#Jean is good at dancing slow and elegant dances

[maramirror11]

Jean vs Reggaeton

This fic isn’t beta readed, so I'm sorry for my bad english.

Intern (Irene) uses she/her pronouns.

—

A week before the money laundry plan finished, Intern received a text message while working. It was from one of her cousins inviting to a party at a local club. She accepted, it’s been ages since she went out. The message also said she could invite one friend.

At that moment, she heard a sigh from Jean who was working near her. With the deadline approaching, he had to be sure everything went according to the plan. As a result, he looked even worse than usual, darker bags under his eyes and gaze constantly lost in his own thoughts. Then, a brilliant idea came into her mind.

“Hey Jean, are you free this saturday night? Or are you going to finally get some sleep?” Intern walked to his desk.

“You know blinking is the only way I sleep” He chuckled. “Why do you ask?” His eyes still focused on the screen with an almost empty coffee mug in his hand.

“Wanna go out for drinks? I was invited somewhere and I'll like you to come too”

Jean paused his work for a moment and remembered his plan was to practice the ukulele. At first, he thought about declining since he was exhausted. However, it wasn't often when they could go out without the brothers and it would be nice to go somewhere new for a change.

“I’ll go. I need a distraction or I'll jump in front of the next car I see”

“Great! I'll send you the place and we'll meet there” She said with a smile. “But first I'll do a new pot of coffee, we still have a few hours left”

…

The day finally arrived and Intern was outside the building waiting for Jean while walking back and forth. This was different from the other times they went out. Normally, they'll go to drink and relax at a bar after work. She feared this hangout would make him go back home more stressed.

Her train of thoughts stopped when she saw Jean arrive and her heart skipped a beat. It was a pleasant surprise to see what he wears outside work. It wasn't anything outstanding but it made him look more handsome than usual.

“Damn Jean, you look stunning! I didn’t know you had something other than your usual white shirts and black pants” She greeted with a hug.

“Well thank you! I can say the same about you too”

“Oh, this old thing? You flatter me” Intern covered her face dramatically. “Now turn around, I want to see the whole outfit”

He complied and then said in a soft tone “Really, you do look gorgeous tonight”

“Thanks” Said flustered, taken by surprise by the sincere compliment. “Every once in a while we need to get all dressed up. Let's take a picture before we get inside”

They found a spot to take a selfie and then went to the entrance. When they got through the door, they found a big crowd already. For them not to get separated, Intern took Jean's hand and guided him towards the bar.

After they got their drinks, they went to the reserved table for guests. It was on the second floor, near the stairs. Most guests were on the dance floor, which meant they were alone. Luckily, even with the rather loud music in the background, they could still hear each other.

“Do you come here often? I see you are familiar with this place” Jean asked after he had his drink.

“My cousin is a friend of the owner. She likes to go out a lot and that means she dragged me here countless times” Intern took a sip of her cocktail. “Do you like it?”

“It's a little different from what I’m used to, but it has a nice ambience”

“Just you wait until the good music starts, it'll get even better. Believe me, you'll shake off all that stress”

“I'll take your word for it, or you'll suffer the consequences for lying to a dangerous mafia member” Both laughed.

Slowly, they lose track of how long they've been talking, only being interrupted a few times by Intern’s friends who came to greet her. Later, when Intern was about to get a new drink, she heard a familiar melody. As soon as she recognized it, immediately stood up and turned around towards Jean.

“Do you know how to dance?” She said looking expectantly.

“I do, but-”

“Good, you are coming with me” She grabbed his hand and quickly led him to the dance floor.

“Hey! What's the rush?”

“The song will end! Besides, you need to experience the rest of this place”

They got through the crowd until they found a spot big enough for both. Intern let go of him and started dancing, while Jean remained still.

She started swinging her hips in circles, spinning around, slowly going down and up with the rhythm of the music. On top of that, she was singing loudly while pointing at him. Sadly, he couldn't understand anything the song said.

Jean stood mesmerized by this new side of Intern. She was rather calm in their everyday life, despite how crazy their work became.

Normally, it was a good thing since he needed someone who can stay grounded, but now he wished she could take this rowdy side more often. As he saw her passionately doing what she enjoys, it made him eager to start doing the same.

He snapped out of his own thoughts and decided to join her, imitating those around him. He tried to move with the rhythm but that only made him bump into other people. For his misfortune, the only physical activity he does is walk to the bus since he hasn’t reclaimed his car yet. So, he failed miserably as his moves were too stiff.

Intern got out of her zone when she saw Jean's performance. This made her laugh a lot and got closer to his ear.

“Jean, you lied to me!” Intern tried her best to calm her laugh.

“I'm rusty, okay? Besides, the ones I know are slower with more space to move” He tried to hide his embarrassment.

“Let me show you then”

First, she made Jean separate his feet and slightly flex his knees since it’ll be easier to maintain stability and not crash with anyone. Then, he had to tiptoe forward and back in place while his shoulders swung forward. Once he got more comfortable, Intern showed how to move his hips on a circle while going down and up. This one took a little more coordination.

As time went on, Jean got enough practice and started to do it with more confidence. When Intern was satisfied with his performance, she resumed her own dancing. This should’ve been enough for him not to humiliate himself, except that he still looked somewhat stiff.

“Give me your hand” Intern said while extending hers.

“What for?”

“Just trust me” She winked.

Intern realized Jean took these lessons too seriously and proceeded to playfully make him swirl. It didn’t go as smoothly as she wanted, but it made Jean laugh and loosen up. Still holding hands, he tried the same with her. Except that this time, it went perfectly.

It's been a while since she saw Jean in a good mood. He was so anxious about every single detail for the money laundry scheme, due to his head being at risk. Still, he deserved to enjoy the present.

Intern knows Jean hates his job, he always warns about ending up like him. Despite all of that, still got something out of it, the Bada brothers. Even if they don't show it often, from the way they talk and treat each other, it's obvious they care about Jean. Another thing he has now… is her heart.

Unexpectedly, he became someone important in her life and everything was better with him close by. That's why she felt honored to make him feel safe enough to show his hobby and really hoped he had that confidence to just be himself more often.

Intern had this attraction towards Jean for quite a while, but wasn't sure whether to make a move or not. For the most part, it’s because they work together and could bring problems for both in case he was interested.

However, tonight they weren't co-workers, they were friends and that gave her more confidence in being more direct with her affection.

Deep inside, she feared he would've been taken aback by her attitude and changed the way he treats her. But it was a huge relief that it wasn't the case, on top of that he learned about her interest.

As both were dancing while holding hands, Intern was dying to get closer to Jean but didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. So, she started to move her hands at a slow pace to his shoulders, looking at his reaction. If he appears to be uncomfortable, she'll stop.

He shivered with the sudden caress, it’s been forever since he felt a simple touch like that. Despite the initial surprise, he took the hint and his hands went to her hips just like those couples around them. Upon every movement, she could feel her heart beating faster. His hands on her body gave her courage to get closer. Little by little until their bodies were almost pressed against each other.

Neither of them were paying attention to the music or people around them anymore. The only thing in their mind was the way they slowly moved together in synchrony while looking at each other.

The tension between them became painful and their faces got closer. Intern's lips almost reached into his. But all of a sudden, she stopped and pulled back. The nervousness got the better of her this time. Jean looked expectantly, but didn't move forward either. Intern had to think something quick to make the moment less awkward.

“Wanna go back?” She asked while mentally beating herself for wasting this chance.

Jean just nodded and both left with regret on their faces. To forget about this, they asked for another round of drinks before going back. When Jean sits down, he realizes how fatigued he feels, they have been dancing for a long while now.

“I wasn't THAT terrible, right?” He said with a short breath as he dropped into his seat.

“You did a good job actually! I'll take that as you had a good time” Intern sat and had her drink.

“I did, I feel a huge weight off my back. Although, I can't fucking move anymore” He sunk into the sofa.

“You see? I kept my promise. Besides, you deserve to unwind every now and then”

“Thank you. But, you never told me you could dance like that! Where did you even learn it?”

“Ha! It's one of my secret talents. I promise, I'll teach you more next tim-”

Intern suddenly recognized one of her favorite songs blasting through the speakers and stood up again.

“I'll be right back, it won't take long” She set down her drink on the table.

“Aren't you tired?” The thought of standing up was already draining him, let alone go back.

“Not when this banger is playing, but you can stay if you want”

Intern rushes back while Jean watches from the second floor, still with the promise in his mind and a dumb smile on his face. Then, the words “next time” echoed in his head and reality hit him.

In secret, he had been planning to leave the city after the Colombian deal was done. As much as he would've loved to run away earlier, he didn't want to leave Intern behind just like that. He finally found someone he could truly connect with, and now he had to be alone again.

A question occupied his mind. Will this truly be the last time they can be together like this?

The answer made his chest hurt but he couldn't stay for much longer. Even so, the thought of Intern wondering where he went or whether he’s okay, made the pain worse. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to let her know about his plan.

He was looking at the distance when he saw Intern waving at him, interrupting his thoughts.

“Fuck it, that next lesson has to be sooner” Jean stood up.

He pushed his worries aside and joined Intern on the dance floor once again. If this was their last time, then he'll make it worth it.

----------

The song that plays when Intern gets up for the first time is "Atrévete-Te-Te" by Calle 13 (Explicit Version). And the one when they are about to kiss is "Ahora Es" by Wisin & Yandel.

If you want more recommendations for similar songs, I'll leave a few (this is just an excuse to talk about my favorites song):

¿Qué tengo que hacer? - Daddy Yankee

Salió el Sol - Don Omar

Rompe - Daddy Yankee

Dile - Don Omar

El Telefono - Hector Bambino "El Father", Wisin & Yandel

Noche De Entierro (Nuestro Amor) - Hector "El Father", Wisin & Yandel, Daddy Yankee, Tonny Tun Tun, Luny Tunes

Ella me levantó - Daddy Yankee

[zmbiesuga]

FAVORITE ࿔*:･ﾟ

꒰ m. osamu x gn!reader ꒱

° sypnosis: what's osamu's favorite food?

° warning: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!, post-timeskip, it's gender neutral but reader has a vagina, cursing, osamu calls reader: sweet thing, pretty & baby, oral (reader receiving), munch!osamu, cunnilingus, slight overstim at the end

° notes: DON'T LOOK AT MEEEEE!!!!!

Osamu swears up and down that he does not have a favorite food.

They are all equally delicious to him, every bite of every dish he tastes dances on his tongue with a new partner each time. Whether it be an elegant waltz from the caviar served at his brother's wedding, a playful jig from a bite from the plastic dish of dippin’ dots he got for nostalgia’s sake or the quick-paced two-step from the baked mac ‘nd cheese his Ma makes for every family picnic. It’s baffling that anyone would ever expect him to pick a favorite.

This is the socially acceptable answer. This is what he tells Atsumu when he asks for reference. This is what he tells his customers if they even suggest that onigiri is his favorite. This is his go to, but the truth?

Osamu’s favorite food is the one buried deep between the apex of your thighs. 

Just like every good dish, this one has to be prepared with love and care. It starts off tender, it always does with him. Slow, messy, desperate kisses with gentle nips at your bottom lip. His hands graze up and down your sides, before ultimately landing on your hips with a soft squeeze. Your skin feels so warm, so plush and right against the skin of his own hands. Rough from volleyball, fights with Tsumu and endless days molding his rice into perfect triangles. 

His lips move down, pressing messy open-mouth kisses against your jaw. Stopping at the junction that connects your jaw to your neck, sucking a deep hickey before continuing his journey. His hands travel up your shirt, but that’s as far as they go. He’s not wasting time, not tonight. That’s not what he’s hungry for. 

He’ll nip, and suck, and bite, and kiss until you’re writhing beneath him. Not even undressed yet, but somehow you can feel him on every inch of your bare skin. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

Your skin feels so hot, you’re pulsing, throbbing with need. Your whines only spur him further as he lets out a low chuckle and a quick: “Patience sweet thing, I’m gettin’ there.” 

He fumbles with your jeans, he’s too eager now. Too impatient, he won’t wait for his food to cool down. He pulls them off with one swift movement, your underwear catching on the denim and sliding down with them. 

“You smell so fuckin’ good baby,” he purrs, his now swollen lips making quick with the way they kiss along your thighs, “Ma always told me to blow on my food if it was too hot though…” he smirks up at you, “...and I don’t wanna burn my tongue.”

He stops just short of your heat, his hand reaching out tentatively. With two fingers, he collects your slick before spreading apart your lips, putting you on full display for him. He’s practically drooling now, blowing a stream of hot air directly on your throbbing cunt, chuckling at the way you squirm from his action.

You’re cooled down enough.

Eagerly, almost animalistically, he flattens his tongue against your slit. Careful to avoid the bundle of nerves that begs for his attention so desperately. He’ll get there. He laps every inch of your folds, relishing in the way his head burns from how tightly you’re gripping his dark brown locks. His hands hold your thighs firmly in place, fingernails digging in the supple fat while he continues to eat you like a starved man.

The noises he makes are absolutely sinful. Audible slurps fill the room, his own drool coating your cunt while you plead for him to at least ghost over your clit with his mouth. But he has other plans.

He catches the bundle of nerves between his lips, and he moans, fucking moans in sync with you from your taste alone. He sucks, laps, slurps, fucking devours you whole like you’re his last meal and he’s a man on death row.

His pace doesn’t relent, he’s moaning into your pussy, he’s not even focused on himself. He’s lost, you have him hooked. He feels your thighs clamp down against his head, his tongue moves quicker inside of your tight hole before he retracts it and licks another long strip the whole way to your clit, sending you over the edge.

He gives you a moment, only a moment for you to catch your breath before he dives back in again. Laughing hoarsely against your core as you whine and try to push his head away from the overstimulation, but he won’t budge.

“Now pretty, quit squirmin’,” he groans, “I’m tryin’ ta get seconds of my favorite food.”

[xtra7s]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 ★ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

pairing: Renee Rapp x reader

Synopsis: Renee Rapp finds herself being forced to co-write with her popstar enemy, Y/N YL/N.

content: none

word count: 2500+

masterlist

Sunlight, pale and watery, peeked through Renee's eyelids, coaxing them open. She groaned, squinting at the dust motes dancing in the sunbeam, momentarily lost before memory slammed back, a tidal wave of yesterday's chaos. The sold-out show, the encore that bled into the early hours, the post-show whirlwind of sweaty hugs and hoarse thank yous.

She sat up, wincing at the way her muscles protested, stretched languidly like a sun-drenched cat. Her apartment, usually alive with the echoes of guitar strings and her own humming, was blessedly quiet. She savored the stillness, reveling in the luxury of an unscheduled morning.

Coffee first, always coffee. Slipping into a faded black tee and ripped sweatpants, Renee padded into the kitchen, the familiar ritual grounding her. The hiss of the espresso machine, the frothy gurgle of milk, all a symphony of caffeine-fueled peace. She curled up on the window seat, mug cradled in her hands, watching the city wake up beneath a veil of mist.

The day unfurled with the lazy elegance of a catnap. She strummed aimlessly on her guitar, chords bleeding into each other like watercolor paints. A melody hummed beneath her breath, hesitant at first, then soaring with newfound confidence. Words followed, tumbling out like spilled secrets, raw and vulnerable. This one, she knew, wouldn't be for the stage. This one was for her, etched in the quiet of her living room, sunlight painting gold across her notebook pages.

Mid-verse, the phone buzzed, pulling her back from the daydream landscape. It was Adam, her manager, his voice a staccato counterpoint to the slow tempo of her morning. "Hey, sleepyhead. Get that caffeine flowing, you've got a meeting in an hour."

