#writing for fun

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[pancaake101]

yan! captor ૮꒰/ฅ//ฅ//꒱ა

imp. notes!!!: noncon photos, masturbation, kidnapping

yan! captor who stalked studied you all the time before taking you. it wasnt hard at all considering his route to wherever was a similar route to your school.

yan! captor who actually didnt JUST study you, he even hired a p.i to gather more info about you when hes busy. your whereabouts, and possibly things he's missed (if any) will get reported to him

yan! captor who would take pictures of you all the time. when he's passing by your favorite hang out spot, you picking up your food order, you taking your books out of the locker, etc.

yan! captor yknow sometimes he'd even take pictures up your skirt if possible. sometimes when the hallways are crowded he gets lucky enough to be right behind you and takes the chance to steal an upskirt picture. look he knows it wrong !!,, he really does but what else can he do? at the time you guys weren't friends and he was so deprived of your touch and attention,, it kills him!! :(

yan! captor who didn't actually consider kidnapping you at first, he thought this was a simple fascination that'd pass. but it didn't. it went from days, to weeks, to months, to eventually almost a full year. and thats when he decided, yeah no i have to have her.

yan! captor especially when the summer had came around, it was so hard!! he was so deprived of your face everyday that he just resorted to passing your house and sneaking glances through your window. he even considered breaking in but realized it'd be too risky :(

yan! captor who often heard you and your friends talking. he'd often eavesdrop and even sometimes record it to listen back. he once heard you talking about your type and it was commonly agreed among you that you guys like a guy more on the fit side. not overly muscle-y, or bodybuilder type. just a guy who takes care of himself, and if he's being honest he hasnt been on his self care as much as he should've. to be fair, it's because you take up all his attention!! being your future boyfriend is just so time consuming, it should be considered a hobby !!

yan! captor who took the initiative to go to the gym and actually start taking care of himself! he developed a skin care routine and spends at least an hour at the gym everyday. ugh he can't thank you enough for reminding him of this!! he can't remember the last time he gave himself this amount of careful attention :,)

yan! captor who was driving in his car but slowed down when he recognized you. it was a slow day, hardly any cars were occupying the street, and so he couldnt help himself and took the risk!! he grabbed you as swift as he could and lifted you into his car. it was so easy to pick you up considering him finally developing a good self care plan.

yan! captor who is oh so giddy to finally have you in his arms! although you were screaming and trying to kick him off of you while putting you in the car, it was so adorable and honestly kind of attractive. although that had to come to an end quick because he had to knock you out to silence you. even though it made him very sad to hurt you in such a way, what else could he have done? you were screaming like a banshee. it hurt and it could've alerted the authorities!

yan! captor who promises to take such good care of you now that you're in his care!!, it might be hard to keep suspicion about your disappearance under control but he will do anything to keep suspicion on his part. he'll even kill if need be

౨ৎ

[axolotsofluv]

❝𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮❞

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing here in tumblr. I'm still unfamiliar with the mechanics so forgive me if the format looks a bit plain ;-; This is also my attempt at challenging myself to write romance and capture intimate, domestic moments without excessively using kisses/hugs. Please excuse the writing mistakes here. Hope anyone reading this enjoys! (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

❥ pairing: veritas ratio x reader

❥ tags: humor, romance, fluff, domesticity, ratio x reader

❥ song inspo: to the bone by pamungkas

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

➷ Him spooning you and covering your ears during a thunderstorm knowing how sensitive you are to the startling noise

➷ Extending a hand towards you out of reflex whenever you're seen bounding towards him, as though ushering you closer and not allowing a single millimeter of space to fester between you

➷‌ Him immediately sliding over his meal of choice to you when he catches you openly staring at it. You point at it and sweetly ask him if you could have a bite, and when he complies, he doesn't take it back until you are satisfied

➷ His firm tone when he chastises you for picking the cheapest option on the menu, repeating the phrase he often uses in situations like these: "I'm paying. Now, perish those thoughts and choose what you truly want". As you place your order, he notices that your current option was the second cheapest meal on the menu. This stunt garners his disapproving stare, and you eventually cave in from the pressure and order what you really want

➷ He doesn't partake in PDA often, or much at all, but people aren't oblivious to the way he tends to shift most of his body weight towards you when you're around just so his skin can make contact with yours or the way he seeks out every opportunity to touch you, whether it's a simple shoulder tap or a poke at your forearm (bro must have you within at least a meter radius, further than that and he'll pull you closer to him)

➷ ‌In the early stages of your relationship, he noticed that you frequently hold his bag for him, which was a gesture more commonly practiced by men. Not wanting your considerate gestures to go unreciprocated, he now takes the initiative to carry your belongings for you whenever you're out together. His arms now serve as a multifunctional tool for you to either hang your belongings on or latch onto when you're afflicted with a sudden bout of neediness

➷ Never turning down an opportunity to touch your hair. He sees a leaf on your hair? His fingers are already working on removing it. Not only that, but he goes the extra mile by also brushing your hair. He sees a few stray hairs sticking out? His palm swiftly mats it down with gentle, methodical swipes. You wonder why his hand lingers for more than a minute, but you make no attempts to stop him ‌

➷ Your arms are his stress ball. Whenever he catches you doing something cute, be prepared to have your upper arms seized and squished to oblivion. He's done it so often to the point that it developed into a habit. It wasn't until one of his acquaintances pointed it out did he realize it had long gone past the point of habit and into the territory of involuntary behavior. He'd do it even when he's ticked off by what you did/say that at this point, the line between cuteness aggression and sheer aggression is blurred‌

➷ Reflexively holds your hair back whenever you lean over something, especially food. He can tell when it's about to happen by the spark in your eyes and by the time your body tips over to gain a closer look at the object of interest, his lithe fingers shoot out from their previous position at breakneck speed to prevent the falling strands from getting dirty

➷ Those lips that are prolific in spouting soul-crushing, confidence-tearing remarks become pliable crescents whenever you speak. Even if the contents of your mindless ramblings are something he deems nonsensical, inane, and even outright idiotic, a smile will inevitably worm its way up his face. Additionally, as much as he enjoys teasing and berating you (lightheartedly), there is nothing that sates his senses more than your gleeful laughter every time he comes up with a clever quip or a bestows you with adulations. He's not one for sugar coating, but he'd be lying if he said your mirthful reactions aren't enough incentives for him to start doing so

➷‌ Always knows instinctively whenever you're confused by a term or saying, by that pursed lips of yours and the way you stare up at him with a distraught look as if fearing that admitting your incomprehension will garner his or his peers' disdain. When he spots these telltale characteristics of befuddlement, he will draw himself closer to your ear and explain to you in a voice as smooth as silk, yet as soothing as the nightfall breeze, with words meticulously formulated to aid you in obtaining a general scope of what's being discussed. Your apologies are met with a swift rebuttal as he assures you that it was best to be forthcoming about one's lack of knowledge than to feign understanding

➷‌ Him being extra careful with his words when you need his candid input. He goes the extra mile to mince his words when he would usually show no hesitation dishing out insults like flyers. You would ask him for his thoughts on an outfit, and he'd reply "do you want me to be completely honest?" At this point, you had resigned yourself to an inevitable fate of being on the receiving end of his critical and straightforward dissection as he picked on each and every visible flaw, supplying concrete alternatives to mitigate the mistake but not before bashing you for your poor taste. To your surprise, however, he actually... held back? Instead hearing something like "even the most mediocre of minds know not to go for this color scheme. Pray tell, is your goal to be presentable or a laughing stock?"; he goes: "The color of your top clashes with your shoes; perhaps, you can try this instead." or even something simple like "That won't do. You can achieve more with this instead."

