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cinnamostar · 10 months ago

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five dates to fall in love

part one. part two. part three (here). part four. part five. part six coming soon.

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?

wc : 2.7k

cw :actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn (?!), not proofread, descriptors of insecurity and stuff, internal struggle but nothing serious

a/n : finally... its here... sorry for this taking long, i was traveling for holidays and then classes started but its here! lmk what you guys think :3 this chapter is a lot chiller imo... just trying to set a Vibe of emotional conflict... ALSO im not trying to paint hyunjin as the bad guy.,.,, but i think its also important to show that people will form opinions no matter what and will inevitably pick a side. so yus...

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Tears cascaded down your warm cheeks as you tossed yourself in your bed, the frustration and anger you were holding back finally catching up to you as quiet sobs escaped your lips. You hated how horrible the feeling of pure anger, as it always felt you were on the verge of bursting at the seams from how violent and erratic the emotion was as it overran your body. You had no idea what to do with it, always allowing it to linger til it overwhelmed you to the point of tears and surrendered to its burning grip. Your phone began to vibrate, which your hand mindlessly reached over for and picked up without second thought, as you knew it would be no other than Chan calling you at such a moment.

“Y/N… Are you okay?” concern dripped from Chan’s voice, while all you could muster out was a muffled grumble as you stuffed your tear-stained face into your pillows. “Right,” he responds, acknowledging your groan, “Well, I heard what happened through Changbin, so I called to check in on you.”

You take a deep breath in to soothe your hoarse throat from your onslaught of tears, praying your voice wouldn’t be too shaky as you spoke, “Well, I’m upset.”

“I don’t blame you one bit, I’d be just as upset as you are,” he reassured you gently, “Do you want to talk about it? Or do you need some more time to figure your feelings out?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning your face away from the pillows so your voice was clearer, “I don’t know how to feel. It’s just a lot. It’s such a stupid reason for him to have just been so shitty to me for so long. He literally could’ve just asked me or talked to me about it instead of assuming.”

“Right, I agree. Even Changbin didn’t know about that being the reason,” added Chan, “I’m sure he lectured him on it because that is a crazy conclusion to jump to.”

“And I’m even more upset that was the conclusion he landed on! Why did he just assume I’d do something so terrible? Why did he not consider that I was trying to help him secure the role?”

“Sounds like he has an insecurity issue, if I had to guess, but who knows. You have every right to be upset, but there is another pressing matter we do need to address.”

You sigh, rolling onto your back as you use your free hand to rub your temples, “Yeah, I know. As upset as I am right now, I do still want to keep doing this project, but…”

“But…?”

“I don’t really… know if I can do that because I don’t wanna see his stupid face or go out on any other practice dates,” you huffed angrily, feeling a bit relieved to verbalize some of your feelings.

“Well, I won’t force you to go on another date if you still need time to cool off, but maybe it will help you get used to seeing his stupid face after this. Plus, Changbin did tell me that you have permission to yell at Hyunjin if you wanna get that out the way.”

You let out a small chuckle, unsurprised to hear that Changbin said such a thing, “I’m not going to yell at him, but I appreciate the offer. I don’t know, I’m still really worked up from the whole thing.”

“Give yourself time, you can let me know in the morning how you’re feeling and we can go from there, okay?” Chan asks, the gentle tone of his voice bringing you a sense of comfort.

“Okay, I’ll do that. Thanks Chan.”

“Of course, take care, Y/N.”

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The next morning rolled by rather quickly and while it would’ve been a lovely day to stay in bed, your stubbornness caused you to find yourself walking to your third date of the week. You were still terribly upset at Hyunjin and forgiveness was not in the cards at this point, yet you had other pressing matters that did not allow you to wallow up in hatred and resentment for him. You had to set your feelings aside for a moment in order to make some sort of progress on this current acting project, as you were way too excited for how the final product would turn out and truly believed in the success of the film.

Although, you didn’t have high hopes for today, as you expected it to be a similar outcome to your previous dates. Today’s day was Chan’s idea, which was attending a local farmer’s market in your area that provided all sorts of family-owned shops to look through, including a variety of food to choose from. It was a bit last minute, but Chan knew your love for these small events, so he hoped this would bring you some joy, but also give you the opportunity to wander off from Hyunjin if needed, while also giving you both the chance to talk about something.

You were approaching the entrance to the park it was being hosted at, checking the time on your phone relieved to know you were on time. Honestly, while Hyunjin would probably be late once again, you didn’t mind the chance to enjoy bits of the market alone, especially on such a sunny day during these winter months. However, you were completely stunned to find Hyunjin waiting by the entrance as well, nonetheless waiting five minutes earlier than the time Chan had told you. He stood there awkwardly, both hands in the pockets of his coat as he bounced on the balls of his feet nervously, his eyes widening when his gaze finally lands on you.

You approach him with caution and a raised eyebrow, not completely believing the sight before you, “I didn’t expect you to be here so early,” you state curtly, trying your best to remain civil and cordial despite yesterday’s events.

“Well,” he stammered, his fingers jittering in his pockets, “I think I owe you an apology, and I thought showing up on time for once was one way to show that I am being genuine.”

“An apology?” you question, your ears not believing his words.

He sighs nervously, brushing a hand through his hair, “I have… realized I was entirely wrong about the situation, and I am truly sorry for that and for treating you so horribly the past two years we’ve known each other.” You wear an unconvinced expression, unsure what could’ve caused him to have a change of heart overnight, especially since he was just in deep denial the day before. He continues his statement after picking up on your apprehension, “I ended up reaching out to director Han about the situation and he… he told me how much you vouched for me when he spoke to you.”

You nod your head as you take in his words, “I see, well, I’m glad you’ve come to that realization and I accept your apology,” a hopeful look appears on his face, “But, I do need time before I can forgive you because the way you’ve treated me has really hurt me. And the fact that you thought I’d ever do that to you hurt me a lot too.”

His expression falters, but he offers an understanding smile, “I completely understand, I honestly do not even deserve your kindness right now, so thank you for being kind about this.”

You return his smile with a tightlipped one, still not entirely believing the sudden change in him, but you couldn’t lie, it did feel a bit nice to see him so timid and meek, and hearing an apology come from him did help loosen the knot of rage that laid dormant in your stomach. “Well,” you clear your throat awkwardly, trying to find a way to continue the day, “Do you want to head in?”

“Sure, lead the way,” he responds, his hands returning to his coat pockets as he anxiously trailed behind you. Eye bags hung on his face, indicating the restless night he had suffered due to the guilt he had been digesting since his phone call with the director. Hyunjin felt horrible after the revelation he had, feeling nothing but the heavy, deep seated weight of anxiety and guilt resting atop his chest. Even the sight of you made the feeling worse, facing the reality of how his actions have affected you all this time was a whole new hurdle he had to learn to conquer. The least he could do was try to be as kind as he could be from here on out, and brace himself for whatever angry slurry of curses you had for him, but how could Hyunjin forget?

The volatile version of you he had become used to these past two years was not who you truly were, but something he provoked out of you through his incessant insults and stale attitude. In reality, you were an extremely kind and patient person outside of the context of your relationship with him, and your reaction to his apology was evidence of that. He couldn’t help it, he felt like such an idiot for thinking you, of all people, would have ever sabotaged an important role for him, and he only further deluded himself in that belief by pushing you to the point of petty toxicity.

The best he could do was remain quiet as he followed your course through the various stalls, the shame only intensifying when he would witness your eyes widen with joy whenever you found an item that interested you, and how you even took the time to converse with each stall owner about their products. The genuinity in your nature was something he couldn’t believe he had denied for so long, disillusioned himself so far to have forgotten it. All for what? Because he couldn’t accept his own failures, or face the daunting insecurities about his talents that he held so closely to his heart? Perhaps it was your self-assuredness that caused a hint of jealousy to brew into this mess he had concocted today, your very confidence that struck a chord of envy within him. He didn’t quite understand what led him to act in such a manner, he could only guess why he was the way he was, but all he knew was that he owed you a lifetime of favors.

At the moment, he stood uncomfortably by your side as he watched you peruse through a few crocheted trinkets a stall had, afraid to disrupt the bits of peace you could’ve had with him tagging along. In all honesty, to an outsider, he probably looks like a child who got dragged along with his parents on a day out. You sigh as you place the trinket down, turning your head to catch his eyes darting around nervously, “Hyunjin,” you speak. He startles upon hearing his name, not expecting you to ever pay him any mind today. “I get this is awkward, but you can loosen up a bit. I don’t bite,” you chide with a hint of playfulness in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He lets out a strained exhale, acknowledging your words, “You’re right, I just don’t want to make you feel weird or uncomfortable,” he confesses.

“Well, I think staying quiet doesn’t help that cause much, does it?” you ask rhetorically before adding on, “It’s okay. Have you seen anything you like from any of the stalls? I really like what this one has,” you muse, a gentle smile taking your features as you hold up a small crocheted keychain of a jellyfish with a wobbly smile on it, “He’s kinda silly looking, I think I might take him home with me.”

Hyunjin lets out an airy chuckle, his shoulders relaxing a tad, “He definitely is funny looking,” he replies, “Ah, I don’t know. There’s so much here, this is my first time going to something like this.”

“Oh, this is your first time? You’ve never been to the farmer’s market ever?”

“Nope, never been, but this is nice. It’s a lot better than I imagined.”

“You’ve been missing out, I love going to these. I try to go every now and then whenever I’m free,” you took out your wallet, handing the vendor cash to pay for the keychain, “There’s always fun knick knacks here, and everyone is so sweet. You sure there’s nothing you wanna stop by before grabbing some food?”

His eyes scan the stalls surrounding you both, but you notice them lingering at a small jewelry stall that sold handcrafted rings, ones that definitely fit his aesthetic. “Come on,” you motion him to follow you to the stand, “Maybe you’ll see something you’ll like.” He follows behind you, still in a timorous manner, but you could see the way his eyes brighten once he realizes where you were dragging him off to. Although you were far from friends, it didn’t mean you weren’t aware of how particular he could be when it came to fashion, and you wanted him to at least get something out of today after suffering intense awkwardness.

It was now your turn to watch Hyunjin look through the assortment of jewelry the owner had laid out and of course, he was gravitating towards the silver rings, each with their own intricate designs that demonstrated the amount of artistry and talent the owner held. He looks overwhelmed with the amount of choices before him, indecisive as he holds two different rings in his hands, modeling each to figure out which one he liked best. “Why not just get both of them?” you ask.

“Both?” he ponders on the suggestion, “I guess I could do that.”

“Or,” you start, picking up a ring that you thought would suit his taste, “get this one instead,” you hand him the ring, a knowing smile on your face.

His mouth fell in surprise at it, slipping it on his finger as his eyes marvelled, “Wow, this one is so nice,” he mumbles while now placing the two previous rings away, “How did you know I’d like this one?”

You shrug nonchalantly, turning away from him, “You know, we were friends once,?” you remind him, “Just get it, find me by the food stands once you pay for it.”

He stays in his place as he watches you walk away, once more left speechless by your kindness as he begins to wonder how you were able to treat him as such. The guilt that made its home in his stomach began to rumble, the bitter taste of it overpowering his sense as he comes to terms with just how wrong he was all this time, and how awful he had been to someone as gentle as you.

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The day had come to an end, and surprisingly the latter half went better than either of you could have expected. In a way, it was like time hadn’t passed as you both chatted effortlessly over food from whatever food truck caught each of your attentions. You both caught up on what you missed in each other’s lives during your heated rivalry, and somehow, every part of the conversation felt natural, nothing felt out of place and it was almost as if the past two years didn’t exist.

It was incredibly unsettling for you, and you started to feel a bit conflicted on where your anger lied with the boy as the time you spent softened your heart. Although, you knew you couldn’t allow him back into your life that easily, as his behavior deserves some sort of consequences, so you decided you couldn’t allow yourself to surrender that easily. Not all because you found yourself missing the friendship you once had with him, that wasn’t a good enough reason to overlook his actions. You cursed yourself silently as you arrived home, yet there was a small voice in the back of your mind that tried to convince you that perhaps it was best to let this happen in the name of the acting project you were both on.

No, no, you remind yourself, he definitely doesn’t deserve your forgiveness or trust that easily.

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taglist: @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon @lestayzone @vixensss @cupidcures taglist cut off at 20 people :)

#cinnamostar writes #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids hyunjin x reader #skz hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids fanfic #skz angst #skz fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids angst

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marypsue · 2 years ago

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There’ve been a few responses to/reblogs with tags on my post about DIY clothing embellishments that basically boil down to ‘I’d love to do this but I’m scared it’ll turn out bad/I’m not a good enough artist’. And I get it, I really do! I also want my art things to turn out nicely. But also...making it badly is sort of the point of punk DIY.

Listen. We live in a world that would dearly love to charge you a subscription fee for breathing. The bastards are doing everything they possibly can to figure out how to turn art - stories, visual art, music, textile/fibre art, sculpture, crafts and creations of every kind - into a neat, discrete, packageable commodity, a product they can chop up into little pieces and stick behind a paywall so they can charge you for every drop of it you want to have in your life.

The whole sneering idea that ‘everybody wants to be some kind of creator now’ and anything less than absolute mastery right out the gate is somehow shameful and embarrassing is a tool those bastards are using. It’s a way to reinforce the idea that only a set group of people can create and control art, and everybody else has to buy it.

But art isn’t a product. Art is a fundamental human impulse. Nobody is entitled to a specific piece of art (which is where this message gets skewed into pitting people who love art against the artists who make it, while the bastards screw us all and run away with the money). But making art belongs to everybody. We make up songs and dances and stories, and paint things, and make clothes, and embellish them, and carve flowers into our furniture and our lintels and our doorframes, and make windows out of tiny pieces of coloured glass, and decorate our homes and our bodies and our lives with things we make and make up, simply for the love of beauty and of the act of creation. Grave goods from tens of thousands of years ago show that ancient hominids gave their dead wreaths of ceramic flowers, tattooed their bodies, beaded their shoes. Making things for the sake of beauty and enjoyment is one of the most ancient and human things we can do.

The idea that we can’t, that we have to buy shit instead, because art is a product and you have to have the bestest prettiest most perfect product, is the enemy of joy. It’s the death of culture. And it means that, instead of whatever it is that you cherish and enjoy and value, you get whatever inoffensive (and to whom is it inoffensive?) bland meaningless samey-samey crap that the bastards want you to be allowed to have. What are you missing and what are you missing out on, if you don’t make or modify or decorate anything for yourself, if you don’t think you can because the product at the end won’t be polished or perfect or marketable enough? What do you lose? What do we lose?

It is a desperately vital and necessary thing for you to make shit. For you to know that you can make shit, that you don’t have to just lie back and take whatever pablum the bastards want to force-feed you (and charge you through the nose for). That the bastards need you more than you need them.

Become ungovernable. Be your own weirdly-endearing punk little freak. Paint on a t-shirt. Sing off-key in the shower or at karaoke night or at open mic night. Make up a story where you get to meet your favourite fictional character and you guys hug or fuck or punch each other in the face. Make art. Do it badly. Do it frequently. Do it enthusiastically. Do it for love and joy and creativity and fun and the spiteful joy of thumbing your nose at some smug motherfucker with a Swiss bank account who wants to track your heartbeat and location for the rest of your life in order to automatically pump AI-generated beats matched to your mood into your earbuds for a small monthly subscription fee of $24.99/month. It is literally the only way we are ever going to have even a chance to save art and our own lives from the bastards.

