allow her to introduce you to her husband Nikolai. All the while, you're incredibly conscious of Aleksander’s eyes on you. 

“That's a beautiful dress you're wearing.” Zoya tells you, and your cheeks warm at the compliment. Then she turns to Aleksander, “Doesn't she look pretty, Sasha?” Aleksander’s eyes meet yours and don't move to consider your dress before he answers.

“Exceptionally.” 

You glance at Zoya, only for her to smile at you with mischief in her eyes. In that moment she reminds you of Alina, and you smile back. It appears Aleksander’s friends are on your side tonight. Glancing at the unoccupied pool table, an idea forms in your mind. You tilt your head aside, looking at Nikolai, before you nod towards the table. 

“Do you play?” He nods with a smile. 

“You up for a game? I have a few tricks I can teach you.” You pretend to think for a moment, and he lifts a brow at you. Then you smile, raising your hands in mock surrender. 

“You’ve sold me.” He grins, picking up two pool sticks and handing one to you. 

“How about you and me versus Zoya and Aleksander?” He tugs you closer, adding in a low voice. “I will warn you, they make a rather formidable team.” You laugh softly. 

“So, I should be worried?” His grin widens. 

“Now I didn't say that.” He then turns back to his wife and Aleksander. “What do you say?” Zoya nods,

“I’m game.” Aleksandar also nods, picking up two more pool sticks for himself and Zoya. 

The majority of Nikolai’s tricks seem to be catered more towards distracting your opponent, rather than increasing your skill level. But you certainly don’t mind bending over the table and eyeing Aleksander with fluttering lashes as you play.

Nikolai is lots of fun as well, and at times you forget the tension between you and Aleksander. It’s as you’re laughing at one of Nikolai’s jokes that Zoya nudges Aleksander’s side and comments,

“She’s sweet.” His eyes don’t leave your face, alight with laughter and the glow of the evening. 

“Jealous Zoya?” She merely grins at his remark, leaning closer to murmur, 

“Why would I be, when you’re doing such a great job for the two of us.” Then she rejoins you and Nikolai. 

It’s from that moment onwards that Aleksander stops playing fair. 

You watch, swallowing hard, as he rolls his sleeves up. It’s a well-practiced motion, and you can’t help but think about him rolling up his sleeves every night after work. Or about him rolling up his sleeves, tugging you into his lap, and making you come undone with his fingers. He makes more eye contact with you, and you can never hold his gaze for long before your cheeks are burning with a flush that soon warms your entire body. 

It doesn’t help that Aleksander is also ridiculously good at pool. 

Your abilities are decent enough, but Nikolai is atrociously bad. The only reason you haven’t lost yet is because the majority of Nikolai’s shots have been purposely destructive in order to ruin Zoya’s prospects. The game runs on for quite some time, and when you next look away from the private bubble you’ve created you realise that most of the guests have already left.  

“Well, as much as I love to go all night...” Nikolai winks at Zoya, and she rolls her eyes with a fond smile in response. Then she turns to you,

“We should be going.”

“It was lovely to meet you both.”  

You exchange farewells, and Zoya gives you her number after insisting that you all should get drinks sometime. 

It’s only once they’re gone that you turn back to Aleksander, uncertainty in your eyes. Now that you’re alone, will things go back to how they were earlier, when he would hardly look at you? You fiddle with the pool stick nervously, avoiding his eyes. 

“I believe it’s your turn milaya.” Some of the tension leaves you, and you smile softly at him. There are only a few more balls left for you both to sink, and you’re certain that without Nikolai’s ploys Aleksander will easily win. You go to take your next shot, only for Aleksander to speak again, “Not that one milaya.” You straighten and fix him with a frown. He chuckles softly, before he beckons to you with two fingers, and a shiver runs down your spine as you round the table to stand next to him. 

He then points to another ball.

“If you hit that one, you should be able to sink two in one shot.” He gestures the angle you should use, and you shake your head.

“I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. Here.” 