➷‌ Watching a movie together and he sees your quivering lips, hears a whimper, and catches the indignant wipe of your eyes. With a sigh, he opens his arms for you to leap in to and make a mess of his freshly ironed shirt

➷‌ "Tell me why!" You angle an imaginary mic at his face, watching closely and expectantly. He breathes out an exasperated sigh, mutters something about your maturity, and then finally says the following line with a delivery somehow more monotone than gal gadot: "ain't nothing but a heartache..." It takes a year off his lifespan every time you initiate these spontaneous karaoke sessions, but he supposes that having the lifespan of a mosquito is worth it if it means seeing you burst into a fitful laughter

➷‌ As much as he finds solace in the moments shared between him and you, Ratio also relishes the times he is able to enjoy a good book and delve in his own ruminations. However, in the rare instances you show even the slightest bit of interest in what he's keeping himself preoccupied with, he'll scooch over to make room for you. No words are exchanged or needed. The moment you accept the silent invitation and the proximity amplifies, Ratio's arm rests around your shoulders like a seat belt securing you to his side before you both eventually embark on an academic journey together

➷‌ There's nothing that robs him of his composure more than when you say "thank you" and bat your lashes at him, playing coy. It sends his heart thumping wildly and engulfs his face in a disarming sense of warmth. It makes him weak—he knows it, you know it. He chases that high by making himself available whenever you're immersed in a task that he knows will require his assistance

➷‌ It's public knowledge that Ratio's productivity and looks can be ascribed to his habit of waking up early. He utilizes the time to read a page or two from his book, exercise, gather his bearings, and prepare himself a balanced meal for breakfast before he would eventually tackle his arduous day-to-day routine as both an educator and a scholar. But now, his morning routine undergoes a bit of change. The steaming cup of coffee becomes two cups. The table is occupied by two separate plates instead of one. And once all that is done and over with, he goes back to bed to wake up his other half

➷‌ You run to him, frantic, acting like the apocalypse is nigh, frazzled and distraught beyond words and he just points to the vanity without a single scathing comment, unfazed to the point of blase. You grab your missing phone with a hop in your step and thank him. The next time you do it, he just goes, "have you tried looking in the drawer?" Wallet found, breakdown averted

➷‌ When he laughs at your jokes (he actually doesn't; on a good day, the most you'll get is a faint, airy snort while the second best is just a blank stare) ‌

➷‌ When he puts his book down, tucks a bookmark between the pages, and ultimately relinquishing his source of entertainment to listen to whatever you have to say, trivial as he may claim it is

➷‌ When he calls you by a term of endearment and doesn't shy away from regarding you with light touches in front of people, despite being fully aware of how this would impact his professional life. This impact being employees gawking at him for actually having a love life, close peers teasing him for being a sap, and even a few brave students approaching him to offer him their best wishes (and surprise because, as a brazen student of his once said: "someone as prickly as him can get together with someone? damn")

➷‌ Even in the aftermath of a recent conflict, he keeps the door to his study room unlocked. He might not say a word to you due to his lingering annoyance, but at the end of the day, he wouldn't (correction: could never) turn you away if you come looking for him

➷‌ Gaining the doctor's interest is a monumental achievement as he is someone with a penchant for knowledge and discoveries that most people will take years to understand. Yet somehow, a simple text from you is all it takes to keep his attention riveted to his phone. If anyone ever sees his vision glued to his screen as though he has just seen someone solve simple addition incorrectly, they'll know who's responsible

➷‌ When he takes you out to your favorite restaurant and brings you to the beach at evening to watch the sunset, knowing how much this kind of scenery soothes your soul

➷‌ When he tosses an apple towards you while you were off collecting seashells, only for it to land on your lap, earning a dissatisfied grunt from him as he chides you for not catching. He retrieves the apple and tosses it again. You try to play it cool when you manage to catch it the second time, but it's hard not to get giddy when you see him with the biggest smile on his face

[jalicecookie]

Purple Haired Friend

You're visit the set of Squid Game 2 , to surprise your Father Ha-neul Kang. Unfortunately, you get lost while searching for him and end up near the men's toilets, completely shy and lost of orientation. Luckily for you, an Actor with black and purple hair and a big heart , is your savior. Or in short Words - Seung-hyun helps a Toddler to find her Father on the set of Squid Game 2.

⁓ A little Gift for the very talented @thanosscross. The Way you write Seung Hyun is super inspiring and made me try my very ever first Jump , into writing something, that is about the filming Set of an Series/ the Actor Career Focus Point. I can imagine that T.O.P// Seung Hyun as a very gentle soul , with a good Heart for Kids, so yeah i hope i could surprise you with this small Project <3 ⁓

Check out her Stories and her Works she wrote, it is very good and i enjoy every Post from he that shows up on my Dashboard :-)

TW: None, just a lot of Cuteness and Fluffness (at least i tried to write it so ^^)

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

"….Appa will definitely be happy to see us, it will be a great surprise! Sometimes there are a lot of people on a set, he said, so we have to be good and not cause any trouble, okay? And when we see Appa, we'll shout "surprise" really loudly, okay?" - the words of your big brother Min-Jun come into your field of vision, as does the face of the 9-year-old, while your mother parks the car in the studio's visitor parking lot and puts on the handbrake.

It was a special day and, unlike your older brother, you still can't understand the bigger picture , behind your father - Ha-Neul-Kang's - public life and the man's associated success as an actor in film productions and television series.

For you, since you have better understood the rough structure of the day, it is completely normal that your father comes home earlier or later due to the working day and the overtime during filming.

Sometimes you visit him as a family on the set of different productions and in most cases you hardly notice the hustle and bustle and the crowds of people on the studio premises.

In the past , you usually slept through the whole drama or shyly fled into your mother's arms and avoided all eye contact… it was strange to often see your father under makeup and with a different haircut, it always took a lot of convincing for your father to really convince you that this stranger was not a strange person but still your Appa.

You were always more of a shy, timid toddler and your third birthday, which you celebrated together with the family a few days ago (Ha-Neul specially blew up the balloons on the decorated dining room table himself and hoped that they would blow out the candles on the chocolate cake for you!) didn't really change much… well… apart from the fact that your big brother seemed to somehow lure you out of your shell with his euphoria about the surprise visit.

"Surprise!" you say, giggling and clapping your hands once.

"Not until we see Appa and are allowed to go to him, Silly," your big brother replied and helped you to unbuckle the seat belt of the child seat before your mother picked you up and took Min-Jun's hand to go through security together and then let one of the nice crew members lead you through the long corridors and hallways of the set.

"Mommy? Down? wanna walk like Min-Ju" - you say as you make a short stop and are near the cafeteria, where your mother and brother meet a family friend (mother and daughter) whose father also stars in the Netflix series Squid Game and they start talking.

"You stay with Mommy and Min-Ju, okay? Don't run away or walk off okay", - your mother said to you as she slowly put you on the floor. You obey…for a period of 2 minutes…the adult women talk, your big brother and the big girl talk too and…oh does that one adult look like your dad? In the suit…sometimes your dad wears a similar suit.

You tug on your mommy's sleeve once but she is so engrossed in the conversation with the other adult, that she didn't notice for the moment…and your big brother started playing rock paper scissors with the other girl and then a mini version of tag…what if the man in the suit was Appa and wouldn't hear if they all shouted surprise?

You look away from your mother and big brother, the man in the suit is talking to another adult and then walks away from the hallway…you can still hear the parting words of the suit wearer's conversation partner echoing over to you.

"…..you should go to the mask trailer - Gong-Yoo"

Gong-Yoo….wasn't that the last name that Mommy and Appa sometimes use to answer a phone call - Kang….Gong-Yoo…..that sounded kind of the same and since you couldn't see the man's face for the moment, you decided to do the most sensible thing your little 3-year-old brain was capable of - follow the suit man who could possibly be your father. Great idea right?

Maybe it was because the set of a series production was so crowded that several people were bustling around the aisles and a school class was visiting that no one noticed how clumsily and shyly you were simply following the man in the suit, like a little duckling blindly following its mother duck… until you lost your bearings because the man whose name sounded so similar to the name your parents always use to answer boring adult calls, of course didn't know or notice that someone was following him.

(How were you supposed to know that the actor playing the salesman/recruiter would just take a quick bathroom break before going to the make-up room and that he just happened to wear a similar suit to your father at premieres and press conferences/interviews was really mean of fate, wasn't it?)

In any case, you lose sight of the man because you quickly lose sight of your father and find yourself completely clueless and shy in front of the men's toilets in the studio. You look around uncertainly, but there is no sign of the suit wearer or your father anywhere…where were Mommy and Min-Ju again?

You stumble somewhat aimlessly into the area of ​​the sinks in the men's restroom in the hope of spotting the suit there, but here too there was a gaping emptiness…you became afraid and were about to cry quietly when the footsteps approached and suddenly stopped.

"Hello - are you lost, young lady?"

You flinch and look up for a moment…not far from the sinks stood an adult in a green suit and purple-black hair. His look seemed to be confused and surprised at the same time to find a young child completely alone in the bathrooms…but your overwhelm and fear made this question and the appearance of the strange man, even more threatening for you…where was your family?

You shake your head, sniff fearfully and shyly take a few steps back towards the toilet cabines.

Now the first tears are running down your cheeks and a quiet whimper escapes you.

"Mommy! Appa! Min-Ju!" - you cry quietly and of course you don't trust the strange adult one bit.

You have always been shy around strangers and just wanted the safety of your family around you.

"Did you got lost? Were is your Family? Oh no, we can look for them together?" - the voice of the man with the purple hair took on a very cautious and calming tone as you keep backing away and land backwards on your bottom in your fear of this overwhelming situation.

"You don't need to be afraid…actually…I think I'll just sit down for a litle while as well okay?" - the tone was still calming and you still watched with fear and uncertainty as the purple adult man simply sat down cross-legged on the floor a few steps away from you and gave you space…he didn't go any further towards you and with this gesture he put himself at eye level with you…which in this case was not only very sensitive, but also the right decision for your shy nature.

There was silence for a moment and your quiet crying echoed off the high ceilings of the bathroom.