So. Paint that t-shirt.

(Also support artists where you can, and buy your music from Bandcamp.)

#this post brought to you by: me being so so sad about zoomers having crafts and Making Thing With Your Hands Badly stolen from them #also by me listening to a radio show on How The Sony Walkman Changed Music And Where It's Going Next #ready for the san andreas fault to open up and swallow silicon valley whole forever folks #anyway. followers i am getting down off the cafeteria table now.

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blueicequeen19 · 2 years ago

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Dirty Hot Pogue

Warnings: fighting, angst, outdoor sex

“Hello, doll face. Care for a drink?” A cute blonde offers a red solo cup to you as you pass the kegs and you grimace, not hiding your distaste.

“Um, no.” You say, trying to move past him but he doesn’t let you, fixing you very a flirty grin. You’d heard about this blonde. He was cute as hell and obviously very charming but also a dirty Pogue and beneath you. Your friends always talked about how hot he was and rumors said he was an excellent lay but you weren’t interested.

“My boyfriend is standing right over there. If he sees you talking to me for more than 30 seconds, he’s liable to kick your ass.” You retort, brushing your hair from your face.

“He sounds insecure. You’re not allowed to talk to other guys?” He raises a brow at you.

“Not one’s that flirt with me.” You scoff.

“What makes you think I’m flirting with you? Maybe this is just my charm. I’d never flirt with a Kook.” His gaze rakes over you with matching distaste. You kind of liked that he wasn’t afraid to push you. Most people feared you but he didn’t. He challenged you.

“And I’d never flirt with you.” You counter, crossing your arms and making your tits stick out more. His eyes harden but he doesn’t look down. It was an easy trick but he didn’t take the bait. He didn’t like to lose.

“Good. I’m sure you’re a terrible fuck. I don’t do boring chicks.” He shrugs, taking a long drink of his beer.

“I’m not boring!” You retort without thinking. You feel your body heat under his gaze and you suddenly wanted to know what those lips felt like on yours. It’d been a long time since anyone had made your heart race the way it was in your chest.

“I don’t know. You kinda seem like a pillow princess.” He taunts, turning away from you like he’s dismissing you and filling up his cup again.

“So? If a guy can’t give proper foreplay, why should I try?” The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them and he bites back a smirk before looking back at you.

“Trust me, if he’s not giving you proper foreplay then he’s a bitch. Girls should be teased and tongue fucked until they’re begging you to stop.” His words are low so no one overhears but it’s enough for your heart to skip a beat. You wanted that. Your boyfriend didn’t give head so you didn’t either. Yet, here a Pogue was getting you hot and bothered over just words and painting a picture in your head.

“By the look on your face, I can tell that’s not the case for you. That’s a shame. I would happily drown in your pussy.” His eyes shine with intent and you have to remind yourself to breathe. He licks his lips and you suddenly want that tongue between your thighs or in your mouth. You don’t think before snatching the drink from his hand and downing it, trying to put out the fire in your blood. He smiles at you, finally letting his eyes rest on your prominent cleavage. Had it really been so long since you’d had a decent fuck that you were ten seconds away from begging this Pogue to fuck you?

“Yo. You hitting on my girl?” You blink, stepping back as your boyfriend pushes between you and the blonde.

“Nah man, just a friendly chat.” The Pogue says, not a hint of remorse on his face.

“Well, don’t. She’s spoken for.” Your boyfriend snaps, shoving the blonde in the chest. His expression turns murderous and your thighs clench. His anger was even hotter than his wit.

“I heard. I also heard you’re a bitch that can’t fuck his girl right.” Your jaw drops and all hell breaks lose.

Everyone scattered after the fight but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Not yet anyway. You make your way over to a secluded part of the beach that’s littered with fallen trees and see the blonde getting his face examined by a curly haired girl. She’s scolding him. You can tell by the angry expression on her face. Which is quickly directed at you when she sees you approach.

“Haven’t you done enough?” She snaps but his smile catches your attention.

“Kie, it’s fine. I’ll meet you back at the Chateau.”

“You can’t be serious. She’s the reason you got your ass beat.” She shouts, looking between the two of you. You hardly see her. You just wanted to be near the one person who made you question everything. That made your heart skip in your chest.

“Go.” He says sternly. Kie grabs her stuff before shouldering past you and disappearing up the path back to where everyone is parked.

You don’t move for a moment, just taking him in. His shirt had been ripped off in the scuffle and he had a few scrapes and bruises along his face and hands but other than that, he looked okay. You hadn’t even checked on your boyfriend yet.

Your eyes linger on the shark tooth necklace around his neck and down to his washboard abs. He was.. dirty and sexy. And wrong. The enemy.

“Did you think about what I said?” His voice meets your ears and you finally look at his face.

“Which part?” You don’t recognize your own voice, the energy shifting between you two. He gets up and closes the distance between you. Your breath catches when he brushes your hair from your face, his breath hitting your forehead.

“About letting me drown in your pussy.” You gasp at his filthy words, trying hard to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I don’t even know your name.” You whisper as he tips your chin up and leans in, his nose grazing yours.

“Do you want to?” His voice is lower, his lips tempting and so inviting right in front of yours.

“Not really.” You admit, your lips drifting over his. You could almost taste the beer on his tongue.

“Listen, I’m not interested in being your rebel phase.” He licks his lips and his tongue swipes over yours, making you suck in a shaky breath.

“That’s too bad because that’s all I have to offer.” You admit, leaning in to close the space between you but he pulls back just enough that you miss.

“I’m not your dirty secret either. I won’t be left staring at you from across some party while you hang on his arm.” He nudges your nose with his own, his jaw clenched tight.

“Then walk away.” You whisper, your restraint slipping through your fingers. His hand suddenly finds its way in your hair and he’s tilting your chin up.

“I can’t.” Then his mouth is on yours and you forget how to breathe. Your arms wrap around his waist and your nails scrape his back as you cling to him. Your tongues collide and your head spins, knowing you’d never been kissed like this before. Nothing would ever compare to this and you didn’t even know his name. Blondie would have to do.

He suddenly picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he sits down on a fallen tree, never breaking your kiss. You wind your arms around his neck as you start to grind your body against his, in search of friction as his hands find your ass under your sundress. He squeezes and kneads the flesh, groaning against your lips.

“We should stop.” He whispers, stroking you through your panties. You were embarrassingly wet and wanting.

“Then stop.” You rasped, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it over your head. He curses before he tears his mouth from yours and sucks your nipple into his mouth. You should be worried about being caught out in the open with a Pogue but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you grind harder on him.

“Fuck, you’re killing me.” Blondie growls, smashing your lips back to his.

“You’re actually going to get me killed.” He groans, lifting you up enough so he can undo his shorts. His heavy length slaps against your thigh and you moan, desperate to have that inside you. You can’t stop kissing as you feel him roll on a condom then he’s sheathing himself inside you.

“Fuck.” You both curse, burying your faces against each other. His arms wrap around you, holding you in place as he fucks up into you.

“Oh my fucking god, you feel so good. You’re gonna make me cum too fucking fast.” He buries his face in your breasts, biting the flesh as he fucks you.

“I’m close.” You cry as he hits that sweet spot inside you, making you see stars. “Oh god.”

“Come on, let me have it.” Your body seizes up, your pussy clenching painfully around his length as you cum. He groans, fingers digging into your back as he finds his own release. You keep rocking your hips back and forth until you’re both sated, milking his cock dry.

“Holy shit.” Blondie groans, holding you tight as you both fight to catch your breath. Your body was buzzing even though you’d just had the best orgasm of your life. You didn’t want to detach yourself but you knew you had to. There was no other option.

You slowly got to your feet, wincing from the loss and the ache of him as you tugged your dress back on. You didn’t see what he’d done with the condom but his shorts were zipped back up as you faced one another. You didn’t want some awkward goodbye but you didn’t want to be his friend either.

“This can’t happen again.” He says, startling you by taking the burden on himself.

“Why not?” You ask, wondering if his reasoning is the same as yours.

“Because I’m having difficulty letting you go now. If I fuck you again, I won’t.” His expression is hard but his blue eyes are soft, making you believe every word. Your breath catches and you fight back tears.

“Just treat me like all the other girls in your bed.” You laugh half heartedly, swiping your hair off your neck and over your shoulder. You couldn’t look at him.

“Trust me, you’re not other girls. You pretend to be, but you’re not.”

“You don’t even know me.” You turn to leave but he catches your arm, hauling you back against him and kissing you hard. He only pulls away after you’ve gone limp in his arms and can’t hold yourself up anymore.

“I do know you. Just like you knew my name this entire time.” He pants, kissing you again.

“How did you know?”

“Because you moaned it as you came and I’ll never be able to get the sound of it out of my fucking head.”

#smutwarning #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #obx2 #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj obx #rudy pankow #blueicequeen19

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theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

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much ado about nothing chapter 1 - eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

i am so excited for you guys to finally meet the eren that has been haunting my dreams for the last few weeks lol.

specific cws for this chapter: drug use/mentions, alcohol use, a wee pinch of smut (fantasizing specifically), swearing, floch being the actual worst

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” - As You Like It by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene 5)

You take advantage of the short ride to your fourth-floor apartment to release your heavy tote bag from your shoulder, wincing as it crashes against the elevator floor. The little boom makes your head pound, and you rub your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to suppress a frustrated groan. It’s week six of the semester, midterm week, and as an undergraduate professor, you’re feeling the pressure as much as your students.

You’re feeling the pressure twofold; you may have thirty-five midterm essays to grade, but you also have four to write for your Master’s program, absolutely none of which you’ve started. You’ve called Eldia University home for the last six years, and while the library is essentially a second apartment to you at this point, the four thirteen-hour days you’ve pulled there just this week are starting to take a toll on your sanity.

The front door of your apartment looks like an oasis in a desert, and your knees nearly buckle when you crack the door and the scent of home hits your nose.

“That you?” Historia’s voice reaches your ears, floating from living room.

“Yeah,” you call back, placing your keys on the little decorative key holder Historia bought junior year, slumping with relief when you abandon your tote by the door. You’re burnt out, but Historia has lived with you for almost four years now; being around her is as good as being alone. You scrounge around in the fridge for a well-earned beer, popping it open and rounding the corner to join her in the living room. To your surprise, she isn’t alone.

“Stor?” Your initial reaction is confusion, quickly elevating to alarm when the man sitting across from Historia turns his body to you, giving you a glimpse of several baggies full of pills. Your cute, hand-painted coffee table is currently covered in drugs.

Historia smiles sheepishly. “My professors fucking hate me. Just a little study aid.”

You nod slowly, the panic dissipating in your chest– so she hasn’t fully gone off the deep end. You’ve both used Adderall to get this far along in your academic careers, not liberally, but desperate times and all that.

Now that the source of the pills is sorted, you draw your attention to the unfamiliar man looking laughably huge in comparison to the little Urban Outfitters bean bag he’s perched on. He’s lifted his face to look at you now, eyes none-too-subtly flicking down to where your tits are being pushed together by your crossed arms. Scummy, you think, but oddly enough, you don’t mind. He’s hot, like where-do-they-even-make-guys-like-you hot, deep brown hair pulled into a messy bun and brooding, bloodshot eyes scanning you up and down. The side of his pouty mouth quirks up.

“Hi,” you state awkwardly, offering your name. You’ve partied, sure, but you’ve never been into the druggie scene, never gotten the hang of interacting with these guys that possess the nonchalant confidence that only drug dealers can tout.

“Eren.” The name fits him well, simple but unique. His voice is deeper than you expected, a low rumble. He shuffles through the pill baggies he’s brought with him. “Want anything? I have 40 and 60 milligram Adderalls and Vyvanse, some extended release…”

“I’m clocked out for the day,” you tip your beer bottle at him meaningfully. Eren’s smile grows at your little quip.

“Thought I’d ask while I’m here.”

“Thanks,” you say, unsure of what to do with yourself now. You settle for plopping down beside Historia on the couch, sipping your beer quietly as you watch the little transaction take place on your coffee table. You’re not involved, not after the obligatory introductions, but he’s piqued your interest. You listen as he walks Historia through what she’s purchased, how many, and how much it will cost.

When Historia leaves to grab her wallet, he turns his gaze towards you. “Grad school?”

You’re surprised; he’s so casual, borderline bored, with the way he carries himself that you hadn’t expected idle conversation from him. “Yeah, I teach a couple undergraduate classes, too.”

“That’s a lot,” Eren looks impressed, “you must be pretty smart, then.”

“Pretty broke, you mean. I get a huge discount on my tuition if I teach while I take classes,” you explain. Eren nods along, a curious glint in his green eyes. It strikes you that he’s not just hot, he’s actually pretty, in a grungy, bad-boy sort of way. Historia returns with a beer for herself and her money, snapping you out of your private realization and whatever strange tension has begun to build across the coffee table.

You find yourself admiring his large hands, taking note of the little sparrow tattoo nestled on the back of his hand behind his thumb, watching intently as he counts Historia’s cash. Your stomach twists in a way it hasn’t in a very long time as he bids you goodbye. Oh boy.

“I take this as a sign that we’re going out tonight?” Historia gestures to both of your beers. You’re a little shaken from the last five minutes, blinking slowly as your Shakespeare-saturated brain works through what she’s said.

“I mean, I wasn’t going to go out out, but I could definitely blow off some steam.”

“Thank god you said that,” Historia sighs dramatically, flopping back into her seat beside you and taking a long swig out of her bottle, “Ymir’s going home this weekend, and I’d look like such a sad sack if I went and sat at Scout’s by myself.”

You chuckle, thinking fondly of the grimey dive bar you’ve both developed an affinity for. “That would be pretty pathetic, but I’m happy to be of service. Scout’s it is.”

“Should we text Sasha?” Historia starts rattling on about what she wants to wear– something cute, but not too cute, but not trying not to look cute– and your tired mind drifts back to…Eren, oddly enough. You want to think into why he asked if you were in school, why he looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t put together, but you were as realistic as you were imaginative. Sure, Eren didn’t exactly seem the type to make small talk, but you’d known him for all of five seconds. And maybe that wasn’t a look, maybe it was just…his face? You’re out of ideas, mulling it over when Historia snaps her fingers in front of your face.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

You sigh, busted. “Nope. Not one word.”

“Are you seriously that braindead from the library? And here I was thinking you got home early today,” Historia shakes her head pityingly.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, and before you can stop yourself: “How do you know that Eren guy?”

“I was going to ask how you didn’t know Eren,” Historia says, eyes widening incredulously, “who was your dealer in college?”

You grimace. “Floch.”

“Figures,” Historia rolls her eyes with a visible shudder, “I still don’t know why you ever–”

“Stor, focus,” you reroute her before that unfortunate conversation can be rehashed, “Eren?”

“I think he sold Ymir and me some molly at a party sophomore year– no, wait, maybe junior?” Historia shrugs. “I don’t really know, actually. He’s just one of those guys everyone knows one way or the other.”

“Not me I guess,” you take a sip, trying your best to look nonchalant. Historia knows you too well, however, a wicked grin playing at her mouth.