His hands settle on your hips, guiding you into the right place. He helps you lean down over the table, and you swear he can hear your heart pounding. You bite down hard on your lip as your hips land flush against the table, and you’re concentrating much harder on not grinding against the table than you are on the game. His breath ghosts against the back of your neck, and you shiver. You know he can feel it. Just as you can feel every inch his warm, solid body pressed firmly against yours. 

Your eyes are fixed on the side of his face, even as he moves your hands to make the shot. It’s only once the sharp click of balls meeting that you manage to look at the table there’s another two thuds as the balls fall into the pocket beneath them, and you smile widely. 

Aleksander withdraws himself from you, and you focus on the victory in an attempt to ignore chill you feel with the loss of his body heat. 

“I think that was more you than me.” You admit, and he smiles softly as he shakes his head. 

Even with his help, Aleksander beats you fairly quickly. But it’s nice, spending time alone with him, and you come to realise that you don’t just want Aleksander, you like him too. Once you’ve finished your game you glance at your phone, and your eyes widen when you see the time. You’re immediately apologetic, but Aleksander doesn’t seem too concerned. 

“It’s late. I’m sorry for taking so much of your time.” He shakes his head, stepping closer to you. 

“I had fun tonight milaya.” You nod, before admitting in a whisper, 

“I did too.”

He’s close, so close, and yet still not close enough. Until he leans in, and your eyes flutter closed. His lips meet yours and your head tilts back with the intensity of it. His hands cup the side of your face, and you grasp hold of his shirt tightly, silently begging him not to pull away. His lips barely leave yours, as his words brush against your mouth. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He rasps, and you nod in agreement. 

“We shouldn’t.” Instead of stopping, he hooks a hand under your knee and lifts you up onto the table. The jolt of it reverberates through your body, and you grasp tighter onto Aleksander’s shirt. His mouth continues to devour you, forcing you to arch your back as the force of his kiss has you dipping backwards. Aleksander rocks his hips against yours as he leans between your parted legs. 

“Not here.” He says, still continuing his motions. You shake your head, hands sinking through his hair. 

“Definitely not.” His own hands roam over your body, and through the thin fabric of your sundress you can feel every squeeze and caress. You take his lower lip between your teeth and nip lightly before running your tongue along the small mark there. He groans, hand curling around your throat to hold you still while his tongue slides into your mouth. You moan with every stroke of his tongue against yours, grinding your hips against his as you tug on his hair. 

Then he pulls away, and you gasp for air. You’re both breathless and smiling. He presses another, more tender kiss to your lips, then regards you almost sadly with a tilt of his head.

“I’m sorry milaya.” He says softly as he strokes your cheek. “I can’t stay tonight.”

“That’s okay.” You whisper in a tiny voice, even though you had been expecting him to stay. 

Aleksander’s expression crumbles. He tugs you closer, running his fingers down your spine before settling his palm against your lower back. He drops a kiss to the crown of your head, and the urge to cling onto him seizes you. You can’t help but ask,

“Will I see you soon?” 

“Very soon, if I have any say in it.”

»»---------------------►

[welcometololaland]

WIP WORKING WEEK DAY 5: NOT NOW BUT SOON AKA. 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU AU (going to have to re-do this banner because i changed the fic name oops) The last day of WIP working week - thanks for supporting my little snippets! It's been a fun challenge! I'm doubling this up as my WIP Wednesday, so thank you to @catanisspicy @alrightbuckaroo @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom @cha-melodius and @three-drink-amy for the tags!

TK stakes out in front of Carlos’ dorm building for almost two days straight, to no avail. At one point he does a stint of five, incredibly boring hours until his phone dies. People keep giving him weird looks, but he remains unperturbed until his stomach is rumbling so loudly it can’t be ignored and he has nothing better to do than watch two pigeons scuttle about on the concrete in what he assumes is a weird mating dance. 

Vaguely, he wonders whether he’s doing a similar thing. Nothing he’s doing right now makes much sense, and yet he’s desperate to make it up to Carlos in a way he can’t quite rationalise. As he watches one pigeon persistently try to escape the attentions of the other, he can’t help but draw some parallels.