Renee blinked the edges of her daydream blurring. "A meeting? With who?"

"Surprise," Adam purred, a mischievous glint in his voice. "Just be at the office by noon, looking fierce. Trust me, this is good."

The call ended, leaving behind a delicious cocktail of curiosity and apprehension. Adam rarely sprung surprises, preferring the well-worn path of meticulous planning. A quick peek at her calendar confirmed the blankness of the day, a testament to his clandestine maneuver. Renee, intrigued, finished her coffee with newfound urgency.

A quick shower scrubbed away the remnants of sleep and yesterday's glitter. Jeans replaced sweatpants, and a vintage band tee swapped for a sleek silk cropped tank. She threw on a leather jacket, its worn patina contrasting the delicate silver chain around her neck. A flick of mascara, a touch of rouge, and voila, Renee was ready for whatever mystery Max had cooked up.

The subway ride was a whirlwind of crumpled newspapers and hurried goodbyes. The city buzzed outside the windows, a symphony of car horns and sirens that somehow managed to be lullaby familiar. Renee tapped her foot against the worn floor, an impatient rhythm against the steady rumble of the train.

Adam's office, on the top floor of a sleek glass tower, felt as controlled as its occupant. He sat behind a minimalist desk, a tablet gleaming like a black mirror in his hands. "Well, look who graced us with her presence," he drawled, a sharkish grin lighting up his face.

"Alright, spill it," Renee demanded, settling into the plush leather chair opposite him. She took off her jacket and rested it on the chair, "Who's the mystery meeting with?"

Adam smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Ready for the real kicker, Blondie?" He reached for his tablet, tapping the screen with a flourish. "Your writing partner for these demos? None other than the one and only..."

The name that flashed on the screen froze Renee's blood. Y/N YL/N. The girl who seemed to embody everything Renee wasn't – polished, perfect, and seemingly born with a platinum record tucked behind each earlobe.

Their paths had crossed a few times – an awkward introduction at an awards show, a tense exchange at a music industry party – and each encounter had felt like navigating a minefield. Y/N’s icy smile and razor-sharp wit felt like a personal affront, a constant reminder of everything Renee felt insecure about.

The news hit her like a rogue wave. Collaborating with Y/N? Writing songs together? It was like asking a firefly to tango with a scorpion. The very idea sent shivers down her spine, a delicious blend of dread and fascination.

"You're joking, right?" Renee's voice was a tight whisper, her fingers twisting in her lap.

Adam chuckled, but there was a glint of steel in his eyes. "Nope. Word on the street is that Y/N's been looking for a songwriting partner with some... grit. Apparently, her last collaborator couldn't handle the 'diva act.'" He raised an eyebrow, daring her to challenge him.

Renee squared her shoulders, a spark of defiance lighting in her eyes. "Challenge accepted," she declared, her voice steadier than she felt. "Let's see who the real diva is when we're both spitting shit in a recording booth."

The Hollywood dream suddenly felt a lot less glamorous and a lot more like stepping into a coliseum, armed only with a guitar and a stubborn sense of self. Writing songs with Y/N was going to be hell, but maybe, just maybe, it would also be the spark that ignited something extraordinary, both on the record and within herself. 

As Adam slid a glass of champagne into her hand, the city lights outside the window seemed to wink, beckoning her towards a future both terrifying and thrilling. The Renee Rapp show was just getting started, and her first act was facing her demons, head-on and harmony-filled.

"Alright, Renee," he said, pushing himself up from his chair. "Y/N's on her way to the studio right now. Time to go meet your new best friend."

Renee swallowed hard, the champagne suddenly turning to vinegar in her stomach. "Right," she croaked, forcing a smile. "Studio. Collaboration. Teamwork."

Adam raised an eyebrow, his sharkish grin widening. "More like controlled chaos, but hey, that's where the magic happens, right?" He winked, then tossed her black leather jacket to her. "Go get 'em, tiger. Show her what Renee Rapp's made of."

The city stretched out before her, a concrete jungle pulsating with possibility and peril. Grabbing a taxi, Renee sped towards the studio, her thoughts churning like a washing machine on a spin cycle. Would Y/N be the ice queen she always appeared to be, or was there something more beneath the polished surface? Could they possibly navigate the choppy waters of songwriting together, or would their egos collide in a spectacular, public shipwreck?

The studio, nestled in the heart of Hollywood, hummed with creative energy. The air crackled with the sound of guitars being tuned, drumsticks tapping impatiently, and voices warming up scales. Renee took a deep breath, stepping into the dimly lit control room where Angela waited, her music producer, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"She's in booth two," she said, pointing towards a soundproofed glass box.

Renee nodded, her heart pounding a primal rhythm against her ribs. She pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the booth like a gladiator entering the arena. There, bathed in the soft glow of studio lights, sat Y/N YL/N.

For a moment, the world held its breath. The two rivals were locked in a silent standoff, their past encounters casting long shadows across the room. Then, a slow smile spread across Y/N's face, a smirk that was equal parts of challenge and intrigue.

"Renee Rapp," she drawled, her voice like honeyed poison. "Fancy seeing you here."

Renee met her gaze, her own smile steely and determined. "Yeah yeah, Y/N," she replied. "Let's get to work."

And so, the unlikely collaboration began. Two voices, so different yet somehow destined to intertwine, filled the studio with the raw energy of unspoken feelings and unbridled talent. The air crackled with tension, with unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Yet, as their fingers danced across guitars and their voices blended in unexpected harmonies, a spark ignited.

It was a dance on the edge of a volcano, fueled by equal parts animosity and grudging respect. They challenged each other and pushed each other to their limits, their voices soaring and crashing like waves against the rocks. 

Frustration hung heavy in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. Hours had bled by, filled with discarded melodies and half-written verses, with the tantalizing promise of a song just out of reach. Renee strummed her guitar listlessly, the chords echoing the emptiness in her mind.

Y/N sat across from her, perched on a stool, her usually immaculate hair mussed, dark circles smudging the corners of her eyes. The polished veneer of her persona had peeled away, revealing the vulnerability beneath. For the first time, Renee saw her not as a rival, but as another artist struggling with the same demons.

A sudden change in Renee's strumming caught Y/N's attention. Her head snapped up, eyes locking with Renee's, who seemed unaware of the shift. Her fingers danced across the strings, weaving a melody that was both raw and captivating. Renee's lips moved silently, forming words that hung in the air like wisps of smoke.

"You say that I'm your favorite," she hummed, her voice low and husky, "With your hand between my thighs."

Y/N's breath hitched, a shiver dancing down her spine. The lyrics, raw and unapologetic, cut through the tension like a knife. This wasn't the sugary pop Y/N was known for; this was something darker, something more real.

Renee's eyes fluttered open, meeting Y/N's gaze with a newfound intensity. The air crackled with electricity, a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

"Tell me if you were gonna," Renee continued, her voice gaining strength, "That I would be the one you tried."

Y/N watched, hypnotized, as Renee mumbled a few more lyrics before shaking her head. The raw lyrics, sung with smoky confidence, peeled back layer after layer of the facade Renee typically projected. Y/N noticed things she'd never observed before - the flecks of gold in Renee's blue eyes that sparked with each line, the way her nose crinkled adorably when she concentrated, and the subtle curve of her jaw that spoke of hidden strength.

 The song, a shared confession, had cracked open Y/N's carefully constructed shell, revealing a tangle of emotions she'd kept buried for years. Her gaze traced the line of Renee's neck, the pulse fluttering beneath the delicate skin, and a shiver ran down Y/N's spine.

The air crackled with a charged silence. Y/N's walls, once brick and mortar, were now mere cobblestones, tumbling into disarray. She met Renee's eyes, her own unguarded and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the icy color they usually held.

"That..." Y/N's voice was a mere whisper, "That was something else, Renee."

Renee, sensing the shift, offered a tentative smile. "It was," she agreed, her voice husky.

There, in the dimly lit studio, their rivalry seemed to melt away, replaced by a fragile understanding, a whispered promise of shared vulnerability. They stepped out into the dawn, the first rays of sunlight painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. It was a new beginning, a blank canvas upon which they could paint a masterpiece of collaboration.

But as they left the studio and the magic of the music faded, Y/N's walls began to rebuild, brick by metaphorical brick. The vulnerability 

evaporated, replaced by the familiar mask of cold detachment. Her back straightened, her gaze sharpened, and a familiar smirk played on her lips.

"Alright, Renee," she drawled, her voice tinged with her usual icy edge. "Hit me up tomorrow, I'll come over and we can continue writing."

Renee blinked, startled by the sharp shift. She nodded as the warmth of their shared moment had dissolved, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. But something had changed. Renee saw a flicker of the woman beneath the ice queen, a glimpse of the vulnerability Y/N had so briefly unveiled.

The game had changed, indeed. Renee knew the road ahead would be paved with challenges, with Y/N's barbed wit and ruthless ambition a constant obstacle. But she also knew that, hidden beneath the layers of frost, there was a fire in Y/N that could be kindled. The melody they had forged together, raw and honest, was proof. And that, in itself, was a victory.

The rivalry was far from over, but now, it danced with a hint of something else, something unspoken and intriguing. Renee met Y/N's gaze, a new challenge glinting in her own eyes. 

Renee stumbled out of the studio, eyelids drooping and nerves buzzing. Sleep, usually a welcome sanctuary, seemed elusive tonight. The image of Y/N's walls rebuilding, brick by icy brick, replayed in her mind, a discordant note against the echo of their raw collaboration.

She drifted into her apartment, the silence pressing against her like a suffocating wave. The ukulele leaned against the wall, untouched, yearning for the warmth of her fingers. Instead, she gravitated towards her trusty guitar, its familiar weight grounding her in the chaos of her emotions.

Her fingers danced across the strings, returning to the notes she played in the studio, a way to translate the tangled mess in her head. The chords came hesitantly at first, a tentative whisper, then gathering momentum like a gathering storm. Her voice, raw and unfiltered, filled the quiet room, weaving a tapestry of unspoken desires and lingering questions.

"In the PM, all the pretty girls," she crooned, "They have a couple drinks, all the pretty girls."

The lyric hung in the air, heavy with both longing and self-awareness. Was it her own reflection she saw in those words, the girl in the mirror seeking solace in the fleeting comfort of company? Or was it Y/N, a glimpse beneath the polished surface, a yearning for something just beyond her reach?

"So now, they wanna kiss all the pretty girls," Renee continued, her voice gaining strength, "They got to have a taste of a pretty girl."

The melody soared, achingly beautiful, and laced with a bittersweet truth. The game they played, the unspoken tension between them, was it just a desperate grasp for connection in a world of curated personas? Or was there something more, something simmering beneath the veneer of rivalry?

She strummed the final chord, letting the silence settle like a soft snowfall. The lyrics etched onto the page in messy scrawl, seemed to hold the answer to a question she hadn't even dared to ask. Tonight, the lines between artist and subject had blurred, Renee revealing not just melodies but a sliver of her own soul.

With a heavy sigh, she slipped into bed, the image of Y/N's eyes, both guarded and curious, dancing behind her eyelids. Sleep, at last, brought its welcome embrace, but within its depths, another song was stirring, waiting to be born. In the morning, with the city streets shimmering beneath the sunrise, Renee knew the game had just begun. 

The melodies they created, confessions hidden in plain sight, would be their currency, their battle cries, their whispered promises. Whether it led to harmony or heartbreak, one thing was certain: the world they were about to create, together, would be unlike anything anyone had ever heard.

[kikimurphys]

The Wrap Party (Part 4)

Warning: none

The late afternoon light filtered through your window as you stood in front of your mirror, carefully applying the last coat of mascara to your long lashes. Your heart raced in anticipation. Tonight wasn’t just any night—it was a proper date with Cillian. After everything that had happened between you, this felt monumental, and you couldn’t shake the nervous energy bubbling inside.

As you finished your makeup, your phone buzzed on the dresser beside you. A text from him: On my way. xx

Your heart did a little flip at the sight of his message. Butterflies danced in your stomach, and you felt a rush of excitement. God, why am I so nervous? You took a deep breath and smoothed down your dress, trying to steady yourself.

You’d chosen a black, loose-fitting long-sleeved dress that hugged you in all the right places, the hem stopping just under your bum, showing off your toned legs. It was simple yet elegant. Paired with matching black kitten heels, a bold red lip, and your hair styled in loose waves, the look was casual but effortlessly chic. The kind of look that didn’t try too hard but still felt undeniably sexy.

Just as you finished spritzing on your favorite perfume, the doorbell rang. He’s here.

When you opened the door, there he stood—Cillian. He was dressed in a dark, tailored shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly, his hair slightly tousled in that effortlessly charming way. The moment his eyes landed on you, they darkened with appreciation, and a slow, appreciative smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Wow," he murmured, his voice low as he took you in. "You look… incredible."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, heat pooling in your cheeks at the way he was looking at you. “Thank you,” you said softly, slipping your bag onto your shoulder and stepping outside.

He leaned in to greet you with a kiss, gentle and warm, his lips brushing yours as you gripped his shoulders for balance. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer for just a moment before he pulled back. “Ready?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with excitement.

You nodded, smiling as you followed him to the black luxurious car waiting outside. Of course, he had a chauffeur. As the car door opened, he gestured for you to slide in first. Always the gentleman. You settled into the back seat, the plush leather cool against your skin as he joined you.

The drive was smooth, the city lights flashing by as you both exchanged small talk about your day. There was a comfortable ease between you, but the undercurrent of attraction buzzed just below the surface. When the car finally stopped outside the restaurant, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves as you stepped out onto the pavement.

The restaurant was stunning—sleek and modern, with an upscale ambiance that screamed sophistication. You could tell just from the people inside that this was a place for the elite, the posh crowd who knew they were something special. But instead of feeling intimidated, you found yourself amused by it all.

As you were seated at your table, the mood shifted slightly, becoming more intimate. The candlelight flickered between you, casting soft shadows on his face as you both perused the menu.

“What are you thinking of ordering?” he asked, glancing up at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

You smirked. “Hmm, I think I’ll start with the lobster bisque. Very fancy, right? What about you?”

“Steak. Medium-rare. Can’t go wrong with a classic,” he replied, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Though, I have to say, I didn’t take you for the fancy-lobster-bisque type.”

You laughed, feeling the tension ease as the conversation naturally flowed. “Oh, I’m full of surprises. And I’ll have you know, I can also appreciate a good burger from time to time.”

His grin widened. “Good to know. We’ll save that for our next date then.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Next date, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m already planning on it,” he teased, leaning forward slightly. “Maybe somewhere less… posh.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, and the night continued with that same playful energy. As the courses came and went, you found yourself opening up more, sharing stories and anecdotes about your lives.

“So, tell me,” he said after a sip of wine, “how did you get into the whole acting thing? Was it something you always wanted?”

You paused, thinking for a moment before answering. “It’s kind of funny actually. When I was little, I wanted to be a writer. But I was always a bit of a drama queen,” you joked, “and in school, I just loved being on stage. It felt like the one place I could be completely myself—or someone else entirely. You know what I mean?”

He nodded, his eyes focused on you intently. “Yeah, I get that. There’s something about stepping into someone else’s shoes for a while. It’s freeing.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What about you? I mean, you’re this big, successful actor now, but was that always the plan?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly. I actually wanted to be a musician. I was in a band when I was younger, but acting sort of… found me. I still miss music sometimes, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I love what I do.”

You smiled, feeling a genuine connection in that moment. It wasn’t just surface-level attraction—you both had these deep, shared passions that fueled you.

“So, rockstar Cillian, huh?” you teased, taking a sip of your wine.