��You think he’s cute, don’t you?”

“What? No, he’s like, a sketchy drug dealer. No way.” Your face grows warm, betraying you.

“Eren’s not sketchy,” Historia says decisively. She catches the disbelieving expression on your face. “He’s really not. He lives like, three blocks from us, and he hangs out with Armin and them.”

“Armin?” You picture the soft-spoken blonde man you’ve befriended from your graduate courses who always wears sweater vests and prefers tea to coffee. Armin’s damn near a genius, far too bright for your small program. “Like, Armin Armin?”

“They’re like, best friends,” Historia affirms, “see? Not sketch. Plus, he’s super fucking hot.”

“You’re literally a lesbian,” you deadpan, “how would you know?”

“I may fuck women, but I have eyes,” Historia smirks, “plus, he was totally checking you out. When was the last time you even got laid?”

Embarrassingly, you have to think on that one. It’s been at least since before the semester started, and you were so busy with those summer courses, not to mention that bartending job you’d taken for extra cash… “I…I honestly don’t know.”

“See?” Historia wiggles her feet under her bottom excitedly, sitting up on her knees. “I have his number–”

“I am literally twenty-four years old. Don’t you think we’re a little too mature to run around fucking our drug dealers?”

“On account of my lovely, beautiful girlfriend and aforementioned lesbianism, I am. You, on the other hand, are not,” Historia grins, pulls out her phone, “you sure you don’t even want his Snapchat?”

“My Snapchat career died when I drank my last Four Loko like, three years ago,” you scoff, shoving her phone away from you. “Don’t you have a not-cute outfit to put on, anyway?”

Historia narrows her eyes at you. “It’s not not cute, it’s trying not to be cute while simultaneously being cute!”

“What?”

“I actually confused myself a little with that one,” she admits, scratching her head, “but you’re right. The sooner we can get to the bar, the better.”

You both scramble through the pile of clean clothing on your floors, each of you too busy and overworked to bother putting it away, and before you know it, you’re in your happy place: chatting with Sasha and Historia, tucked snug against the sticky bar at Scout’s. You’ve all been coming here since the fake ID days; you still remember Historia’s twenty-first, when she had smacked her real driver’s license into the chest of the grumpy old barkeep, Levi, with a triumphant “Ha!”. He’d given you all a round of free shots, and then promptly thrown you out and banned you for a week as time-out. You’d all taken to calling him “Captain” because of the way he ran his bar tight like a navy ship.

“Oh, Captain Levi!” Sasha sing-songs down the bar at him, waving her empty beer bottle and blowing him a kiss. Levi’s unimpressed, dropping another Bud Light onto a coaster in front of her and walking away without a word. “He hates me.”

“He hates you,” you agree, nodding into– what is this, your third beer? Fourth? You’ve already resigned yourself to a lazy Saturday morning, deciding (after some prodding from Historia and Sasha) that your overworked brain deserves more than a two-hour break.

“I don’t get why,” Sasha pouts, digging her hand into the complimentary peanuts the Captain had flung at you upon arrival, “I always tip well.”

“You have to tip well because you annoy the shit out of him every time we come,” Historia corrects her, glancing towards the door.

You frown at her. “Who are you looking for? That’s like, the fourth time you’ve checked the door since we got here.”

Historia makes a show of faux-innocence, checking her phone and looking back at the door again. “No one.”

“Ymir’s out of town, and we’re both here, so that rules out the only suspects I can think of,” Sasha shrugs. You watch Historia closely, the way she checks her phone every few moments, the way her eyes haven’t landed anywhere but you or the door for the last ten minutes, remembering the way she had insisted you tug your shirt down to bare a little more cleavage a few minutes ago…your heart drops.

“You. Fucking. Didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Historia’s got a smile tucked under her teeth now, another glance toward the door.

“You didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” Sasha whips back and forth between you two, panicked. “Didn’t what?”

“You did not invite him.”

“I didn’t invite him–”

“Who?” Sasha demands. You seethe, refusing to take your withering glare off of Historia.

“Her fucking dealer.”

“You have a dealer now, Stor?” Sasha’s eyes fly wide with worry.

“He’s not my dealer,” Historia rolls her eyes, “it’s Eren.”

“Eren Jaeger?” Sasha calms instantly, even looking bored. “Why does that matter? Is he bringing Armin?”

“He came over earlier, and he was totally checking her out–”

You interrupt Historia’s explanation, exasperated. “How does everyone know Eren?”

“I told you, he’s just one of those guys–”

“Everyone knows, I know,” you grumble, taking a long sip, “but even Sasha knows him, and I don’t? I mean, come on.”

“I only know him through Connie,” Sasha pets your arm, chastising, “and my old roommate was hooking up with him for awhile. He’s seriously packing.”

“I heard that!” Historia practically squeals, shaking Sasha’s arm. “Is it true?”

“Who cares?” You shoot daggers at both of them, well aware that you’re making a show out of your annoyance. A small part of your brain does care what’s lurking behind Eren’s zipper, but it’s not like you’re going to act on it. “Why did you invite him, Historia? We don’t even know the guy.”

“I told you,” Historia shows you her phone, proof on the screen, “I didn’t invite him. I just happened to mention we’d be here, and it turns out he’s coming anyway. See?”

> thanks for coming by such short notice earlier! is anyone having a kickback tonight? we’re stopping in at scouts but not sure ab later.

> Not that i know of but me and min will be there later i have a few guys picking up around 10 see u then.

The English major part of your brain instantly hates the way he texts; what kind of psycho doesn’t include a single punctuation mark in between three independent clauses excepting a period at the end?

“He texts like he’s illiterate,” you wrinkle your nose. Historia and Sasha groan.

“He’s a dude, he probably is illiterate, but who cares? I’m talking like eight inches–” Sasha’s cut off by Captain Levi reaching across the bar to slam her beer back onto its coaster from where she had moved it onto the hardwood, fixing her with a disgusted glare. “Oops.”

“Poor Captain,” you muse, watching as he dutifully polishes a set of clean tumbler glasses. “No wonder he hates you.”

“He hates everyone, if it makes you feel any better.” A familiar voice floats over your shoulder, and you smile, swiveling on your barstool to lock eyes with Armin. You hug him like you hadn’t just seen him this morning, the few drinks you’ve had pushing you to be a little over affectionate.

“How are you?”

“Thirsty,” Armin responds, smiling bashfully. Your excitement fizzles into nerves when you notice who’s behind him. Eren got his hands tucked into the pockets of a well-loved, olive-green hoodie (that makes his eyes pop, an unhelpful part of your brain notices), one corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Funny seeing you here,” Eren exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Historia, one that makes your entire face warm.

“Very funny,” you say dryly, shooting a nasty look in Historia’s direction, “work or pleasure?”

“Mostly the former,” Eren says, reaching over the bar to grab two beers from the ice well, “but might as well.”

Your jaw drops; you look back to the Captain, waiting for him to throw Eren out of his bar, but the Captain simply nods coolly at Eren, returning to his polishing.

“How did you just survive that?” You can’t help but gape at him. Eren hands one of the beers to Armin, shrugging.

“I keep half of his late-night staff awake and on-task. Call it a perk of the job.” You want to hate the ease with which he says it, but the lack of arrogance in his voice stops you. He’s not like other dealers you’ve met, always covered in tacky face tattoos and posting Instagram stories of, like, three hundred dollars, showing it off like it’s enough to buy more than a decent used TV with. In fact, you couldn’t picture Eren showing anything off; he’s self-assured, but not smug. Cool, but not out of touch.

“We’ve been coming here for years, and the Captain still hates us.” You’re loath to admit it, but you’re a little– but just a little– impressed. Eren raises an eyebrow at Sasha behind you, telling some story to Armin that evidently requires so much enthusiasm that she’s waving her hands wildly, nearly knocking her beer over. Armin catches the bottle as it happens, looking over his shoulder anxiously at Levi.

“I wonder why.”

“Sasha’s just…” you want to defend your friend, but she’s busy tipping her beer over for the second time, “easily excited.”

“And you’re not?” Eren asks quizzically, amusement clear on his face. In comparison to his unreadable resting expression, any form of emotion looks good crossing his features. A nervous fluttering erupts in your stomach, one you desperately try to quell.

“Hey! I’m fun, just…not as fun as Sasha.”

“I don’t think many people are,” Eren agrees, wincing as Sasha’s beer finally escapes Armin’s quick fingers, crashing over the bar. Levi rushes over to scold her, something that makes both of you laugh.

When you turn back to Eren, his eyes are looking over the top of your head in the direction of the door. A sandy-haired frat dude has entered, looking around and tapping his foot with an obviousness that rivals having walked in with a huge neon sign that read Looking for my plug. Annoyance flickers on Eren’s face for a moment, and he sighs.

“Gimme a sec,” he sets his beer beside yours, “I’ll be right back.”

You haven’t indulged in the conversation long enough to require the promise of a return, but as you watch him walk towards the door, steer the frat dude into a corner you know the cameras don’t catch, you catch a hint of excitement in yourself for him to come back. You pick anxiously at the label on your beer bottle, putting conscious effort into looking anywhere but the back of Eren’s head until an unpleasant, familiar scent envelops you. Your stomach roils.

“Hey you,” Floch slides into Eren’s formerly-occupied spot, smiling saccharinely sweet, “where have you been hiding?”

You can practically feel Historia and Sasha bristling behind you; Floch isn’t an ex, exactly, more like a prolonged series of lapses in judgment. You sigh, trying to look just interested in him enough not to be rude.

“You know me, I stay busy.”

“So busy you can make time for Scout’s without inviting me?”

You feel the grimace flicker momentarily across your face. “You’re here anyway, aren’t you?”

“Would have come earlier if I knew you were going to be here,” he gets closer, his tacky cologne clouding the air around you. You nearly groan; what had ever possessed you to hook up with this guy? Multiple times? The thorn he is in your side now is what you deserve for your stupidity.

“Can we just cut to the chase?” You surprise even yourself with how curt you sound. “I’m too busy for anything like…that at the moment.”

Floch pouts, contrived innocence on his freckled face. “Anything like what?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Eren’s pushing his way back into the spot he’d been standing, interrupting whatever weak-willed excuse you were preparing to offer Floch. Floch’s clearly flustered, moving aside to make room for Eren, eyes flickering between the both of you.

“Hey Jaeger, good to see you again, man,” Floch slaps a stiff hand on Eren’s shoulder. The look on Eren’s face can only be described as a mixture of bewilderment and thinly-veiled distaste; you have to hide your snicker behind your hand.

“Yeah, you too…?”

“Floch Forster,” Floch’s eyes dart off to the side, a light flush rising to his cheeks. “I think we actually met a while ago, at Onyo’s birthday thing? I’m a friend of hers.”

Eren’s eyes meet yours; you try to make the most subtle expression you can to alert Eren to the fact that you and Floch are most definitely not friends. Eren inclines his head ever so slightly to confirm that he’s picked up on your signal, turning to Floch and using the few inches he has on him to bully the other man further out of your space.

“Okay well, Floch, we were sort of in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind…”

You blink, startled at Eren’s bluntness, the sort of outright tone that’s only used by someone who can back up their shit. Floch’s taken aback, backing up by a foot or so, but he furrows his brow. He’s never been one to go down easy.

“In the middle of what, exactly? We can’t all be friends?”

Eren chuckles lightly, but the threat is there. “No.”

Floch’s features twist with anger. “What’s your problem, dude?”

“No problem,” Eren says coolly, “just in the middle of something.”

Floch looks to you to confirm, and you nod your head silently, angling your barstool towards Eren to make your point. “I’ll see you around, Floch.”

“Yeah,” Floch’s frown grows deeper, but he mercifully makes his way back to his table, “see ya.”

A beat of pregnant, awkward silence passes between you and Eren as Floch retreats, the unasked question weighing the air down between you.

“So, he’s not–”

“Please tell me that isn’t–”

You both speak at the same time, cutting yourselves off with a laugh. Eren brings his beer to his lips, grinning. “You first.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not an ex.”

Eren raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

“He’s just…a bad decision or two, that’s all.” That’s as gently as you can put it without bringing up the days when you were as fun as Sasha, maybe even more so, pounding as much tequila as you could get your hands on and going home with more than a few unsavory characters. You’ve left most of that life behind now, but Floch loves to rear his head at the worst moments and rarely backs down without a fight. “Thanks for getting him out of here, by the way.”

“You didn’t seem overly interested,” Eren finishes his beer, leans forward onto the bar and makes a little hand signal to Levi. You smirk.

“Only get the first round free?”

“Two more,” Eren ignores your teasing to speak to Levi, pointing between himself and your near-empty bottle. He pulls out a twenty, slides it to Levi, holds up his hand when Levi offers him change.

“Big spender too, huh?”

Eren rolls his eyes, something playful toying at the corner of his mouth. “Just because me and ‘Min drink for free, doesn’t mean you do. If I’m getting you a beer, I’m going to pay for it.”

“And tip triple what it’s worth?”

“Honestly,” Eren leans close to you and lowers his voice, something woody and intoxicating wafting off of him, “I think I pissed off your ex, and if he’s anything like the guy I think he is, he’s going to get trashed and try to fight the pinball machine in the corner. It’s the least I can do.”

His proximity goes to your head, makes your brain cloudy. He’s close enough that you can see his pulse thudding in his throat. You swallow hard, scramble for a response. “Aren’t you quite the philanthropist? And he’s not my ex.”

“Go tell him that,” Eren scoffs, “get the pinball fight on early.”

“Do you talk to every girl like this?”

“Like what?”

“Patronizing,” you say accusingly, letting a sip of cold beer wash over your tongue, hoping it will shock you out of your little trance. To your surprise, a divot appears between Eren’s thick brows and his bottom lip sticks out a bit in a pout.

“‘M not trying to be patronizing,” he leans on the bar, god, now he’s even closer, “sorry if it came off that way.”

“I was teasing,” you smile half-heartedly, leaning back in your barstool to get a few precious inches between you two.

“I just…really don’t like that kid. Gives me a bad vibe.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head there,” you agree, chancing a glance back over your shoulder to the redheaded man at the hightop. Floch doesn’t notice you peeking, too caught up in making a group of underclassmen who are definitely underage giggle demurely at whatever he was saying. That was always something you hated about him; he was so showy, always having to establish himself as the center of attention in every room. He was just so unlike…Eren. You want to smack a palm to your forehead, knock the thought right out of your brain.

Something catches Eren’s attention, and you turn to look. Yet another antsy frat boy is hovering by the door, sweating bullets. Eren glances down at you apologetically, but you only smile back at him, understanding.

“Go ahead.”

“Two seconds,” Eren promises, pressing his beer into your hand as a guarantor of his return.

The next hour or so passes in mostly the same fashion; Eren alternates between standing beside you and making inconspicuous handshakes with a few more customers that come ambling into the bar. Some are anxiety-ridden like the first two, some appear to be friends, clapping Eren on the back and pulling a bright, genuine smile out of him that makes your stomach do backflips. You shoot the shit in the meantime, bickering over trivial topics like the best late-night pizza shops around and which streaming service is actually worth the money.