On Friday, TK is surprised to see Carlos in his Roman Political Thought seminar. Not in the least because he’s half convinced that Carlos hasn’t been outside of his room or eaten for two days.

“Where have you been?” TK asks, leaning over the two-person table Carlos has opted for. The blond guy in a Ralph Lauren polo shirt sitting next to him gives TK a weird look, which TK pointedly ignores. 

“Why is that any of your business?” Carlos counters coolly. 

“I’ve been trying to find you,” TK hisses, wishing he could stop time as the professor clears his throat pointedly.

Carlos arches an eyebrow in TK's direction. “You seemed too busy to talk last time,” he points out. “Didn’t feel like a priority.”

“It’s not like—”

“Please take your seats,” the professor interjects in a stern voice, and when TK turns around he’s met with a very stony expression. He tries to look appropriately apologetic as he shuffles off towards a nearby desk. The existing occupant – a girl with a dark braid – sighs pointedly as he sits down.

“Good morning to you too,” he mutters under his breath. She scowls at him and flips her braid over her shoulder.

The seminar proceeds as usual, albeit seeming to pass with agonising slowness, and one hour into the session the professor lets them take a five minute break. TK looks up to see if Carlos is interested in continuing their terse conversation, but he walks quickly from the room before TK can really get a handle on the situation. He half-rises out of his seat to follow, before the girl next to him groans.

“Dude,” she interjects, drawing his attention. “Take a hint. He’s not interested.”

TK grits his teeth and looks at her sharply. “He’s my friend,” he argues. “I just did something to piss him off.”

“Then let him cool down,” she says insistently. “It’s never a good idea to try and corner someone when they’re in that kind of mood. You’ll only make them more likely to lash out.”

There’s something in her voice – a blunt kind of honesty – that gives TK pause for thought. He sits back down in the chair and turns to her, watching as her fingers fly over the keyboard of her laptop. 

“I’m TK,” he blurts out, unsure why he feels indebted to this stranger. He watches as her fingers pause for a moment, then fall onto the edge of the computer as she sighs.

“Nancy,” she replies wryly, giving him a once over. “I recognise you from my biology classes. Don’t ask me to be your partner in any group assignments, just because you know my name.”

I'll leave an open tag for anyone who would like to participate, and maybe add @goodways @ramblingdisaster73 @detective-giggles @rosedavid @jesuisici33 @orchidscript @ambiguouspenny @freneticfloetry @basilsunrise and @beautifulhigh assuming you haven't already done it :)

[onsunnyside]

hey just wanna ask can you pretty pls post something bout like drabble sneak peak anything related to ata ari and starlet on 9th of july 🥹🥹 this day is my birthday and i cant do anything cause half of my friends in out of country or city and my family has their own issues that cluld be a really beautiful birthday present for me ofc u dont have to but anyways i think u get the topic love you and your stories have a nice day best friend

hi bestie dearest, i'm so sorry you couldn't do anything for your birthday 🥺 please know that I'm celebrating for you all the way over here and sending you so much love and sweetness for your special day. i hope all your wishes come true !!

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | dark!alpha!fraternity president!Ari Levinson x omega!activist!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | dark, a/b/o dynamics, assault, power imbalance, violence, misogyny (within a/b/o designations), mean!ari, manipulation, size difference, possessive behaviour, blackmail. mentioned/implied (not on reader): assault (brutal mugging), beating, injuries.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | a snippet of A Tough Act: starlet has the lead role in a performance, but at what cost?

𝗪/𝗖 | 1.37K

𝗔/𝗡 | the masterlist isn’t posted yet, but this is from my new series set in HCV (Howard college verse). here is a special drabble for you, birthday anon. consider it also a snippet/spoiler bc this will be in the fic. it's a part I knew I wanted to write as soon as I outlined their story

You try to ignore him, strangled breaths leave your clenched teeth as you apply lipstick, gripping the tube so tightly your knuckles nearly cramp. You’re fuming, shaking with pure rage as the previous night replays in your mind. 

