#all of you sending me prompts? You're my muses now

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR FAKE DATING & GOING UNDERCOVER *  assorted dialogue for muses going undercover as a couple and having to maintain the illusion that they're dating, and all the chaos, feelings, and whatnot that come with it, suggested by dollhidden, adjust as necessary, send "reverse" for the reversal of action prompts

DIALOGUE PROMPTS

come on. at least pretend that you like me.

if we hold hands, that'll sell the illusion even more.

what petnames do you think we'd use if we were actually dating?

please don't make this too difficult on me.

stop letting go of my hand.

you're going to pay for this later.

that was way too close of a call.

[petname]? that's what we're going with?

could you at least look like you like me for an hour? is that so hard?

admit it. i'm not half bad.

didn't think i would enjoy this as much as i am.

did you take acting classes growing up?

excuse me! i'm just trying to sell the illusion!

do you think they bought it?

you don't look like you love me. you look like you're constipated.

way to lay it on thick. i think you might have done too good of a job.

pretend to laugh at one of my jokes.

i guess i didn't expect you to dress up for this. i'm impressed.

you know, if you treated me like that on the regular, i might actually start falling in love with you.

they have to believe we're together. how hard can it be?

quick, pretend like you're about to kiss me.

you clearly care more about the tiny appetizers than you do me.

i'm just here for the free champagne.

you clean up nice.

that honestly wasn't as bad as i thought it would be.

they're looking over here. quick, say something funny.

that... was surprisingly smooth of you.

you don't date much, do you?

we should pretend to date more often.

hey! my eyes are up here!

shit, they're coming. kiss me.

ACTION PROMPTS all of these are written as if both parties are fake dating and going undercover at some specified event, but feel free to add your own scenarios if you'd like!

[ hand ] sender quickly takes receiver's hand in public to avoid getting caught

[ waist ] sender quickly slides an arm around receiver's waist in public to avoid getting caught

[ propose ] sender stages a dramatic fake proposal to further sell their relationship to the crowd, catching receiver completely off guard

[ fake fight ] sender and receiver stage a coordinated fake fight/messy breakup in front of the crowd

[ kiss ] realizing they need to sell their relationship to an important person/people, sender and receiver kiss for the first time

[ coat ] noticing receiver is cold, sender gives them their coat

[ entrance ] sender and receiver approach the entrance of the secret event and discuss their plans for selling their fake relationship to the crowd

[ slip away ] sender slips away from receiver in order to take a break from pretending, and receiver goes to find them

[ off limits ] sender and receiver are exploring an off limit portion of the event space, get caught, and are forced to try to explain how they got lost

[ the big kiss ] to conceal the fact that they're exploring an off limit portion of the event space, sender kisses receiver dramatically once they're caught

[ introduce ] sender introduces receiver as their lover/date/partner to a very important (and potentially dangerous) person at this event

[ family ] sender introduces receiver as their lover/date/partner to their family, who just so happens to also be at the event

[ lost ] sender loses receiver in the crowd and rushes to relocate them before their cover is blown

[ flirt ] when someone else shows interest in receiver, sender steps in and makes it clear they're "taken"

[ exit ] sender and receiver have successfully accomplished their goal, and now must sneak out of the event as covertly as possible

[ spill ] sender accidentally spills their drink on receiver and rushes them to the restroom to clean them up

[ private ] in a brief moment of privacy between the two fake daters, sender admits to receiver that they don't think receiver is as bad as they thought

[wheeboo]

all yours | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. in which you get a bit too drunk on your special day. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. mentions of drinking alcohol and throwing up, reader has long enough hair to be pulled back, cursing, terms of endearment WORD COUNT. 1.4k

requested from anon: Hi hope all is well, just wanted to say Congrats on the milestone! You deserve it! And if it’s okay I would like to request #29 and #52 from prompt list 1 with Jeonghan thank you in advance if you do it. Congrats again to 2k you honestly deserve it :) - #29: "I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it." - #52: "Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

notes: thank u sm anon 😭🫶 ur so so sweet ily AAAA sending consensual smooches ur way 😚😚 also genuinely did not know what to title this lmfao

join the 2k celebration!

Okay, maybe you've had a bit too much to drink tonight.

It's your birthday anyway, so surely you have the right to go a little bit overboard on your special day... right?

"Ugh, I feel like shit," You mumble groggily, your body drifting and hitting the bathtub right next to you with a thud as the sounds of the toilet flushing bounce off the walls of the bathroom.