“Don’t mock me,” he said with a playful grin. “I had my moments.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. You shared more stories—embarrassing moments from your youth, the worst jobs you ever had, the weirdest fan encounters. You laughed until your sides hurt, especially when Cillian told you about a particularly odd fan interaction where someone had asked him to sign their baby’s forehead.

“I swear, I didn’t know what to do,” he said, still laughing. “I just kind of… awkwardly patted the baby’s head and walked away.”

“Oh my god, that’s ridiculous,” you giggled. “I would’ve paid to see that.”

By the time dessert came around, the chemistry between you was undeniable. You both leaned in closer, sharing secretive smiles, your knees brushing more often under the table. Every touch, every glance felt electric, building a tension that neither of you could ignore.

As you walked out of the restaurant toward the car, his hand naturally found your waist, keeping you close as you both laughed, slightly tipsy from the wine. Your steps were clumsy, but you didn’t care—you couldn’t stop teasing each other, and every playful bump or stumble made you more aware of how close he was.

The moment the car door closed behind you, the tension in the air shifted again—electric, charged. You barely had time to think before your hand reached up, fingers curling around the back of Cillian’s neck, pulling him closer. His body pressed against yours instantly, his chest firm against the softness of your dress.

The kiss deepened, his lips parting to taste you as his tongue slid teasingly against yours, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second. It was intoxicating—the way he moved against you, the heat building between your bodies in a languid, heated rhythm.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your lips. “Couldn’t wait, could you?” His voice was a low murmur, teasing, his fingers still gripping your waist with a possessive touch.

You bit your lip, your pulse quickening. “You’re the one who can’t keep your hands off me.”

He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding lower to cup your bum. The soft, firm squeeze made your breath catch, your body responding instantly to his touch. “Can you blame me?” he whispered, his lips ghosting over your ear. “Look at you... You’ve been driving me mad since the moment I saw you in that dress.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, your body aching for more. His other hand slipped down to caress the bare skin of your thigh, inching closer to the hem of your dress. His fingers grazed the sensitive skin there, teasing you, promising more without giving it yet.

“You’re killing me,” you breathed, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

His hand slid under your dress, finding your clothed core. His fingers brushed against the thin material of your thong, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped your lips. The sound made him groan, his grip tightening as he pulled you harder against him. His lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, his tongue claiming yours with a slow, sensual rhythm that sent a rush of heat straight to your core. Every stroke of his tongue against yours was deliberate, a game of control and desire, each kiss deeper, wetter, as you both lost yourselves in the sensation.

“Fuck,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough with want. “You’re soaked already, aren’t you?”

You nodded, too breathless to answer, your body arching into him, craving more. His fingers slid teasingly along the seam of your thong, just barely pressing against your core, making you whimper in frustration.

“Say it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Tell me how much you want me.”

Your voice was shaky, but the need in it was undeniable. “I need you, Cillian... I can’t—” You gasped as his fingers pressed harder against you, sending a delicious jolt of pleasure through your body. “I can’t wait.”

A low, dangerous chuckle escaped him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his lips returning to yours in a heated, possessive kiss. His hand moved in slow circles, his fingers grazing you through the thin fabric, making your legs tremble. The friction was just enough to drive you mad, your body aching for more, desperate for him to take you right there.

By the time the driver pulled up in front of his building, both of you were on edge. The minute the car stopped, Cillian was out, offering his hand to you with a smirk that sent your pulse racing. You took it, your legs trembling slightly as you stepped out of the car. The heat between you was unbearable now, both of you too far gone to care about anything but each other.

The porter barely acknowledged you as you entered the lobby, but you heard him greet Cillian with a polite “Good night, Mr. Murphy,” while he pressed the elevator button for you.

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind you, the heat exploded. You didn’t even wait for him to make a move. Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, and you pulled him into you, your lips crashing into his in a fervent kiss. His tongue slid against yours, hot and slick, teasing you, making your knees weak as you moaned into his mouth.

He groaned against your lips, hands gripping your waist as he pressed his body into yours. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust as his lips found that spot behind your ear again, the one that made you shiver. His hand moved from your waist, slowly gliding up to cup your breast through your dress, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened beneath his touch.

Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as your body arched into him. “You like that?” he whispered against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck. “You like when I tease you like this?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “God, yes.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers teasing the fabric of your dress. “I bet you do. I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart, aren’t you?”

The elevator dinged, signaling you’d reached the top floor. As the doors slid open, you stepped out, and Cillian followed close behind, his hand gently resting on your lower back. When he unlocked the door and gestured for you to enter first, you felt a mix of excitement and anticipation pulse through you.

His penthouse was just as you’d imagined—sleek, modern furniture arranged against the backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the shimmering city lights. It was breathtaking, but you barely had time to admire it before you felt his warm hands slide over your shoulders, fingers deftly sweeping your hair to one side, exposing the curve of your neck.

"Been waiting all night for this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. The rasp in his voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine, his Irish accent making the words even more irresistible. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, and you could feel the heat of his body radiating against yours.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep control, but your pulse quickened when you felt his hands glide to the small of your back, slowly pulling down the zipper of your dress. "Waiting to feel you," he murmured, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses down the side of your neck, making your breath hitch. "Waiting to taste you."

The way his voice curled around each word set your skin alight. You let your bag drop to the floor with a soft thud.

"Then do," you purred, voice low, laced with desire. You turned to face him, your lips finding his in a slow, tantalizing kiss.

His mouth crashed into yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. The kiss was deep, consuming—his lips soft but firm, moving expertly against yours, coaxing you to let go. His tongue brushed yours, teasing, exploring, as his hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard planes of his chest pressing into you, the heat of his body igniting something wild inside you.

You whimpered softly against his lips, your hands fisting in the fabric of his half-open shirt, tugging him closer. His tongue swept over yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. Each stroke, each flick sent sparks down your spine, and you found yourself melting into him, lost in the sensation.

He groaned softly into your mouth as his palms cupped your ass, squeezing firmly. The sound sent a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly.

“Believe me,” he growled, his voice dark, rough with desire as he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, “I will.”

Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. This was going to be a long night, you thought.

tags:

@mamawiggers1980 @xsweetcatastrophe @galactict3a @thistheivyseason @cillianmurphyvevo @sweetcheesecakesblog @cillianmurphyfanatic

[miasmaghoul]

Hiii could we get Mount and any ghoulette/ghoul of your choice slow dancing to cute music while under the stars? Thank you 🩷

-🐬

"You have terrible rhythm."

"I do not!"

Aurora scowls, arms crossed over her chest. Mountain raises an eyebrow, staring down at the little ghoulette. She tries to look threatening, despite him having at least two feet on her. Mountain seems unaffected.

"It's a basic waltz, Ro," he chuckles, striding over to reset the turntable for what must be the hundredth time tonight. "You just have to count to four."

"Says the drummer," she grumbles, picking at a cuticle. "With the mile long legs."

"And yet you're the one stepping on toes," he teases, gesturing at his newly scuffed boots. "I think my point stands."

Aurora sticks her tongue out at him and Mountain lets out a snort. Leans down to tuck a stray pale lavender curl behind her ear. It's the color of the week, matches her nails and eyeshadow and makes the silvery sheen of her eyes stand out. She's pouting at him, but Mountain still rubs their noses together.

"It's alright, petal." He takes her hand in his and brushes his lips over her knuckles. "You're still learning, and I've got all night. After all," he gestures at their surroundings, "this is just for you."

It's true, and a light dusting of pink crests Aurora's cheeks at the sincerity in his eyes.

The outdoor pavilion - usually reserved for celebrations and formal events - is truly a sight to behold tonight. Decked out in fairy lights and flowering vines that fill the summer air with with the heady scent of jasmine and wisteria, the only other light provided by the waning moon and sparkling stars overhead. A surprise, Mountain had told her. A little something just for her - dinner and dancing under the stars.

Except Aurora can't dance. At least not like this.

"I know," she mutters, straightening her skirt. She's glad she chose this dress - a flowy, sleeveless number in the palest shade of green, the hem embroidered with a vaguely floral design. It's Mountain's favorite. "I just..." she crosses her ankles, fidgets with one of her rings. "I thought I'd be better at it, is all."

Mountain tilts his head, hooks his thumbs in his pockets. He looks nice too, dressed in a light beige button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark jeans. Casual, but elegant in a way that suits him. The gold flecks in his emerald eyes stand out in the glow of the lights around them, as do the auburn streaks in his mousy hair. He looks beautiful, and it makes Aurora's belly warm to know it's just for her.

"You just started," Mountain rumbles, "no one's perfect without practice, Ro."

"I know, I know." She shakes her head, chews the inside of her cheek. "But I've seen you dance with Cu," she admits, quiet, "and she's so...so good, and I don't know why I can't -"

"Snowflake," Mountain interrupts, resting those huge hands on her slight shoulders, "do you know why Cumulus can dance like that?"

Aurora shakes her head, shifting foot to foot. Mountain's looking down at her with a gleam in his eye, a curl at the corner of his mouth.

"It's her vessel."

Aurora raises an eyebrow.

"The body Cumulus claimed when she was summoned," he explains and, well, she knows what a vessel is, but Mountain continues before she can balk. "It belonged to a ballroom dancer."

Aurora blinks up at him.

"Not exclusively, of course," he continues, "she also used to lead the human choir, but -"

"Really?"

She can't help the interruption. It's just such a surprise; she knows that most ghouls inherit skills possessed by the humans whose forms they inhabit, but she never would have guessed that was something Cumulus got.

"Really," Mountain confirms with a nod, his hands drifting down her sides to rest on her hips. "So I think it's safe to say you're making an unfair comparison."

"What did my body - my vessel used to do?" She can't help the curiosity, she's yet to find anything she's good at besides singing. "Did you know her too?"

"Hmm..." Mountain traces her hip bones while he considers the question, and it gives her the tinglies. "I think she worked in the kitchens, but since you could burn cereal..."

"Hey!" She gives his chest a playful slap and Mountain grins.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." The ghoul leans down again, nuzzles the crown of her head. "I'm not sure, Ro, but don't worry." He stands again, his smile kind. "You'll find your thing, I'm sure of it."

Mountain leans down for a quick kiss, and Aurora rolls up onto her tiptoes to meet him. She can still taste the wine they shared on his lips.

"But for now," he murmurs, stepping close enough to rest a hand on her lower back, "may I have this dance?"

Aurora flashes him a toothy smile, getting her hands in their proper places. She flicks a finger towards the record player, sends a gust of cool wind to knock the needle into place, and Mountain hums in approval.

"We'll start slower this time, alright?" Aurora nods, settles into his gentle hold. "Just follow my lead."

The music flows around them, carried by the sweet summer breeze, and as Mountain counts out the steps Aurora hopes this night never ends.

[unaesthetic-writer]

OKAY I don't rlly post much here but I saw this gorgeous au for jegulus from @ashshmee and I wanted to try writing it(my other acc is the one that commented) skshhsjdjshsbe SORRY IF ITS NOT PERFECT 😭

JAMES POV:

I had been waiting a while now for Sirius to finally be ready. Even though I'm the one who asked to go, he's taking longer than me to get ready. I had never gone to the ballet before, but it always intrigued me how those dancers were able to seem so graceful while using up more strength than I could ever imagine. Sirius had said it was his little brother's show, which really had me curious. Sirius doesn't talk about Regulus often, but when he does he's always sounded so... Surreal. Like not even Sirius fully believed he had a brother so unlike him. Sirius, even as my best friend— I can say he's a graceful as a rat. But he makes up for it in other ways; He's an amazing singer, the best I've ever heard in my 22 years on this earth. And Sirius has this presence to him on stage... It's unmatched. But for Sirius, who barely has uttered a non- sarcastic compliment to anyone in YEARS unless he was flirting, to praise someone like that... Regulus has to be spectacular.

But finally, Sirius steps out of the bathroom, his hair and makeup finally finished. It's much more elegant than his usual get up, but it still feels like him. Instead of his usual washed out black jeans and a leather jacket, he's wearing black dress pants and a black button up with only a simple smoky eye for makeup. Even his usually long wind blown hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, small strands framing the front of his face. "I'm ready, prongs! You good to go mate?" He nonchalantly says, as if he hadn't spent the last hour in the bathroom. I roll my eyes at him, "I've been ready Siri, you're the one I was waiting for." He drinks at me like that will stop us from being late. "Well what's done is done, and I'm ready now so let's go!" He shrugs on a nice black trench coat he has and walks towards the door, "We don't wanna be late, now do we prongs?" Chuckling and shaking my head, I follow him, knowing he knows full well that if we're late, it's his fault.

When we reach the theater the show had just begun. But luckily, Sirius said that Regulus doesn't come on for a few more minutes. The skill of the dancers can be seen from miles, they move in time with the music in a way I've never seen before, but would love to see up close. It would be a cool idea for a music video if we got a ballet dancer. Just as I'm about to whisper the idea to Sirius, he comes onto stage. There's no mistaking it— That is Regulus Black. And he is nothing short of an absolute dream. His short black hair, even if it's not half as long as Sirius' flows like the wind as he- "What are those turns called?" I whisper to Sirius. "Pirouettes," He replies, looking at me curious, "Why?" I don't answer him—I can't. How could I answer when Regulus was dancing? I had no idea what the ballet was about, but the aura Regulus exuded was nothing short of prince. Not even that. He was so much more. He glides across that stage with the likeliness of a star gliding through the sky. He owned everything he touched; Every step he took, every turn, every thing he did was magnificent. And the look on his face... It could put even the most beautiful of things to shame. It was delicate, like he was protecting something, but just as fierce and focused. His shining eyes look as if he has been given the world in his hands, and honestly in this moment... He could rule it and no one would protest. But just like that, the shining star, left as if he was never there. My heart doesn't slow, even as he leaves the stage. Not even as the show itself finishes. I don't even remember if he came on stage again after that. I didn't realize the show was over until Sirius was shaking me out of the trance I was in. "Prongs. Prongs!" I stare at him, still feeling dazed and heated "Yeah? What's wrong?" Sirius sighs and eyes me worried. "You were completely spaced out, mate? And you look red as well... You sure you're okay?" I nod. "Yeah, yeah of course... It was just..." I trail off, my mind immediately going to Regulus. Sirius moves his hands, trying to prompt me to say more. But there's only one thought on my mind. "You have to let me meet Regulus. Please Sirius." With a suspicious expression on his face, Sirius opens his mouth to say more but closes it and sighs. "Fine, we'll meet up with him once he finishes getting ready."

SORRY TO CUT IT SHORT GUYS BUT I GTG, SO I'LL MAKE A PT. 2 TMR I PROMISE, HOPE U LIKED JAMES PINING OVER REGGIE ALR

[peanut-butter-parkerxx]

Brushstroke of New Orleans: 004

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⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆

Since Klaus busied himself with his usual town business alongside Marcel, I decided to take breakfast matters into my own hands. It wasn't that Klaus was known for his culinary skills – far from it – but rather, he seemed determined to make a show of his hospitality to our new guest.

I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Klaus attempting to impress Penelope with his cooking prowess. It was a rare display of vulnerability from my brother, one that spoke volumes about his underlying desire to make her feel welcome in our home.

Lost in the rhythm of slicing fruits and arranging them on a plate, I was in a rather calm state. Till I heard the faint strains of music drifting down from upstairs. My lips quirked as I thought our guest was feeling comfortable playing her music. 

As I ascended the stairs, i did not expect to meet with a sight that stole my breath away.

There she stood, Penny, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the windows. Her attire was casual yet alluring – nothing but shorts and a delicate crop top that left little to the imagination. Her hair was a tousled masterpiece, pinned up in a messy bun that only added to her allure.