You didn’t witness the assault, but you watched the video of it, he made you. It kept you up for hours on end, her choked pleas, the awful snap of her leg, and the aftermath of her bloody and bruised face. A lone tear slips from your eye before you wipe it away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction or ruin the makeup that took an hour.

Your bones go rigid as he inhales. 

“How does it feel to be the star of the show?”

The lipstick drops with a clank as you spin around, jabbing a finger in his built chest. “She’s in the hospital because of you.”

“And, you have the lead part because of me.” Ari swiftly replies, blue eyes calmly meeting yours, “When are you going to realize there is no playing nice in your profession. People will step all over you to get what they want, tear you to shreds and spit on your grave. And, you’re worried about some girl?”

The thick false lashes flutter against your cheekbones as you turn away, glaring at the exact replica of your costume just in a different size that fit the other student, the phenomenal actress who rightfully deserved the lead role because of her hard work and dedication. 

Unlike you, who got it because of the terrifying news that shook the entire production. 

“You could’ve killed her.”

Ari rolls his eyes, easily pushing you back until you’re pressed against the vanity. The yellow lights illuminate your frame like the sun. He fixes your headpiece, pink lips draw into a slow smirk. “Don’t be dramatic, starlet, she’ll recover in a few weeks.”

“And probably never come back because she’s fucking scared to get mugged again!”

His reflexes are fast when he slams your raised fist into the mirror, and makeup clatters to the ground as the vanity trembles. The force could’ve cracked the glass, and that plants two seeds into your stomach, one of alarm and one of fury. 

He scowls, his eyebrows low as a dark shadow takes over his eyes. “Her fear is not my problem, and it isn’t yours either. She didn’t care about you when she stole your part—”

“She didn’t steal it.”

“Well, she didn’t deserve it any more than you did.” He slides his fingers between yours, entwining your hands. “You were so upset when you didn’t get it, did you think I’d just let her do that to you? Fuck up all your chances to make something of your life?”

Because fucking up your life was his pleasure, and no one else could take that from him. 

Perhaps you should be used to his behaviour by now, but this was far worse than the teasing, unconsented touching and borderline stalking because that was all inflicted onto you. This time he purposefully hurt someone else and traumatized them for the rest of their life. Heavy guilt sinks deep, reminding you that you brought yet another person into your stupid mess with the Arcadia president. 

“She almost lost sight in her right eye.” You spit, “If you think my career is going to be built on the suffering of an innocent girl—you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Fine then.” He breathes, he drops your hand, stepping back and crossing his arms, his biceps almost tearing the seams of his shirt. “Don’t go on stage, don’t perform the part you’ve thrived for.” His tone lowers to a growl, “See how far you’ll get by being nice.”

Your nails dent the surface of the vanity, red hot wrath burns bright within your chest. You despise him with every cell of your body. 

Ari gestures to the wide-open door, cocking his head tauntingly. “Fucking go if you aren’t grateful for my help.”

You grit your teeth and shoulder past him. When you’re one step away from the doorway, he speaks again. 

“I’m sure the Dean and the police would be curious as to why you never came forward about her assault. After all, you know exactly who did it,” He tuts, “You saw what they did, and you know why.” 

Your feet freeze as a deep thumping fills your head, pounding against your skull and shaking the rest of your body. The dressing room exit is within reach, one more step and you’ll be away from him, and hopefully, never get his cruel help again—but that was wishful thinking. 

“They’d wonder why the great omega rights activist withheld information about the brutal mugging of another helpless, young omega.” Ari appears by your side, his heady scent filling your senses as a sickness takes over, “You’d probably lose your scholarship and all credibility. Think you’ll survive with that on your record?”

You meet his eyes, neck stiff as you read his expression. One quirked brow with squinted eyes, plump lips in a relaxed smile. 

“They’ll never believe you.”

“Won’t they? It’s my word against yours. And you may be a star performer, but you’ll never have what I have—superiority. Your reputation is standing on thin glass, and something like this could shatter everything you have. And those dreams of yours—are just going to be fantasies you’ll never reach. Are you ready for that to happen?”