Jeonghan just crosses his arms together, leaning against the doorway with a sly smirk to his face. His eyes peer over your flushed face, slightly tousled hair and overall cute, disheveled appearance. You huff a breath as your gaze meets his, and a small, almost dreamy smile of your own forms on your face despite knowing how absurd you look right now.

"How do I look?" You ask, drawing your words out drunkenly.

"Honestly?" Jeonghan starts, and you lift a brow in anticipation. "You look ravishingly awful."

The words that leave his mouth has your face twisting in confusion, your brain hardly processing whatever the hell he just said (you'll take it as a compliment nonetheless, thanks to your cloudy mind).

However, Jeonghan just chuckles, fully stepping his way into the bathroom and towards where you are plopped down on the tile floor. He carefully sits himself down on the rim of the bathtub, expression softening right away with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth on your face from the alcohol to his fingers.

You lean into his touch instinctively, closing your eyes for a few seconds. "My body is going to hate me in the morning."

Jeonghan retracts his hand slightly, but not before his fingertips lingers your cheek, sending a jolt through your already-buzzing body and causing your eyes to flutter open. You can feel the heat creeping back up your neck, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"Hmm, not if I take care of you real well, yeah?" he muses teasingly, and you could only groan in response, feeling the alcohol earlier make your head spin once more. But a tiny, sober part of you registers the warmth in his gaze.

That is, until you can start to feel something bubble up your throat, and before you can react, your stomach lurches, and you're scrambling for the toilet just in time to expel the contents of your stomach. You heave and retch, feeling utterly miserable as Jeonghan helps by pulling back your hair and rubbing your back soothingly.

As the wave of nausea passes, your hand releases its hold on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat. You lean back once more, nearly toppling over before Jeonghan's hands catch you by the shoulders, helping to straighten up your posture. You let out a sluggish sigh.

"Well, maybe you're not wrong about your body hating you," he says jokingly, then squeezes your shoulders right after as if reassure you. "I would not want to be the receiving end of all... that."

You roll your eyes in playful annoyance and yank his grip off you, his laughter ringing in your ears. "I... Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

A feigned gasp leaves Jeonghan as he dramatically clutches his chest. But the inebriated glare you throw his way doesn't seem to faze him in the slightest. You catch the way his face quickly dissolves into his horribly distinguishable shit-eating grin.

"Ah, you figured out my secret, my dearest," he responds with an exaggerated flair, cupping your face gently with his hand. "You getting wasted made you more perceptive than I thought."

You swat at him weakly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You're impossible."

"Only for you." He cheesily presses a kiss to the top of your head. "How are you feeling? Can you stand up?"

"Mmmh... help me?" You laggardly open your arms up to him, a pout forming at your mouth.

Your eyes are too heavy to catch the way Jeonghan is gazing at you so adoringly right now. He takes your outstretched arms and helps to hoist you up to your feet. For a moment, you're eye-to-eye, your head spinning slightly from the sudden movement and the world tilting a little as you stand.

Jeonghan secures a hand at your lower back as he carefully leads you out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom, catching a glimpse to the remains of the party from earlier scattered about the room. Balloons hang lazily at the ceiling, confetti laying across the floor𑁋you can deal with it in the morning.

"You're a hot mess," he comments teasingly, though there's a fondness in his tone as he guides you to the bed.

You flop down onto the mattress with a groan, the softness of the pillows cushioning against your throbbing head. Jeonghan disappears for a minute to retrieve a bottle of pills from the bathroom and a glass of water from the kitchen, placing it on your bedside table before sitting down beside you, his hand reaching out to brush hair away from your forehead.

You crack open an eye to look at him, feeling yourself trying so hard to not fall asleep on the spot.

"Do... you think they know?"

Jeonghan looks back down at you. "Who?"

"Every... Everyone who came today, uh..." You mutter, motioning the air with your hand. "I didn't... do anything weird out there, right? We haven't really told anyone about us yet..."

Jeonghan purses his lips together, eyelids fluttering as if he's trying to remember the events of the party. He crosses his arms together, and you should probably know from the smirk appearing at his face that𑁋

"Hm, like, weird as in when you tried to kiss me earlier after you sang karaoke? Or𑁋"

"Are you being serious right now?!" There's a long, drawn out unintelligible sound that you whine as you bury your face into the pillow, the cool fabric soothing against your flushed cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm so stupid..."

"My love, I still don't entirely understand why we have to hide it," Jeonghan says gently, his fingers trailing lightly along your arm. "Your affection is pretty obvious, you know."

You snort at that, but you can't really deny it anyway since yeah, you are pretty affectionate with him. And it isn't that you don't want people to know. The thought of people knowing is completely fine, but it's really just that your friends can be absolute nutcases sometimes, and you really don't want to be at the teasing end of the stick right now when all you want is a bit of privacy, at least in the beginning.