For a moment, I was frozen in place, caught off guard by her unexpected presence. It was as if time had slowed, allowing me to drink in every detail of her form, from the gentle curve of her waist to the graceful line of her neck.

I couldn't help but admire her, but as quickly as the thought entered my mind, I chastised myself for allowing such personal thoughts to intrude upon our professional relationship.

It was inappropriate, I reminded myself sternly, to admire Penelope in such an intimate setting.

With a silent curse directed at myself for allowing my thoughts to wander, I quickly averted my gaze, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. I wanted to busy myself with a nearby task, when she noticed my presence, a playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips, yet her cheeks were stained crimson red. In that moment, I realized that the only danger she posed was to my carefully guarded composure.

Clearing my throat, I summoned every ounce of restraint to compose myself. "Good morning, Penny," I greeted, my voice betraying none of the tumultuous emotions swirling within me. "I hope you slept well."

Her laughter danced through the air like music, dispelling the tension that had gripped me moments before. "Morning, Elijah," she replied, her voice as soothing as a gentle breeze. "Breakfast smells delicious."

As I returned her smile, I couldn't help but wonder if Klaus's absence was a blessing in disguise.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

As Penelope descended the staircase, her presence filled the room with an effortless grace that left me momentarily breathless. Dressed in jeans and a cropped t-shirt, she exuded a casual elegance that made her figure appear alluring and captivating. The way the fabric hugged her curves, accentuating every contour with a tantalizing allure was tempting. 

I couldn't deny the way she moved with effortless grace, her honey-colored eyes sparkling with warmth and vitality. But as much as I was drawn to her, I knew that I had to keep my feelings in check. Penelope was a college student, here on an internship, and I was her mentor – it was imperative that I maintain a professional demeanor at all times.

As Penelope took her seat at the table and began to enjoy her breakfast, I couldn't tear my gaze away from her, captivated by her every movement. The way she took a few delicate bites of her meal, her lips curving into a grateful smile as she thanked me for breakfast.

"Thank you, Elijah, this looks delicious."

But as she mentioned her missing jacket in passing, a flicker of concern crossed her features before she dismissed it with a casual shrug. 

"I don't really need it anyway," she assured herself, her tone laced with determination.

However, I couldn't let her brave facade fool me. With a gentle smile, I rose from my seat and made my way to the coat closet, returning moments later with one of my own jackets in hand.

"Here," I said, offering it to her with a reassuring smile. "It's the least I can do to keep you warm."

Penelope hesitated for a moment before accepting the jacket with a grateful nod, the fabric enveloping her in a sense of warmth and security. "Thank you, Elijah," she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude. Suddenly, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. Was it professional to offer her my own garment, especially considering her internship?

After all, Penelope was here on a professional basis, tasked with assisting us with the art and history of New Orleans for our upcoming museum project. It was my responsibility to ensure that she felt respected and valued in her role, not to blur the lines with personal gestures.

But as I watched her slip the jacket on with a grateful smile, a part of me couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her comfort and well-being. She was more than just an intern; she was a guest in our home, and it was only natural to want to make her feel welcome.

Still, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I had overstepped some invisible boundary, that my actions were inappropriate given the professional nature of our relationship. And so, I made a mental note to tread more carefully in the future, to ensure that I maintained the proper distance between us.

"Now," I clear my throat, "Shall we?" I guided her outside the mansion, leaving my thoughts behind before i turn into a madman with fangs.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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[itsjustsemantics]

Love, Javier - Chpt: 7

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader/OFC (no y/n, no physical description, established backstory, no clear age gap mentioned)

Content/warnings: alcohol consumption, smoking/nicotine habit, lil hurt/comfort, overall quite tame but very very fluffy! Movie nights!! MOVIE NIGHTS!!!

Ps- 70s disco has been the vibe the last couple of weeks

Series masterlist - Previous chapter

Chapter 7: The VHS Player

The specks of rain danced down from the peaceful grey sky, one of them landing on Javier’s neatly trimmed moustache. His deep brown eyes twinkled and his face angled upwards breathing it all in. 

Even in this miserable weather, Javier was clad in his usual linen button-up and jeans, looking like a hot drink on a chilly day; wrapped up in a flecked cashmere scarf and a button-up jacket.

You had just crossed the street, skittering onto the sidewalk just as another cab zipped past. Waking up the orange-hued maple leaves and sending them into a spiralling frenzy of eddies in the air. 

“Whoo, that was close.” You raised your eyebrows, waiting for Javier to saunter over. 

“Where was this place again?” He asked, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. You had come to notice, after spending an increasing amount with the man that not knowing, made Javier uneasy. 

“Just around this corner.” You gestured with your neck, slowing your pace as he caught up. 

“Don’t be so impatient.” You scolded playfully after a beat, pushing your shoulder into his warm arm. “We’re here.” You stopped in front of a toasty-toned cafe, yellow light spilling out through the glass. 

“Cafe Luxembourg.” Javier read the white letters off of the red sign then ducked down slightly peeking at its interiors. “Looks ordinary to me.” He turned to you and you rolled your eyes. 

“They have a speakeasy below ” You retorted. “It’s very you.” You grabbed his elbow and dragged him inside, knowingly leaving him stumped with your ambiguous statement. 

~ 

Javier eyed you, a mischievous glint in your eye as you made your way downstairs. The faint melody of ‘Night Fever’ by the Bee Gees floated through the old-fashioned glass doors of the speakeasy. 

“You’re kidding-” Javier huffed, his brows scrunched up in the middle as he gave the place a once over. 

Glistening miniature disco balls hung like elegant chandeliers from the ceiling. The wall behind the register was adorned with a vibrant mosaic of hot pink and electric blue tiles. A wall piece consisting of glossy vinyl CDs, the inside bands painted with a neon colour glinted in the background.

“What?” You turned to Javier with an innocent shrug. His hands immediately went to his hips, his brows raised expectantly as he stood akimbo. 

“What?” You said again, barely keeping your grin under wraps as your eyes grazed his outfit, “I thought you’d like this place.” 

“Uh huh.” he raised his eyebrows as ‘Hot Stuff’ by Donna Summer started playing. 

“You fit right in.” 

A convulsive breath left his shapely lips, as he unwrapped his scarf from his neck. You could tell that he was trying to look annoyed, but his small smile gave him away, the way it tugged at the sides of his mouth. 

He followed you to the counter and rested his forearm on it as you watched him. 

“Their arabica roast margherita is heavenly,” You said, cocking your head towards the employee waiting to take your order. “I have a feeling you’ll love it.” You smiled up at him. 

~

As summer neared, you and Javier found yourselves meeting at any chance. An unknown force pulling you towards each other. 

The two of you had found that the ‘ordinary’ Luxembourg cafe served really good non-alcoholic versions of your favourite drinks below stairs and they made a mean breakfast platter, which you and Javier had come to share as part of your easy routine get-togethers. 

He would take the maple bacon and waffles because it was too greasy for your liking and you would take the pancakes because everything came on the side. You would end the meal by sharing the berry bowl and some coffee. 

Movie nights at his place had become another commonplace as you had found out how much movie knowledge the man lacked as a result of his stay in Columbia for the past decade. 

It happened one day as the two of you walked side by side along a strip mall, Javier was discussing his upcoming classes and what he had planned for each lesson. There was a hint of a sparkle in his eyes as he passionately tumbled on. 

The conversation trailed off as you found yourself stopping in front of one of those movie rental stores. You were rifling through the VCDs enthusiastically looking for a copy of ‘Independence Day’, the one Marie would not stop raving about. You had guessed it was because of Jeff Goldblum, Marie had a huge thing for him. 

“Is this one any good?” Your thoughts scattered like marbles and you looked up towards Javier holding up a copy of ‘Silence of the Lambs’. He was reading the back of it intently, squinting his eyes ever so slightly. 

“You haven’t seen it?” You exclaimed, slotting the VCD in your hand back into the rack and walking towards him. He shook his head, bottom lip jutting out. Your hands found your hips, curiously and you narrowed your eyes. 

“I didn’t really have the luxury of dropping by the theatre on my every whim and fancy.” Javier rolled his eyes at your reaction.

“We’ll watch it together.” You decided after a beat. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” 

Although impassive at the store, Javier had bought a VHS player for his new apartment the very same day and invited you over for the feature, much to your pleasant surprise. 

You had come to realise that you were not quite as tight-lipped as Javier. Your movie nights together had flipped the switch and you were given glances at his past - a past which you had never talked about before. 

While watching Silence of the Lambs Javier revealed to you that he had preferred his psychology undergrad course to sociology. The entire movie had him encapsulated and he would nod in agreement to your excited quips about Anthony Hopkins's incredible acting. 

Schindler’s List was the first tear-jerker for you. Javier had nudged you closer and rubbed your shoulder softly after the scene with the exhumed bodies, later telling you about some of the similar horrors he had witnessed in Medellin. Although his exterior was rough and hardened, you were touched to see that he had a few soft spots that he was willing to share. 

Ordinary people had you tearing up yet again. Through your sniffles, you had glanced over at Javier, his eyes glassy in the blue light of the scene where Conrad breaks down in front of Dr. Berger over the guilt of his brother’s death. It was your turn to rub his shoulder. He had paused the movie but never met your eyes as he revealed his own mother’s battle with mental health and the tragic end she had met. 

He had excused himself to the bathroom before shedding a tear and returned a few minutes later, with no further mention of the topic. He had let you hold his hand softly for the rest of the movie. 

Tootsie was a change of pace that both of you had enjoyed thoroughly. The apartment scene had Javier stifling giggle after giggle until he could no longer. You had found that he had one of the most delightfully contagious laughs you heard. 

The more you started spending time with Javier the more nosy your friends had become. So much so that they had convinced you to bring him over for dinner one Saturday night. 

~ 

"When do your friends want to meet me again?"

Javier's voice interrupted the quiet hum of the VHS machine in the dimly lit living room, where the anticipation of another movie night filled the air. His attention was divided between preparing the VHS player and stealing glances at you in the adjacent kitchen, which had practically become an extension of your recurring presence in his home. A warm chuckle escaped you as you answered his sudden inquiry.

"Saturday night, next week," you confirmed, carrying two bottles of beer to the small oak coffee table. "You already know Marie. There’s just two others,” you said, settling onto your familiar side of the couch. 

"You don't have to, you know." You added softly after a minute.  

He paused, his hands still hovering over the VHS machine’s rewind button. "No, I want to," he replied. "I think it'll be nice, having more people that I know.” 

Your thoughts meandered as you watched him rewind the movie tape, your mind dipping into a rare pool of misgivings. In truth, a small part of you hesitated at the prospect of sharing Javier. He had seamlessly become an indispensable part of your life, and the idea of Marie's (although you loved her fiercely) exuberance or Dexter's blunt demeanour potentially disrupting your newfound simplicity and contentment was unsettling. 

"Javi," you mused after a couple of beats, drawing your attention away from your lingering thoughts drawing his attention.

"Hmm?" he responded, still focused on the task at hand. 

"Did you ever go furniture shopping after you moved in?" You asked and he turned around, taking a seat on the couch. He shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips as he picked up a slice of pizza. "I haven't had the chance."

 “You need to get yourself a new rug, some decor maybe.” You looked around his living room, taking in the spartan surroundings. “Like maybe a painting, lamps…” You made a full circle, back to his face. “It's just a bit - bare?” You offered carefully.

A thoughtful look crossed his features “I could do with some new curtains.” He bit into the pizza, huffing some air out at its heat. 

“Yeah,” You agreed, “Sheer blinds could work.” 

Javier looked over at you and by the look in your eyes, he was certain that you were already conjuring up carefully curated images of how his living room would look post-spruce. 

“Shall I start it?” He asked, settling deeper into the cushions and you nodded. 

The opening scene of Independence Day buzzed across the screen.

~

“Does he drink wine?” 

You were more nervous about the dinner than you would’ve liked to admit. glueing your attention onto slicing the cherry tomatoes into halves had been working for the most part. 

“I think so.” You guessed. You had never seen him drink it.

“Actually, I think he prefers something harder.” You turned around and looked at Marie, her grey, sleeveless mini dress, covered by a blue checked apron. She stood on the other side of the open kitchen, setting down the bottle of white wine next to the bowl of fruit. 

“Whiskey?” She cocked an eyebrow. Too strong for tonight,��You thought and shook your head. 

“I think some beer should do.” You responded after a beat, throwing in the tomatoes into a large bowl.

“I think there’s some in the fridge.” She tittered over to the refrigerator, mumbling. ’Or I can just ask Jess to pick up some on his-”

*riiing* 

“That would be Jess.” You eyed her with a chuckle as you walked around the kitchen island. 

You had barely opened the door when Marie shouted out from the kitchen. 

“Jess! Beer?” One side of your face scrunched up at the noise as you let Jess in. 

“Work ran late, I’m sorry.” He said, taking off his jacket, ignoring Marie. You nodded, glancing at the carton of beverage in his hand. “Is he here yet?”

“Bathroom.” You followed him to the kitchen as he set down an 8-pack of Heineken on the counter. Feeding them one by one into the refrigerator. 

“Dexter is watching the game.” You passed him the last of the bottles. 

“I got beer.” Jess greeted Marie with a quick peck on the cheek as you entered the living room and then threw himself down beside Dexter.

“Jess, this is Javier,” Marie said brightly as Javier entered the living room. 

“Oh, hey.” He half got up shaking the man’s hand. “Delighted to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” Javier smiled, giving Jess’s hand a firm shake, glancing at you for a fleeting moment. 

“Beer?” Marie asked with a clap.   

“I’d love one,” Javier said and Marie dragged you to the kitchen as the men made small talk over the game. 

“You haven’t slept with him, have you?” She halted by the counter. Your eyes swept up to hers, rolling ever so slightly.

“That is a cheap question and the answer is of course, no.” You said, reaching for the bottle opener on the top shelf, shaking your head. “We’re just friends.” 

“That means ‘yes’.” Marie shot excitedly. 

“No, it doesn't.” You shot back, handing her the bottle opener slicing through the enthusiasm in her voice. 

“Do you ever masturbate?” 

*pop*

The cap flew off and rolled around in little circles. Your mouth hung open. “Marie! No!” You scooped up the bottle cap off the counter with a quick swipe, aghast.  

“I’m sorry,” She shrugged. “But, have you seen him?” 

You rolled your eyes letting out another heavy breath. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” 

~ 

The alarm on the oven went off with a sharp *ding* and Javier watched you get up from your seat, declaring that the lasagna was done. 

“I’ll help you out.” He set his beer down on a coaster and followed you to the kitchen. You smiled a small ‘thank you’. 

“Can you get the plates?” You asked, squatting in front of the oven, pointing to a shelf on your right. 

Javier obliged, walking around your figure as you placed the large white dish onto the counter with a content ‘ahh’. 

“Smells good.” He nodded, watching you leave your post beside the pasta dish, avoiding his feet, and into some corner, fishing out serving spoons. 

“Yeah, I think it’s going to be good this time.” You said excitedly. “Can you bring it over?” 

Without giving the steaming dish a second glance he grasped the side with his bare hand. A sharp bolt of searing pain made its way across his fingers and he jumped back holding his scorched hand. 

“Fuck.” The words sizzled out of his mouth like his rugged fingers. 

“Shit! Are you okay?” He heard the spoons clatter against the counter. “Shit I should've warned you.” You scuttered off to the freezer, rambling on about ice. 

“No, it’s alright.” He bit back, shaking his hand back and forth. You grabbed the ice tray from the depths of the freezer and rattled it around till a few cubes came free before wrapping them into a thin napkin and rushing over to him. 