You don’t learn anything too substantial about Eren, but you do learn a few things. He seems to enjoy listening to you talk about literature, a welcome change from Historia and Sasha, psychology graduate students who tend to zone out whenever you let a term like “character development” slip. His eyes light up when you go into a detailed rant about how Hamlet isn’t overrated and anyone who thinks it is just doesn’t know how to properly analyze it, and he cackles when you inform him that Dante’s Inferno is essentially Bible-based fanfiction that has irreparably altered the Christian religion for the worse.

You learn that family is a sore spot, an innocent, obligatory question from you about life back home casting a shadow over Eren’s face. You immediately backtrack, of course, but pocket his reaction so you can avoid the topic later. You learn that he’s a cat person; he has a little black kitten at home named Gumi from his favorite anime. You learn that he’s deathly allergic to pistachios, but not any other nuts for some reason that his childhood doctors could never pinpoint. Most recently, you’ve learned that he hates tequila, basing this observation on his fake-retching reaction when Sasha orders a round of shots.

He raises his eyebrows, impressed, when you throw yours back without flinching. “So you’re a tequila girl, huh?”

“I’m blowing off steam,” you brush him off. You can hear your voice developing a slight slur to it, though, and behind you, Sasha and Historia are starting to sing some old, classic rock song you used to pregame with. You know your fun night out has started to reach its expiration date.

“Not driving, right?”

“God no,” you shake your head vigorously, “I live around the corner, remember?”

“That’s right,” Eren’s mouth quirks up in a way that makes you think he’s not thinking about the past, but of a potential future he could file that address away for. Warmth pools in your stomach, bubbling low and molten in your core; yeah, you need to get out of here.

“Speaking of…” you pull your purse around to set it in your lap, rifling through it for your credit card, “we should probably head that way soon. When I start taking shots and Sasha starts singing, it’s bedtime.”

Eren blushes; you have to hold back a giddy laugh at how cute it looks on him. “You don’t need that.”

“Don’t need what?’

“Your card.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I get that you have friends in high places here, but my name is permanently engraved on the Captain’s shit list, so I actually have to pay my tab.”

“I, uh, sorta took care of it while you were in the bathroom. Figured you’d be heading out soon.” Eren rubs a hand over the back of his neck. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he almost looks bashful.

You blink, processing his words. “Eren…you didn’t have to do that.”

“Wanted to,” he shrugs, turning to face the community of sticky bottles on Levi’s side of the bar, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

“I’m going home alone,” you clarify, just in case you’ve given him the wrong impression. Well, it might not necessarily be the wrong impression; you’ve been trying to keep the simmering under your skin contained all night, but you’re still not going to take him home…at least not the first day you’ve met him, you tell yourself.

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckles, “I didn’t pay because I thought it’d convince you to go home with me. Sometimes people are just nice.”

You’re a little stunned. Somehow you think you’d be less surprised if he had said he paid it with the expectation of you fucking him. “...right. Well, thank you, anyway. You really didn’t have to.”

“No problem,” Eren’s air of casual coolness has returned, he slings an arm around your shoulder when you slide off of your barstool to land on the floor beside him, squeezing your body tight to his in a little half-hug. “It was cool talking to you. Sure you don’t need an escort?”

He eyes Sasha and Historia behind you, giving their goodbyes to Armin via a peppering of kisses all over his now-red face. You shake your head up at him, feeling rather incapacitated with the weight of his muscly arm bearing down on your shoulders. “I think we’ll survive.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.” The promise glitters in his eyes as it leaves his lips, leaves your head in a whirl.

To your disappointment, he hugs Historia and Sasha goodbye, too, and you make your drunken way home, arms linked as you charge through the October chill. Your friends beg for details of your night, Historia gloating intermittently, but you aren’t even sure what to tell them. Nothing of importance had really happened, and yet, it felt like it had.

As you drift into what will hopefully be a long night of much-needed sleep, you try to make a mental list of all the things you need to do to set up your class’ next unit. You’re moving onto Shakespeare, but your hazy mind keeps inexplicably wandering back to green eyes, plush lips, long fingers wrapping around a sweaty bottle. You hadn’t actually been lying to Floch when you told him you were far too busy for anything remotely resembling male companionship for the time being, but something about Eren…he was stuck to your dwindling consciousness, the most irrelevant details of your conversation together playing on a loop in your head. Much ado about nothing, indeed.

#aot x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren x you #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #mabn #aot fanfiction #aot smut

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theworldoffostering · 5 months ago

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We had a great time at a Make A Wish event this weekend. It was at a zoo, and had a bunch of Disney and superhero characters there. They served lunch, had face painting, and a scavenger hunt. I’m not sure NB has ever been to a zoo. It was nice to have a little down time.

Baby won a bag of candy from our local library. He had to guess how many candies were in the jar, and his guess was only one number away, so he won all of the candy. We picked it up yesterday. He was thrilled!

DS had his senior pictures done last week. I cannot believe how expensive they were! We get the proofs later this week, and I know they’ll be great. The photographer is really talented. We’ve used her before, and I guess I feel like given that Ms. 6 never had senior photos taken, it was worth the splurge for DS. I’m just glad we could make it work financially.

DH had his next paper assignment due next week and he has yet to start it even though I’ve provided him several hours multiple days last week to work on it. I believe he spent most of that time sleeping while I was on kid duty. I feel like there is a serious problem happening here, but I don’t know what it is. He met with his psych last week, and I sat in on it. They are increasing his antidepressant and the psych suggested next level of care, but given that DH is not wanting to harm himself, next level of care is not available. He does however, feel deep hopelessness which creates apathy, lack of clear thinking, and zero motivation. I don’t know what my role is supposed to be as his spouse. It all feels very disconcerting. I’d love to do some reading on depression, how to help as a spouse, etc., if you have any good book recs.

We did book MGM Park in Vegas. Tell me anything I should know. We are not renting in a car and I’m writing down any and all suggestions. Mostly, I want to have an enjoyable pool experience and sleep well. I’d really like to be able to turn my brain off for a couple of days. I hope I can make that happen.

I met with my endocrin last week and she thinks I’m doing well. I have a full body scan coming up in September. If that comes back clear, I will basically be considered in remission. Yippee!

Ms. 6’s birthday is this week. I don’t know what to get her. She’s driving down to visit for a week or so and I feel like that’s too long. I know that makes me sound like a jerk; I sincerely love her and care about her, and also feel like it’s incredibly stressful to be around her right now because her life decisions stress me out. How do other parents manage this? Give me all of your tips. She’s committing to attend the college which will land her about $60k in debt if she graduates in four years when she could go to a state school, and graduate debt free. She won’t get a job for the summer. She won’t go to her mom’s house and get her things. It’s very different than how I would advise her, and it’s stresses me out, but I know that’s a me issue and not a her issue.

#life #parenting

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takeyourcyanide · 3 months ago

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Starving (Chapters 1 & 2)

AO3

Fandom: Soul Eater

Characters: Spirit Albarn | Death Scythe, Franken Stein, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Characters, Original Human Character(s)

Word Count (so far): 1 813

Tags (whole fic tags): Mutual Pining, Pining, Porn With Plot, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, Teen Angst, Angst and Romance, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Resentment, Neglect, Misogyny, Internalized Homophobia, Insecurity, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, One Night Stands, Drinking, Bars and Pubs, Clubbing, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Passive-aggression, Denial of Feelings, sex scene, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe

Summary: Despite Spirit’s persistent denial and Stein’s difficulty with understanding such a foreign feeling, a mutual romantic attraction had been brewing between the two for years. Spirit continuously relies on Stein to care for him in the wee hours of the morning after his drunken sexual endeavors, leaving him to question the possibility of Stein feeling neglected in some way. It took years for Stein to properly dissect his feelings, and still, he hasn’t an exact clue as to how to go about them, especially not when his partner is always too busy seeking validation from his “frat-boy-esc” peers. This fic could be described as depicting the results of this all. I’d also like to add that this is somewhat of an alternate universe in the sense that Kami isn’t really in the picture. They’re around 18, though Stein is implied to be a little younger than Spirit in the series, so he is around 16-17 in this fic. And also in the sense that we have no idea whether or not they have seasonal breaks.

See Notes on AO3 for more context/information.

Notes: It’s a miracle at this point that I was even able to write these two, fairly short chapters. Here, have them before erosion takes completely over. It took forever and a lot of miserably failing at processing thought for these two.

This is based on @/mellancholy-morose’s ask they sent in pertaining to an imaginary fic game. The word was starving.

“Another date?” A monotone, and yet passive-aggressive voice managed to freeze Spirit’s startled body in place, his hand on the silver knob of the front door.

The dim and ever-flickering lights of their kitchen painted Stein in a suitably unnerving way, the shadows cascading across the room and his face making the slight downturn to his lips rather overt.

“Why? Are you jealous?” Spirit feigned a conceited smirk, familiar pangs of guilt running achingly up and down his now slumped spine.

“No, I was just curious as to where you were heading off to this time. Knowing whether or not you’ll be going to a bar, a restaurant, a brothel.. it will help me determine if and when I’ll have to prepare myself to carry you to what might as well be your porcelain throne at this point,” Stein glanced up from the teabag he was whirling around in a little grey mug filled with scorching water - one which he had painted stitches all over - a disturbing grin on his face as he stared through Spirit, one filled with emotions that he was sure his meister could not quite grasp; a mixture between petulance, sardonicism, jealousy, and even mild resentment.

Spirit playfully rolled his eyes, hoping to alleviate some of the awkward and chilling tension in the air, which was so potent that Stein could likely dissect it with the help of one of his ‘pride and joys,’ as he so often called them. “It’s summer break, what can I say? Maybe you should just get out more. You know, Marie-“

“I don’t want to go out with Marie, Spirit.”

“Then-“

“I have absolutely no desire to spend a whole lot of time outside. It’s sweltering, why would I do that to myself?”

Spirit adjusted the black tie around his neck, flattening each individual fold in his dress shirt. “I’m, uh.. I’m just going to a bar with some friends,” he sighed, his brows pinched, begrudgingly observing the way in which Stein’s body tensed as he abruptly ceased his fussing with the teabag, observing how his breath hitched, observing how unnaturally controlled his posture became, as if to conceal something.

He dug his nails into his palms, the rising guilt forming into a ball nestling itself uncomfortably in his throat, barely able to fit inside.

“You’re welcome to come, Stein.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to decline,” he blew on his steaming tea, which smelled of a minty lavender.

“Yeah,” he huffed out a breathy chuckle. “I know that’s not really your scene.”

Franken set down his glass carefully, avoiding any loud clanking sound. He lifted his gaze to meet Albarn’s again, a more solemn and analytical glint in his eyes, replacing the petty one formerly present. His hands were outstretched on opposite ends of the countertop, relying on the faux marble to hold up his weight.

“No, it isn’t. And if I’m being entirely honest, I’m not sure that it’s exactly yours either.”

“Wha-“

“Go, Spirit. You can go. I’m not going to hold you hostage. I was just curious.”

“Oh- uh.. okay?”

He placed his hand tentatively back around the doorknob, utterly dumbfounded and at a loss for any coherent words to string together.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Uhm..”

“Goodbye, Spirit. I’ll see you later.. maybe.”

Maybe?

“Bye…”

Spirit closed the door quickly and promptly behind him, refusing to even so much as look at Stein, as he left.

‘How does that bastard always manage to make me feel like I’m openly running around on him,’ he narrowed his annoyed, culpable eyes, growling internally as he monologued to himself. ‘We’re not even together. What the hell? How can I cheat on someone I’m not even with? Stein doesn’t feel romantic shit. He’s not a romance guy. Yeah, sure, there’s somethin’ there, but I’m not gay or anything. It could just be a product of our partnership, couldn’t it? And even if it weren’t, I’m not gay. I’ve only ever liked women. So, It’s impossible. Yep. It’s impossible. Why would either of us be fucking gay? That’s laughable. He’s just jealous I have other friends. He just wants my attention ‘cause I’m fun to experiment on. Yeah. Fun to toy with. Does he even want my attention? Is it possible that he has those needs just like everyone else? Maybe he’s just the jealous type, I don’t fucking know. He’s always been possessive over his test subjects. That’s all it is.

No. I don’t think he’s even jealous,’ he pursed his lips childishly at the thought. ‘He’s just annoyed that he has to hold my hair back all the damn time. I’m just a burden, that’s all it is. Yeah. He’s not the helping type either, is he? No. I’m forcing him to take care of me. He’s just annoyed. I was just misreading things again. That’s all it is.’

Pondering, Running, Chasing

Alcohol reminded Spirit of a butterfly, of a caterpillar. It typically began unpleasantly at best, and downright gag-worthy at worst, only to break free from its cocoon and become a beautiful butterfly.. well, the dizzying effects it brought forth were the beautiful, sought after butterfly. Perhaps the butterfly would allow his whirlwind of emotions a piggyback ride, and would graciously flap away with them.

“Hey,” two long fingers came to snap loudly in front of his face. “Spirit.”

He rolled his wrist in a circular motion, his eyes fixed on how his whiskey swirled around in the shimmering glass he held, splashing up and swimming back down over and over again.

“What is it?” His words came out more like a shy murmur than a confident acknowledgment.

“Y’see that girl over there, right?”

He forced his eyes to follow the man’s index finger, which lead them to some ditzy-looking brunette giggling and whispering to her friends, occasionally glancing mischievously, intently at him.

“Yeah, I see her.”

“She’s been staring at you since you walked in, dude.“

He guzzled down the rest of his drink, gasping for a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“Aren’t you gonna go up to her? She looks easy.”

“Wouldn’t that only make it more boring? There’d be no challenge,” another man, the one sitting off to his left somewhere, chimed in.

“Well- hm. Who fucking cares honestly? Sex is sex, and why waste time on some bitch who’s just gonna… I don’t know. At least the easy ones will do whatever the fuck you want. Might not be as much of an ego boost, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.”

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Spirit wobbled up off of the couch. “Be right-“

“Hey, what’s wrong with you tonight? Where’s all your… fire? Arrogance? I dunno, but what’s with you?” The snapper seemed to sneer at him, eyes narrow in scrutiny, as he tugged Spirit back down by his arm. “You’re bringing the whole mood down.”

“I’m just kinda tired tonight.”

“Well, why don’t you go wake yourself up, then?” He smirked, nodding his head over in the direction of the brunette.

“Uh, I don’t kn-“

“What are you, gay now or somethin’? Who would let an opportunity like *that* go? And what’s with that fucking face?”

“What face?”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. If you don’t fuck her, I will.”

“I’m gonna fuck her, damn,” he nearly choked on a manufactured laugh. “Just give me a second. I want another drink first.”

“She’s not the kinda girl you wanna drink a lot before fucking, Albarn.”

“Yeah, I think you’d wanna remember that one.”

Spirit’s entire body shook with a sigh. “True,” he shoved his empty glass into the snapper’s hand. “Hold my drink.”

They finally allowed him to stand, to leave, slapping him and patting him on his shoulders and back, whistling even, as he adjusted his suit jacket, making sure to walk with a zealous and self-assured saunter.

The farther he went, the closer the girl’s flushed cheeks came into view. He turned his head, as bashful or apprehensive as it may have came across, an entire line of giggling people all seated in barstools, multiple large crowds stumbling over both their words and their own feet, duos, trios, singles all hoarding the bathrooms, rushing in and out.