"I just... I want you all to myself, you know?" You ramble drowsily, words still slightly slurred. "Just wanna... um, keep this between us for now. N-Not that I'm ashamed or anything, I just... want this to be ours."

Jeonghan lets his eyes take you in for a few moments, a soft look gracing over his features. He glances down at the way his hand seems to seems to instinctively find yours, your fingers intertwining loosely. Frankly, he’s already yours𑁋been yours from the moment the thought of you started to become a frequent visitor to his head.

"Of course," he assures lightly, not taking his eyes off you even while adjusting the pillows so you're in a more comfortable position. "Get some sleep now, okay?"

"M'kay," You utter out, feeling the weight of the bed lift when Jeonghan stands up. Yet as a thought crosses your mind, you call out to him, "Jeonghan?"

He pauses, turning back to look at you with gentle eyes.

"I... I do love you, you know," You confess slowly, almost hesitantly, like that small flicker of sobriety had finally peeked through the haze of alcohol. "Even if I'm shit at showing it."

Jeonghan feels his heart racing in his chest, and the heat flaring at the tips of his ears. On the surface, it's normally hard to detect such reactions to whatever loving, cheesy, romantic stuff you've said to him (since usually, he'd rather tease you into the grave instead). But on the inside, his heart is practically doing cartwheels, somersaults, and backflips all at once𑁋he would quite literally do anything for you.

"Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?" he remarks playfully.

You only shrug loosely, eyelids drooping from exhaustion. "I might... maybe. But, uh, at least you know, right?"

His lips just curl up lovingly. Even if you don’t remember it, those three words would be the first things he would say every morning anyway.

"I love you too, angel," he says against the skin of your temple. "Happy birthday."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @tanya596carat @starshuas @totomoshi

[queenie-avenue]

Hii! 🌟

So..i want ask for request about CEO ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

What if one day reader is caught sketching the CEO in some fancy clothes? Would he like to wear this for reader?

(Thank you in advance! Hope u have really good day 👁️〰️👁️)

/// sorry for my English kinda bad at grammar (ง’̀-‘́)ง

He'll wear anything you make.

💌 ⤻ THE CEO, Adrian Houde

—> he's your muse, you're his obsession.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader has a crush on Adrian, obsessive behaviour, posessive thoughts, snooping, fluff, red flags but they aren't so apparent.

notes: i altered the prompt a bit, i hope you don't mind but thank you for the ask! i'm glad you like adrian as much as i do. feel free to send in more asks! love the cute emoticons btw <3 did not proofread, we die like men.

Adrian strolled about the fashion department, his hands raking across the abandoned tables now that everyone had headed home. He rolled up his sleeves to check the time as he walked past the messy and cluttered desks, the heels of his shoes clacking against the floor.

One might ask, what was the CEO of the company doing so late at the fashion department? Everyone had gone home, clocking off early for the holidays — even the ever-busy fashion team — except him. His blue eyes raked across the table as he searched for your table, and finally, he came across it and smiled.

You didn't have a table before, you cramped alongside the lower level employees but well, Adrian pulled some strings here and there for you to get your own table.

It also made it easier for him to look through your belongings.

"Hm?" He hummed when he saw an unfamiliar book on the table. He had memorised every detail of your table, to the point where he knew where you put your emergency snacks — sometimes even refilling them for you anonymously — but this sketchbook was new.

He knew it was wrong to sneak into someone's belongings, and his grandmother would no doubt absolutely pulverise him for such ungentlemanly actions but you already belonged to him. You didn't, but you would soon.

He was slowly cracking you down, he knew. Adrian could still see the blush on your face when you were caught staring at him for too long.

His nimble hands reached for the book and flipped through them. The pages crinkling in his hands as he gazed at all of the different designs. His eyes slowly widened as he recognised the dimples on the model's face, the tousled blonde hair, the dashing pale blue eyes, and the silhouettes you had crafted just for him. The suits, some dresses, some eccentric, some more subdued, and multiple designs made with styles he had a penchant for.

He smiled, knowing that you had to have been observing him rather closely to be able to craft such flattering outfits for him.

"Hah," he breathed out, feeling his cheeks heat up. "You're driving me crazy." He whispered to himself as he felt his entire body grow hot.

He continued to flip through the pages, taking in the sight of him as your muse. He almost wanted to hop in his car and drive off to your house now just to kiss you but he had to restrain himself.