"Is orange your favorite color? Look, two of my fingernails are orange too," said the man in a now shy tone…just like you feel, shy and unsure.

You briefly look down at the color of the orange jacket you are wearing.

It is your favorite jacket…and one of your favorite colors. At home you have orange rubber boots with little ducks on them.

Mommy said you can't wear those rubber boots today, because it hasn't rained.

"Orange?" - you say carefully and tap your T-shirt once and then you cast a very cautious glance at the purple adult , who is still sitting cross-legged on the floor and holding out his hand to you so that you can see that one of his fingernails is also orange.

Then the stranger held out his other hand to you, one of the fingernails was also painted orange.

"One…two…two orange" - you say, looking from the stranger's hands back to your T-shirt and lowering your gaze again.

"Do you know the other colors to? My Fingernails very colorful today aren´t they?" - the adult said kindly, somewhat in his shy tone, and the fact that he stayed where he was and made no attempt to simply pick you up or even grab your hand or otherwise pressure you, made you look up in dismay… and crawl very carefully closer to the man, at arm's length of course - to look at the other colors on his fingernails.

He was right… there were other colors besides orange. What colorful fingernails.

"That's right, it really does look like a rainbow, hm? May I ask what your name is, young lady? My name is Seung-Hyun," - the adult replied with a quiet laugh at the rainbow comparison.

It took a moment, until you could come out of your shell a little further and shyly answer the question…but the interest in the dark colors on the back of Seung-hyun's hand captured your interest.

"Me - Nali.....Ouchie on Seung hand?", was your reply.

A gentle smile creeps onto the adult's face as he answers your question.

"This one? Oh no, it's a tattoo… well, not a real one, it's just color, but shhh, don't tell, okay Nali?", he said playfully and a few moments later he makes a shhh gesture by holding a finger in front of his mouth.

You imitate him and carefully do the same.

Then your gaze slides back to the adult's hair and you tilt your head for a moment.

"Hair too, shhh - secret?" - you ask, pointing to the man's purple-black hair.

"Not really, but I know a magic trick - what do you have behind your right ear, Nali?", said Seung in surprise and his right hand went once in the direction of your left ear before you heard something jingling and looked surprised into Seung's still closed hand.

"What's behind Nali's ear? Magic trick?", you said now, a little curious.

"Hm… it sounds like… you can't find a coin? But… oh, I can't open my hand, the magic trick was probably too difficult for me… can you maybe help me?", said Seung to you in surprise and when he tried to open his fist, he couldn't do it even with all his effort… that must have been a pretty difficult magic trick!

You nod, thawing out a little more with every passing minute and Seung's calm, level-headed and slightly shy manner suits your own insecure character, he is just right when dealing with you and the fact that he can do magic is a great bonus.

"Nali help Seung… but how?" you ask and nod once.

"Okay Nali… we'll both say the magic spell now - and then you have to tap my fist once, OK?"

You nod again and after your new friend whispers the magic spell to you very quietly, you do exactly what he told you and oooooh it worked! After you carefully tapped Seung's closed fist, the adult was able to open it very slowly and one of the rings appeared (which he had previously taken off without you noticing)

"Magic! Ring! Nali helped!" - you say in surprise and clap your hands once.

"Well done Nali… would you like to hold the ring for me for a moment? I don't want to lose it… if you want to hold my hand, we could see if we can find your family?" - Seugn suggested and you very slowly and carefully take the ring and nod slowly.

Your haired purple friend was nice to you and you slowly stand up, bridge the last few steps and very carefully reach for the hand - or rather the little and ring finger of Seugn's right hand, while your free hand holds the ring proudly and importantly.

Seugn slowly stands up too and nods at you in praise before you leave the sanitary facilities of the men's toilet together.

In the hallway, Seugn makes sure that you don't get lost, but you continue to hold onto his little finger and ring finger, as you walk on the adult's right side and repeatedly make cautious eye contact with him.

He asks you, among other things, if you know where you last saw your family, if you know the names of your mommy and your appa and how old you are.

You know the answer to some of the questions, but you just shake your head to the others and when a group of crew members pass you, you press yourself closer to the man's leg for protection.

"Oh, thank God! Nali!" - your father's voice echoes across the hallway and both Seugn and your steps stop - you don't let go of your new purple-haired friend and look in the direction from which your father's voice echoes to you.

A short exchange of words followed between Seugn and Ha-Neul before your mother and big brother joined the group and expressed their relief at finding you.

You, still holding Seugn's hand, cast a long, critical look at your Appa… before you burst into a childish giggle and utter the following unfiltered words.

"Appa long hair! No purple ! Appa look funny!"

Your parents told you again , that it wasn't okay to just run away like that (they worried a lot) and that they were very grateful to , Seugn for finding you and bringing you back.

And yet you were a little sad, when you had to say goodbye to your new purple-haired friend - because he had to shoot a new scene with the other actors very soon.

Seugn forgot to take the ring back, though.

By pure Coincidence.

Of course.

THE END

[willowbelle]

where the light doesn't reach

༉‧₊˚✧ art donaldson x fem reader ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: afab!reader, softdom!reader, sub!art, porn w minimal plot, cunnilingus, face-sitting/riding, p in v sex, sex in the dark, dick-riding/cowgirl position, edging (m receiving) orgasm denial (m receiving), begging, praise (“good boy”), etc.

summary: you're in art’s dorm late at night; it’s dark, you’re in bed, and he’s so needy for you it hurts. all he wants is to be good for you, to prove how well he knows your body, even with the lights off... if you'll let him ;)

wc: 3,200

art knows you and your body by heart, by beat;

even in the dark.

his dorm is small, the kind of small that forces closeness. 

the room is quiet, tucked away in that tender hour just before sleep gives up and morning takes over.

there’s a shelf above the desk cluttered with protein bars and folded sweatbands, tennis shoes half-kicked beneath the chair. the string lights above his desk are off. the lamp is off. only the softest gold leaks under the door from the hallway, casting a faint, broken line across the floor. the rest is shadow—warm, still, breathable.

you’re in his bed, curled against him beneath a worn stanford tennis hoodie and too many blankets. the mattress is narrow, barely made for one person, but you’ve managed to press close enough that there’s no space left between your bodies. your leg hooked over his hip, his hand is resting on the bare skin of your thigh, thumb stroking in slow, nervous circles.

he’s been quiet for minutes now—too quiet. his thumb is still moving, but slower now, like he’s trying to find the courage to speak.

then his voice, low and shaky, spills into the dark, “can i touch you?”

you smile, turning slightly toward him. “you’re already touching me.”

“i know,” he says, almost too fast. “i mean, like... more. i want to. i’ve been thinking about it since—” he cuts himself off with a breath, face nudging closer to your neck like he can hide there. “i just want to make you feel good. but i don’t want to... do it wrong.”

your stomach twists, soft and warm at the edges--because he means it. he always does.

you don’t answer right away. you let the silence stretch for a few seconds, let him feel the closeness between you. your breath evens out; calm, steady. but art's doesn’t, he’s holding it now.

when he starts to pull his hand away—slow, careful, like he’s changed his mind—you stop him.

you take his wrist gently, grounding him with your touch, and guide his hand lower, between your legs.

his breath hitches, but he doesn’t hesitate again.

art’s fingers slip beneath the hem of your sleep shorts, cautious but curious, the pads of them gliding over sensitive skin like he’s afraid to press too hard. he pauses when he finds you wet, and for a second he doesn’t move—just breathes.

“tell me if i’m doing something wrong,” he whispers, already sounding wrecked.

“you’re not,” you murmur.

he exhales like you’ve absolved him of something, and his fingers move again-- slow, focused; the kind of touch that says he’s paying attention to every twitch of your hips, every soft sound, every breath that catches in your throat. he circles your clit lightly, not too much, just enough to make you gasp.

“fuck,” he breathes, voice full of awe. “you’re already so wet. is that... is that for me?”

you lean in, press your forehead to his, your voice no louder than a breath. “lie back.”

he does; immediately, wordlessly, sliding onto his back like it’s instinct, like he’s been waiting for an order all night. his curls fan out on the pillow, his chest rising too fast, too hard. you feel the way he watches you even in the dark, gaze wide, like he doesn’t dare blink.

you shift, push the blankets down and swing one leg over him. he gasps when you straddle his thighs, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him. his hands stay by his sides; obedient, trembling.

“can i?” he starts, but you’re already reaching for the hem of your shorts, sliding them down slow. he makes a sound, it’s quiet, almost stunned, as you lean over him, take his hand again, and guide it back to where you need him.

he’s gentler this time, more sure. his fingers glide through your slick like he’s learning you, memorizing the way you move against him. your hips rock slowly into his hand, and he breathes out something close to a moan.