Javier's gaze followed you from the freezer to the counter, where you handed him the bundle of ice delicately and instructed him to keep it on his injured fingers. It was so simple, yet for him, it felt like the most domiciliary act he had witnessed in years.

A strange, unfamiliar ache began to bloom in his chest, a sensation he couldn’t quite place. He ran his free hand over his torso, attempting to recall the last time he had smoked, chalking up his peculiar emotions and brushing them off as a mere consequence of his nicotine addiction.

"I really hate it when this happens," you remarked, your eyes holding a gentle warmth, accompanied by a soft smile. It sent another unexpected pang through his chest. His gaze drifted down to his hands and he mumbled a small ‘yeah.’ 

“All okay in there?” Marie’s voice sounded through the walls. 

“All good.” You called back, stepping away from him and gathering up the lasagna dish with a mitten and holding it close to your person. 

“Ready to go?” You asked. He nodded, picking up the plates.

~

Your cheerful voice resonated through the telephone line. "How's Laredo?" you inquired, "Oh, and your dad?" You added quickly.

"It's good," Javier replied, a warm smile gracing his lips. "He's good."

"I wish I could say the same about Miami," you lamented. "There's always someone there, ready to tell you they can do your job better. And if there isn't, you're probably not doing your job well enough in the first place, and someone else is already covering for you."

Javier settled into his bed, the phone cradled to his ear. "So, which one is it?" he inquired. 

"Both," you sighed, a hint of frustration in your voice. "But that's not entirely what's bothering me," you confessed, and Javier patiently waited for you to continue. "I mean, it's silly." 

"No it’s not, tell me," he encouraged. 

"Am I high maintenance?" you asked and your voice dropped slightly. 

Javier took a moment to consider, the weight of your question sinking in. One glance at you might lead someone to think you were, but a few more revealed that you were observant, challenging, and even amusing at times. 

"I'm sorry. That was a stupid question, wasn't it?" you chuckled before he could respond, dismissing your own concerns.

Javier tilted his head to the side, frowning. He hated when you did that when you belittled your own feelings. The thing was, he never spoke without careful thought, and this question had him momentarily stumped. 

"I like it," he finally hummed after a thoughtful pause. "You keep people on their toes."

So, it's a good thing, then?" you sought confirmation. The best thing, he thought

Javier hummed firmly in response, and your voice softened in relief. Most of the time, he had found that simply listening and validating your feelings was the most effective approach when it came to you. You were pretty good at the rest. 

"Thanks, Javi," you said his name with a breathy sigh, and a rush of warmth enveloped him, causing his heart to swell.

The familiar pang in his chest resurfaced, and he took a deep breath, sitting up and murmuring an "always". 

“I think I’m going to start quitting.” He grunted as he took you along and rummaged around his room for the freshly procured box of Nicorettes. 

~

DUN DUN DUN!

Okay, so what do we think? Honestly, I'm just proud of getting this one out T-T

I had so much trouble deciding what music would be playing in the speakeasy. It turned into a 3-hour Bee Gees/Elton John jam sesh at home. (my mom loves 'how deep is your love' I played it at least 4 times)

Also, I vote for Meg Ryan fall all year around. I just want to live in a Nora Ephron movie and wear cute sweaters.

Thank you for all the love and the notes! I love each and every one of you who has stuck around. Reblog, leave a note and comment!

Ps- I'm new to beta reading/readers but I can totally get on board. I just need to understand how it all works :')

Love, hugs and kisses :**

-itsjustsemantics

Tag list:

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@julkaamazing

[rainitsarakun]

INTRODUCING HELGA. hello everyone, i'm helga! i'm 25+, prefer she/her pronouns and am in the est timezone! i play rain & jaeyong who are portrayed by lisa and baekhyun respectively. this blog is my main one, while jaeyong is on a sideblog, so a lot of my correspondence will be from this one. you can also find me on discord @ storiiies, so feel free to hit me up there!

INTRODUCING RAIN & JAEYONG. my first muse is the lovely rain itsarakun who is 27 years old and is meant to be a visitor, though she is working as a fitness trainer at yuseong community center, so her roots maybe already be taking place in yuseong bay after staying for 3 years now. her profile page can be found here! my second muse is cha jaeyong, and he is a 31 year old lifelong resident of yuseong bay. he works as a beekeeper, offering pollination services to local farms, but he also sells surplus honey at a farmer's market stall. his profile can be found here!

RAIN'S PROMPT ANSWERS

when did your muse first arrive in yuseong bay? "it was, ohhh, about three years ago now? it was so foggy, i could barely see the bay, but i still felt more at home here than i had in awhile. i had to get away from chiang mai ... a bad relationship, you see. i'll spare you the details, but my family always used to come on vacation to yuseong bay and there was someone here i was friends with when i was younger. i decided to go out on a limb and reach out to them and long story short, here i am."

what does an average day look like for your muse? "i wake up pretty early and i'll usually have some breakfast or a shake, if i don't grab something from the café on the way to work. then i head to the community center, or to the gym more specifically, usually with my playlist at full volume by that point, but i digress. i'll spend a good hour stretching before my shift starts, because you do not want to experience a muscle giving out or locking up on you when you're holding a heavy weight. then i'll start working with my usual clients, walking them through certain pacing issues, showing them new techniques or spotting for them. then i might join in on a dance or baking class, depending on what's going on at the center that day? sometimes i'll stop by the bar on my way home to have a drink with a couple of friends, or i'll meet with my pai gow club to play a few games to wind down after work. then it's pretty much home to have dinner, maybe read a little bit and then i'll head to bed."

where can your muse usually be found? "i can't lie, i spend a lot of my time at the community center. whether it's at the gym or in the pool, at one of the other classes or just out on the grounds. it's a nice, peaceful place to be."

how does your muse feel about hanhwa resort? "i guess i'm not really sure? on the one hand, people who stay there come to the gym sometimes and need a trainer, so it kicks more business my way, but ... i also can't help but feel like it's slowly taking away some of the magic of yuseong bay? commercializing it, i guess you could say. i feel bad for the people it's affecting negatively."

is there an aspiration for your muse to stay in or leave yuseong bay? "i would just like some time, i suppose. some would argue i've had more than enough, but the truth is, i'm still finding out who i am and what i want to do. i hate when people act like i should have it all figured out. i don't think that will ever happen, but i hope being here can help."

list your muse's three favorite songs. slow dancing in a burning room by john mayor, if you love her by tokyo tea room & fingers crossed by lauren spencer-smith.

describe your muse's wardrobe. frequently pairs hoodies, jeans and sneakers if she’s not strolling around in vibrantly colored sportswear. her fashion choices are fairly basic, prioritizing comfort and breathability over style. when she does dress up, she likes an elegant a-line silhouette.

what is a color, word, and emoji that you feel describes your muse? i think an ashy grayish blue fits her because of its difficulty in placing as it pertains to emotion or mood. the word i think fits her the most is 'drapetomania'. the emoji that is best suited for rain is probably 🌧.

three strong likes and dislikes for your muse. likes: exercise, cold water & cats. dislikes: scarecrows, gossip & crash dieting.

three positive and negative traits for your muse. positive: amicable, energetic & sensible. negative: stubborn, flighty & distant.

three talents and shortcomings for your muse. she's rather adept at helping people build muscle or get active, as she's very encouraging and energetic in the gym. she's also a talented dancer, always volunteering to help out in dance classes held at the community center. rain has a talent for pai gow too, having been an avid player since she was a child, and she does very well in tournaments. her biggest shortcoming is her uncommunicative nature, as she often would rather suffer in silence than tell people close to her something is wrong. she's also prone to running away from a difficult situation rather than facing it head on and resolving things. she can also be a little defense if she feels people are being accusatory towards her.

what is a book/tv series/movie/video game character that you feel your character relates to? i definitely think rain has a similarity to leah from stardew valley, but i also draw parallels between her and sophie hatter in how mild-mannered, sensible and humble they both are.

a relevant goal or arch for your character to overcome. i would like to develop rain's ability to trust other people with her feelings in all facets of life, as it's arguably her biggest struggle. i would also like for her to let go of all the anger and resentment she feels for her ex since it's really only hurting her in the long run.

if you would like to plot with rain, please like this post and i'll come bug you! i'll be posting jaeyong's prompt answers separately on his blog 💟

[specialagentblogger]

The Icon Status of Jane Birkin

Best known for being the muse behind the renowned Hermès Birkin bag, Jane was and still is, one of the world's most famous icons. She made her way in the British cinema scene during the mid 60s and was a part of films like: The Knack... and How to Get It (1965) and Blow-Up(1966). The latter led her to a career-defining role in Slogan (1969), during the making of which Jane met her decade-long partner, the famous French singer/songwriter Serge Gainsbourg. The pair was best known for the French love song "Je T'aime... Moi Non Plus", recorded in 1967 with Brigitte Bardot. After he fell for Jane, Serge asked her to re-record the song. "Je T'aime... Moi Non Plus" was banned in several countries due to its overtly sexual content. Thus began a love story of the century. The couple's wild lifestyle inspired a freedom in an era when sexual expression was still taboo.

STYLE ICON

 Jane Birkin acquired her style icon status through her day-to-day outfits. Her relaxed British demeanor, clean statement pieces, and French elegance were a killer combination. Thus, Jane stood out amongst other iconic stars of the time - bombshell beauty symbols such as Brigitte Bardot, Catherine Deneuve, etc. Birkin's signature look was her long, usually messy, bedhead and fringe, flared blue jeans, simple white tees, and the capacious woven basket. However, it would be naive and unfair to say that Jane was an icon only because of her clothes. 

LA PISCINE (1969) - a short summary

This slow-burn erotic crime drama directed by Jaques Deray follows Romy Schneider and Alain Delon as Marianne and Jean-Paul - a couple vacationing in a luxurious villa in the French Riviera. La Piscine presents an atmosphere that feels exactly like a careless summer holiday. The sweetness of doing nothing, dinners outside, bottles of wine, dancing, sleeping, kissing, and none other than - swimming in the pool. That is until, Jean-Paul’s old friend and Marianne’s former lover Harry drops by, along with his teenage daughter Penelope (Jane Birkin).

Costume Design

The person behind the costume design of La Piscine was the French designer André Courrèges. The looks made for Jane, specifically, were very much close to her actual style. Minimalistic colour palettes, simple silhouettes, and, most importantly, comfort mixed with elegance. These choices make Penelope's teenage essence stand out amongst all the rest of the thirty-something characters. We see lots of short skirts, revealing dresses, and very little make-up on her. Penelope's first look in the film includes a classic white 3/4 sleeved shirt, tucked into a mini checkered skirt. The accessories perfectly elevate this simple look. A delicate black belt to enhance the waist, black ballet mini-heels (talk about comfortable elegance), massive round sunglasses with blue lenses, and, of course, the basket.

Poolside Crochet Dress

Another statement look for Jane was this gorgeous white crochet poolside dress. The '60s was the decade for crochet pieces, thus it was representative of the trends. An ideal piece to throw on after a swim (with great ventilation too). The dress has a densely crocheted top around the bust area and reveals more skin going down, with a rather loosely crocheted spider-web pattern. It perfectly encapsulates Penelope's character - as the dress blends sensuality with a bit of alluring elegance. Good luck to me, because I will be trying to crochet this.

SWIMMING SUITS When there's a swimming pool, there's always a swimming suit (well...). Because of the luxurious and colourful mise en scene in the film, the bathing suits worn by both Romy and Jane were either black or white shades. The pieces presented a distinct contrast between the greenery of the landscapes and the marine blue of the pool. This choice was the most immaculate way of capturing the effortless and elegant French way of dressing. As well as accentuating the dichotomy of both characters.

JANE B. FOR Agnès V.

In 1988, the French filmmaker Agnès Varda decided to create an experimental documentary about Jane. The idea came from their conversation on how Jane felt anxious about turning forty. Agnès thought that it was the perfect opportunity to make a beautiful portrait of the icon's life. The film features Jane acting in pretend movie scenes, posing in paintings by Goya and Titian, portraying Joan of Arc, visiting her childhood home, and reflecting on her life. Varda's vision of Jane brings a magnetic piece of work to life. It is one of my favorite things I've ever seen on screen.

"I’m Jane B. I was born British. My height now is 5 feet 7 inches. No distinguishing marks. No exceptional talents, but I’m here. You’re watching me as time passes.” It would seem that everyone but Jane herself thought highly of her. Not only did Agnès Varda admire her deeply, but her daughter, actress and director Charlotte Gainsbourg, also created an ode to her mother in 2021 titled Jane for Charlotte. Finally, in her forties, she fully embraced her lifelong insecurities—cutting her hair short, trading ballet shoes for old sneakers, and adopting oversized men’s suits. She lived the second half of her life in her truest form, right to the very end.

I started writing this a couple of days before Jane's death. I thought the timing was hauntingly coincidental. She has been a part of my life ever since I read about her for the first time in Alexa Chung's IT (2013). It was one of those moments, where you can just sense that a person is special and I was fully captivated. I started watching her interviews, pinning every possible photo of her on Pinterest, printing out photos of her to hang on my wall, listening to her music, and watching her films. I cut my fringe at fifteen because of her and started separating my bottom lashes with lumpy mascara. My mum even bought me a basket-like bag to carry with me. Jane Birkin was not only a style icon to me. Her humble confidence, magnetic presence, and grace were the qualities I admired the most about her. Now, that is true beauty.

Rest easy, dear Jane. Au revoir.

[sabineelectricheart]

Jamie's Perfect Date, by Baxter Ward

Summary: For his date with Jamie, Baxter spares no effort or expense. She is very appreciative.

Rating: K - Intended for general audience 5 years and older. Content should be free of any coarse language, violence, and adult themes.

Words: 2200

Notes: My college was full of stray cats. The professors loathed them, but they were so amicable, so cute!

Today simply has to be flawless. Baxter will not accept any less, not when it comes to Jamie.

Of course, he holds himself to high standards in all things, but the thought of providing anything less than perfection for she is one that pains him to even consider. Especially now that he had finally gotten the courage or, rather, found the right and proper time to ask her to spend the day with him.

She approaches him at the university quad on her way out of class not long after noon that day. Her pace slows down as she eyes him before he has noticed her, he is sitting a few meters away on a wood bench, tapping his feet and resisting the urge to check his phone for the time again.

Since he could not miss his morning classes again, thanks to a habit of sleeping much too late for his own good, Baxter had also just gotten out of a lecture hall and did not have the time to go home and change, being noticeably dressed in a more casual ensemble of jeans and a t-shirt. Without his usual elegant set of button-downs and designer shoes, she can appreciate the way constant training and a dancing background have toned his slender frame.

Appreciate it, Jamie most certainly does. Though he soon, much too soon, turns to face her, and her eyes dart back up from a rather ignoble place to meet his instead.

"You're as radiant as ever, I see.” He says with a warm smile.

He offers her an arm and she takes it, replying with a grin, "You've already got me for the day, Baxter. There's no need for flattery."

"Flattery implies a measure of falsehood.” He says with confidence, leading her towards the parking lot. "I could never bring myself to lie to one so lovely."

She would have offered to just walk into town, as she often did when she was alone, but it is rather far from campus. The weather was also warm enough to break a sweat under the midspring sun, and the vehicle proves to be a convenient place for her to leave her heavy bookbag, so she raises no objections as he opens her door for her and whisks them away in the traffic.

As they arrive at the town centre and their time together proceeds, Jamie cannot help but feel that, some way, somehow, Baxter has a kind of psychic insight into her personal preferences. Everywhere she turns, whatever her heart could desire is immediately available and set before her with hardly any negotiation at play. At the first flower stall they find, he takes a moment to exchange words with the owner while she admires the sprawling array of colourful blooms and, by the time he returns, he is holding a woven crown of delicate little white flowers.