He was a gentleman; even if he snuck into your belongings. He would wait for a while more. His grandmother had always said that a prolonged courting period was needed, filled with flowers, chocolates, gifts, and, of course, polite flirting.

He placed the book on the floor and snapped a few pictures, making sure to make it look accidental, like he had just stumbled across it and sent it to you.

Adrian. H: Stumbled across a cute little thing on the way to a late-night meeting. Mind if I get it privately made? I'd love to wear something you made.

He smirked, knowing that you would fluster. He just wished you were here just so he could see colour fill your face. He made a note to visit the fashion department during lunchtime just to tease you further. Maybe he'd even wear something akin to your designs tomorrow.

He just wanted to get this courting phase over so he could wrap you in his arms like a snake and never let go.

Your sketchbook was practically an invitation for him to do so.

[thepaperpanda]

Warnings: smut, aged-up Bakugo (21+ yo), fem!Reader, daddy kink, overstimulation, hair pulling, spanking, choking, face slapping, dirty talk, degradation

Synopsis: Bakugo returns home, seething with anger. To his surprise, he notices that his rage seem to ignite a spark of desire within you

Author: @doumadono

A/N: Welcome to the second day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration! I'm absolutely ecstatic to share this delightfully naughty piece of fiction with you, and I hope you find it thoroughly enjoyable! Today's prompt: overstimulation

💥Masterlist💥

From the early morning hours, you were glued to the TV screen as a massive battle unfolded in the city center involving a villain group. Each time the camera focused on Bakugo in the background, your boyfriend appeared not only frustrated and angry but seething with rage. It was evident that the cooperative action wasn't going as planned, and it was taking much more time than initially estimated.

The front door's lock emitted a beep as he pushed it open, his crimson eyes ablaze with dark fury. The door slammed shut behind him, the lock audibly clicking into place.

"Katsuki, I saw everything because…" The words faltered on your lips as he strode across the living room, his hand abruptly making contact with your cheek. A sharp sting spread across your skin, and a rush of desire coursed through you. His large hand effortlessly wrapped around your throat.

"What did you just call me?" His voice was nothing but a gravelly, almost a menacing growl, intensifying your shock and arousal. "You know better, fucking slut."

Oh, he was so exasperated.

“Sorry, daddy,” you squeaked out. Your soft whimper of desire elicited a wicked grin on Bakugo's face, and he pressed his lips firmly against yours. As your mouths met, a low, sensual moan escaped your lips, merging with his hungry kiss. His skilled tongue danced with yours, igniting a fiery passion between you. "I'll be good, I promise, daddy," you panted between gasps as he bit the soft flesh of your neck after breaking the passionate kiss. "I'll help you ease the anger, kay?"

"I know you fucking will," Bakugo growled, letting go of you as he swiftly took off his own shirt. "You're always a good little whore when daddy's angry," Bakugo taunted, a sly smirk crossing his face. "Now, strip for me."

You hurriedly shed your last pieces of clothing, slipping out of a snug pair of shorts and a tank top.

Bakugo's gaze bore into you, desire igniting his crimson irises, sending shivers of anticipation down your trembling fingers. As you stood there, completely exposed to him, his strong fingers returned to your head, gently guiding you over the edge of the couch. You pressed your face into the sheets, a faint blush of embarrassment warming your cheeks as the cool room air brushed against the dampness between your thighs that already managed to form.

"Well, well," Bakugo mused.

You detected a sly grin in his tone as his fingers lightly traced over the curve of your ass.

"Look at you, so aroused and eager. Does my anger really turn you on that much, dumbass? How pathetic. Aren't you a little, pathetic whore for daddy, hmm?"

All you could manage was a quivering gasp as he slid a broad finger along your drenched folds, teasing your sensitive clit. In an instant, his finger vanished, replaced by a sharp, stinging slap against your asscheek, eliciting a cry from your parted lips.

"Use your fucking words, you knucklehead. I asked you a fucking question."

"Yes, daddy," you moaned weakly as his hand struck your ass once more, the pleasurable sting sending shivers directly through your core. "You make me so wet, daddy…"

Bakugo chuckled, giving your ass a soothing caress before delivering another firm smack. "Tsch, you fucking whore. Did you think about my hard dick while watching me on TV, hmm? Are you such a dirty slut?" One of his hands slipped between your thighs and his calloused index finger rubbed fast circles over your clitoris.

"Yes, daddy!" Your voice quivered, ending with a small gasp as you heard the unmistakable sound of his belt buckle being undone while he was brushing his fingers against your vulnerable spot, making your thighs shiver.