When you don’t reply, he steps behind you, his firm chest pressing against your back. “The door is right there,” He whispers into the side of your face, lips ghosting your skin, “along with a false sense of independence, and a future you can kiss goodbye.”  

The next few seconds feel like hours when your feet refuse to move, trapping you and your dreadful realization that he’s right. No matter how hard you tried, fought and screamed, you’d never be like him or any alpha. 

He hums pridefully, drinking in your corset-style dress that enhanced your figure, “That’s my girl. I expect a thank you tonight, baby.” 

Your name is called before one of the crew members pokes in, looking startled at the sight of the big alpha crowding your space. He stutters for a moment, wide brown eyes meeting yours, “Uh, curtains in fifteen. Mrs. Aiko wants to speak to you beforehand though.”

And just like that, you can move again. As if the presence of someone else snapped you out of whatever rotten trance Ari put you under. “Thanks, I’ll be right there.” 

The young man leaves with a forced smile and the air feels lighter. You tilt up your chin and step forward, but Ari grabs your arm and digs his fingers into your flesh when you try to shove him off. “I could’ve lost my presidency because of that whore. Don’t disappoint me out there. I’m expecting a standing ovation.” He loosens his hold, settling for bringing your knuckles to his lips, he presses a chaste kiss, lingering for a few moments too long. “Break a leg—”

You scoff at his sick humour. 

“—or don’t, I have no clue what they’d do if both their best performers were in casts lying in the hospital.” He laughs and goes to the door, placing a single red rose on the table, “We’ll be in the back row.”

He perks up at your shock, “Oh, you thought I’d come alone?” He teases, running a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair, “No, the boys love theatre, plus, they want to know if their blood-stained clothes are worth it. Steve was really upset he dirtied that Kappa hoodie from legacy.” 

You can almost hear the vile sounds of fists and feet slamming into the poor omega’s body and her broken sobs. 

Ari disappears around the corner before returning with a canvas tote bag, he sets it on the floor and you can see the familiar red and gold crescent and a few of the stitched letters on the back ‘LEVI—’

“That’s for after the show, and if you do good, we’ll celebrate back at the house and you’ll get much more than just a sweater from me.” He winks, “Best of luck, starlet. Make me proud.”

[todderwodders]

WIP WHENEVER

Enver gets big feelings that are now Faline's problem (tw whipping)

“Is she younger or older?”

He is surprised. Surprised enough to stand with a grunt, feeding another log to the fire. It crackles and snaps with wet resin.

“Older,” he answers patiently.

“You do seem like a younger brother,” she says agreeably, almost teasing him. He feels himself swallow, but Faline does not press. She is not chatting for nothing, she is not pushing a conversation past its limit, as if she is nervous.

“Do I?” He stands, taking his cat in hand, luxuriating in the little barbs scrapping across his open palm.

“You do,” she agrees gently.

“Tell me”, Enver begins, letting the tails of the whip flow through his hands. “You're about to have yourself whipped bloody, and yet you are calm. Why?”

“Oh? Is that what you intend?” Faline asks with a calm that draws him in.

“It is, lady.” It is simple. It is so simple to take her.

“No ‘fruit’ tonight?” She chides, one claw trailing over her knee in the same shape she has touched his chin.

“If you’d like to be called ‘fruit’, fruit. Do not dodge my question.”

“Yes, men with long strips of leather do not like being put off. Let us see –” Faline leans into him, fingers splaying wide in her lap as her stomach concave before she snaps back to an acceptable posture. “It is what it is.”

Enver arches an eyebrow. “That is all?”

“That is all,” she agrees.

“Do you think I will not hurt you? I will, fruit, I promise you that.”

“No,” she says evenly, “I am well aware.”

Enver leans into her back, presses a kiss to her nose. “I would like you to put your hands on the floor, in a position you will be able to keep. I will not wait if you fall.”

Faline nods. A strand of hair falls into her face, trailing her cheek as she presses herself into position. Her tail tucks itself beneath her, coiling around her feet as if she were a statue of a thoughtful demoness, hiding her naked shame from the world. He does not believe this girl has ever felt shame a day in her life, though. “Yes, milord.”