He mentally prepared himself, gently tapping her on her bare shoulder. It was a gesture he knew Stein would find moronic, given the fact that it was obvious he had her attention from the very beginning, and that she was well aware of his approaching presence.

Perhaps the supposed stupidity of social protocol and what it was sure to lead to would rip the seemingly disappointed face polluting all of his thoughts and behavior from out of his mind.

But wasn’t he only misreading things?

“Hello?” She smirked, lifting a playfully judging eyebrow. “You there, sweetheart?”

Spirit shook his head violently from side to side, dragging a dramatic hand down his face. “Oh, yeah, shit.. Sorry. I’m just all over the place tonight.”

“It’s okay, no worries. You shoulda seen me before *this* absolute godsend,” the woman laughed, lifting her shot glass, which sparkled under the warm lighting of the bar. “I’m Lavinia.”

“Spirit.”

“…Well, why don’t you sit down?”

Spirit ran his hand through his hair, noiselessly, though deeply inhaling. He glanced over to where the group of young men were seated. They were watching him, smirking and chuckling knowingly. They were whistling, bossily nodding their heads, the one sat in the middle pumping his fist, and the one on the left making uncomfortably suggestive hand movements.

He averted his gaze from them, flashing the girl his usual glib-full smile, as he lifted the vent of his suit jacket, his arm coming to rest against the chilled, sleek wood of the bar.

“It sucks that your meister’s such a killjoy. My apartment’s a mess,” she dragged him by his hand down the old, somewhat dirty cobblestone sidewalk, lined with antique street lights. They marched past a musty alleyway, turning a corner and entering a much cleaner sector of the city; the one closest to the DWMA, the one filled with numerous apartment buildings utilized as dormitories.

“Well, at least your roommate isn’t there.”

Lavinia released Spirit’s fingers from her grasp, fumbling with her keys, distractedly drawling as she responded with, “True…”

She stuck the wrong key into the hole at least three times, awkwardly and nervously giggling.

‘Maybe she forgot which key was the right one?’ He questioned to himself, a creeping, foreign vulnerable, nervous, and perhaps even insecure sort of feeling encircling, kissing the lurking guilt incessantly stalking him.

There was something about that guilt that brought with it achy pangs of longing- or perhaps it wasn’t. It wasn’t longing. And if it was, it had not a thing to do with guilt. It had everything to do with the opportunity gesturing him inside.

#soul eater #takeyourcyanide #franken stein #stein #stein soul eater #dr stein #spirit albarn #spirit soul eater #soul eater franken stein #franken stein soul eater #soul eater spirit #crossstitch #steinspirit #spiritstein #soul eater fanfic #soul eater fanfiction

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geminialchemist · 4 months ago

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More Shadow of the Erdtree discussion, because I seriously cannot shut up about it.

God damn, my posts must make it seem like I loathe this dlc, when it’s one of the best I’ve played in my life. Screw this just being a good DLC, this was an amazing Fromsoft GAME with the title of DLC attached to it.

With that said… I still have complaints to air, because I’m a whiner baby, and I find it easier to construct my thoughts around my criticism of things rather than my praise for them.

I’ve seen the idea floating around that some people think that some other people don’t care for the ending because they don’t like that Fromsoft made Miquella a villain. I’d like to utterly dash that idea. I don’t dislike that they made him a villain, I dislike that they made him a bad villain.

What’s Miquella’s motivation? We know his end goal. Become a god, make the world a compassionate place via brainwashing. We know how he put his plans into motion, convoluted and brow raising as the writing choices for that was. But what is his reason for doing it?

Messmer’s motivations, we know. He is, at least outwardly, a brutal tyrant. He leads a genocidal crusade against the Hornsent and any Tarnished he crosses paths with. We also know his motivation. To take the blame off of his mother for these actions. He doesn’t particularly like being so brutal, but has become the figurehead for the worst actions of his country, and has faced a willing exile with his loyal followers to shift the blame way from his mother, who he loves and cherishes, even after she has abandoned him to his fate. His villainy is his complacency in his mother’s conquests. This actually makes him a sympathetic antagonist, which is why everyone paints him as a soft boy in need of hugs. I’m simplifying this a lot, because outside of no plot for Melina, I have no major issues with Messmer’s side of the story in this DLC, it’s good stuff, great writing.

What’s Miq’s motivation? What made him wake up one day and decide he was going to be a god, and use mind control to pacify the entire world? I realized as I was theory crafting that I… don’t really know? I certainly have headcanon and ideas, I just can’t remember it ever being stated in canon. Just that he wants to do it. Did I miss something? I can’t have missed something, could I?

Was he evil all along? Is he doing this to control everyone just for laughs? Is he a broken person, who witnessed the horrors of war during the Shattering, unable and unwilling to fight due to his body and pacifism, showing up after battles to tend to the wounded but knowing that for every living person he found, a hundred more were corpses, and that for every one he did manage to save he was forced to leave a dozen others to die in agony and so decided to end the cycle of violence by any means necessary?

Did he simply want power and a complacent population? Did he want to fix all of his mommy’s mistakes(no, couldn’t be that one, fans would have woobified him to the same level as Messmer)? Or was it overpowering grief that drove him to tear his too-soft heart out and cast it aside? We don’t even know! Or at least I don’t. I’ve scoured the wiki’s for NPC dialogue, and item descriptions, but unfortunately those are still incomplete, and are missing huge chunks. I’m in the middle of my second run of the dlc, too, but haven’t come across anything yet.

Can anyone tell me what I’m missing, if I did miss something? Or is this just another example of the second half of Miquella’s questline being terribly written? If I did miss something, let me know, and make sure to shame me and call me an idiot, it’s the only way I’ll ever learn!

EDIT: Thanks so much for giving me some answers! I’ll go look more into Ymir’s dialogue, I’m curious to if reversing Marika’s Sin is his motivation, or just another endgame goal to add to the pile to ensure “World Peace(tm).” For instance, Hornsent still doesn’t trust or accept anyone in the group for what Marika did, even under Miq’s charm, so fixing that could make his charm sink in easier for the Hornsent population? I’ll go check it out in my NG+ run, I actually haven’t spoken to Ymir yet in that run.

#fromsoftware #elden ring spoilers #elden ring shadow of the erdtree #Elden Ring shadow of the Erdtree spoilers #shadow of the erdtree spoilers #shadow of the erdtree #miquella the unalloyed #miquella the kind #elden ring miquella #messmer the impaler #elden ring messmer #elden ring dlc #elden ring

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rubykgrant · 5 months ago

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Another re-draw with Grif and Simmons... but this one ticked me OFF while making it; it was so difficult re-doing the lines for a full-body picture, AND I kept drawing one the wrong layer, so I had to do it again and again (it's cool that MS Paint has layers now, but that also means the wrong-layer problem happens). I mostly wanted to do this again because I can see what I WANTED for the shapes in the original, but it isn't quite there... so I fixed things a bit, and added more colors/shading, plus some lazy "scenery". I also finally adjusted their outfits to the fancy designs I came up with. This is from my story in which Grif and Simmons finally go out on their first date... after technically being boyfriends for months (because they're stupid like that). They have a brief chance to enjoy themselves without some bonkers problem happening, so they go full sappy-romance (a nice meal together, a movie, dancing in a park while a live band plays music, and finally a walk on the beach at sunset. They deserve to be happy for once~)

Chapter for this scene below!

“So, where are we going?” Simmons asked, unsure of what to expect.

“It’s right over there…” Grif nodded in the direction he wanted them to go.

This was an interesting park; it had different areas, some flat and open grass for people who wanted to start a game where they kicked a ball around, some filled with flower beds surrounding fountains and benches, some almost like taking a walk in the woods under towering pine and oak trees.

Grif’s destination was down a little brick walkway, where there was a courtyard that overlooked a ledge, with hanging plants growing up metal garden arbors.

Simmons came right along, letting Grif lead the way. As they passed under the arch of leaves and flowers, Grif glanced at his boyfriend’s face, and was satisfied to see an expression of bright interest (he was hoping for this reaction, because this area of the park was like stepping into a scene from a fairytale… it was easier to let yourself get all sentimental and romantic when the person you were with appreciated it).

Together, they walked to the stone railing, and looked down. Far below them was a field with several small gazebos, and one large amphitheater. It was there that drew Simmons’ attention, because a group of musicians and performers had gathered. Grif’s attention was still on him… the way he looked in the soft evening light, the way the gentle breeze was sweeping his hair across his forehead, the way he was smiling like an excited kid. All kinds of fond feelings twisted in Grif’s chest… he was starting to enjoy having butterflies so often.

“How did you find this place?” Simmons asked.

“Well, while you were off having your family crisis, and I was dealing with being super extra depressed, um… Sarge actually started forcing me to go on walks with him in the morning,” now that WAS a little embarrassing, but Grif’s done trying to put up a front anymore. “And don’t start apologizing again, I’m not telling you this to guilt-trip you. Anyway, he was making me walk around outside with him, something about how I’d get bed-sores and start growing fungus if I just stayed in bed forever, and one time we found this little corner of the park. I started coming back here on my own in the evenings, because it’s kind of a cool spot. Back then I thought about how, like… if I got to hang out with you again, I’d want to show it to you… so yeah. Here we are,”

Simmons listened intently as Grif talked, and held back his urge to say how sorry he was… he still hated himself a little for the way things happened. This moment wasn’t about all that, though; this was about Grif wanting to share something with Simmons, and he was NOT going to ruin it with left-over shame. Instead, he gave Grif’s hand a gentle squeeze with his own organic one. All that stressful crap was over. He wasn’t going to let his family hurt him again. He wasn’t going to leave Grif like that again, either. They were finally together, they were on their first real date, and Grif was being so sweet…

All those feelings about regret fell away, and Simmons leaned against the railing, a helpless dreamy expression on his face as he smiled at Grif. He couldn’t do anything to stop it, so he didn’t even try. Grif smiled back, and seemed to understand that they were BOTH absolutely stupid for each other… they always had been, but now they could do something about it. Simmons tilted his head forward, and Grif met him halfway for a soft kiss.

“Thanks for bringing me here. This was a really great day, Grif…” Simmons said when they leaned apart.

“Oh, we’re not done just yet,” Grif told Simmons as he blinked his eyes open. “Wait a sec…”

It had finally gotten dark enough, here in the shadows of nearby tall buildings, for the lights to flicker on; several lamp posts began to glow around them, and down at the amphitheater, music started to play. It was an unknown tune, but something grand and soothing, slow without being like a lullaby.

“This is why I wanted to bring you here for a first date,” Grif elaborated, slowing stepping backwards from the railing and into the middle of the courtyard, bringing Simmons with him. “You never got to have an awkward date at a lame school dance. So, that’s what’s happening dude. We’re dancing!”

“Haha, oh my GOD! You- you really planned this?” Simmons stumbled as Grif yanked him closer, laughing the whole time.

“That’s right! I told you, I wanna be all your first-date-experiences, and that includes doing the slow-dance-shuffle,” Grif grinned.

“What, exactly, is the slow-dance-shuffle?”

“It’s the thing little middle-schoolers do when they don’t know how to dance yet, they just kinda hug and shuffle their feet, so they rock in a circle. Don’t worry, it’s easy…” Grif wrapped his arms around Simmons as the music swelled, growing louder. “And unlike middle-schoolers, we don’t have to worry about teachers and chaperones telling us to leave room for Jesus while we dance!”

Simmons almost fell down from laughing, leaning all his weight into Grif. A moment passed with them both giggling before they finally managed to compose themselves.

Now, Grif settled his hands on Simmons’ waist, warm and comforting. Simmons loved it whenever he felt Grif touch him… on his back, his arms, his chest… the times Grif affectionately holds his face… Simmons can’t believe he spent so many years NOT feeling Grif’s hands all over him. He can’t get enough.

Simmons slipped his own hands up to rest on Grif’s shoulders, and Grif pressed their bodies together. This wasn’t going to be a fancy waltz or anything complicated… just the slow-dance-shuffle. Unlike most REAL first-date dances, this was intimate and comfortable, close and cozy. It also wasn’t taking place in a school gym decorated with balloons and streamers; they were in their own little corner right here, flowers draped above them, pleasant lights illuminating the area, and beautiful music playing… it was utterly ROMANTIC, and Grif was very proud of himself for pulling it all together.

“You know, one of the schools I went to, they made us do dancing for PE,” Simmons said as they shuffled.

“Ha, so did mine. It was square-dancing for some reason,” Grif replied.

“Me too, but they also made us do ballroom dancing. Which looks stupid as hell in gym clothes,” Simmons grimaced at the memory.

“Oh shit, like actual proper ballroom dancing?” Grif winced as well. That sounded emotionally painful.

“Yep. It was so ridiculous, because we’d do it after running laps, so the kids were all sweaty, and nobody wanted to touch each other. Not exactly fun,”

“What about this? Right now?” Grif asked with a smile.

“Yeah… this is fun,” Simmons agreed.

“Good. I wanted today to be fun, but y’know, special too. That’s why I said we should dress-up a little nice, and why I wanted to do all the things we like together. We don’t get a lot of chances for special things to happen to us, so I decided I was going to MAKE this happen. We deserve to have a goddamn LOVELY TIME at least once in our lives, right?” Grif gave Simmons an extra little squeeze around his waist.

“I’m so lucky to have you with me…” Simmons sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against Grif’s.

“Excuse you, I’m the lucky one,” Grif responded, nuzzling his face closer.

“Nuh-uh, I’M the lucky one!” Simmons argued.

“No, Me!”

They attempted to drown each other out by both shouting “ME ME ME ME ME!” before dissolving into laughter once again, which then slowly faded as they kissed. They hummed and continued to sway, moving slowly in a circle… dancing. Simmons was dancing with his boyfriend. They were boyfriends, and they were dancing. What an extraordinary thing. People did things like this every day, but that didn’t lessen the feeling that it was special. Perhaps it even confirmed it.

Eventually, they heard the music end and the crowd below applaud. They stopped dancing then, just hugging and holding each other for a while. A gust of wind made the flowers and leaves rustle pleasantly around them, and brought the sweet floral scent from other areas of the park in the air; some mixture of lilacs, honeysuckle, daffodils, roses, iris, pink ladies, wisteria, and more. This was, undeniably, a lovely time.

Without speaking out loud, the two seemed to decide to walk back to the car. Because of the tall trees and surrounding buildings from the city, the park was now a patchwork of dark shadows and warm light; the setting sun was still burning brightly in the sky, and wherever it's glow touched, the world turned to gold and deep shades of red. Where the light was blocked, everything became cooler colors, a combination of blues/greens/purples. As both men walked, in and out of the sun and shadows, it was almost like stepping through different seasons at different times of day (summer in the late afternoon, winter just before dawn).

#red vs blue #rvb #grimmons

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frankenkyle19 · 2 years ago

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James Patrick March’s nsfw alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

It all depends on who he’s with. If it’s a victim, he’ll call for Miss Evers to come and clean things up, but if it is, say someone he cares about, he’ll draw a warm bath, wash cloth, and get them anything their heart desired.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

-His favorite body part on himself is most definitely his hands. He thinks of how easily he has ended people with them, along with the pleasure he as given to those deserving of it.