“Oh fuck, princess," Bakugo emitted a low, primal growl as you sensed the mushroom tip of his rock-hard dick pressing against your slick entrance. “Just what daddy needs, fuck. You're so hot and wet, dumbass.” He slid inside you with ease, filling you immediately with his impressive, veiny length, each thrust threatening to split you in half. "You're nothing but a cumdump for daddy."

You were reduced to incoherent pleas beneath his rough assault; each buck of his hips driving him to penetrate you deeply, filling you immediately with his impressive, veiny length, each thrust threatening to split you in half. "Dear God, daddy! Oh! Ah!"

He wrapped your hair around his fist, jerking your head upwards as he thrust faster. "God, you're so fucking tight," Bakugo gasped, his words strained through clenched teeth. "Fuck. I can't believe your petite, little cunt can fit me so fucking well."

Your body clenched around his thick dick involuntarily as his words sent shivers down your spine. Fingers gripped the couch cushion desperately, seeking stability amidst the intensity of his rough pace. “Daddy…" You moaned weakly, the tightness in your core growing. Your slick walls quivered around him, eliciting a bestial groan as his hand moved from your scalp to your neck and pulled you flush against him. "Fuck, please!" Your voice was a keening mewl as you scratched weakly at his strong arms, your orgasm on the brink, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

He chuckled lowly in your ear as his other hand snaked around you, two large fingers pressing firmly and massaging your swollen clit. "Yes," he moaned, "Come for daddy like a good little whore. Soak daddy's cock, princess. Show me what you've got."

As though waiting for Bakugo's permission, you surrendered with a shuddering cry. "Daddy!!!"

He continued to work you through the sensation, slamming his thick dick into you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as his fingers played your clit expertly like an instrument.

You panted and moaned loudly for him, already feeling yourself approach your second orgasm quickly as he squeezed your throat softly.

“That’s daddy’s good little slut,” he growled in your ear, nibbling your earlobe as his thrusts increased furiously as you came again, soaking his hand, your pussy clenching around his cock convulsively. "My little, horny bitch in heat."

Once the high began to ebb, you whined softly, wiggling your hip, trying to free your clit from the overwhelming feeling of his calloused fingers pressed there.

“Tsch, slut," the smirk in Bakugo's voice was evident as he continued pounding inside you. “Daddy’s not at all done with you yet.”

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part three

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you and Aemond get to know one another.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist:The Black Dread < < < previous part, part two: read here > > > next part, part four: read here

word count: 4k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: it's not much!!! cursing, ye ol’ flirting without chaperones, temptation / feelings are hard, romance, small angst, eavesdropping, men being gossipy little cunts who talk shit, broken family dynamics, we see a little more into big!sister!reader, depiction of medical phenomenons to a child.

Monday -

Eyme had been your lady's maid for years now, to the point the pair of you had formed an intimate relationship. Granted, Alora had been your closest companion since childhood, Eyme was close to an additional guardian; a kind and sweet soul that helped guide you through life. This mornings, she stood behind you, brushing your hair, watching you in the vanity mirror as you could not hide the deepening thoughts that melted your brain.

Even if not so obvious, she could read you like a book.

"You ready for today, dearie?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, as I'll ever be," you mused, finding her gaze over your shoulder.

"Who is it you'll see today?"

"Prince Aemond. It's strange, you know? Picking between two Princes of the Realm when I was run out and humiliated during courting seasons at the Red Keep. What a rush, finding a husband the old fashion way; by being a bargaining chip in war," you mocked with a roll of your eyes.

She chuckled, securing the long, golden-red tresses, "No, the Gods were saving you for this moment. You'll turn the tides, my darling, in this war, in history, in the Targaryen lineage - "

"What does that mean?"

Eyme sighed, "We both know the rumors, darling girl. About the Black Queen's sons?"

You waved her off, "Oh, that's petty business - not our own."

"I'm just saying, you will change a lot of fates with your choice between the Princes."

"That's pressure I never imagined."

"You will make a handsome match to either," she assured softly. Eyme tied off your hair, fixed minimal make-up over your skin, and helped you dress in something comfortable with sensible shoes. Just outside your door, your usual household guardsman, Bryer, escorted you to your father's old office chambers to go over accounts for the day with Maester Keiff Foral.

It was there Aemond found you.

"I do not mean to interrupt," the Prince stopped short in the doorway, "I was a bit turned around - I can leave, if you could direct me - "

"No need, my Prince, please, come in," Maester Foral insisted, taking up several tomes and scrolls. "I'm on my way out, please sit. Could I send some tea up?"

"That would be nice, thank you, Maester," you agreed, shuffling a few accounts on the grand desk you sat at. "My Prince, I must apologize, unfortunately, being Lady of the House does not come with days off."