He stands, steps back for a moment as he watches her. She has lost most of the weight she has gained while in his home, her ribs showing through the skin of her back, the ridges of her spine nearly standing out from her body. All of that work, and it has been washed away.

Enver sighs.

He trails the cat across her rump, her back, her shoulders. He lets her feel the knots, the little jagged ridges of iron that peak at irregular intervals in the cores of some, but not all of each tail. He must be careful, he thinks, not to rip the cat back at certain angles.

“You will take ten lashes.” He says softly, only barely audible above the fire. “One for each time you ignored me.”

“That is only five.”

Of course she kept count.

“Five more for the cost of the cleric and the blood on my back porch.”

“Oh, yes,” she says, voice suddenly soft, “please allow me to apologize to Delphine later.”

“Don't bother, he says, jerking the cat back lazily, almost gently. “She'll only bully you into cleaning it up.”

He lands the first blow to the base of her back, a hair below where her tail parts from her body. The blow is not much, barely ushering in a crack of flesh on tanned flesh, but a barb has cut into Faline from one side to another. The yelp is quiet, but not restrained.

“It is beneath you.”

Another crack across the small of her back, another gasp as she shivers against two more sections of split skin. Tieflings are hardier, their skin thicker than a humans but not universally so. She does not respond to him, does not fight her body as another blow comes and she shudders again.

The fourth is across her shoulders, and Enver takes his time to aim the tails so they strike with the flow of atrophied once-wings. The flesh is tender here, and he catches the sound of an open mouthed sob just before he strikes again, this time from shoulder to ass. He feels sweat begin to prickle at his brow, feels his breath picking up.

The cuts from the last strike are deep, he can see the shift of muscle and skin in five particularly deep lacerations just before blood begins to pool down her back. The ruby like sheen of it looks beautiful against her skin.

Faline looks over her shoulder at him then, eyes large, face flushed. He can hear her breath, see her body spasm in the shock of this punishment.

It’s breathtaking.

[blackjackkent]

OK, proceeding into the Shadowlands. Got everyone with a torch out, except Shadowheart, who is wielding Lathander's Light (and probably grumbling about it the whole way) and therefore shedding a 6m glow in all directions.

Shadowheart pops up an exclamation point as we move past the first wave of strange shadows in the wilderness.

"The Shadow Curse... it doesn't seem to affect me like it does others. Not as badly, at least."

This...feels like a bit early to make that assumption, Shadowheart - we just got here. But go on.

"Do you know what this means? I must be blessed. Lady Shar is protecting me where others are left to face her wrath." Her breath catches, her eyes widen eagerly. "She loves me. She must do."

Hector listens to this and is silent for a little bit. Is this Sharrian magic, then, that corrupts this land so? And Shadowheart feels herself blessed not to be touched by it? Could it not just as easily be the light of Lathander she carries on her back? Or his presence as a devotee of Selune?

And a more hesitant thought follows - her eagerness to twist this terrible place into an example of her goddess's love reminds him of Lae'zel's desperate fervor in the face of Vlaakith's falsehood. It reminds him of Gale's assertions that Mystra's demands for an explosive "redemption" are reasonable.

Does he himself sound like that when he speaks of Selune? Are there pieces of her that he is also not seeing, that will come to tear his heart out one day?

[SELUNE] "Your mistress rewards you with survival against her own corrupt power?" he asks, a little too sharply, pushing away his own thoughts. "That's not love."

She flares up angrily at once. "The darkness is the truth, Selunite," she snaps back. "In the end there will only be endless black, and those that Lady Shar has embraced." Her jaw sets fiercely. "Cling to your torches and memories of the sun if you like - see how long you last without me."

Hector's fist clenches tightly around his torch, but he fights for his inner control, forces himself to say nothing. The darkness she speaks of is no truth he wishes to accept - but she is right about one thing. She does have knowledge that may be valuable to them here. And he doesn't want to push her away, for that among other reasons.