“please,” he whispers. “please let me taste you.”

his desperation makes your stomach cartwheel.

you move up, shifting forward on your knees, and he follows, already trying to sit up like he’s ready to prove himself. but you push him back gently, making his shoulders hit the mattress again. his eyes flutter shut as you crawl over him, thighs on either side of his chest.

he’s panting now, breath shallow, mouth parted like he’s starving for it.

you inch forward, slowly, until you’re above his mouth, and he whines like the ache in his chest might split him open.

his hands come up to your thighs, tentative, warm. not to move you—just to hold. to steady himself.

and when he touches you, it’s so gentle it almost makes you ache; like he thinks you might shatter if he’s too rough, like you’re some fragile little hummingbird he’s terrified of startling.

he touches you like he’s afraid you’ll fly away.

he lifts his head without waiting, tongue darting out to lick into your folds, tentative at first. then firmer. fuller. the second you sigh, he groans—low and deep—like he’s never wanted anything more.

he eats like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

his tongue moves in slow, practiced strokes—circling your clit, then flattening beneath it, then dipping back down to taste you deeper. he’s already messy with it, mouth wet, lips slick, groaning softly each time you move against him.

your hips grind forward, chasing pressure, and he takes it like a gift. lets you ride his mouth, lets you use him, breath hot and uneven as he licks harder, faster, more focused. every time you moan, he tightens his grip, like he wants to hold on to the sound.

“art,” you gasp, your fingers threading through his hair. “fuck, you’re so good.”

he groans again, the sound vibrating through your core.

he wants you to fall apart on his tongue, needs it. he’s shaking with it.

his tongue never falters, even when his breathing does. he moans against you constantly, like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it, like he can’t help the way his mouth chases you, over and over, needing more, needing you.

the dark wraps around you both, soft and quiet, every movement magnified: the creak of the mattress, the wet sound of his mouth on you, his little whimpers when your hips stutter, along with yours, when he sucks just right.

“don’t stop,” you gasp, barely above a whisper. 

his hands dig in at your thighs, holding you down like he knows you’re about to lift away—like if you pull back, he might fall apart.

“please,” he mumbles, voice wrecked, lips brushing your skin, “please come for me—i want to feel it, want to taste it, i need to, please—”

and you do.

your whole body clenches, legs tightening around his head, your breath catching as the pleasure crashes down. it’s hot and sharp and blinding, made worse by how good he is, how desperate he is, how much he wants it.

you cry out his name, something raw and shaky, and he groans so loudly it vibrates through your spine.

art keeps going.

even when your body trembles, even when you gasp and jerk from oversensitivity, he keeps licking you through it, slower now, tongue soft and worshipful.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, breathless against your thigh. “that’s so good. you taste so—fuck—so good.”

your hands thread into his curls again, tugging gently, and finally he lets you go, chin slick, lips swollen, eyes glassy when you shift off of him.

he looks like he’s in awe, like he just witnessed something holy.

you lean down, kiss the corner of his mouth, and he whines. even now, he wants more.

you don’t say anything right away. you just breathe against him, one hand drifting up his chest. he’s still panting, still hard, straining beneath his boxers, the shape of him obvious even in the low light. the tension in his body is unbearable—he’s trying so hard to be still, to be good, but it’s all over his face: the need, the ache, the way he’s barely hanging on.

you swing one leg over him, settling into his lap slowly, the pressure of your heat against the bulge in his boxers making him gasp. his hands hover near your thighs but don’t grip—he won’t, not unless you tell him to. instead, he breathes your name like it’s sacred.

“please,” he whispers. “please ride me. i want to make you feel good. i want to be good for you.”

you roll your hips once, just enough to tease, and his whole body tenses beneath you.

he’s so hard it must hurt.

“you want it that bad?” you ask, your voice low and calm.

he nods, frantic. “yes—god, yes. i think about it all the time. i think about you on top of me and i—fuck. i can’t stop.”

the way he whines beneath his breath sends a thrill down your spine.

you reach down between your bodies, slipping your hand into his boxers. he bucks up into your touch before he can stop himself, panting now, completely at your mercy.

“then stay still,” you whisper. “and let me take care of you.”

“okay,” he breathes, then babbles out a stream of desperation, “okay. i will. i promise. please, just use me.”

his fingers trail lightly across your stomach, hesitant, trembling just slightly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch you without asking, even now. but you can feel the need radiating off of him, thick in the air between you.

he’s holding his breath.

“you’re so warm,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. his voice is low, raspy at the edges. “i keep thinking i’ll wake up and you won’t be here.”

you shift closer, your hand sliding up beneath his shirt, palm resting flat on the soft plane of his stomach. he lets out the smallest sound at the contact, not quite a gasp, more like surrender.

“i’m here,” you murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“i know,” he says, breath hitching. “i just—fuck. you don’t get it. i think about this all the time. you. us. this.”

your fingers move slowly, tracing the line where his waistband begins. he’s already hard, of course he is. he’s been hard since your legs touched under the blanket, since you crawled into bed with him and curled into his chest like you belonged there.

his chest rises and falls like he’s struggling to breathe as your hands slide up under his shirt, then pull it over his head.

he’s lean, all sharp collarbones and flushed skin, soft muscle beneath a layer of tension. sweat glistens at the hollow of his throat, and his stomach jumps when your fingertips graze down the center of it, catching on the faint trail of golden peach fuzz that disappears beneath his waistband. you can feel how hard he’s trying not to move, not to touch, not to want—even though he already does.

his eyes are wide in the dark, mouth parted, like he can’t believe this is real.

“oh my god,” he whispers, blinking at you, like he can't even fathom that you're real, here, in bed with him. “are you—are you gonna…”

a smirk tugs at the corners on your lips, and you curl your fingers around the waistband of his boxers. art whines, inhaling a sharp breath of air through his gritted teeth as you tug them down and his cock springs free, flushed and leaking against his stomach.

“do you want me to?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“please,” he whines again, composure completely dissolved now. “please, i need you, i want--i want you to use me, i don’t care, just-- fuck, i just want to feel you.”

you line him up, still slow, still steady, your hand wrapping around him to guide him to your entrance.

he grips your hips like you’ll disappear.

and when you sink down onto him—tight and wet and inch by inch—he falls apart beneath you.

“oh my god,” he moans, head falling back against the pillow. “oh my god, you feel—fuck, you feel so good, i can’t—”

you roll your hips, slow and deep, and his hands tighten, trying not to move, not to thrust up, not to ruin it.

“you’re so deep,” you whisper, and his whole body shudders.

the room is still cloaked in dark, nothing but the faintest light under the door--and it’s enough.

he doesn’t need to see you, he knows you. he’s memorized you in every way that matters.

he grips your hips tighter, knuckles white with restraint. you can feel it in the way his breath stutters—like every part of him is straining to stay still, to let you move at your pace, to give you everything without asking for a thing in return.

and he’s trying so hard. 

god, he’s trying.

“you’re perfect,” he chokes. “i don’t know how to—i can’t even think—just, please, don’t stop.”

you lean in, voice warm and low against his flushed-pink ear. “i won’t stop, baby,” you murmur, “but you’ve gotta be quiet.”

he nods, fast, already panting too loud, too needy.

you shift your weight slightly, roll your hips again, and his breath stutters out in a whimper.

“ah—sorry, sorry—i’ll be quiet, i will, i swear,” he babbles, desperate and wrecked.

you smile, just a little, and bring two fingers to his lips. “open.”

he does, instantly, mouth parting like instinct.

you slip your fingers in slow, and he groans around them—soft and muffled, eyes fluttering shut like it soothes him to have something to suck on, something to keep him grounded.

he closes his lips around them and sucks, obedient and messy, tongue pressing eagerly against the pads of your fingers like he’s trying to taste you wherever he can. his lips are plush and wet, pink from use, and he keeps his eyes on you even through the haze—like looking at you is the only thing anchoring him.

“that’s it,” you whisper. “good boy.”

his hips jerk beneath you at that—just a twitch, a gasp. you feel it in his cock, the way he pulses inside you, the way he can’t stop trembling.

you keep moving—steady, controlled—riding him slow and deep, fingers still in his mouth, his eyes dark and glassy beneath you.

he’s being so good; doing everything you say, taking everything you give him.

and he’s still so close—he’s been on the edge since the moment you touched him. you keep your fingers in his mouth, letting him suck like it’s the only thing keeping him quiet.

and maybe it is.

he moans around your fingers, muffled and needy, hips twitching beneath you even as he tries—really tries—not to move.

“you’re doing so good for me,” you murmur, voice soft like the dark around you. “just like that. you’re perfect, art.”

his eyes flutter shut at that. you feel him throb inside you.

“you like hearing that?” you whisper, curling your fingers slightly against his tongue.

he nods, frantic. suckles harder, moaning low in his throat.

“you wanna be good for me, don’t you?”

he whimpers. nods again.

you start to move faster—still slow, but deeper, dragging your hips against his with just enough rhythm to make his breath catch every time. his whole body responds, tightening beneath you, his thighs flexing, abs clenching under your palms like he’s holding on with everything he has.

he’s unraveling.

you can feel it in the way he shakes beneath you, the way his hands fist the sheets, the way his thighs tremble when you grind down just right, the way his cock twitches inside you, like he’s begging for release without daring to ask.