He hummed, "I understand that. Is now a bad time, my Lady?"

"No, you are most welcomed," you gestured him forward. "I need but a few moments to clean this up - "

"Take your time," Aemond smirked gently. "I had an idea, in fact, that might be of interest? Since you're in this clerical mindset?"

"Oh? I would like to hear it."

"Would you say you are proficient in High Valyrian? Being a Dragon Rider and all?"

You chuckled dryly, nodding, "Uh, well, no, I only know but a few words, and even those, I murder the pronunciation."

"Would you like to learn?"

"I need to," you nodded, "but it is also a personal desire of mine, yes."

"Is it too forward to ask if I could interest you in but a few lessons?"

There was a knock at the door as you left paperweights on the few stacks of parchment you had been reviewing, calling, "Come in!"

"My Lady," Eyme spoke softly, entering with a tray of tea, "Maester Foral sent me."

"Thank you, Eyme. But I think we might take this in the library, yes?" You asked Aemond, standing from your seat.

"Yes, if that's acceptable," he nodded, following your lead.

"Oh?" Eyme asked, scurrying out the door when Aemond held it open for you both.

"The Prince is kind enough to offer me lessons in High Valyrian."

"How nice," Eyme complimented, leading the way down the corridors. "Gods know you could use the lessons, she sounds like a drowning cat, my Prince - "

"I do not!"

"You have the attention span of a passing squirrel! It'd be a miracle if you could focus!"

Aemond found your relationship with 'the help' strangely cozy, something he wasn't sure how to feel about. He did not comment and instead smiled politely, but mostly just listened to the two of you bicker lovingly and wondering what kind of Princess of the Realm would speak so candidly to the commoners. The One-Eyed Prince reminded himself that the Tyrells weren't prominent in court and still considered 'low born', trying to cut you some slack when he accounted for your lack of royal decorum.

In the library, Aemond's nose turned up ever so slightly at the - by comparison to that of the Red Keep - minuscule space and minimal literary options. You and Eyme set up the tea at a table as he browsed the limited selection, doing his best not to literally pet a finger over the wood and through the dust. He heard you dismiss your handmaiden and asked over his shoulder, "Are you sure about these lessons, my Lady?"

"Why would I not be, my Prince? I ride a Dragon of Old Valyria, do I not?" You quipped.

"Yes, but it would appear your selection is vastly... Limited," he frowned, gesturing at the shelf he inspected. "It would seem you do not have... Anything on the subject at all."

"I've already pulled the literature," you told him smugly, his hair fanning around his shoulders as he turned to look at you in what appeared to be surprise. He discovered your fists on the table, candles arrayed for ample lighting, and stacks of books spaced out around you, the teapot, and cups.

"I see," He smirked in return, making his way back towards the table. "Is there a reason you've already arranged them?"

"In truth, I might be one of the few who frequents the library anymore," you shrugged, gesturing him to a seat. "And with my new acquaintanceship with Balerion, I've been the only one with need to refresh their memory on the histories of Valyria."

Aemond hummed and gazed over the spines of the books, nodding before making a selection. "I'm familiar with this volume. It's a good introduction," he opened the book with a rickety spine.

"That's been read," you eased, pointing to the pile he chose from, "those have all been read, actually."

"Very good," he nodded, storing his selection and turning for the other pile. You realized how much you liked his praise. "Anything you wish to disclose before we dive in?" The Prince distracted your rampant thoughts.

"I'm familiar with the histories, it's the language and pronunciations that I struggle with."

"It's not a language for the faint of heart."

"So I've discovered. I've oft heard it said immersion is the best educator, yet none in these parts can speak enough for me to practice with."

Aemond nodded, "Well... Should you choose to return with me to King's Landing, there's plenty to practice with."

"Oh?" You chuckled.

"Well... At least there's me," he purred, making a new selection and pulling the book closer. "Here we are," Aemond opened it, careful of the fragile pages. "This is good for what you need to know with Balerion."

You leaned forward on the table, smiling gently and listening intently; following his finger over the inked words on parchment as he began his lesson. In the candlelight, shadows contoured his face in an eerily handsome cast.

Wednesday -

It was difficult to remain so unbiased when both Princes were bringing their A-game; and it seemed, Aemond honed in on your lack of Targaryen experience to romance you with your birthrights. On Monday, Aemond had spent hours with you in the library, pouring over old tomes; patient in his lesson, trying to ensure you knew basic and important commands for when riding Balerion. And now, he was ushering you off the Keep's grounds to where the dragons were planted outside the gates.