She waits, clearly ready for him to lash out, then relaxes slightly when it doesn't come. Looking around, she draws a slow breath and lets it out heavily. "Lady Shar wouldn't bless me like this for no reason," she says thoughtfully. "There must be something she wants of me." Her eyebrows lift with another flash of eagerness. "Those signs we found, about Dark Justiciars - perhaps they were no coincidence. In either case, I need to watch for any place dedicated to Lady Shar. A temple, perhaps."

Hector shrugs unhappily. Perhaps such a place would have the tools they need to walk through this area in safety. But he doesn't have to enjoy it.

[celestialseawitch-ff]

💐

(( That's a WHOLE ASS bouquet! ))

Harry didn’t say anything. She came around her desk and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why are you so fixated on me? On this? I’ve told you I’m not interested.”

“Then stop staring at my lips.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped up to his, her cheeks pink. She swallowed thickly.

“Sexual attraction does not mean we’re compatible marriage partners.”

“But it means we’re compatible in some way.” He tucked a lock of curls behind her ear. His fingers traced the curve of her face. “I think we’re compatible in more than a few ways.”

Hermione felt her heart hammer against her ribcage. Her body trembled. 

“That’s not- that’s not good enough,” she whispered. 

Harry stepped closer and his scent of wind and sage enveloped her. Her lashes fluttered.

“I thought you wanted to settle down,” he whispered. “That’s what I want too.”

“I don’t even know you.”

His nose lightly brushed hers. “Get to know me,” he breathed.

His lips touched hers and Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut. She leaned into him without thought. His lips were so soft and full against her own. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against him. His hand slid up her back and tangled in her loose curls. She felt herself get lost in the security of his embrace. His enticing scent had her melting into him.

He tasted like peppermint.

Hermione moaned.

A throat cleared.

Hermione’s eyes shot open and she pushed Harry away. He broke the kiss and swallowed before stepping back. Hermione raised a hand to her mouth and felt her entire face turn red when she saw Minerva standing in the doorway.

The headmistress’ eyebrows were high on her forehead as she stared at the sight before her. 

Harry winked, completely unashamed. “Morning, Minnie.”

“Harry, darling,” Minerva greeted warmly, if a bit amused.

Hermione glanced back and forth between them.

“I like that shade of lip gloss on you,” Minerva quipped.

Hermione’s head shot around to Harry and she felt herself die a little inside at the sight of her lip gloss on his face.

Harry’s grin widened. “Thanks,” he said as he wiped the makeup onto his hand, “it’s strawberry flavoured, I think.”

Hermione dropped her face into her hands. “Oh my god.”

“The children will be arriving soon. Perhaps this can wait until after hours?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione rushed to say. “I’m so sorry. It’s completely unprofessional and I-”

“-We’ll pick it up over dinner tonight, Minnie. Don’t worry.”

Hermione glared at Harry.

“Dinner?” Minerva questioned, amused.

“I already have plans with Min and Otis, thank you,” Hermione snappishly informed Harry as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Harry was unswayed. “A double date then?”

Hermione scoffed at the same time that Minerva said, “That’s a lovely idea.”

“Minerva!” Hermione took a few steps towards her colleague. “We have other things to discuss tonight.” 

They were going to talk about the school and their options over dinner tonight. 

“Other things can wait,” Minerva told her. She raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Seven sharp, Mr. Potter. Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Minnie.”

Minerva left with an amused smile on her face. Hermione turned and glared furiously at Harry.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“I’ve made an opportunity for us to get to know each other.”

“You’re impossible.”

Harry nodded and shrugged. “I’ve had people say worse.”

“Do you ever quit?”

“Not if it’s worth it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “How did you even know I worked here?” 

He opened his mouth- 

“-You know what? No. I don’t care. Just go. And don’t you dare show up for dinner tonight.”

Harry laughed as he headed for the door. “As if I’d disobey Minerva McGonagall.”

“I’m going to hex you so badly,” she threatened.

He turned and smiled at her. “Is it bad that I kind of hope you do?”

He left before she could draw her wand. Hermione stood in the middle of her classroom, furious, frustrated, and ridiculously aroused. 

“Absolute wanker.”