With an admiring smile, he carefully places it on her head, a hand trailing down a lock of her hair as he pulls away to observe her. With a shy grin, she performs an exaggerated curtsy, prompting the young man with the dark grey hair to laugh fondly and take her by the hand.

He twirls she slowly under his arm, watching she all the while, then says, "They suit you every bit as wonderfully as I'd thought."

"They're my favourites.” She replies.

"I know! Erm, that is, I know of a superb bakery down the block this way.” He seems a bit red in the face, but she chalks that up to nerves.

Baxter is not wrong, though. This bakery is something else. The selection and quality of ingredients is on an entirely new level compared to the grub a poor student like Jamie has had to get used to, and she finds herself overwhelmed even reading down the list of items posted to the wall. By her third pass over the full range of options, the words are starting to dance in her eyes.

A warm touch at her arm shakes her focus, though. The young man leans close to be heard over the rapidly growing crowd at the bakery's counter.

"Might I make a recommendation?" She nods, and he goes on, "I happen to have it on good authority that there's an item not included on this menu that you may like. It incorporates three different treatments of Equatorian cocoa, if that is of any interest to you."

Her eyes light up and she can practically feel the rich sweetness across her tongue already.

"That sounds incredible.” She replies, enraptured by the very thought.

When she starts to ask how he had heard of such a thing, he has already turned to speak to the worker taking orders, and her words drown among the crowd of customers. The speed at which he acquires this mythical pastry only fills her mind with more questions.

How did he manage to purchase an off-menu item so quickly? Would the cost of something requiring those many luxurious imported ingredients not be astronomical?

Baxter returns to her side and guides her out of the crowded shop, and the sight of the delectable chocolatey treat in his hands dashes all other thoughts from her mind. He hands it to her wrapped in a black handkerchief, probably one of his, and she cannot help but immediately plunge in for a bite.

She wears an expression of pure bliss as her mouth fills with sweet, savoury chocolate. "Oh, Baxter, it's so good!"

When Jamie glances up at him, he is watching her with a strangely heavy expression. Once more, his fair complexion is painted a light red. She tilts her head curiously, and he seems to resurface from whatever thoughts had taken him for the moment.

"Here, you should try some.” She breaks off a piece and hold it up to him.

"Are… Are you quite certain? I had intended for you to enjoy it to your heart's content.” He stammers out, evidently still a bit flushed.

The college girl nods. "I want you to get to have some too. Please?"

She hates to resort to puppy eyes with him, but it is hard to argue against the results. He leans forward and accepts the piece of pastry from her hand. She does not shy away from him in the slightest, and so a brief brush of his lower lip along the tip of her finger simply cannot be avoided. He does his best to move past this without acknowledgement, and the two enjoy their treat together as they take in the leisurely bustle of the town around them.

The day continues in kind, with Baxter apparently having painstakingly arranged every element of this date from start to finish. At a local seller of antiques and luxury goods, he secures permission to view and explore rare and dazzling paintings from around the world. Here, he is rather uncharacteristically reserved. Wandering the storage area like their own personal art museum, he watches her with evident warmth as she exclaims at the rich and varied pigments, the innovative expressions of human form, and so on.

After this, he brings Jamie to a family-owned restaurant at the far end of town, where he has reserved the second floor exclusively for them two to enjoy a quiet, intimate meal together. By this point, she has finally gotten around to considering just how much money must have gone into this singular date.

"Baxter.” She says cautiously. "Are you sure it's okay to go through all of this and spend so much just for…?"

He raises a hand to cut she off, then replies, "I assure you that it is.”

The profligate young man takes her hand in his, holding it warmly from across their private table. It is so soft and warm that she has difficulty keeping her mind in what they should be discussing.

He smiles warmly. "Wealth has no value that we ourselves do not assign to it, and I have chosen to spend it on your pleasure. I can think of no greater use for a stack of dollar bills."

The rest of the early evening is filled with pleasant chat and the occasional subtle sweet-talk. As they discuss everything they have seen and experienced that day, the young man engages his date with surprisingly astute comments and observations. He is always at his best when he feels permitted to simply talk with her, as one person to another, free of the pressures and expectations that he shoulders without a thought.

The sun is steadily lowering behind the hills and buildings of the surrounding town by the time they make their way back to the car together.

As they walk hand in hand watching, he clears his throat abruptly and says, "If I may steal you away for just a little while longer, there was... Actually, there is someone I thought you might like to meet."

"Oh? What an honour.” She says with a smile. "Do I get any hints?"

He gives a good-natured chuckle and responds, "Only that I think you'll get along splendidly."

As Baxter pulls over back at the campus, Jamie notes that they are quite a few ways off either her dorm of his apartment. They are right in front of the Psychology lecture hall, on the back, and she can hear the small bustle of students leaving on the other side for the day.

"Eloise?" He calls out in a gentle voice. "Eloise, come say hello, Ellie? Come now, don't tell me you've chosen tonight to become bashful..."

At his call, a svelte black cat with delicate little white paws comes trotting out to meet she. Her heart positively aches and melts at the sight of it eagerly approaching Baxter with clear comfort and familiarity.

"Baxter, you... Have a cat?" She says with obvious disbelief.

"She's one of the school’s strays, to be perfectly honest.” He explains. "She appeared to me a few months ago, hungry and flea-ridden. I took her to the vet and gave her food, but my apartment block does not allow for pets, so I keep her here. Eventually, she grew a bit fond of me."

Fond seems an understatement. The cat very clearly adores him. With a chorus of happy little mews, it circles his legs and rubs against him until he crouches down to offer it his hand.

As he does, a shred of paper flutters from his pocket onto the ground. Eloise targets it like a seasoned warrior and pounces at it with gusto. With a laugh, she kneels down to retrieve whatever this paper she's captured might be.

"Now Eloise, none of that! You must behave genteel-like with guests."

As he firmly lectures the cat, Jamie glances at the paper in her hand. Nearly every inch of it is covered in an elegant, curling script that she imagines must belong to Baxter. It looks like a list of some kind. As her eyes scan down the page, she begins to recognize a pattern. Her favourite flowers, favourite desserts, favourite types of books and places around town. Plus, to the side, the word "cats?" underlined several times.

For a moment, she simply covers her mouth to hold in a snort of laughter. Then, she come to kneel beside her silly date as he is failing to convince his pet to stop swatting at his hair.

"So, you've been taking very thorough notes lately." She says, nudging his arm playfully.

He turns to face she with an immediate look of panic. Dark eyes widen and glance down to the paper in her hand, then back to her.

He visibly deflates and says, "Goodness, you must find me such a fool-"

Jamie presses her lips firmly to his before he can say another word. With a soft noise of surprise, his eyes flutter shut and he leans into her kiss. His lips are wonderfully soft, and the subtle scent of his cologne surrounds her senses as she tilts her head to seal her lips to his more firmly. She is not certain how long they remain like this, only the dull ache of kneeling on the dirt and the incessant sound of Eloise bopping its paw against the paper in her hand bring her back to her surroundings.

When she parts from him, she brushes aside the silky curtain of his curiously-coloured hair to run her hand along his face, and says, "I had a wonderful time today, Baxter, and it means the world to me that you put so much thought into this. But next time, you don't have to study so hard, okay?"

For a moment, he seems speechless. Then, he gives a shy chuckle. "You have bested me yet again, it would seem. How can I ever hope to become a man worthy of you when you are ever more lovely with each passing day?"

Eloise gives an insistent chirp and rubs once more against his leg, evidently tired of distractions from the attention it feels it is owed. Her smile widens, and she scratches its ear fondly.

"I think there's at least two of us who like you just as you are, Baxter."

*_*_*_*_*

Our Life Masterlist

[joestylee]

How To Dress For A Kizomba Class

There is a way my daughter lights up when she hears her favorite dance songs. She points to her prettiest swishiest skirt while shrieking, ‘Ballet! Ballet!’ and beckons on me to put it on for her. Then the joy in her eyes when she’s swinging away in it. I know, right? Who doesn’t want to feel like a princess and twirl around the room? And that’s the sweetness of dancing, the ability to escape for a moment into another world where everything is perfect.

How Does Costume Affect Dance?

It’s very easy to see that costumes provide enchantment for dance since a 2 year old already understands that swishy skirts make dancing more fun. If dance is the ability to escape into another world, costumes give this escape realness and fluidity. Costumes have been worn for ages as long as dance itself to portray different characters and as a medium of self-expression. Many dancers were icons of style and enhanced dance through their focus on costume, jewels and fashion. Fashion’s love affair with ballet is well known but there is not much information about how fashion has forged a Kizomba style. So, now to Kizomba what it is and how do you dress for a Kizomba class?

What is Kizomba?

Kizomba is a Kimbundu word meaning ‘party’ and is both a type of music genre and a dance style originating from Angola. It is a slow, romantic dance where the leader guides the follower using his right arm and torso. When Samba dancers from Angola started slowing their dance steps to the tempo of the Kizomba music, Kizomba dance was born.Kizomba is sometimes called the ‘African Tango’. This is mainly due to the Cuban elements in the dance infused from Cuba’s presence in Angola during its civil war.

What is Urban Kiz?

Urban Kiz is a couple dance derived from Kizomba. This is Kizomba that has been influenced by a wealth of styles as a result of the dance being exported to other countries. Urban Kiz can be danced to Ghetto-Zouk, Hip-Hop, R&B and Rap; and Urban Kiz is most likely the type of Kizomba outfit you had your first contact with.

How To Dress For A Kizomba Class?

Since Kizomba is a dance of steps and not many turns, women need something free for the lower body but can be fitted at the upper body.  Women can pick from a variety of outfit combinations including tea length dresses or short fit and flare dresses, leotard top and high waist trousers, crop-top and leggings, casual jeans and top, a tunic and leggings, or a stretchy jumpsuit. Not to forget heels. Heels give a certain daintiness to the elegant footwork required of the dance and enhance the sway of the hips.

For men, a nice T-shirt and jeans, or a fitted shirt and pants work well with sport shoes.

Where To Buy Kizomba Dresses or Outfits For Men & Women

As a dance with an African origin, it is good to wear something that is African inspired when going for a Kizomba class. An African inspired short wax skirt paired with a fitted top (shown below) and for men, this tunic (shown below) can be paired with pants or jeans.

Dance is indeed a catalyst for fashion. Fashion designers have often been inspired by the ardent bodies of dancers creating entirely new styles of dress serving as flexible forms of expression. The Tango Visiteor semi-evening gown for example, was a new style of dress created because of the Tango Teas. The Tango Visite was a dress that could be worn on afternoons and yet not be too warm for dancing. 

From ballet to tango, fashion has always drawn from dance to produce clothing that allows for beauty of expression. Just like Tango inspired the Tango Visite, I hope Kizomba dance inspires you to take a closer look at African inspired fashion and its intrinsic beauty.

[middleearthpixie]

Brewster's Place

Armitage Summer Splash #9 ~ Thanks again to @lathalea and @fizzyxcustard!!

Trope: Coffee Shop

Quote: “You never cared about me. Only yourself.”

RA Character: John Proctor 

Relationship: Modern!John x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,678

***

He came in every morning at around the same time, and today was no different. The bell above the door jingled and you looked up to see him maneuver around the tables scattered about Brewster’s Place’s cozy main room. He looked especially handsome today, dressed in black jeans and a navy pea coat, a long black scarf wound about his neck. It had been snowing for the last hour and white flakes clung to his short, dark hair, stood out in his thick, dark beard, and all of them melted out of sight as he crossed the black and white tile floor toward the front counter.

Your heart skipped a beat, just as it always did, when he stepped up and smiled. He had no idea how much you looked forward to his stopping by, even as you returned his smile and said, “Good morning, John. How bad is it out there?”

“Not too bad. At least, not yet,” he replied, running a hand over his cropped hair to brush the remaining snow from it. He was English, his deep voice elegant, and when he smiled, he had the most adorable crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes. 

His eyes were blue. A beautiful shade of blue that changed depending on what he wore. Some days they were a very pale, piercing blue. Other days, they hovered between blue and gray. Today, they were the perfect blend of blue and gray. 

“What’s not too bad? I heard we could get up to six inches before morning.”

“Six? Morning news said maybe four.”

“Oh, I like that better. Let’s go with that.” You smiled. “The usual?”

He let out a low chuckle. “You’re coming to know me too well, I think.”

Your cheeks grew warm with that. The usual was nothing more than a Sumatran blend, served black, so it took no special skill to remember it. You moved to the pot, which had only been brewed a few minutes earlier, and filled a cardboard travel cup, then snapped the lid on and brought it back. “Here you go.”

He took the cup from you, his fingers just brushing yours, and maybe it was only your imagination, but you’d swear his eyes widened at the contact. You certainly felt your heart skip a beat, felt a jolt race along your left arm. 

You rang up the coffee, he paid, and then as was his routine, he went and sat at a table closer to the fireplace, where a fire danced and crackled softly on the hearth to take the chill out of those coming in from the cold. He pulled off the travel lid and sat back in his chair and just sipped his coffee while thumbing through his phone. The morning rush slowed a few minutes later, and you looked up when the bell jangled again. A tall, slender woman with dark hair and a deep furrow between her eyebrows came into Brewster’s Place. 

She didn't come up to order anything at the counter, but instead marched right over to where John sat and your heart sank when she lowered into the chair across from his. For a while now, you and he had become friendly and you wondered if it was possible that he might actually be interested in you. He sometimes seemed to linger at the counter, and more than once you’d found yourself over by where he sat, chatting away with him about the most recent Giants game, or the New York Yankees, or even about his preferred sport of soccer, although you knew almost nothing about it. He never revealed anything too personal, though.

Now you knew why.

The woman—his wife? His girlfriend?—scowled now. “I’m tired of this same argument, John. I’ve had enough.”

“You’ve had enough? Beth, I said no. I’m not letting you take them. They’re happy with me. They’re doing well in school and I will not uproot them so you and Doug can trot off to Germany or Sweden or wherever it was you wished to go. It’s not going to happen if I have anything to say about it.”

“You’re unreal, do you know that? Don’t you care about whether or not it will be a good experience for them?”

“They don’t want to go. Do you want me to force them? To go before the judge yet again and this time agree to this idiocy?” He jabbed his forefinger into the tabletop, shaking his head. “No. You don’t give a bloody damn if they’re happy. You want to run off to Europe and to hell with everyone else.”

“I don’t give a damn? You are so fucking selfish and you know it. You never cared about me. Only yourself. Only what you want and now you’re using my sons as pawns.”

“They’re my sons, too, and I am not the one using them as anything. They told the judge they want to stay with me, Beth. They don’t want to live with you and Dougie. They don’t want to leave here, to leave their friends. They want to stay. And we are done here.”

“Bastard!” 

With that snarled word, Beth slapped at his coffee, sending it showering over him, the cup toppling onto its side to roll off the table. She leaped from her chair and stormed out of the coffeehouse, leaving him sitting where he was, dripping with Sumatran dark roast.

You hurried over with a roll of paper towels and a damp rag. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He grabbed the roll of towels to tear off a few and mopped up the table, then his dark blue button down. “My ex-wife.”

“I gathered.” You picked up the cup and tossed it in the trash. “Let me get you another cup. On me.”

“Thank you, but no. I—I actually have to get going.” He glanced down at the watch on his left wrist. “I’m late as it is because she was late. No matter what, she’s going to make me pay for what I did, even well after our divorce was finalized.”

You wondered what it was he could have done, but you certainly couldn’t ask, and since he didn't offer it up, all you could manage was a lame, “I’m sorry.”