“don’t come yet,” you whisper.

he whines, eyes going wide, teeth pressing lightly to your fingers like he wants to protest, but won’t.

“you can take it, can’t you?”

he nods again, whimpering around your hand.

you slide your fingers out gently, and he gasps—soaking in air like he’s been drowning. his chest heaves with it, his hands finally grip your hips, not to take control, just to hold; to beg silently. 

“please,” he whispers, voice wrecked and shaking. “please, i need—i need more. i can’t—i need you so bad.”

you ride him harder, not quite rough, but enough to make him gasp, enough to make his eyes roll back for a second.

“you’re so good like this,” you murmur. “so pretty when you’re falling apart.”

he’s flushed all over, sweat pooling at his temples, his chest rising and falling fast beneath you—broad, toned, dusted with soft hair and marked by the trail your nails left behind. 

he’s a mess for you, and he loves it.

he's shameless, and he couldn't care less.

“you’re everything,” he whispers, the words tumbling out like he can’t stop them. “i’d let you do anything to me—i’d let you ruin me, i don’t care, i just want to be yours.”

you press your forehead to his, rocking down hard, and he cries out, barely swallowing the sound.

“you already are,” you breathe. “you’re mine, baby. look at you.”

he shudders. “fuck—i’m close. i’m so close. please—please—”

“you can take more,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “you’ll come when i say you can. not a second before.”

he's lost all composure, and he moans, louder now, shamelessly.

and still, you don’t let up.

you keep grinding down on him, slow and deep, fucking him through the edge until he’s trembling—sweat-damp and flushed, his mouth open on a silent moan.

he’s trying to hold on, trying so hard; but every time you sink down, he gasps, fists the sheets, bites back a cry.

“you feel so good,” he chokes, barely breathing. “you’re so—tight, i can’t—i’m trying—i’m trying so hard—”

you press a kiss to his cheek, to his temple, to the edge of his jaw.

“you’ve been so good,” you whisper. “you did everything i asked.”

he nods, broken and frantic, hips twitching up into yours like he can’t help it anymore.

art knows he’s earned it, knows he’s been good—so good—but he wouldn’t dare ask. he’s just lying there, trembling, waiting for the words to fall from your lips like they’re oxygen and he's drowning, like they’re the only thing keeping him alive.

“you wanna come for me, baby?”

and there they are.

“yes,” he breathes. “god, yes, please—i need it, i need you—please let me—”

you drag your nails gently across his chest, then rock your hips down hard, squeezing around him.

“then come for me.”

and that’s it.

he shatters.

his whole body locks up beneath you, hands gripping your thighs like they’re the only thing tethering him to earth. his mouth drops open, and a wrecked, punched-out moan tears from his throat as he comes—hard, hot, helpless inside you.

his hips jerk up once, twice, and then he’s gone, chest heaving, eyes wet, clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“fuck,” he gasps. “fuck, fuck, i’ve never—i didn’t know it could feel like that—”

you don’t move, you art him feel it, let him ride it out with you still wrapped around him, warm and steady and his.

you stroke his hair, kiss the corner of his mouth again, and he whimpers, soft and shaken.

“you did so good,” you whisper.

he nods, barely able to speak, hands smoothing up and down your sides like he’s still trying to prove something.

“don’t go,” he says quietly.

“i won’t,” you murmur, already curling down into his chest.

the room is still dark, still quiet. the hallway light’s gone out now, too, and it’s just you and art in soft, perfect darkness.

[darkuniverseofmonsterandmen]

[evilmarbletron]

Okay! So after 5 days of hard work, spilled sweat and two headaches caused by looking at monitors for too long, I present to you...

My very first Transformers megop fanfiction, woo!!

It's based on this post I made exactly 5 days ago!! I think there are too few crack fics from the G1 cartoon and so I wanted to change that hehe

Happy reading to all my megop enthusiasts out there <3

[writing-promptsandadvice]

Prompt 12

"You're going to look back and see that these were the best days of your life and you won't have even realized it."

"If this is the best part of my life you can kill me now."

[gothamite-rambler]

The Cartoon Bandit strikes again!

Batman and team stared at a giant pile of potatoes in the middle of Gotham City on a street corner close to where the giant pancake appeared. Stacked perfectly in the spot, Batman wasn't sure what to say because it was so odd.

Batman: It's just potatoes. Why potatos?

Robin (mischievous smile): Think they were left to be peeled?

Red Hood (joking as well): That'd be ten zillion to peel.

Batman (instant regret): I mean that's — Oh no.

Nightwing stood closet to the pile, looked back at it and threw up his hands before Batman could stop him.

Nightwing (eager shouting): Fruit of the Earth!

Batman groaned with a frown, holding his head down like the disappointed father he was. Batwoman patted him on the shoulder shaking her head with a smile. Spoiler walked close to the pile and giggled.

Spoiler: That was the Irish people's reaction when being introduced to the potato.

Batman glared at the young woman while everyone started to laugh. Batman threw up his hands and walked back to the Batmobile.

Batman (feeling old): After my time, cartoons got dumber. I'm too old for all of this you guys handle this!

Nightwing (teasing): That's probably for the best. You look like you're about to become the next Arkham patient!

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: a lil toxic!coriolanus, he’s rough with r, possessive talk, quite tame in this but imma tamp it up soon, a bit of making out and being lovey

note: i do not careee about who likes this character or who doesn’t okay i am writing about him because he is literally one of the hottest men i’ve ever seen, kay? i’m not here for moral dilemmas thank u, enjoy (yes i will follow up w smut and my young!coriolanus snow reqs are OPEN!) please please remember to comment and rb, it helps me so much!

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

It sickens him to his very core, sends nausea rolling like a wave through his chest; he’s not a child. Yet, the mere sight - thought - of you engaging with any other man, even innocently, is enough to have him seeing red: white-knuckled, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to eliminate any and all threat standing between him and his girl.

It's the way those boys look at you. As if you're a piece of meat, a toy to play with that they're just begging, aching to sink their teeth into, to leave a permanent mark on. The boys in this district are barbaric- that's what Coryo thinks anyway. It's disgusting, the things that he knows they think about you.

It's been a long day in District Twelve. Coriolanus' grey jumpsuit rubs and itches and his skin crawls with an uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach. It's a warm day, his skin sticky as he peels the top half of the jumpsuit from his slender arms and ties it neatly around his waist. The grass by the lake is damp with the leftover dew from the morning.

He catches sight of you amongst the trees, weaving and bobbing through the undergrowth as you do, your lithe fingers brushing against leaves. Your head dips and then raises as his tall figure creeps into your peripheral vision. A smile graces your features, real and earnest with all your teeth.

There’s a slight waver in your countenance when you catch Coriolanus’ own expression; his brows are knit, pushing his forehead into a crease, lips pushed together tersely.

You walk straight into his arms, balancing yourself on one leg and pushing your shoulder underneath his armpit. You needle your way in, your forehead rested against his chin, so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you murmur. You reach up to push out the ridge in his brow and your thumb traces the bridge of his nose in a way that couldn’t be perceived as anything other than unbridled affection. “Something wrong?”

His slender fingers settle against your waist. You shiver at the contact when he spins and pushes you back into a tree. The bark digs into your back as you shuffle to meet his eyes— his eyes that have suddenly clouded with something dark and possessive.

“What is it?” you ask again; your voice is becoming more strained the longer he stays quiet, your own hands snaking up his arms like vines and squeezing.

He shakes his head and drops his face to look at you properly.

“Nothing. I have you.”

“Okay.” You click your tongue, tilting your head at him. His face gravitates towards yours, breath hot and mixing with your own. “You gonna kiss me or what, handsome?”

He doesn’t need any encouragement, surging forward to catch your lips between his own; his hands are rough, kneading the soft flesh of your hip. His other makes its way up to your jaw, fingertips pressing so hard you’re sure he’s branding you. You’ve never been kissed like this, with such fervour and passion and need. You gasp into his mouth and your arm wraps around his neck to pull him further into you.

“Coryo,” you pant.

“Shh,” he forces out, his fingers suddenly an iron grip around your neck; the hollow of your throat is bared to him and bobs under his cruel touch.

“Coriolanus, that hurts,” you say, strangled. His eyes are alight with a fire, a blazing inferno roaring in his head as he squeezes your throat and laughs.

You wheeze, clutching at his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. He obliges you, running a thumb over the indents he’s left in your soft skin to smooth them away.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he asks. His head drops to the juncture of your neck, arms hooking loosely around your middle as he relaxes into you. “I just wanted to feel you. To know you’re mine.”

The incident is forgotten as soon as it ends. He has a charm in that sort of way; you don’t see his faults even when he shows them to you clear as day. You’ll never see what’s right in front of you even if he wants you to.