"I must confess, I'm a bit nervous. Where are we going?" You laughed gently, the ground still slippery from early morning dew.

"For a flying lesson."

"Oh, no, no - I've only rode once and I'm fairly certain I blacked out for most of it."

"I can see why," Aemond mused, approaching the great ebony beast resting in the valley, "you don't even have a saddle, what terrible discomfort."

"Oh, well, I've sent ravens to King's Landing, asking any saddlery of his left be sent."

"Good," he praised, petting over the hand you had curled around his bicep. "He's... Larger than I would've imagined."

"He's a sweetie - " And of course, in that moment, Balerion lifted his head and bared his teeth in warning. You yanked Aemond to a halt, "But also conversationally temperamental."

"I was merely curious to see him with my own eyes," Aemond admitted. "He's greatly impressive."

You smiled, "Gorgeous, no?"

"I'd say."

"Did we come all this way to gawk at him, or...?"

"No, no," Aemond cleared his throat, "I thought perhaps I could tempt you into a flight on Vhagar. She's the closest thing in size and speed to Balerion, thought it might be good practice."

"You mean...?"

"By yourself? No, no, I'll be there, but yes, you'll need to know how to fly."

"I'm sure I could figure it out. Right?"

"If you'd like to take the chance," he agreed.

"All right," you took a breath and exhaled deeply. "All right, yeah, sure, let's do it." Balerion growled again, his eyes ablaze like the fire brewing in his chest; snorting in warning. In High Valyrian, you called, "Be calm, my friend."

"He's very protective of you," Aemond noted.

"As he should be," you smirked. You told your dragon, "We're visiting with Vhagar, be still. We'll be back."

After The Black Dread grumbled and lowered his head, the Prince offered his arm, "Right this way, Lady Tyrell."

You chuckled and let Aemond lead you upward, Balerion's growl vibrating the ground you ascended to hike out of the crater. You made idle chitchat as you walked, learning about his family unit and his influence in this war - but he seemed to shut down around that subject, so, you steered away.

Vhagar was impressive in size, but in earnest, a fraction of your beast. She was a sleepy old lady, Aemond rousing her with words you now understood and repeated after him - per his direction. You laughed, "You're a thorough educator."

"You're a dedicated student."

Sharing a smile, you watched him encourage his dragon into consciousness; telling her they were going for a fly and to behave. Carefully, Aemond showed you how to climb the rope ladder to mount Vhagar's saddle, giving a small but genuine chuckle when you teetered for balance and he needed to stabilize you. Together, with Aemond sat close behind you, showed you the ways in which a Targaryen Dragon Rider could control and hold onto their mount. He latched you to the saddle for safety and then himself; pressed so close, it was surely indecent.

Before anything could be said, Aemond was encouraging Vhagar to her feet. "Gods be fucking good!" You yelped at the sensation, grabbing onto the arm Aemond anchored your waist with. "Oh, fuck, okay, yeah, all right, this is fine," you muttered, nodding as you forced yourself to get used to the fact that you were a Dragon Rider now - an elite group amongst those who even ruled the Realm.

"You're all right," Aemond muttered in your ear. "I've got'yah." You gulped a little when Vhagar shook out her sleepy hide. "Ready?" He asked, repeating himself in High Valyrian.

You agreed in the same Tongue, "Ready."

Within moments, Vhagar was taking off over the grounds and into the air. You gasped shrilly and held on where Aemond placed your hands, trying to remember what he taught you - but every rational thought was out of your head in that moment. "Open your eyes," Aemond chuckled, hot breath fanning your neck and cheek, "a Dragon Rider must be alert at all times, open your eyes, my Lady."

"Oh, this is fucking scary," you breathed, doing as he said and letting your eyes pop open.

"What a mouth on you," he teased.

"We're in the bloody air! There's no place for decency up here!" You squealed, calming down enough to pant lightly and take in the sights around you. "Oh, wow... Wow, would you look at this..."

"Gorgeous, no?" He teased your words from earlier.

"Just - wow," you could only answer, Vhagar leveling out to flap her wings lazily.

"Vhagar," he commanded in High Valyrian, "higher."

You held onto the saddle as the dragon soared into the clouds, making you giggle a little from the strange sensation of flying through them; Aemond smiling against the shell of your ear. When you broke the seam of clouds, the sun was rising at the perfect moment to give you a shining display of brilliant blues, pinks, oranges, and yellows all painted in the sky and clouds.

"Hold here," Aemond instructed through the flight. "Lean left." "Lean back." "The dragon and rider must bond, they'll take verbal command." "Use this reign when in a fight - this one for altitude - hold here for casual cruising."