He managed a slight smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to her temper. And she’s not really my problem any more, so…” His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’ll see you.”

“Be careful. We might get six inches of snow before this is all over.

He paused in the doorway, then stepped aside as someone tried to get in. He looked over at you. “Are you free tonight? Or perhaps tomorrow night?”

“It depends on whether we get six inches of snow or not.”

He grinned, coming back to where you stood. “Would you like to go out, maybe see a movie or grab a bite to eat?”

You nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Great.” He tugged his phone from his coat pocket. “Give me your number and I’ll give you a call later, once we know what the weather is going to do.”

You took the phone to punch in your digits, then handed it back to him. “I hope you’re not going to be too late now, stopping to ask me out and everything.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said with a wink. He tucked his phone back into his pocket and crossed back to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

And with that, he was gone and you had to get back to work. Somehow, you had the feeling the hours were going to crawl by until you heard from him. 

John stared down at the phone in his palm. It was toggled to your number, but he had yet to dial. You couldn't possibly know how his morning visit to Brewster’s Place was the high point of most of his days. He’d sit at his usual table, lingering over his coffee before heading into the office, and he’d just watch you, doing his best to make sure you didn't know he watched you. He didn't want to give off the creeper vibe, after all.

But you should only know how you brightened his day, how your never wavering smile and cheerful ‘good morning!’ made even the crappiest morning brighter. He couldn’t believe how nervous he was about asking you out. You were the first woman he was actually interested in since his divorce was finalized six months earlier. You were the first one since Abby…

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about Abby. She was in the past and that’s where she’d stay. And it no longer mattered. He was no longer married, but was now free to pursue any woman he wished. 

His heart beat faster and his mouth went dry as he pushed the little green send button on his screen. He swallowed hard as your phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” your name rolled easily off his lips now, and he smiled as he relaxed at the sound of your voice, “it’s John. I’m not calling at a bad time am I?”

“Not at all.” Your laugh came low and husky to his ears. “I’m actually on break now.”

“Are you still free tonight? Snow looks like it’s letting up, so if you are, I thought maybe we could go to dinner.”

“I’d love to.”

“Great.” He switched the phone to his other ear and stretched over to pluck a pen from the mesh cup at the corner of his desk blotter. “Give me your address and I’ll pick you up at seven, if that works.”

“Seven works just fine.”

You rattled off your address, he scribbled it down and then read it back to you to make sure he had it right. Then, he said, “I’ll see you at seven.”

“You certainly will.”

He clicked off, sitting back in his rich leather chair, head back, eyes closed, and smiled. 

Tonight was going to be a good night. 

***

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[listentothisyoooh]

Care For You; BC

A/N: This piece is +18, minors do not interact.

Summary: You come home from work, only to find your boyfriend, Chris, exhausted and drained. What can you say, when he asks you to make him feel better in your own special ways?

Warnings: sub Chan, soft dom female reader, hand jobs, orgasm control, edging, ropes, dirty talk, use of nicknames (mistress, little, pup, angel, etc), mention of the color system --

Word Count: 4.2k

“Hey, hi baby!” You whispered, sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to Chan’s rigid body, “When did you get home?” Caressing the tangled, short platinum blond locks sprawled on the pillow, you smiled down at his puffy, tired face; it probably wasn’t a good thing that you weren’t answered by a smile.

“An hour, I guess.” He rasped, his cords rugged with sleepiness and something else –something you didn’t quite like. The cool, white sheets covered him up to his shoulders, leaving no patch of pale skin open for your sight, and the faded shade of raspberry on his perky lips further demonstrated just how tired the man was.

“Oh honey,” You cooed, leaning over Chan to plant a kiss on his temple while he lay on his side, facing where you sat, “you seem exhausted. Are you alright? Did something happen?” You couldn’t really help the way your brows knotted as a sign of worry. Using arms as pillars next to your boyfriend’s figure, you bowed above him; ceiling cream lights now blocked away from his sight and he could look up at you with those wide, glossy eyes, the peachy gleam of the bedside lamp reflecting from them.

“I’m okay, babe, don’t worry;” He assured, settling on his back gently, “It was just—a very, very long day!” A light laugh puffing out of him, he pulled on the sheets to conceal the lower part of his face from you, eyes still locked with yours. Chan was always soft –so soft, gentle and sweet, and that was why you just couldn’t stop showering him with light, lingering touches, one now being granted for him across his left cheekbone and the side of his eye by your thumb; he seemed to really enjoy it, lids flowing down and expression turning into a relaxed, almost blank one.

“Anything I can do, Channie?” Your gentle question fluttered his eyes open, “want me to make you something? Or get you some pills to help you sleep?” Sometimes, when he was too spent, it became frustratingly difficult for him to fall asleep, so it wouldn’t be far from ordinary if he were to have the same problem now; puffy eyes, flushed cheeks and tousled locks only asked for a bit of rest.

“Can you take care of me?” His quiet voice rose from beneath the sheets, his linear eyes staring right into yours, making your chest quiver alongside that innocent little request.

“Of course!” You smiled, “What do you need? I can give you a massage…” Your suggestion was met with his negative nod, the grips over the edge of the cover tightening.

“No,” He gulped, “can you take care of me, mistress?” There was already a certain breathlessness in his words which only made you grit your teeth; he looked so devastatingly vulnerable, looking up at you with hope, exhaustion and plea in his stare.

“Aren’t you a little too tired for that, pup?” Was the last thing you wanted to say to him, the last thing he wanted to hear too; shaking his head no, Chan squirmed in place while waiting for you to answer to the desperate request in a way that would satisfy both of you.

Instead, you just smiled. Cupping his right, warm cheek, you lightly pinched its plumpness and traced your hand lower unto his neck and chest, pulling that nuisance of a fabric away from those beautiful lips and skin. He visibly gulped at your movements –at being scanned by your sharp eyes, but made no objections whatsoever; the easy compliance egged you on to inch his figure further southwards, fingers dancing on the white sheet. It seemed like he was bare under the covers, and when your hand finally clasped at the side of his right thigh and absorbed the gentle body heat, your assumptions turned out to be accurate, slapping a smirk on your face.

“Are you naked, little?” You asked, stare switching between Chan’s agape lips and anticipating, bright eyes; he did nothing, as if waiting for your sly hand to figure that out itself. “Why is that?” Your gentle tone tried to coax the words out of the man, “Were you being naughty when I was at work?”

“No!” It was adorable how the reply cut off his quiet sigh, being shot out to convince you, “No, I was just waiting for you, and… I fell asleep.” He explained, his covered chest heaving out of slight nervousness. A light chuckle sprang out of you while you flew down to peck his pretty lips.

“Relax, pup; I believe you.” You assured, “It would be fine if you did, though;” Leaning down on your elbow, you peppered lingering kisses near his mouth, your free hand caressing his bicep from over the covers, “you’ve been so good lately—you deserve a treat, both from me and yourself.” By the way his cheek flexed under your lips, you could tell he was smiling. “So, let’s give you a treat then, angel!” He shivered when your breath rubbed on the sensitive spot under his ear.

As soon as you backed away and got off of the bed, Chan rose up to sit on his butt and see what you were doing, the white cover dropping unto his lap; knowing that you’re being watched, you made your way to the small, antique chest placed on top of a console table next to your closet, and opened its lid, eyes immediately landing on the dark jade bundle of silk rope as well as the small tube of expensive, cinnamon scented lubricant, both of them sitting brazenly over the extra pile of naughty toys and accessories! You grabbed the objects with content, having already formed a plan in your head while expecting eyes bore into your back; you threw the equipment on the mattress right next to the man’s feet, fighting back a smirk when your short glance caught him staring at them and gulping. The chair next to the ajar door welcomed your buttoned shirt and jeans to leave you alone with the tight red top and black panties, watching you silently set a course to your boyfriend back on the bed.

“Are you feeling verbal today?” You asked the young man whose eyes obviously swayed over your figure without any intention. It took a dazed, short while for Chan to answer, but he finally did after a gulp and pursing his lips.

“I don’t know…” He shook his head when you sat in front of his folded legs on the mattress, putting a calf between your locations; his slumped, pale body was screaming for your attention in the most innocent way possible, which wasn’t all that rare for the man, as he, deep down, was very innocent, despite what he liked to show his fans and or had to portray of himself because of his career and his position in their group. It hadn’t really been mentioned yet, but you were aware of the heartwarming fact that you were the only person entrusted with this side of his character –a side he himself cherished dearly yet had always tried to suppress, until meeting you, of course.

“Well then,” You caressed his puffy cheek, pressing your forehead on his and giving him an Eskimo kiss, “we just have to find out, I guess!” Your soft chuckle mixed with the one Chan let out, and you found the moment intimate and soothing enough to begin kissing the man, allowing his passionate lips to gently dance over yours for a while before adding your tongue into the mixture and earning light huffs and sighs from his waving throat.

“Fold your arms on each other.” Guiding his hands, you helped him hold his left forearm in front of his abdomen and place the right one on top of it, wrapping his fingers around his elbows to show satisfaction for the plan; catching the wait in the slouched figure, you got a grip of the ropes behind your rear and started your rather enticing mission of binding the man’s arms together, knots and rings gently kissing his pale skin.

He was more than compliant, once or twice pecking your face when you leaned too close to tighten a knot or readjust a bundle; his breaths were even yet deep, and in between all of that, you could clearly witness a tent forming on the sheet sprawled on his lap, slow yet bold. His mind was taken by your scent, the close but still far away heat of your embrace, and he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to your light, accidental contacts across his arms; dear lord, was he touch-starved!

“All good?” You asked, finally finished with your work. His simple nod was good enough of an answer.

The brightness which reflected from the white covers on the bed turned him even paler and that allowed the jade rope to show off its elegant color on Chan’s bare figure. He looked stunning, blond hair sticking out in this direction or that, lips swollen and red from the excessive nervous biting; there was nothing holding you back from lifting up his chin and crashing your mouth unto his, having him nailed in place by a heavy grip on his thigh. He huffed over your face shakily as your hand plowed in between his locks which you now realized were damp; he must’ve showered after coming home from the studio, you guessed.

“You like this rope; don’t you, puppy?” You giggled, leaving a gentle kiss on his perky bottom lip, trailing down to his jaw and throat while pulling his head back. “Is it the fabric? Or the color?” Your question drowned in the dip of his neck vein as you sucked lightly on it, hearing him whimper impatiently and wriggle in place.

“Color.” He replied simply, trying to gulp with the uncomfortable position of his head. Your tongue, tracing wet lines on the distinct veins and bulges beneath his sensitive skin, made him tense uncontrollably; he was already so worked up, despite being tired.

“Yeah?” Your teasing tone sent a shiver into his shoulders, “I was thinking about getting you that mini wand vibrator you showed me the other day –the jade one…” Looking back up into his eyes, he panted lightly, “Good, yeah?” He nodded once again, not trusting his voice to make an appearance, making you smile with adoration, “What’s so special about jade anyway?” The man’s heart-rate suddenly picked up and he leaned his forehead above your ear out of embarrassment for what he was gonna confess to.

“It was the color of your underwear the first time you… um—the first time I met mistress!” He tried his best to voice his explanation in the least flustering way, however hard it was. The confession was accompanied by his little hiss when you giggled and dragged the covers off of his figure, making sure it created the slowest, roughest amount of friction and grip.

“Oh, right…!” You mused, pulling your head away only inches; he didn’t seem too pleased about that, but watching you lean forward on your left arm nailed next to his hip and looking up at him with a little smile was all he could think about at the moment. Your index finger on the free hand began drawing circles on his hard tip, “That was a good night, wasn’t it baby?” He was too busy staring into your eyes with knotted brows and a bitten lip, obviously tensing to prevent from moving under your touch; seeing his composure, you massaged the head of his member with your thumb and index finger, gliding them down to its edge and dragging back up without haste but with good pressure. “You were bad, really bad—remember?” Smirking, at the way he kept pursing his lips while looking down at you, you came to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t going to be verbal that day; he rarely was, to be honest –only when he was too pent up or maybe too cocky, which didn’t happen all that often, but it was worth the experiment. He might not have liked to be talkative at these times, but he damn sure liked being talked to; he had admitted so more than once, dialogues and monologues being half of the pleasure for him.

Gluing your lips on his chin, you felt him shake as the tip of your finger pressed unto his red slit and slid back and forth, eliciting short whimpers from his agape mouth; he squirmed and squirmed but with no apparent aim, since he neither tried to settle efficiently under your teasing touch, nor did he back away from it to protest. He kept staring at you as if there was something he awaited, gulping and gulping and gulping!

“Lie back and spread your legs for me, sweetie.” You crawled back to grant the man space for his task, the one he fulfilled right after hearing your command.

The now cool spot on the mattress welcomed his muscly back and the sheets straightened when his feet dragged away from each other to make a perfectly fitting nest in between his thighs for you. He had to strain his neck to look over at you, so you decided to help him out by hovering above his torso and grabbing your own pillow to jam it behind his shoulders, creating a better angle for his vision. It was the hardest thing to resist kissing his beautiful lips and you saw no point in it anyway, diving down to steal a few noisy, wet pecks from your boyfriend, retreating into your place near his groin next.

“Mistress has taught you well, hasn’t she?” You purred, kneeling between his legs and sliding them over your thighs to earn the closest spot possible, “You used to be so hesitant –so, so impatient too,” He kept licking his lips while gazing at you, his deep breaths egging you on, “but now look at you; a good,” Your palms slowly wrapped around his length and started screwing over its upper and lower half in opposite directions, “good little angel for me.” His head tossed back from the combination of your words and movements; he was fully hard and flushed.

A low whine echoed in the room when you detached your hands from him and grabbed the lonely bottle from over the mattress instead; the moment its contents poured on your palm and released their exotic scent, a breathy, whisper of your nickname rose also, Chan staring down at what you were holding. He was crazy about this smell –this certain smell that had always awakened a comfortable haziness inside him, enough to make it impossible for him to stand being in the dorm when Felix was baking croissants; it almost acted like an aphrodisiac for him, you had yet to understand why, and it would be a lie if one were to say you didn’t abuse this little effect!

“Red if it gets too much, yellow if you need a breath.” You repeated his safe words, earning a nod, and went back to clasping your palms on his member just like before, copying the same motion again; he shut his eyes with content, sighing when your warmth finally touched him, drenched in a scent he loved dearly.

In a matter of seconds, he was already mewling, dripping with precum, disheveled locks being plunged into the pillows. His state only worsened when your fingers formed a thin ring and placed it right beneath the prominent edge of his tip and started the classic vibrating motion on its ablaze nerves; a motion he had grown used to, no matter how torturous it was. Giving him short intervals, you managed to earn a glimpse of his face when he looked back down on your hand, eyes narrow and cheeks flushed –his entire upper body flushed.

“Am I bothering you, Christopher?” Hearing his complete name, he clenched his jaw and shook his head violently, most displeased with the full stop of your hands.

“No, no mistress, keep going!” His words were rushed and hoarse as he took a second to recount what he had said, “Could you continue?” He restructured his sentence after witnessing the raise of your brow, and his heaving chest, his sweet, calm voice was just too good to be ignored.

“Ah!” You cooed, “Such a polite little pup, huh? You’ve learned how to earn my favor, haven’t you? Yes, you have, gorgeous!” He was already too far away from sanity to comprehend your praises as your once again vibrating fingers knocked moans out of him one after another, having his legs wrap around your hips with the constant, cruel edging.

He couldn’t decide between watching the scene of your connection or throwing his head back to slap whimpers at the headboard; when he landed eyes on your hands skillfully tapping on the underside of his aching length through palms, all he could think of was finishing right then and there –it was shameful, how sensitive he was to the littlest of touches.