“Of course I’m yours, Coryo. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The way they all look at you here…” He falters. “Like they all want you. Like they want to take you away from me. You’re mine- they have to understand that.”

“No one could take me away from you,” you giggle, your temple resting against the tip of his shoulder so you can duck your head to meet his eyes. “I know where I belong. And that’s right here with you.”

“Good.” He mouths at your neck like a man starved, arms coming right up until they’re hooked just underneath your own. He pulls away heaving for breath.

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[missviviii]

a/n: shsusbsihsw i can’t— this idea has been plaguing my mind 😭

.

“A Duel For Your Hand.”

warning(s): swearing

summary: mizu knew you ever since she was a child. you two were friends, and she grew feelings for you. one day, you had to move. until one day, you saw her again, and complained to her about how your father was marrying you off to some noble.

mizu x fem!childhood crush!reader

——————————————————————————

Long ago, when you were just a young lady, you befriended a child just your age. An outcast, but you still talked to her. Your father was a swordsman, and one that has received a blade from Master Eiji. Your father respected Eiji, often times still visiting the old man for memories and to train with him.

You were never really close to your father, but you were close to Eiji. Often times, when your father was away for business, you’d be staying with Eiji and helping alongside him here and there.

One day, you ran all the way to Master Eiji’s place to show him something cool that your father had given you. You opened the door, only to find another child around your age, a little bit shorter, holding large iron tongs while Eiji was doing his thing.

“Master Eiji, guess what my papa got me!—“ You looked over at the other child, who was staring at you very closely and almost surprised. What’s a pretty, young lady like you doing here? You were dressed nice and seemed to be far too delicate to be around sharp blades.

Eiji held up his finger, then motioned for the child to hand him the tongs. “I see you have ran all the way from your home to show me…let me guess, another hair pin?” You eagerly nodded, running over to his side and squealing about the gift your father had given you after he had returned home from whatever business he had.

“So..who are you?” You curiously asked as you turned around to face the child, who was still looking at you in awe. You noticed her blue eyes, which seemed to be so clear and mesmerizing. They were like the color of the water—so blue and pretty.. Noticing that she was staring, she cleared her throat.

“M-Mizu. Uh, I’m just staying here..” Mizu said as she scratched the back of her neck. Oh god, was she falling for you already? Well, why wouldn’t anyone—you’re so pretty and you look like an angel in her eyes.

Days turned into months. Then months turned into years. Each time that you could go down to Master Eiji’s place, you’d always be a ball of sunshine with something to talk about. Whether if it’s some hair pin your father gave to you, or a new skill you learned, you’d always talk about it to Mizu. That was until you had to move away.

Here you are, mumbling and grumbling in the cold weather while stomping your feet in the snow. Now you were a grown woman, and one that was forced to learn all the arts of being a ‘perfect wife’. You threw the charms in your hair and the hairpins to the ground, frustrated that your father had set you up with a dumb, old nobleman. You had to excuse yourself from the room and immediately ran outside to attempt to calm yourself.

“Damn, angry much?” A voice spoke out from behind you. You turned around, your first instinct was to throw one of your hairpins at the person. But they caught it with two fingers, just inches away from their eyes behind those tinted glasses. The person smirked, pulling down the tinted glasses to reveal their blue eyes. “My god, is this the treatment I get when I finally find you again?”

That voice. It was Mizu! Absolutely delighted, you immediately gasped and ran over to her, immediately tackling her into the snow while hugging her tightly. She chuckled, hand on your back while you wrapped your arms around her waist while wailing. “I missed you so much! Oh my god, you can’t believe the bullshit my father is putting me through!” Mizu only smiled, sitting up against a tree while you sat in front of her, complaining and wailing about how your father’s trying to marry you off to some man! That part made her a tad bit pissed off. A beautiful woman like yourself being married off to someone certainly not worth your time? Fuck no. Is she going to duel this guy to perhaps steal you away instead? Yep.

“Seems like you want out of this, right?” She said after you finally stopped complaining, now just curled up beside her and leaning against her arm. You nodded immediately. You now just noticed she has grown. You used to be taller, but now she’s the taller one! And my god are her hands—wait, are you growing feelings again? “I want to see this man. I’m going to kill him, you’re not marrying some snobby asshole today.”

Much to your annoyance, Mizu had fought her way through your guards and marched on into the estate with ease. You followed after her, trying to get the guards to stand down but they won’t and Mizu ends up knocking a few of them off. More mess for the cleaners to deal with. Until she kicks down the door to the room your father and that suitor was in. “My god, this is the guy? You couldn’t even find a suitable man for your daughter?” Mizu groaned, rubbing her temples in annoyance before she pointed her blade at the guy. “I want to duel you. For her hand, of course. Don’t worry, your loss will be swift and it won’t hurt all that much considering how you have no real talent.”

“You? Some beggar boy against me? Princess, do you have any idea how stupid you are?!” The man yelled, standing up and kicking over the table. Your father glared at you, also yelling at you how unladylike it is so choose white trash over a real man.

Ah, that ticked Mizu off, and you already had a feeling this guy was about to get his ass whooped.

Nothing better than to sit on a rock in your backyard, watching in amusement how your drunk, clearly reeking of alcohol and a snobbish piece of trash of a suitor was holding a sword against Mizu. Mizu stood there, circling the man carefully while her blade was pointed right at him, waiting for him to strike.

One, two, three You counted down, and Mizu strikes just as you hit three. You watched very intently, leaning forward as Mizu absolutely decimated that poor man. “Beat his ass!” You loudly yelled to cheer on Mizu, in which you received a slap on the back of your head by your father, who wasn’t at all happy. Mizu glanced over at you and smirked, determined to win your hand in marriage.

“Got you,” Mizu casually said as she swung her leg out and tripped the man, making him fall face first into the snow while the tip of her blade rests right beside his head. He groaned in pain as his body collided into the snow and grunted, yelling about how Mizu was no man, but a monster from hell.

“You did it! I mean, of course you did!” You loudly shouted as you ran over to her side, pulling her into a big hug while she wrapped one arm around your waist. You looked up at her, finding a small smile on her lips before she kissed your forehead.

“You’re mine now, Princess.”

——————————————————————————

a/n: sishwjsibesjhsbs

[star532163]

What if Karlheinz and Richter fell in love with a sacrificial bride/groom?

Diabolik lovers x reader

!WARNINGS!Toxic relationships, mentions of punishments,Mentions of manipulation,mentions of kidnapping,diabolik lovers and Karlheinz are warnings on their own

!Karlheinz actions are in no way okay. I am writing this for fun and in no way condoning his actions!

I tried to keep it gender neutral

Requested?No

[Starz note; I find this concept very interesting, but it would be far from wholesome. Changes I made for it to be the slightest bit more appropriate is that the sacrificial bride/groom was given Cordelia's heart recently before they came to the sakamaki brother, instead of as a baby I probably added more warnings than needed, but I just want to be safe. I will explore Richter and Karlheinz falling in love with a bride/groom on their own later.]

Karlheinz

If Karlheinz fell for the sacrificial bride/groom, he would be in a sort of denial at first. He would show up more in their dreams and interact with them more as Reinhart. It won't take him long to realize he fell for them. He would have no problems taking away the sacrificial bride/groom meant for his sons. He'd see them as interesting since he has never felt this way before. He had tried and failed to feel such a way.

He would find them entertaining and amusing. Now, let's get to the negatives of having his romantic attention. He will most likely manipulate them for whatever reason he sees fit if needed. He will probably kidnap them once he is sure of his feelings.

-Karlheinz "Fufu, no no, Starz, I'm only borrowing them from my sons."

Sure...

Anyways, they can expect to get gifts like clothes or whatever he knows they like. He will not be with them as much as his sons because he is still a busy man. Maybe the gifts are a way to make up for it? He would go out of his way so that they know a minimum of his wives and what he has done to his wives. He would have certain dependency and obsession with them. He would both hate and love his dependency.

Part of his reason for taking them away would be how his sons are towards brides/grooms.

Scene ::

"my Eve/Adam..."

Karlheinz says with a smile as he reaches out for the bride/groom. The bride/groom starts to feel dizzy and faints.

Richter

If Richter fell for the sacrificial bride/groom, he would literally PANIC. He is supposed to be in love with his beloved Cordelia. That was the whole reason to put Cordelia's heart in them. He would feel like he was betraying Cordelia, but I don't think he would ignore his attraction and possessiveness towards them after a while. He would probably compare them to Cordelia in some ways. He would have a hard time getting over Cordelia.

Now, I want to get more on the cruel side of things. He would be harsh with them at first and at certain times as they got closer. He finds it ridiculous that he fell for a human, especially one that was meant to bring back Cordelia. He wouldn't tolerate any negative words towards Cordelia and might even have lingering affection as they get closer. So they will most likely receive punishments if they wish ill upon her. (As he would put it)

Scene ::

"Foolish human..."

Richter mutters as he watches the bride/groom from a distance.