-His favorite body part on his partner would be their neck or their thighs. He loves to bite down on their neck, or trace it with a knife. The sight aroused him. He also likes to bite down on their thighs. The soft, supple skin giving way beneath his teeth.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It just depends on what mood he’s in. Sometimes he likes to be messy, painting his partner’s chest or face with his cum. Other times, he comes deep inside their mouth, or hole. All in all, he likes the sight of any inch of skin covered by his seed.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he has a horrific habit of having sex with his victims after death, but we won’t discuss that because… ew I guess what he’d call a dirty secret, would be that sometimes he longs to be dominated. Completely and fully. He would never admit it to anyone, unless he truly and fully trusted them.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He is a VERY experienced man. I think he probably lost his virginity around 19 (remember, different time, people were different about this stuff.) He is probably naturally good at sex, but of course over the many years of being stuck in the hotel, he got to experiment and become even better

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He is a sucker for any position. If he can stick his dick in you, he doesn’t mind. Ride him, let him take you from behind, missionary, he’s up for anything and everything

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

No joking with this man. He is very serious, he takes your pleasure very seriously, as well as his own. In the bedroom is not the time to joke or tease him, it will only lead to him being frustrated or punishing you

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he’s a tidy man, I like to think. Does ghosts’ hair grow? I don’t think so, so his hair has probably stayed the same since he died. I’d say he’s trimmed, but not bare. His hair is just as dark as it is on his head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is either fast, relentless, and hard, or soft, passionate, and sweet. He likes to take things slow most of the time. He is a ghost after all, he has all the time in the world.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

unless he is very desperate, he does not Masturbate. He doesn’t need to. He has people coming into the hotel at all times. Either a new victim or just a one night stand, he has no need to pleasure himself

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Marking. Teeth, knives, ropes. He wants to leave marks on you. He loves seeing your skinned slick and shining with blood, which he then quickly cleans up with his tongue.

Bondage- he loves tying up his lover. If he isn’t going to kill you, he is going to tie you up so you can’t move either way. He is a control freak, and he wants things exactly how he sees fit.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His room. He will fuck you anywhere in the hotel if you’re down for it, but he always prefers being comfortable in his chambers where he knows you won’t be interrupted.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

blood is a major turn on for him, as well as the color red, knives, and skimpy outfits

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I really don’t think anything is off limits. He is THE James March, have you seen him?

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He is very generous with pleasure. He loves giving, it is just another way of him being able to control an aspect of your life. Your pleasure.

He does love receiving just as much as the next though. A warm, wet, tight mouth around his cock made him wild. He WILL be fucking your throat, you can bet on that.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This man fucks HARD. Like you aren’t walking the next day. If he truly has deep feelings for you, he can be slow. He tends to fuck hard and long.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He likes to take his time. Doesn’t like to be on a time crunch. In the hotel, this is his world, it revolves around him, and he should not have to rush anything he does.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is up to try anything at least once, and loves taking risks. This man is wild in the bedroom

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go all night long. As a ghost, he has so much stamina and energy. He would fuck you for hours on end until you’re begging and pleading with him to give you a break

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

no. He’s old fashioned. He does not like the idea of anything unnatural. He does not want you receiving pleasure from anything but his

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is generous, but he can certainly be unfair at times. He loves to hear you beg and whine, it ignites something inside of him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is not ashamed to be loud, as he wants you to be as loud as you please. He lets out low moans and groans, sometimes even growls against your neck

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

James is wild. That’s it. Period. He likes pain. Not just dishing it out, he likes to receive it. Even though his body heals almost immediately, if you scratch, bite, or cut him, he is in absolute heaven.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

My boy is THICK. God he’s thick. I’d say a good 7 inches, maybe more, who knows? ;)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He can be very patient and does not always want sex, but there are times where he can’t go 30 minutes without touching you

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t sleep. He’s a ghost, but he will lay with you and relax afterwards.

#american horror story rp #ahs smut #ahs fandom #ahs fanfic #evan peters #evan peters characters #evan peters icons #james march x reader #james march smut #james patrick march #james patrick march imagine #evan peters smut

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jtl07 · 1 year ago

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jt (finally) watches warrior nun - s2 e1 - Avatrice fight thoughts pt 2

Guess who finally finished the episode! I’m gonna do a post on the dance of romance and the aftermath of the fight in a separate post because I want to go out of order and talk about the fight scene since I’d already started talking about it here.

For such a short scene it does a lot - my notes ended up quite long lol. It was a great scene to highlight how much better Ava’s gotten - but what was also interesting was how it showed how much better Beatrice is compared to Ava. So I figured I’d do a bit of a comparison of the following:

Fight styles (plus a little bit more on each of their opening moves)

Success against multiple attackers / situational awareness (and hits taken)

Vibe in general

First, can we applaud the fact that Ava doesn’t run? Like, even faced with two dudes initially she immediately - and a little cockily - squares up. And yeah she seems a little worried when the number ups to five, but she stands her ground, doesn’t make any moves to run. And these dudes are like, twice her weight and a full head taller than her! Pretty darn badass.

Okay so let’s start with fight styles: So despite Ava being taught by Beatrice, Ava has more of a brawler feel. Makes me wonder if Beatrice leaned into it when she was training her. As in: she must of have noticed Ava’s tendencies, would have definitely taken Ava’s personality into account, yknow? And yes, there’s fundamentals and safety but the best teachers and coaches nurture what’s already there. And idk, I feel like Beatrice isn’t the type to stifle (not when she herself has been, not when Ava has such a passion for living).

Ava tends to swings wide, has extra movement compared to Bea, who’s the epitome of precision and fluidity. Also interesting is that Bea stays grounded the whole time, whilst Ava goes airborne three times: her opening takedown (0:11), a jumping front kick (0:47), and while caught in a rear bear hug (0:50). She literally launches herself into every move, which is very much in character for Ava.

Also, speaking of opening moves: Beatrice’s opening move (0:33) is a simple one that takes advantage of her surprise entrance: it looks like she grabs one dude’s shoulder from behind and somehow gets him to his knees. Feels in character to Beatrice, not getting attention even from the camera lol. But though it’s not as flashy as Ava’s entrance, it’s effective, which is all that matters.

What’s lovely to watch about Bea’s fight is just how fluid it is - similar to the Arq-tech fight, everything flows together. For example, take the moment after that nasty wrist lock strike (0:41): she not only blocks that second dude’s punch but is is already transitioning to a shoulder lock (which, again kudos to KTY for her physicality, the way she uses her whole body, stretching up then twisting to torque the dude’s shoulder - again, very important to use one’s whole body when performing joint locks against a bigger opponent), which flows into crashing the dudes together, and that beautiful spinning back kick.

Everything about Bea’s fight screams professional. I mean, there’s that straight punch she does at 0:54 where it’s precise and powerful - and look how she retracts just as quickly, already loaded for a follow up. And if we’re going to talk about precision: freaking performing a wrist lock is already finicky enough, but to keep that pressure while moving?? Geez.

Also the whole flipping the dude behind her with that shoulder shrug (0:58): yeah, I don’t understand how that’s possible, there was no momentum or leverage, but if we’re going to suspend disbelief and look at it in terms of story, I can see what they were trying to do in painting Beatrice as an aikido master.

Speaking of mastery, let’s move to the second point about multiple attackers. One of my first thoughts as I was watching this scene was, “How did Ava learn to fight multiple opponents if she’s only been training with Beatrice?” If this is the first time she’s been in that kind of situation, she does a good job! She makes smart choices and divides her attention well (good example is the very first exchange at 0:32, she does a great job getting the first dude off-line with that parry that turns him and starts to expose his back - I bet if it’d been 1 v 1, she’d have likely followed up on that, but she makes a good decision to tend to the second dude; also at 0:36, she takes a hit but is smart about getting that dude out of the way so she can do that fun push kick on the other dude).

All in all, yeah, Ava takes a few hits but she shows incredible situational awareness for the level she’s at (and likely for her first 1 v many fight).

Then we have Beatrice. Whereas Ava was constantly reacting, Beatrice was in complete control of her fight. It’s an interesting contrast to the Arq-tech fight: there, she took on each guard one at a time, but here, she is almost always is engaged with both dudes at the same time. Plus, she’s unarmed here. (Which now makes me wonder if Beatrice also “leveled up” while in the Alps. Huh.)

The ultimate example of Beatrice’s superior situational awareness is of course that no-look dodge at 0:55 - probably the closest she ever gets to getting hit during this fight. Note that Beatrice takes no hits during this whole fight, compared to Ava taking three hits (plus a grab; also not counting the crowbar strike she phased through).

Lastly, we’ve got their general vibe. Ava, just like in freaking everything, is just so in the moment and loving it. Now that she’s overcome her flight tendency and has confidence in her fighting abilities, she relishes being in the action. Yeah, there’s that scary moment when she’s caught in the rear bear hug, but she thinks quickly (bases out, seems to also go for the dude’s grip - all textbook moves to execute when in that situation) and gets out of it safely.

Also, I mentioned she took three hits: Did you notice that she just kept going? Yeah, she has the halo to help her heal, but that doesn’t shield her from the pain and the shock of getting hit. It takes a heck of a lot of conditioning to take a blow and just keep going, and Ava does a fantastic job keeping focused.

But if we’re gonna talk about focus, good god, Beatrice’s focus is on another level. This is Beatrice in kill-mode 0 I mean, that look she gives the dude when she wrist locks him at 0:57?

How did that dude not die on the spot? Seriously. Beatrice is cold as ice here, and she doesn’t drop her guard until the very end. (I still think it’s so interesting, the way she steps feet together at 1:03 - it’s very reminiscent of ending a kata, of formally ending a match; though she’s very much still on her guard, almost resigned even, her body has acknowledged that the fight is over).

Oh, I also forgot to mention two things: First, Beatrice again chose not to step in when it comes to Ava interacting with Michael. What’s the saying? Third time is a habit? But she does what she always does, which is watch. Which leads to my second thing: Beatrice must not have been far to have come in so quickly. I wonder if she started heading home then turned back around (maybe she saw Ava’s opening move and felt a little bit of pride?) or kept close the whole time (only stepping in when the odds turned decidedly not in Ava’s favor).

I guess it also explains Beatrice’s vibe in this fight. At Arq-tech, she was fighting only for herself, but my thoughts then are ones I still believe now: that Beatrice sees herself as expendable. But here, she’s not alone - she’s fighting not just for herself, but for Ava as well. She has to win, because to lose means Ava getting hurt.

So yeah, lots of rambling lol - I didn’t expect to be so fascinated with this fight until I started taking notes. I guess the last thing I’ll say is how analyzing this fight made me more sympathetic to Beatrice - when she tells Ava she’s not ready, she truly believes that, and we see evidence here. Ava loves being in the fight, does a pretty bang up job, but Beatrice knows it’s not enough, not when it comes to Adriel.

Anyway let me know what y’all think! Happy to expand on anything but also just happy to have y’all reading along <3

#jt watches wn #avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun #let's see how long it takes me to get through the next episode lol

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babybemydownfall · 3 months ago

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The Storm and the Sunrise Chapter 3: Rhysand Archeron (Ch 1 - Ch 2) Feyre x Rhys (x baby) NSFW "She slowed, distracting herself with the droplets of water collecting on his long black eyelashes; running down his nose and cheeks. She would paint him like this. The Drowning. And every time she looked at it, she would want to come." Feat. Feminist!Rhys. My favourite. On AO3 or...

Springtime came to Velaris almost overnight, and brought with it the end of Feyre’s sore breasts - and the start of her pregnancy sickness. The first time it happened - that sudden rush of saliva and dread, waking her from sleep just as the sun rose - Rhys held her afterwards on the gold-veined, white marble of bathroom floor, his face as pale as hers.

“A nightmare?” he asked quietly, and she could feel his heart pounding beneath his loose cotton shirt. It was rare for either of them to have bad dreams now, but they were still scarred by the memories of each other’s terror; still petrified of seeing their mate suffer in that dark, out-of-reach place.

“No.” She smiled and stroked his cheek, just like he’d stroked her back a minute before. “Morning sickness, I think. I feel much better now.”

Rhys pressed his lips to hers but she pulled away, frowning. “I just vomited.”

“I don’t care.”

She crinkled her nose and he kissed that too. “You’re disgusting, Rhysand.”

“Rhysand,” he repeated, amused. “So formal, Feyre darling.”

“If you had a surname, I’d use that too.” She stood up, crossing to the vanity where she picked up her toothbrush and applied minty paste from a brown glass jar. They watched one another as she brushed her teeth, Rhys’s gaze as intent as ever. He seemed to find everything she did fascinating, which she understood because she felt the same about him.

After she spat into the sink for the first time, she turned back to him and asked: “What kind of person, human or Faerie, doesn’t have a surname?”

“I don’t need one.” His power crackled around them suddenly, the lamps flickering as his cold night swept by. “Everyone knows who I am.”

Feyre, toothbrush still in her mouth, just rolled her eyes.

Her mate’s laugh was a low, rich sound from deep in his chest. It made all the small muscles of her body tremble. “If I had to choose one,” he went on, his eyes still sparkling with mirth, “I would be Rhysand Archeron.”

And then the air changed, and while his smile remained Feyre knew he was deadly serious. She slowly turned to rinse her mouth, feeling completely stunned. As far as she knew, no male in either realm she’d lived in, nor in any of the books she’d read, had ever taken his wife’s name. It just wasn’t the done thing.

She pressed a warm, plush towel against her face before looking at him again. He was still staring up at her from his position on the floor, his bare feet together, knees bent and slightly apart, thick muscled forearms resting on them. He looked so casual, so breathtakingly handsome. For about the thousandth time since they were mated, she just couldn’t believe he was hers.

“I am yours,” he confirmed, reading her body and her mind. He moved gracefully onto his knees, taking hold of her hips. There was only the silk of her nightgown between his breath and her skin, and she shivered. “You are mine, Feyre, but I am also yours. And that is why I would proudly take your name. In a heartbeat.”

“But- You can’t-”

His smile grew wider. “I can.” He pressed his lips to the still-flat plane of her belly. “In fact, I just might. And our son can have your name too.”

“Rhys…”

“What?” He stood, filling the bathroom with his bulk and his wings and his Gods-given confidence. But the way he lovingly held her face in his hands was nothing but tender. “Do you not like the idea?”

Feyre could feel herself falling under his spell with every passing second. Her sickness and nausea were long forgotten. “I do,” she sighed, slipping her own hands under his shirt and over the hot, hard muscle beneath. “But I don’t think you can just-”

He kissed her, stopping the words. Kissed her on and on, tasting the mint inside her mouth, collecting her little whimpers and moans beneath his tongue. When she was thoroughly dazed and desperate for air he finally pulled back, breathing hard.

“Feyre,” he said sternly, his dark eyes roiling with lust and power. At the sight of her face he hissed and his hips flexed, pushing his rock-solid erection further into her abdomen. “Who in the world is going to stop me?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

But she did for the burning, pulsing ache in her core. She vanished their clothes - a trick she’d made him teach her - and conjured a rainstorm of hot water in the marble alcove behind her. Rhys lifted her and caught her yelp between his teeth, his fingers gripping the back of her thighs hard enough to bruise - just how she liked. He slowly walked them into the shower, his cock twitching between her legs as she ran her nails through his hair, over his shoulders and his wings.