“Hey!” Your stern voice brought him back to his senses, making him stop gritting his teeth and look back down at you, “No hurting yourself!” Your frown confused him, your words too, but when you gestured towards his hands with the raise of your brows, he got the message; he’d become so lost in the on and off of the pleasure in his gut that he’d forgotten to notice the sharp pain of his nails digging into the side of his elbow.

This was the best opportunity –no, excuse, to frustrate him in the ways he liked, or usually did; you could only hope he’d like it now, too. Sliding your hands off of his weeping length, you kept a hard gaze on his linear, shiny eyes and placed your hands limp on your thighs, palms upwards to avoid leaving the mess of lube and precum on yourself.

“I told you never to hurt yourself, didn’t I?” His flushed face fell at your words, catching the serious worry on your features, “Don’t you wanna be good, Christopher?”

God, he hated his name when it left your mouth! He hated being called by his name when it came to you, because it never meant anything good. He felt cold all of a sudden, without your touch or a trace of your affection, and being naked was much, much more embarrassing. His chest was already heaving.

“I do!” He managed to voice out, awkwardly hoarse, “I am good, Mistress; always!” After all this time, it still flustered him to call you that certain name.

“Then why did you ignore my explicit order?” Yes, you were making a much bigger deal out of this than it was; the marks weren’t even deep, he knew that, you knew that.

“It won’t happen again –you have my word, Mistress… Please—“ He stopped to gulp past his dry throat, still looking into your soul with pleading eyes; he looked so tired, yet he never once dreamed of protesting –not to your work anyway.

“Please what, boy?” Your question had its sharp edges –sharper than Chan liked it. Was there any affection in boy? None he could feel, no –it felt colder than his own name.

“I wanna be good for Mistress;” He breathed out with knotted brows, “can I have one more chance? Please, I want—“ His arms wiggled desperately in between the rope, “I need to cum—“ He could feel fire searing his ears, “Can I, please? Only Mistress knows how to give that to me…” Was it enough? Did he have to go deeper? He couldn’t tell based off of your blank expression.

“Hmm…” A smile creept on your face just as the hum was released from your throat, “Such good manners!” You praised, lifting one hand to lightly drag over his pale, beautifully shaped thigh and finally plant around his cock again –a short gasp being his response, “Such a well-behaved little cub!” He clearly twitched at that! Your palm dragged up and down his veins and he was once again, jelly at your touch, “Who taught this little pup how to be so good and polite?” His moan interrupted your question when your other hand wrapped two fingers around the sensitive edge of his tip. One second he’d push his hips into the mattress to desert your touch, and the other, he’d push up to pump into your airy fist. “Christopher!”

“Mistress did!” His shaky answer came only after your call brought him back to earth and snapped his eyes open. “Only Mistress can tell pup to be good –he always listens to you, only you Mistress—oh, fuck, don’t stop –please!” His sweet voice became high-pitched whines as soon as the ring of fingers around his tip began vibrating again; squirming and spasming uncontrollably, he began throwing his hips up to feel more than the brush of your thumb on his base and the vibration of your fingers on his moistened head. “No—no no, ’m gonna cum—is it okay? Can—“ The hoarse groans piercing his mewls wouldn’t let him finish his thoughts, and your fingers weren’t helping his intellect either!

The bulging veins on his stretched back neck were ripe for marking and the way his pale skin had become many shades redder out of frustration and tension could only mean one thing: he’s few seconds away from covering his stomach with white.

What was cuter than normal, day-to-day Chris, was this Chris; the one writhing and begging and whining under the gentlest touch you could grant him –the one actually able to cum from that meager touch! His voice wouldn’t lower, making way for shameless babbles and incoherent pleas, and you just wanted to put him –and your cramping hand– out of misery.

“It’s okay, Little,” You murmured, still able to reach his ear from between his own noises, “you can cum in five…” Hearing the start of his countdown, Chan lowered his head to look at you, just like all the times he was close; he wanted to see you, and more importantly, he wanted you to see him lose it all. “Four…”

“Count faster!” His fingers were now somehow wrapped in the thick threads of the rope and tugged roughly; you could feel the way the mattress dipped eagerly behind you as Chan’s feet pressed on it with curled toes.

“Three…” You smirked, knowing full well his need for ‘being good’ is way more prioritized to his body than getting what he wants. He could always take what you gave him –every single time; he loved and yearned for the care that came after his success, he wouldn’t change it with anything. “Two…” A small, ecstatic mewl left him when your thumb caressed his slit rhythmically, body trembling out of the little stimulation that was successfully driving him insane.

“One.”

He managed to keep his teary eyes open as his mouth fell apart wider and wider for a scratchy moan to swim into the room with nothing holding it back whatsoever; a big, irritating knot came finally undone in his burning stomach and then there it was, hot strings of white connecting the skin of his purple tip to his abs, your fingers still delicately wrapped around his twitching cook.

There was a gentle thump when he let his head fall on the pillow and the way his chest rose and fell seemed kind of painful; he, on the other hand, looked as blissed out as he possibly could, sweat gleaming on his temples.

“Everything okay?” You massaged his member carefully to help it soften sooner and when your hands eventually left him, he huffed out.

“I’m good, all good.” He panted, glancing down at you lazily, catching your satisfied smile.

His mind kept slipping in and out of reality, and the next thing he felt was the warmth of a kiss on his forehead as cold, wet wipes danced on his belly.

“You did so well.” You whispered, taking advantage of the close vicinity, “Take a nap. I’ll order some food and we can watch something later before bed.” His hazy eyes stared up at you, nodding when your fingers slid over the knots over his biceps to rid him of the restraints.

“Is noodle soup okay?” You asked as your steps lead you to the chest to put back the items you’ve retrieved earlier, “Or maybe we should get tomato?” Turning around, you were met with the unconscious figure of your boyfriend, half covered with white sheets, face as puffy and soft as spring clouds.

You couldn’t help but coo and return to his side to pull the sheets higher over his naked body, and when he made no movement at your touch, you just knew he was knocked out cold; and that meant he’d be up in two-three hours, hungry as a starved wolf, and he will need any kind of food he can find –so soup is probably not the best idea to satisfy Bang Christopher Chan!

[needydanger]

Red Wine | What Turns a Man On

18+ SMUT

pairing(s): levi ackermann x f!reader

content: 69′ing with captain levi

a/n: sorry for any grammar errors!  -scar <3

You held your fancy wine glass in an elegant manner; bringing it up to your lips. However, that classy facade fell short when you downed the entire glass as if it were water. The point of tonight was to mingle with Marleyan soldiers that were betraying their own country in favor of Eldian freedom. 

In your head, tonight was a competition to see who could get drunk the fastest. And you were in the lead by a major feat.

“Seriously, Y/n?”, Connie questions. You glare at him.

“What?”

His judgmental gaze turns into a dramatic pout, “Without me?!”

Soon; you, Connie, and Sasha were drunk. Your booming voices and annoying laughter caught the attention of everyone in the room. “Ah..who let the idiots have wine?”, Levi groans to Hange.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Y/n this happy.”

You were lively. Mingling with everybody. You even got Jean and Eren into the mix. They became competitive with each other, and drank until Jean's face was on the table. “HA! Y/n, look! I won~”, Eren smiles at you.

You were the most fun anybody has had in ages.

It went too far, though, when you accidentally spilt red wine on Zeke’s white suit. “What the fuck?!”, he gasps. You look at the spreading stain on his pants with wide eyes. “I..I am so sorry!”

Zeke realizes it was you and softens. In a quick motion, you grab a napkin off a dinner table, dunk it in a glass of water, and attempt to wipe out the stain on his pants.

Zeke can’t help but just watch as you mindlessly rubbed away at his crotch. 

You knew a few things..

But social cues were not one of them. In sincere truth; you really were dense when it came to stuff like this.

But that didn’t matter when everyone is watching in shock.

You decide that the stain is never coming out and grab your wine glass, “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”, Zeke shrugs it off. You take note of the sly smile he had. You felt relieved. Maybe he wasn’t that upset about it after all.

You’re suddenly grabbed by the hair, and everyone watched as you are unfashionably escorted out of the room.

You’re thrown against a wall—immediately scolded.

“Do you have a death wish?”

The voice makes you look up with bambi eyes. “Captain?”

You stumble back when he approaches you and end up on your ass like an idiot. He grabs your hair again, “It was okay for you to drink, but to make Zeke hard like that in front of your comrades?”

His grip tightens and you wince, “Are you truly that dumb?” 

You shake your head profusely, “H-Hard? No he wasn’t!”

“Why do you think he was smiling like a kid in a candy shop?”

You yell, “How the hell am I supposed to know that would turn someone on?!”

Levi lets go of you and debates his next steps. He gets down to your level and uses his gloved hands to spread your legs wide open. Your dress barely covered over your underwear, and it made you blush intensely.

“W-What are you doing?!”

He takes the wine glass in your hand and splashes it in the same manner you did to Zeke. He takes his right glove off to reach for his handkerchief, and starts rubbing your inner thighs.

You immediately slap a hand on your mouth. His hand danced from your inner thighs to your pussy. Rubbing endlessly on your clit. 

“O-Okay! I get it now! You can stop, I’m sorry!! I won’t ever do that again.”, You grab ahold of his arm.

“Why, are you turned on?”, he asks condescendingly, pressing his middle finger slightly into you. The barrier of the napkin and your underwear saved you from any more embarrassment.

“Yes!”, you angrily blush. He scoffs and you almost regret telling him to stop. “If you need any more help knowing what turns a man on so you don’t embarrass yourself like that again, let me know. For now, just go home. You’re done for the night.”

Before Levi leaves your view completely, you wobble over to him. You grab a hold of his hand and ask, “I, uh..can you tell me what turns a man on?”

You’re now in Levi’s room.

On his bed, more specifically.

You’re sitting awkwardly on the edge and he’s in the chair across from you.

“Men can get hard from physical touch. Sexual or not. What you did was the perfect example.” You sink into your shoulders. Ugh. “However, there are some perverted men that can get hard at just the sight of something they find attractive.”

“So they get hard over everything, basically?”

Levi nods, “Depends who we’re talking about. Most of it is all in here.”, he taps on his head, “Thoughts are powerful. Get a man started on just one dirty thought, and their mind will run freely.”

You sigh into your palms, “Now I really feel like an idiot.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know”, he shrugs. 

Sexual Education wasn’t exactly a hot topic in Paradis. There was only 1 school where you grew up, and they taught you mostly about titans; how to kill them and how to survive. 

“What about you?”

“Hm?”, Levi looks up

“What turns you on?”

Silence. 

You feel a sweat bead ready to fall from your forehead. Did I mess up again?

“Why does that concern you?”

“Um, so I don’t make another mistake?” Goddamnit, Y/n. You can at least sound sure of yourself. 

“I already told you what turns me on.”

You blink. Eh? You think back to what he said merely minutes ago, and go through a process of elimination. Okay, well, Levi isn’t a pervert. Sure, he’s a man. But he won’t die without sex...

“Thoughts and touching?”

He nods. 

“Hm.”, you think. What else can he be into? Well, cleaning is one thing.. “Role play?”

His brow raises, “Elaborate.”

“Like..sexy maid outfits and making someone call you captain in bed.”

He tilts his head, “I never thought about that.”

You giggle nervously, “Haha, well. I guess I was wrong.”

There’s awkward silence in the room. Levi is looking at you stare at everything else in the room except for him. 

“What turns you on?”

You burn up, “Touch.”

“Anything specific?”

You look off to the side, “Hair pulling and..what you did earlier, I guess.”

When you turn to look at him, you’re met with his belt. “So, all those years that I’ve been pulling your hair..?”

You nod up to him, “It’s turned me on.”

He’s peering down on you with a clenched jaw. The way his eyes are literally boring into your soul makes you feel small. What exactly was going on in his head? How did it get to this point?

He breaks eye contact with you and just clenches his fists. Hm? You stare directly in front of you and see the bulge in his pants. Oh. 

“Captain.”

“Yes?”, he doesn’t look at you.

You take your hand and gently rub up and down his clothed cock. Levi snaps his neck to look down at you.

“Is this okay?”, you ask coyly. Those damned bambi eyes..

There was no more being clueless. You knew exactly what you were doing now. What you wanted, and what he wanted. 

Levi places his hands on the bed so he can kiss you. It’s slow and passionate.

His tongue got familiar with yours in ways that made you feel butterflies. So this is what it’s like to get excited by just a kiss.

The two of you pull away for breath. “Yes, it’s okay.”, he finally answers. You put your hand back on his cock. This time, unzipping his pants and rubbing him through his boxers. 

He lets you do whatever you want. 

You put your hand down his underwear and can’t believe how nice it feels. “You’re huge.”, you say honestly. His lips fall agape before he kisses you again. You loved to be dominated by him, but you still wanted to follow through with what you were going to do before. 

You roll over on top and push him back. He’s confused when you straddle him with your head facing his feet. It didn’t register in his head what you were about to do, until he felt your lips on the tip of his cock. 

He fists the sheets, getting filled to the brim with arousal. You kissed the tip, licked it, sucked on it, playfully tapped it against your tongue. You wanted to make him lose his mind. 

Levi is face to face with your open legs. You feel a tug on your underwear and cry out when his tongue on you. In you.

You pop off his dick with a moan. Was he seriously going to eat you out at the same time? “Don’t stop sucking until I cum.”, he orders you.

“Yes, Levi.”

He lands a solid smack on your right ass cheek. The sound that leaves your mouth is actually embarrassing. It’s a mix between a scream and a moan.

“Is that how you address your superior?”

You bite your lip, “S-Sorry, Captain.”

He smiles and kisses your clit, “That’s a good girl.”

The compliment is enough to have you deep throating his cock.

The position is a never ending cycle of stimulation. With his tongue working wonders on you, you can’t stop moaning on his dick. He returns that vibrating feeling back on your most sensitive areas—moaning into your pussy.

It’s enough to make you cum on his face.

You stop sucking on his cock so you can enjoy this euphoria. “Agh!! Fuck.”

He lets you ride on his tongue like a desperate whore. The aftershocks of your orgasm are toe-curling.

You collapse to the side and shakingly crawl back down to his legs. He watched as you put your mouth back on him, looking up into his eyes.

“Fuck, y/n.”, he grips onto your hair just how you said you like it, “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

Again with the compliments. You’re now determined to make him cum like it’s your life purpose.

“Take it out of your mouth, I’m going to cum.”, he says softly.

Instead, you suck as hard and fast as you can. He moans in surprise, “S-Stop!”

You use your hands for the rest of his length that you couldn’t fit in your mouth. He pulls your head back so you’re looking up at him, “If you don’t stop, I’ll cum in your mouth!”

You give him the dirtiest look he’s ever seen. Your cheeks are red, you have tears brimming in your eyes from your orgasm before, and there’s saliva running down the corners of your mouth. Wow..

��Don’t worry. I’ll swallow it all, Captain.”

Soon, he’s spilling down your throat. “Jesus Christ, Y/n.”, he groans. You swallow every drop and don’t pull off until there’s nothing left. Once you both had a chance to collect yourselves, he kisses you.

Your eyes widened.

You can taste yourself on his tongue. And you’re sure he could taste himself too. It’s such a lewd feeling. Was it bad to like it this much?

You’re now both lying down against the pillows with the sheets over your body.

“Ah..I’m so tired.”, you sigh, giggling. 

“Go ahead and sleep. I’ll wake you up in time for tomorrow.”, he pushes your hair back out of your face. 

“Okay.”, you reply softly.