Both

If they both fell for the bride/groom, it would be a mess. Karlheinz would be in denial, and Richter would be panicking. Both would be more possessive. With Richter getting very jealous because of Karlheinz. A lot of what I said before would still happen. Richter would be the one to look for them when Karlheinz "Borrows" them.

Karlheinz most likely wouldn't take getting confronted by Richter seriously. The bride/groom would somehow get the two to share them. Now, the bride/groom is stuck with the demon king and the demon king's brother. The bride/groom is more likely to get more punishments from Richter out of jealousy because Richter feels they favor Karlheinz. Karlheinz would start to stop these punishments if he feels the bride/groom pulling away from him.

Both would have a certain dependency on the bride/groom. If the groom/bride played their cards right, they would have both wrapped around their finger.

Scene ::

[I will add a scene once I think of one]

[willowbelle]

nectar

༉‧₊˚✧ patrick zweig x fem reader ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: 18+, mdni, soft dom!patrick zweig, afab!reader, teasing, oral (f receiving), edging, porn w/o plot

summary: just a lil drabble about patrick eating you out ;)

wc: 1.2k

no matter the meal, patrick always eats like he’s been starved for weeks beforehand.

the way he devours you is no different; like hunger lives in his bones, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t taste you fast enough. his mouth is everywhere at once: kissing, licking, biting, drinking you in like you’re the last thing on earth that could satisfy him. his hands follow, greedy and certain, pinning your hips, cradling your jaw, mapping every inch of you like he’s trying to memorize the terrain before it disappears.

you gasp, arch, writhe beneath him, and he just groans against your skin; needy, wrecked.

“can’t believe i get to have this,” he breathes, words muffled by your thigh, your stomach, your neck. he’s not asking for permission, he’s claiming you—slowly, shamelessly—like he already knows he’ll never get enough.

the pads of his fingers slide lower and you shudder.

“pat,” you whisper, broken on the edge of a moan.

he looks up, pupils blown wide, lips slick, dark tufts of hair falling into his eyes. “yeah?” he answers, hoarsely, like he’s already drunk on you.

you don’t even know what you meant to say, and maybe you don’t have to, because he’s already back on you; open-mouthed kisses down your ribs, palms spreading your thighs again, tongue slipping into the heat of you like he belongs there.

and god, he does. patrick fits like a secret you’ve kept too long; ike he was always meant to find you this way.

but he’s patient, too patient. with his head nestled between your thighs, he traces lazy, featherlight patterns with his tongue—not quite where you need him, just close enough to make your nerves fray at the edges.

the teasing is unbearable. you mewl for him, breath hitching, spine curling, hips rising in a silent plea.

“please-” it breaks from your throat, desperate and wanting.

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rush; just hums low against your skin, like your suffering is amusing to him.

he’s a menace, a master of slow destruction. he takes his time, savoring the way you tremble, the way you beg without saying much at all.

his tongue dips lower, closer, and your breath catches like it’s been yanked from your lungs. you feel him smirk—smug and sinful—against your thigh.

and then, finally—mercy. his mouth finds your cunt, lips parting around you, tongue sliding through slick heat like he’s starved for it.

the sound you make is something raw, something ruined. your back arches, your hands fly to his hair, grounding yourself in the only thing that feels real anymore.

“f-fuck-” the curse slips out of you in stutters, just like he wanted it to.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice thick, nose brushing your clit as he speaks. he kisses the inside of your thigh, then licks back up, just slow enough to make you teeter on complete and utter shamelessness. 

you don’t know where to look: at the ceiling, at the heat between your legs, at the boy who’s ruining you.

his hands drift downward, find your ankles. he lifts your legs—gently at first, then firmer—crossing them at the ankles and pressing them down toward the mattress.

“there,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “fuck yeah, that’s perfect.”

your thighs tremble under the stretch, cunt dripping, and patrick just stares for a moment.

“now i can really get to work.”

and he does. 

tongue sliding from your entrance to your clit in one long, obscene stroke. you cry out, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent gasp.

he groans against your slit, the sound vibrating through you like static. his mouth seals over your clit, sucking, slow and hungry, while his hands press your legs down with just enough force to make escape impossible.

not that you’d ever want to leave.

you’re unraveling. moaning, gasping, breaking open in his hands. every flick of his tongue is torture; every suck a spark down your spine.

and just when your body starts to seize, just when you’re teetering on the edge—he stops.

you whimper, lost, dazed, aching. he pulls back, face slick, lips swollen, looking up at you like he already knows how wrecked you are.

“you’re so responsive,” he says, low and dangerous, like it’s a compliment, like he’s proud of it.

“i could do this all night.”

then he’s back on you, mouth open, tongue eager, ready to pull you apart all over again.

your thighs are trembling now, pushed up and pinned, his grip firm but not cruel—just enough, like he needs to keep you here, keep you open, keep you his. he’s relentless. his tongue drags up your slit, circles your clit with devastating precision, then flattens against it, licking you like he’s trying to memorize the taste.

you’re a mess—hips bucking, breath shattering, fingers tangled in the sheets because there’s nothing else to hold onto. patrick’s name keeps spilling from your mouth in broken bursts, helpless and pleading, like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

he hums again, satisfied, the vibration shooting straight through you. you feel it in your chest, in your belly, in the tips of your fingers.

“that’s it,” he murmurs between strokes. “just like that. let me hear you.”

and you do. god, you do. your voice is wrecked and breathless and beautiful as he builds you back up, slow and careful, until you’re there once more—eyes rolling back, thighs clenching around his head.

but this time he doesn’t stop.

he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you impossibly closer, mouth locked onto you, tongue moving faster now, focused and merciless. your legs try to close on instinct, but he’s already there, keeping you open, keeping you spread.

“pat—fuck—patrick-”

you’re close. so close. your whole body draws tight like a wire ready to snap. he can feel it—the way your hips stutter, the way your moans break into whimpers.

“come for me,” he commands against your clit, “right here.”

and you do.

your release crashes over you like a storm—violent, consuming, gorgeous. your vision goes hot-white, your back arches off the bed, and your hands fly to his hair.

he stays with you through all of it; tongue softening, kisses turning gentle, lips brushing your skin like he’s soothing the aftershocks.

when you finally collapse, boneless and breathless, he lets your legs down slow, careful, like you’re something fragile. his face is flushed, chin slick with you, eyes dark and warm as he crawls up your body and settles beside you.

you’re still trembling, chest heaving, eyes glassy when he leans in and kisses your cheek, your jaw, your collarbone.

“you okay?” he whispers.

you nod, barely able to breathe. “yeah. just… fuck.”

patrick grins and presses his forehead to yours. “that good, huh?”

you let out a hoarse little laugh. “you’re insufferable.”

“you love it.”

and you do. 

god, you do.

[jalicefanficblog]

Faded Newspaper

You're not in the mood for a nap, so you hide in your mom's – Carmilla Carmine's – large closet and discover an old magazine with a photo of various overlords and Demons from Hell. And you interpret the adults in your own way – much to the amusement of your big sisters Odette and Clara Carmine.

"No wanna Nap. Me big girl....like CeCe. DeDe......Mama no Nap. NO!"

You shake your head no once more and don't even give your mother Carmilla Carmine the chance , to threaten a half-empty - don't argue with me young lady you have to take a nap or you'll be in a bad mood later - because you pad past her - as fast as your little white and black slippers with a spider pattern (because it was almost as pretty as Zestial's cape with the spider pattern!) - could carry you.

"Did I speak unclear, Cariño?"

You hear the slight sternness in your mother's voice, but you really didn't want to take a nap, you were already such a big girl. Only a while ago, you managed to climb out of your crib all by yourself…after that, Carmilla added a few safety precautions.

"No wanna - no tired," - you reply, and at the moment Carmilla was about to take an authoritative step toward you and, as she had so often before, simply approach you with rehearsed movements and a strong maternal instinct, Carmilla's phone rang, and you used the brief moment to run away as fast as you, as a toddler, could…away from the living room and find some hiding place…yes, a good hiding place.

As you run down the long hallway toward Carmilla Carmine's master bedroom, you don't notice Odette and Clara—your big sisters and Carmilla's eldest daughters—watching you (they both took their role as big sisters very seriously, and they wanted to know where you were hiding). But like I said, you're not paying attention. You walk through the ajar door of your mother's bedroom and stumble toward the large walk-in closet, looking for a hiding place. Your mother definitely won't find you there, so you won't have to take a nap. Naps are stupid.

Next to the floor-to-ceiling shelves, cabinets, drawers, and many—really many—shoes, coats, jackets, dresses, and already fashionable and very old items of clothing, you crawl under an old black and white winter coat when you hear CeCe and DeDe calling your name, almost playfully amused. Your big sisters will never find you here—it's a great hiding place, and… oh, what's that? Your eyes fall on a very old—already very dusty and dated—newspaper with some photos printed on it.