“Put me down,” she murmured as soon as they were under the gloriously warm water. When he complied she went straight to her knees and took his whole length into her mouth, squeezing his thighs, his ass with her hands. His wings shot out as he groaned from the depths of his soul; they spread above her head, dimming the light and shielding her from the spray. Indeed, the sound of the water pummelling them reminded her of sheltering in the forest when it rained. And the thought of that, of hiding away with Rhys in a secret place, of fucking him in the wilds of nature like the animals they were, made her moan around his cock as desire exploded inside her veins; in her very bones.

She sent him that image, sent him all the ways she was feeling, down the bond - and in return she learned just how insanely arousing it was for him to have his wings so overstimulated while watching himself slide in and out of her mouth, feeling her fingernails scratch his skin, hearing her sounds of pleasure as he pulled her hair, just hard enough to hurt.

When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he gasped and suddenly pulled away. His wings folded and she felt the torrent of rain on her body again - part relief, part torment. Then he was lifting her again, pressing her back into the wall. She tensed, expecting it to be cold, but he’d warmed it - ever considerate, even in his current state.

Thank you, she sent, linking her ankles behind his back as she felt the caress of his magic, holding her up.

Of course, darling, he purred.

His tip pressed into her but he didn’t go further; instead he held both her breasts in his big hands and feasted on them until she was writhing, wetter than the shower could ever make her. She was so glad they no longer hurt. Her nipples had a direct connection to her core; sex without these sweet, torturous waves of pleasure was still amazing, but with them…

Please, she whimpered, pulling him closer with her legs. Please, Rhys. I can’t- I need-

He did three things at once, and she nearly came: kissed her, pinched her nipples and slammed into her body, right to the hilt. Their shared cries echoed inside the alcove, momentarily drowning out the constant thrum of water.

“Look at me,” he growled and she felt his fingers curl around her neck, his thumb on her chin, as her eyelids fluttered open. He pulled back and thrust in again, dragging a guttural sound from her throat as they both felt her clench around him. Her eyes closed of their own accord and Rhys scolded her: “Look. At. Me.”

She did, but it was difficult: he was so stunning in his dark power, his brazen need of her. No one in the world could match up to him; couldn’t even come close. No one could stop him from loving her, from wanting her. No one could control who he was, or what he named himself, or what he did -

Except her.

“Fuck me,” she commanded, breathless and already halfway to falling apart. “Fuck me and don’t you dare stop, Rhysand Archeron. Not until we’re both screaming.”

He didn’t need telling again.

Neither did she: she kept her eyes on his the entire time, as he pounded into her, as he held her face still and his other hand toyed with her breasts. Feyre pushed two fingers into his mouth, feeling his wet tongue swirl all around them as it had done countless times between her legs. She clenched again and he swore, his pace increasing even further. When she slid her fingers down to her clit, circling with such perfect, delicious pressure, she was rapidly headed right to the edge of oblivion.

“Not without me,” Rhys said through gritted teeth. She slowed, distracting herself with the droplets of water collecting on his long black eyelashes; running down his nose and cheeks. She would paint him like this. The Drowning. And every time she looked at it, she would want to come.

“Open your wings,” she murmured.

As he did so, she doubled the rain. The sound was extraordinary.

Rhys’s eyes widened and darkened and she sped up her fingers again, because he was all sensation and thrust and friction - and then suddenly he was the one waiting on her.

Feyre, he panted. Please-

Don’t stop.

She pressed hard on her clit, intensifying the exquisite feeling of his cock fucking her most sensitive spots, and as she started to fall, he saw it in her gaze and let go. He buried his face in her neck, wrapping his arms around her back and holding her so close as he drove into her frantically, gasping for air as she came on him, roaring in ecstasy as he came inside her.

Feyre did scream. She screamed into his shoulder and then bit him there, because she didn’t know any other way to stop the sound. It might have gone on forever otherwise, along with the endless surges of pleasure which spread outwards from the very centre of her being.

Her power flared and then faltered; the shower stopped. The sudden silence, broken only by their heavy breathing, was deafening.

Rhys pressed her back into the wall, his legs weak; pressed his mouth to her jaw, her lips. They kissed for a long time, messy and tender.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

His forehead came to rest against hers. Feyre squeezed him with her internal muscles and he grinned.

“Don’t,” he warned, “Or you know what will happen.”

She laughed softly. Her hips and thighs were aching; she was already too sore to have him again. Plus, she was thoroughly sated. All she wanted to do was fall back into bed and take a nap. Pregnancy was more exhausting than she’d expected.

Rhys must have heard her thoughts, or perhaps it was obvious from her face. He lifted her off of him and gently set her feet on the ground. “Can I trouble you for another shower?”

She obliged, a much lighter rainfall this time. “You liked this. On your wings.”

It was a statement but he answered anyway, his voice hoarser than moments ago. “Yes. It was… I can’t describe it. Like if I were to lick every single inch of your body at once.”

She knew what that felt like: he’d done it with his power before.

“And you,” he continued, lathering soap in his hands, “Kneeling there in front of me.”

Feyre turned around so he could wash her hair; felt his erection rise again, pressing into her spine.

“I love you,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Which it did, in a way. She loved him and she wanted to please him. All the time, in every way she knew how.

He tilted her head back to rinse out the suds; then she felt his mouth on hers from above, wet and hot and sweet. His hands gently covered her breasts. “I’m so glad these are better,” he sighed.

“Me too.”

He pressed his palm against her abdomen, over the tattoo there that matched his own. “Only one rule for me to remember now.”

Feyre laughed. “I’m sure I can think of some others.”

“Such as?”

She turned and made him lean down towards her, soaping up his hair. “Anytime someone says your name, you have to correct them: they must add ‘Archeron’ to the end.”

“Okay.”

She frowned. “I was joking. I like it in theory. In private.”

“I’m not joking. I love it.” He straightened up, running his hands through his hair under the water. She stared at his muscular arms, his broad chest, covered in ink; down to his slim waist and strong thighs, his huge cock still at attention beneath his newest tattoo. Gods, if she wasn’t so tired she would have pounced on him all over again.

When she met his violet eyes, he was smirking at her.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” he said darkly.

“You are not calling yourself Rhysand Archeron.”

He stepped towards her, making her tilt her face up to keep looking at him. “I love the way you make me feel.”

“Are you listening to me?”

He held her waist, brushing his thumbs over her skin. “I love that I got you pregnant.”

“Rhys!”

“I can’t wait to see your belly grow.”

Feyre put her hand over his mouth. His eyes sparkled and she couldn’t stop herself from bursting out laughing.

“You are so annoying,” she said seriously, but her giggles ruined it entirely.

“I know. I just love you so much.” Then his expression changed to one of sympathy. “I don’t love that you vomited earlier though.”

She shrugged, letting him wash her body now. “I don’t mind. It means our baby is growing inside me.” She yawned, stretching her arms up, arching her back. “Don’t get any ideas,” she added, making him grin. “I am going back to bed.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Only if you let me sleep.”

Rhys kissed her as the water faded away. Then she wrapped them both in warm air, drying them in seconds. He summoned their dressing gowns, one black, one white, and used his hands to tie them snugly, first hers then his.

“I meant it, you know,” he told her softly as they settled back down beneath the covers. It was only seven thirty in the morning but the new light of spring was already seeping in around the curtains.

“I know,” she replied as he drew her into his embrace. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“It would be an honour to carry your name. You are half of me, Feyre. The better half. And I want the whole world to know that.”

She closed her eyes, sinking into his warmth. “It was my father’s name too. My sisters’.”

“Three other heroes of our time,” he said quietly. “Definitely an honour.”

Feyre felt her breath catch in her throat. She saw her sisters often, with Cassian and Lucien. They were closer now than they’d ever been. But it still hurt to think about her father: about the dark place he’d been trapped in for so many years; about how her capture had broken him free, had led him to raise an entire fleet to save her. To save them all.

He had loved her, in his own way. But it was nothing like the way she and Rhys would love their child. Nothing.

“I’ll think about it,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest.

Just as she started to feel herself drift off to sleep, Rhys’s palm found her belly again. “Baby Archeron,” he said thoughtfully against her hair, testing out the words.

And then she was swallowing her tears and wondering what she ever did to deserve this mate, this joy, this life.

TBC

#feysand fanfic #feysand #feysand pregnancy #feyre x rhysand #feysand smut #feysand fic

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ohmystaxk · 2 years ago

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Goodbye, My Dear Stranger (2)

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Pairing(s): (Jake Lockley x Reader) (Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader later on) [Pre-Moon Knight show]

Chapter Character(s): Steven Grant.

Content/Tags: Reader having creep tendencies, somewhat of a date (?).

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: After meeting Jake, you decided to go to the Museum with a friend. There you meet someone that looks like Jake, but isn't him?

Two days had passed since the night you had met Jake at the café. Unfortunately for you, he had not come back again. Truthfully, you didn’t expect him to. Yes, you had hoped he would come by, order himself the same coffee he had last time and ask how your day was. Perhaps he would check up on you and ask if you had encountered the same guys from last night again. You hadn’t. Perhaps Jake’s little play pretend had worked.

Even when you wanted an interaction with the man, something told you it would not happen again. At least not anytime soon. He seemed rather reserved, since he had barely spoken to you. But then again, he seemed like a lonesome kind of guy. Yet another thing he seemed to share with your elusive neighbor.

That night, when you got home, you noticed no lamps were on at your neighbor’s apartment. The following days had been just the same. You started to think that perhaps he had pieced the puzzle together and realized it wasn’t the first time you were a creep that spied on him. Just the thought made your insides turn and your palms sweaty. Young adult spies on their older neighbor. You could see the headlines in your head.

“You there?” You blinked a couple of times. A face appeared in your field of view, accompanied by a waving hand. It was Deanna.

“Sorry, what?” You asked her and she tilted her head to the side.

“You were gone for a second there. You alright?” She placed her bag on the bench next to you. Deanna turned her body towards you as she sat down on your left.

“I was just thinking. Did you say something?” Deanna nodded with a short sigh.

“Sure did. I’d like to go down to the gift shop if you don’t mind. We can also go down to The Green Wall, see if Martha will get us something to eat after we are done here, yeah?”

Today you hadn’t worked at The Green Wall, the name of the coffee shop. And so, Deanna had asked to go to the Museum down the street from the shop. Neither of you had even been there and wanted to check out the new exhibit they’d been advertising with massive banners outside the building. The concept seemed fun and it wasn’t like you often went to those kinds of places.

The two of you wandered and looked around for about an hour and half. The place was beautiful, tall white walls, some ceilings had skylights allowing for better visibility, and the floor had polished marble tile on the main area. They had a lot of Egyptian artifacts and replicas, paintings, and displays that showed videos of reconstruction of what Egypt could possibly have looked like back in its glory days. It was nice to go out and do something differently than going home and working on your laptop, or watching shows for hours.

“Yeah, sounds good.” You answered. “I might get something from the gift shop too.” Deanna nodded with a smile.

“I saw some cute plushies on our way in. Come on.” She stood up and you followed.

The two of you made your way to the gift shop as Deanna showed you some of the pictures she’d taken when exploring the place. They all looked good and she was trying to decide which ones to post on social media, debating between two pictures that looked the exact same.

So when you walked in, you both were staring at her phone. You pointed at one that had a replica of The Great Pyramid of Giza, the angle and the lighting worked great. When Deanna got herself entranced by her phone, you decided to take a look around, the first thing in front of you was a rotating metal display with postcards.

Most of the pictures were of Egypt, others of the Museum, and a couple of London. You took one in your hands, the photo had the pyramids with a low sunset in the background. It was beautiful. You looked at the rest of the photocards that might catch your attention, it was a voice that caught it instead. You looked through the display and towards the check-out counter.

At the register was none other than Jake. No hat and no low lighting to obstruct his face from the world. You felt your gut flutter with sudden surprise, and reached for Deanna who was still on her phone.

“What?” She looked at you when you tapped her arm.

“It’s him.” You simply said, your eyes wide. You felt your cheeks flush as you looked towards Jake who was with another client at the moment.

“Who is it? Is it the guy from the bad date?” She asked with interest.

“No, the guy from Green Wall.” Deanna’s eyes widened with disbelief.

“One of the fucking dickheads?” You looked at her with a frown.

“What? No. The one that helped me. His name is Jake.” Her expression softened.

“Oh so that’s the lad, yeah? He seems pretty nice and all. Won’t you go and say hello, then?” Deanna shoved you gently, an encouraging smile on her face.

“You know I can’t.”

“Of course you can, love. The man over there doesn’t look like he bites, go on then.” You sighed and tightened your grip on the postcard.

You started walking towards the counter once the clients had left. Your hands grabbed three things at random and made your way towards him.

Once in front of him, he looked up at you. He had a friendly smile on, it seemed genuine and that eased your nerves. In reality, he had a rather pretty smile; warm and inviting.

“Hello there, you found everything?” He said and then you frowned. You remembered him having an accent, just not an English one.

“Y-yeah.” You then placed the items on the counter, not looking at them.

He nodded and started scanning. He looked at you through his lashes. His eyes were soft, not deep or distant like last time. There were eyebags under his eyes, his hair was disheveled, and he had a shadow of a beard. He looked completely different from that night. A hot mess you would dare to say.

“Did you enjoy the tour?” He spoke and you blinked.

“We didn’t take the tour, we just explored by ourselves.” He nodded and placed your items in a bag.

“What were your thoughts? Having, well, not much to go on from.” He then leaned forward just a little, like he was about to hear a secret.

“I liked it. I’d rather do things at my own pace. That way I get to enjoy things and take the moment all in.” He seemed to light up as you said that, a smile formed on his lips again. He had very nice lips.

“That’s good to hear. I hadn’t thought about it that way, you know, the whole no-tour thing.” Yes, Jake didn’t have an English accent. It was then that your eyes fell on his name tag, ‘Steven’.

“You should try it, it’s always nice if you enjoy doing things by yourself.” He nodded again, and he stared at you for a couple of seconds.

“I will. It seems fun. Not like I don’t already do it.” He smiled, he liked to smile, and not forcefully. It was something different. Steven was different. And you liked that. The man was attractive despite his current state.

“Would you like to go out for coffee or something later?” You felt the air leave your lungs the second you uttered those words.

This wasn’t like you. You would never ask a complete stranger out for coffee, or for anything really.

“Sorry?” He seemed just as shocked as you were with a slight tint on his cheek. You opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish.

“I’m sorry, I don't know why I said that. That was so inappropriate, I’m really sorry.” You pull out your wallet and look at the register, the total displayed for you. You placed the amount on the counter.

“No, it’s just. I wasn’t expecting that. Has never happened to me before.” He confessed to you, he seemed genuinely surprised and that made you feel less guilty of pretty much having thrown yourself at him.

“I have never done that, if that helps.” You gave him your name, he smiled and said it out loud. It sounded nice coming from him, you realized.

“Steven.” He pointed at his name tag. “I would love coffee. Tea preferably, I have to admit.”

“Right, well, there’s a coffee shop right down the street by the plaza on main. It’s called The Green Wall.”

“Oh, I know that place! I go there sometimes before work, their tea is truly something else.” His smile got bigger, showing his teeth.

“Well, what about tomorrow? Seven p.m.?” When you asked he nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s a date.” He said and then his smile dropped. “Is it?”

“Sure.” You gave him a smile and he handed you the bag.

“Well then, see you tomorrow night, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You offered him one last smile before slowly turning away. He had smiled before, yet it didn’t seem to compete with how giddy he looked as he smiled at you.

You waited outside the gift shop for Deanna to finish browsing. Every so often, you would stare back into the place to see Steven, taking the time into paying attention to his mannerisms, the way he would emote. You felt like a freaking stalker, but it was impossible for two people to look that alike, right? Your only interaction with Jake had been brief. But, even then, you could tell he was nothing like Steven, and Steven seemed nothing like Jake. Two polar opposites in the same city, in very close proximity to each other.

Jake had mentioned going back to work. You recalled his attire. Either the man liked dressing like somebody's old grandfather who drove cabs for a living, or he actually was a cab driver and dressed as such. Then, there was Steven, a very tired-looking gift shop employee at a Museum. Neither of them seem like the owners of a big flat in downtown London. Unless they had other jobs, just like you did in order to provide for your way-too-small flat. Perhaps, the two were twins and were raised differently, Jake coming from overseas and staying at Steven’s.

Once you and Deanna had made it to Green Wall, it was already night time. You had been shopping around the plaza and getting coffee was the last stop for the night. The two of you said hello to Martha and Rose, the ones working today’s closing shift. The Green Wall ended up getting busy today, people came and went as there weren't many empty seats. Luckily Deanna had snatched a table the second a couple had left.

The door swung after a few minutes and eyes shifted towards the noise it made, more of a reflex than sheer curiosity. Steven had wandered in, his eyes looked at the busy place as he tried to make his way inside. He stood by the register as Martha was taking another order, he fidgeted with the strap of his bag, his shoulders were upwards and closer to his jaw, and his eyes gazed around, as if to busy himself. Steven looked nervous, perhaps even overwhelmed.

“Isn’t that tomorrow’s date?” Deanna spoke from beside you.

“Yeah. His name is Steven.” She frowned at your response.

“Wasn't it Jake?” You shook your head.

“I think Jake and Steven are brothers.”

“Then why ask him out?” You shrugged.

“He seems nice enough. That, and he’s cute.” Deanna shoved you playfully as she pointed at Steven with her chin. You got the message and stood up, making your way towards the man.

Once the two of you were at a good distance, she spoke up gently, not wanting to startle him.

“Hey there, stranger.” Steven turned to look around, his gaze landed on you.

“Hey, a bit busy, innit?” You nodded.

“More than usual. Probably has to do with that new exhibit of yours.” He frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “The museum.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, of course.” He slapped his forehead playfully, looking around. “At least there’s good business today. Place deserves it.” Steven looked back at you.

“Thanks. We work very hard to make everything as good and fresh as possible.”

“Do you own the place?” His eyes widened. You laughed, slapping his shoulder gently.

“No, no. I work here, just not today as you can see.” Steven nodded slowly as you spoke, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he let out a quick laugh. “Do you want to sit down with me? While you wait, in case you have somewhere else to be.”

“Only place would be my flat, I think Gus can wait a bit.” Steven said and you raised an eyebrow. “My goldfish, he has one fin.”

“Like Nemo?” Steven laughed at that. A hearty laugh that showed you his teeth.

“Just like him, little fella is very special to me.” You couldn’t help but laugh back.

“I bet he’s one lucky little guy.” Steven stared at you again, he seemed to do that a lot. You were not used to it. Then, his eyes softened and creased at the corners as he smiled. He had pretty lashes, long and thick, his eyes doe-like as the warm lighting shined on them.

The sound from the music on the speakers faintly seeped through your ears as time went by.

Take me out tonight

Where there’s music and there’s people

And they’re young and alive

“Yeah, he is.”

Driving in your car

I never, never want to go home

“Are you two ready to order?” Rose spoke suddenly. The two of you turned towards her. From the way she grinned at the two of you, you knew she was having a laugh. You rolled your eyes at her.

Because I haven’t got one

Anymore

“I’ll go and sit down.” You placed a hand on his back gently before walking towards the table you were sharing with Deanna.

Deanna eyed you with a smirk once you sat down. “What was that?”

Driving in your car

Oh, please don’t drop me home

“Rose decided to interrupt us.” You responded.

“I know she did. Poor lad had heart eyes and all of that.” Deanna started gathering her things. You raised an eyebrow at her and she scoffed. “You’ll need another chair, unless the man offers his lap for you.”

“Thank you, Deanna. Let me know when you get home.” The woman bent down gave you a quick hug. You hugged her back.

Because it’s not my home, it’s their home

And I’m welcome no more

“Sure thing. Don’t forget to tell me how things go, yeah?” You nodded at her, she waved at you as she left your table. She walked through the dining area, waved goodbye at Martha and Rose, then she left the shop.

Steven came back a few minutes later. He smiled nervously as he gestured at the now empty seat. You nodded at him.

“Did your friend leave already?” He asked as he sat down, placing his bag on his lap. He looked around one more time.

“Do crowded spaces make you anxious?” You asked him with curiosity as you took a sip of your drink.

“No. It’s just that I’ve never stayed long enough to take a good look at the place.” He was still looking around, his eyes filled with awe.

“You seem to like it.” You placed your drink down. Once again, his eyes found yours.

“I do. It’s rather pretty here, and it feels cozy.” He admitted to you with a sheepish smile.

“I think so too, but this isn’t better than the museum.” When you said that, you had said it in a playful way. However, he shook his head with a frown.

To die by your side

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

“The museum? No, no. I love the museum, yes. But the employees are much nicer here, I have to admit.” When he said that last sentence, he grinned at you and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Don’t think that’ll get you a free drink, sir. Are your coworkers not nice?”

“Most are, some barely notice me. Then there’s my boss Donna who makes me stay overnight almost every night, she also calls me Stephen.” He gave you a tight smile, his eyes shifted to your hands when your fingers rubbed the side of your drink in a distracted manner.

“You can always stop by and fill out a job application.” You offered.

“No, no, it would be a mistake to hire me here. I would end up setting the place on fire somehow.” The two of you laughed. The conversations around you seemed to dissipate as you both kept on talking.

Take me anywhere, I don’t care

I don’t care, I don’t care

“Well, I think you would make a great barista, you just haven’t tried.” As soon as you said that, you heard Martha call out an order, to which Steven turned around immediately.

“That’s mine. I’ll be right back” Steven got up from his chair, placing his bag down on the chair and walked towards the counter.

Steven behaved like he was dreading something would inconvenience him along the way. His shoulders held tension while he dug around one of his front pockets. As he received his drink, you saw Martha smile at him and he gave her a quick nod. You didn’t know if he smiled back, but the slight quirk on his lip as he turned around to walk back towards you, told you he might’ve.

And in the darkened underpass

I thought oh, God, my chance has come at last

The soft light of the café showered him. Brown skin glowing a honey gold, soft messy curls that seemed chocolate brown instead of black, and full lips with a hint of pink. His clothes, loose and big, hid his frame under layers of funky prints and fabric.

By the time he returned, the tension on his body was gone. His long lashes shined under the light and his eyes seemed to twinkle when he smiled nervously at you.

“Everything alright?” He spoke, taking his seat once again.

But then a strange fear gripped me

And I just couldn’t ask

Then it hit you.

This was the man who you’d been spying on for the past month. The man who you would unconsciously await to see turn on his light at night, and then you’d watch him read by the table. Unbeknownst to him, you had formed a routine around his schedule, a parasocial behavior with a man you’d never met before. Something a creep would do. Something you did.

You couldn’t talk to him. You couldn’t get to know him.

“Yeah, sorry.” You grabbed your bag. “It was nice having a little chat, Steven. I have to go now. I was out all day and I have to work tomorrow.”

“No worries. Do you want me to walk you to the tube, or to a cab maybe?” He was about to stand up, but you shook your head.

“It 's alright. The stop is not that far from here. And you just got here. Enjoy your night, Steven.” You stood up and felt your heart tighten when Steven spoke.

“Thank you, love. Be safe on your way home, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow?” He was smiling so warmly at you.

“I’m afraid tomorrow will be just as busy. Maybe another day. I’m sorry.” Steven shook his head this time.

“Don’t be. I understand now that I see how packed it gets in here. I hope we get to know each other more another day. Stay safe.”

Oh, there is a light that never goes out

There is a light that never goes out

“Goodbye, Steven.”

That night when you got home, you moved your workspace away from the window and back to your bedroom. From the gap between the drapes, you saw a light turn on from his apartment. You pulled the fabric shut.

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mystra-midnight · 2 months ago

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hi there, i’d like to order one lamington please!

i’m a short, curvy, blue eyed girl who loves wearing jeans, listening to music and painting :) i’d love a boyfriend who’d take care of me but also make me laugh

and also absolutely rail me in the bedroom

sweet nonnie, thank you so much for sending in an order! ily and hope you enjoy your sweet treat, which I also got carried away with! <3 <3

I ship you with . . . Astarion!

Astarion is a man of eclectic taste and is a many faceted individual.

He is a man who can appreciate your love of music, whether it is classical or more modern. He enjoys those quiet moments when you are in his lap, watching him strum at his lute, watching him as though transfixed.

He also enjoys the nuances of art; if you wanted him to post among the flowers, he would. If you wanted him to pose nude on the settee while you draw him — like one of your French girls — he would.

“Don’t move,” you said again, your voice soft yet commanding. Your eyes flicked up over the canvas to where he was draped over the settee, his pale skin bathed in the soft glow of the candlelight. The blanket, haphazardly thrown over his hips and thighs, left just enough to the imagination yet teased with the promise of what lay beneath. His chest rose and fell slowly with the illusion of breath, each movement accentuating the curve of his muscles, the lines of his collarbones casting shadows across his alabaster skin.

The roses you’d placed beside him matched the colour of his eyes: a deep vermillion, dark and hypnotic, like the first spill of blood on fresh snow. His gaze was steady and unwavering as he watched you, an intensity in his eyes that made your pulse quicken. There was something predatory in how he studied you as if he were less the subject of your painting and more of a hunter waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

“You seem to be enjoying this, petal,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. His lips curled into a faint smirk, though his eyes never left yours.

“Maybe I am,” you answered, dipping the brush into the paint again, refusing to let him distract you. Yet, there was no denying the warmth spreading through your blood or how your breath hitched when his gaze lingered too long. Astarion shifted, a subtle movement that drew your attention back to him.

The blanket slipped just a little, exposing more of his skin, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional. He was a picture of temptation, perfectly poised and posed, but there was something else, too — a vulnerability that only you could see, hidden beneath the surface. For a moment, your hand faltered, your brush moving in the wrong direction as you looked at him.

“Stay still,” you murmured, but the words came out softer than you intended, almost like a plea.

He loves seeing his partners comfortable in their own skin. It’s something that he craves, having spent so long at war with himself — hating every scar, every flaw, and using his body as a weapon rather than something worthy of love.

He would never complain or judge you because of the way you look or the way you dress, whether dressed up in something that clings to your curves or lounging in oversized clothes that feel like a second skin. You’re always gorgeous to him, and he never hesitates to let you know.

On the days when doubt creeps in — those quiet, insidious moments when you can’t see yourself the way he does — he’ll be there to remind you.

He cupped your cheeks in his palms, cold and steady, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His vermillion hues, dark and rich like wine, crashed against your ocean eyes, a collision of elements—fire and water, passion and calm. His touch was grounding, his fingers firm but gentle, and at that moment, the world outside faded into nothing. It was just the two of you, the heat of his palms against your skin, the steady rhythm of your breath filling the silence.

“You see yourself through such a narrow lens, petal,” he said softly, his voice low, almost reverent. He brushed his thumbs along the curve of your cheekbones, tracing the delicate lines of your face as if memorising every detail. “But I see all of you. Every part of you. And I wish you could see what I see.”

His words were quiet, but they sank deep, settling in the pit of your stomach and spreading warmth through your chest. There was no judgement in his eyes, no hesitation — only an unwavering certainty that made it impossible for you to look away. Astarion searched your gaze as if he were looking for something beyond the surface, something only he could understand. And maybe he found it.

Your heartbeats quickened, the weight of his hands anchoring you in the moment, steadying you against the swirling thoughts that had held you captive for much too long. The insecurities, the doubts — they suddenly seemed so small, so insignificant as he looked at you like that, with such intensity, as though you were the only thing in his world.

“Let me show you,” he whispered, his lips curving into the faintest smile. His hand shifted, one thumb brushing across your lower lip, a touch so soft that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Every time you forget, I’ll remind you.” There was a promise in his voice, unspoken but certain, as if he was pledging to chase away every shadow that haunted your reflection.

And as his thumb lingered on your lip, his eyes darkening ever so slightly, you knew he meant it.

And yet, for all his old-world charm and silver tongue, Astarion is a devil underneath. He knows that he is a flame and that others are moths that flock to him.

He has learned how to read people: the subtle changes in their expression and body language. He can hear the wild thundering of your heart when you’re thinking about him, and he can smell the arousal between your thighs. He’s a vampire, after all. And it leaves his head in the clouds each and every time.

In your eyes, Astarion is kind and gentle yet somewhat wild. He can give you precisely what you need: soft love and affection in those moments of doubt or rough dominance when you need to glimpse the Celestial Heavens. And you would not have him any other way.

You felt boneless, like your legs would give out at any moment. Except his hands on your hips kept you from collapsing, their grip the only thing tethering you to reality. His fingers pressed into your skin, grounding you in the moment, reminding you that you weren’t falling — not really — but sinking into something deeper, something undeniable.

His hands tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer until he was buried within your slick, warm walls. The feeling of him filling you made your breath hitch, the heat between your thighs almost unbearable. His chest pressed firmly against your back, skin-to-skin, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the way his body moulded to yours, the way every subtle movement seemed to ripple through your core.

The soft bristle of his chin brushed against your shoulder as he leaned in closer, lips barely grazing the sensitive skin of your ear. His breath on your skin made your pulse race, and each inhale was filled with the heady scent of him. It was intoxicating and overwhelming, as though you could lose yourself in the rhythm of his hollow breathing, in the slow and deliberate way he moved within you.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his lips brushing your earlobe. The soft, teasing kiss that followed sent a shiver down your spine, a full-body tremor he felt as much as you did. His voice dropped lower, becoming a sultry hum reverberating through your body, making every nerve alight with sensation. “Are you close, petal?”

You nodded, the words lodged somewhere in your throat, your breath too unsteady to form a coherent response. All you could manage was a whimper, a sound that came from deep in your chest as his grip on your hips tightened. His thumbs traced slow, maddening circles into your skin, grounding you yet driving you closer to the edge, teasing a fine line.

He shifted, his hips pressing forward, deeper, as his lips trailed soft, wet kisses down the curve of your neck, igniting sparks that bloomed across your skin. Each movement, each kiss, was deliberate, as if he knew exactly what you needed, pushing you closer and closer to the brink until you felt like you were unravelling beneath him.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, sending another shockwave through you. His voice was full of raw desire, but there was tenderness there too, a dominance, a possessiveness, a love. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

His breath ghosted against your ear as he spoke, his tone coaxing, laced with a dark promise that made your body tense in anticipation. And just like that, the last of your control slipped away, your body tightening around him, every muscle quivering as you gave in to the rising heat, to him.

—interested in joining? check out the menu and send in your order!

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