"Auntie Rosie there! Nice hat! Oooh… Pwetty hat!" - you say, perhaps a little too loudly, but in the photo you could recognize Rosie—Aunt Rosie. She's standing in front of Rosie's Emporium

"The next time you tell Rosie you like her hat, sister, she'll kidnap you again, pat you on the back, and give you another lollipop!" - giggled a voice. It was your big sister Clara.

"Lollipop no good…but me Aunt Rosie like…oh…CeCe ssssh…hiding!" - you said, crawling out from under your long winter coat with the newspaper and looking up.

Clara was sitting cross-legged on the floor, giving you an amused look, while Odette was leaning against one of the closet doors not far away—but also looking down at you with great amusement.

"What did you find there? Oh, an old newspaper article," Odette took a few steps closer and sat down next to you. You handed Odette the newspaper first and then climbed onto her lap to look at the photo of Rosie with Odette.

"So, can you read yet, DeDe?" Clara teased her sister.

"Very funny, CeCe… oh, there are more photos in that newspaper article," - Odette commented with interest in her voice.

"Seriously, let me take a look," - Clara stood up and sat down next to Odette, so that the three of you could now easily look at the newspaper article with all the photos.

"Do you know who that is?" - Odette asked you, pointing to a photo underneath the photo of Rosie.

You watched the photo for a moment.

"Puppy!" you exclaimed at the Overlord, and Clara couldn't help but laugh.

"Zeezi. An Overlord just like Mum. And I don't think she's a Puppy anymore. More like the big bad wolf with a big mouth. But she's cool. I hear she throws a really good party."

"Puppy Zeezi!" you said, looking at Clara expectantly.

"Sure… just don't say that if we ever meet Zeezi… then she might jump up a little," Odette commented. Clara grinned at her.

You looked at the next photo next to Zeezi and made a startled noise, clapping your hands over your mouth.

"Naughty Brat Pinky! Nuh-Nuh-no nice," you pat the photo of another Overlord with your right hand, smartphone in hand and a smug grin.

"I wonder where our little sister knows that expression from…"

"Really? Mother's hatred towards Velvette is more than clear."

Yes, you'd heard your mom call Velvette a Naughty Brat many times. Mom is always fussing about Velvette…and Velvette has pink hair. That's why you call her Naughty Brat Pinky.

On to the next photo.

"Purple flower! Purple heart flower…oh" - now it was Odette who laughed at the description of another Overlord.

"Valentino is not a nice demon. And not a pretty purple flower with hearts."

"Hearts, Flower, Purple…DeDe look!" you replied, pointing first at Valentino's face, rather than at the hearts on his coat. Of course, you didn't understand how true Odette's words were.

"Don't worry, DeDe, Mother, and we'll be careful that someone like Valentino doesn't come near you…even if, for some reason, he reminded you of a purple flower with hearts."

Your focus quickly darted to the next image.

"Cartoon Men!" - you say at the picture of Vox, and you find the bold red, neon, and blue colors that defined Vox interesting. But not interesting enough to hold your focus for long… somewhere in your mom's bedroom was a Voxtex tablet that your mom wanted to tinker with, because she didn't want you watching cartoons on a tablet, and… Voxtek isn't that great… that's what Mom once said to Aunt Rosie.

In the next picture, you clap your hands once. You recognize the person.

"Zestiaaal! Spider Coat. Miss Zestial," you coo, repeating your words.

"We think Zestial misses you too, you have to give him a big hug the next time we see each other," Clara said, grinning.

You nod seriously. Even though you were unsure the first time you met Zestial, you really like him.

In the next picture was someone you didn't know…okay, you really don't know many of the inhabitants of Hell…at just over 3 years old, you can remember faces and recognize people…but you don't know this person…but their appearance reminds you of someone.

"Bambi? Red Bambi? Where's Bambi's mommy? Alone?" you ask, confused, pointing to the ears.

"The radio demon. Alastor. Not Bambi…but no one has seen him in many years," Clara explained, and you liked the name Bambi much better…after all, this Alastor, even though his fluffy ears were red, did look a bit like a deer.

"Magic Apple Trick!",

You giggle and point to the apple wand belonging to Lucifer Morningstar. You think you remember Mom once saying that the man can do many magic tricks. How exciting.

"Lucifer Morningstar, he's the King of Hell. And if you look down at the next photo…" Odette pointed to the next photo, which showed Vaggie and Charlie.

"Princesses! Oh…like…like in Night Night Story? Princesses brave," you giggled, finding both girls very pretty.

"That'll definitely the princesses when we meet them haha …practice your court curtsy, sister," Clara said, and it wasn't clear who exactly she was talking to.

"Okay, last person on the page of the newspaper," Odette said, and you followed her hand gesture with your gaze.

"Its bitsy Spider.....naaaw.....hiii", you said as you just realized that Angel Dust was a Spider Demon.

"Yeah we let that count.....", Clara said and you suddenly yawned.

"Oh-Oh did you see that Sis?"

"Indeed"

"Clearly our Baby Sister is very tired"

"True...explaining Pictures and Names must be super stressful"

You yawned once more and cuddled closer towards Odette.

"Still not tired i see?", Carmilla was standing in the Entrance Area of the Closet and a small smile appeard on her Face, whil Odette was standing up with you in her Arms.

"Mama....Arm!", you said and of course Carmilla followed the Request and you snuggle Moments later closer to your Mother, you listen to her heartbeat and while Carmilla was carrying you to your Room, you fall asleep in her Arms - feeling completly safe.

And maybe a bit more tired.

THE END

[desireve]

cinnamon girl ¡ finnick o’dair.

summary : since secrets started you couldn’t get enough of Finnick.

Oh you were is so much danger. That night signed you for the most heart-burning chapter of your life, not that you didn’t like it, but tainting your reputation for Finnick O’dair, you never thought you will fall this low. 

But you did, you fell so hard that you find yourself entering a hotel room, disguised in funky glasses and a hat, a far cry from the vibrant soul that normally graced Panem's lavish gatherings. Just with a lot of money.

As you stepped into the room, expecting nothing but a bed and the men you did all of this for. That evening, thought, the room smelled of sugar and cinnamon and the comforting smell smashed all your senses.

Faced to the window, Finnick awaited you, his charming smile lighting up the room. Under the Panem sunset, his smile mirrored the warmth of freshly baked pastries. Yet, it was the pastries arranged on the nightstand that got your attention, making your mouth water involuntarily.

"Hey, darling," Finnick greeted, approaching you and playfully eying the funky accessories. "All this effort to see me? You've really put in some work," he joked, removing the accessories and placing them on the bed. Your response was a smile, accompanied by a gentle sigh as his hand brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. "If it's to see you... and those," you gestured towards the cinnamon pastries, "last night, you mentioned craving them, so..." his words trailed off, Finnick all proud and charming, you playfully tapped his shoulder. "You know how to charm O’dair ."

Finnick's gaze dripped with love, sweet as sugar and intense as honey. "You're doing it again," you whispered, shifting to take a pastry in your hand taking a gentle bite off that incredible brioche, still perfectly warm.

"Doing what?" he asked innocently raising an eyebrow and taking a seat beside you on the bed. Finnick, a master of words, charm, and love, knew how to make you flustered. "Admiring you is a crime now?"

"Everything we're doing is," you whispered challengingly, locking eyes with him. He grinned, tracing your cheek with his fingertips, and you met his gaze, the taste of cinnamon lingering on your lips. "But we like a little challenge, don't we?" he whispered, searching your eyes for echoes of love and approval.

Oh, he found them. You admired the blonde curls falling with meticulous grace, the eyes compared to the sea he so often spoke of, and the dimples craved in his cheeks, forming a smile that melted you, very.

"We do," you whispered, gently tracing your fingertips in his hand, that rested on the bed. Your touch traced his knuckles, and as you gazed at each other, the silence hung between you. The sugary feeling of the pastries lingered on your lips, you were ready to be spoke about them, but before you could, his lips met yours.

This time, it was Finnick whose mouth watered. Your dreamy gaze made every secret gathering, every risk taken, worthwhile. He was a madman, and you loved him for it.

The kiss wasn't a mere repetition of the last one. It kindled warmth under your skin, painted your cheeks in shades of red, and unfolded slowly as both of you smiled like fools. Fingers finally interlocked on the bed, hands gently caressing the nape of your neck, eyes closed, and chests dangerously close. It was passion, but in an endearing, almost foolish way.

Under the sun's burn, the beautiful man before you shone, delightful. The kiss ended, but the warmth lingered as your foreheads gently touched. Breaths synced, light heaving, and heartbeats synchronised, marking hearts finally happy to interlock again after nurturing them with so much love.

Finnick looked at you, still searching for your recovered breath, eyes glossy, and cheeks tinted with a delicate pink. He licked his lips gently. "Very sugary, darling." A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and his hand slid from your neck to your waist. "Oh, shut up."

sorry for the ones who don’t like cinnamon 🤭 I love my babies, lana del Rey reference 😩