You soaked up his words like a sponge.

"Remember to breathe," his words tickled your ear, large hand splayed on your waist. "Keep your heels down, planted - like a horse, good, good, that's good."

Your head turned to watch his other hand 'check' your legs, ensuring they were in the right position on the saddle. When his gaze lifted, it was almost too natural for your foreheads too meet and press together. "It's improper..." You whispered, "But I feel the innate desire to kiss you, I think."

"Perhaps it's only improper beneath the clouds. There's no place for decency up here, right?"

You chuckled, "Right, but it's still improper of me as an unmarried lady no matter if above or below the clouds. I will resist, I'm sorry for voicing such desires."

"Don't apologize," he whispered, both content to simply be for a moment, "it's something I want to do as well."

"Looks like we're both being tempted," you tisked, pulling back. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Of course."

"What does life look like if your side is victorious in this war?"

Aemond pondered for a moment, offering, "I cannot say. Though, my brother is but a puppet."

"And you the master?"

"Amongst others, I suppose," He admitted, though it stuck in your mind. "Though, I suppose, life would be simple enough with Aegon on the Throne - there'd be no further challenge to his seat. We would live as comfortably as possible."

You hummed and decided to test your new knowledge. Picking up the right rope-reign, you commanded in High Valyrian, "Back to the Keep, Vhagar."

"Very good," Aemond chuckled, then repeating your command - as his dragon didn't listen to anyone other than him. Once on the ground, Aemond walked you through proper landing skills and then the dismount by unhooking all belts and climbing off the rope ladder.

Once safely away from his dragon, you chuckled, "Is it like that every time?"

"Like what, my Lady?"

"The rush? The adrenaline?"

"I'll let you know if it ever wears off."

You were beginning to think you'd have to 'let him know' if your budding affection for him ever began to 'wear off'. The One-Eyed Prince escorted you back into the Keep.

Saturday -

The Tullys House words were, "Family, Duty, Honor," and while you were a Tyrell and Targaryen, you held these words dear to your chest. You would always place your family above your duty and honor; your duty above yourself.

The night prior, your little brother began showing signs that he was starting an "episode", the kind term to his "fits". It worried you, but there was little to be done for now; so you told the staff to alert you to any changes he might have. You had plans to see Aemond one last time, so you left them directions on where to find you.

You were exhausted by the week's events; where your duties didn't stop, you were entertaining the Princes, and playing mother to a child not yours - though, that, you wouldn't give up or exchange for the world.

Still, you made an effort to visit with the Princes after their effort to travel to Highgarden.

Family. Duty. Honor.

So, the pair of you met in the lush gardens of your home, showing the Prince the vast array of different vegetation your family could boast. You spoke of little things from your youth to aspirations later in life; from favorite foods to how war might affect your marriage. All good things, all proper logistics needed considered before committing to lifelong matrimony. The peace shattered when Eyme came sprinting through the gardens, "My Lady! My Lady!"

"We're here," You turned immediately, Aemond's brow furrowing. "What is it?" You demanded when the handmaiden was within sight.

"It's - It's Ryden, my Lady, it's your brother - "

"I have to go, I'm so sorry," you bid Aemond, patting his arm as you disentangled yours from his. "I'm so sorry, my Prince, but my brother needs me. Please, en-enjoy the gardens! The fruits are edible, you must try them! I'm so sorry, again!"

He didn't get to answer as you intercepted Eyme and started up the path she had come barreling down. Aemond stood there, dumbfounded, blinking in shock before scoffing gently. He didn't even remember hearing what the problem was, only that it was something with your brother - then you were leaving. Without a thought, no other information requested. Aemond found this response dramatic as he returned to his guest chambers.

Later that evening, when your brother was safe in bed and under the watchful eye of Maester Keiff Foral, you decided you owed Prince Aemond an apology and explanation. You decided to seek him out in his guest chambers, sending for a reserve of sweet Dornish wine; approaching the cracked door when voices spilled into the hall in an echo.

Unfamiliar booming laughter accused, "Perhaps the Tyrells have taken a page from the Targaryens! And they love one another deeply! Too deeply!"

"Oh, please," Aemond was heard, "it was more panic than anything. It begs the question why she is caring for a child not her own? Am I foolish to think the Lady's reaction was extreme? Dramatic?"

"No, it sounds as if it was," the voice of Aemond's household guardsman, Criston Cole, was heard - possibly indicating the two were alone. "But women usually are, my friend. Why would the Lady Tyrell be different?"

"Her beauty might give her a pass," Aemond mused, "though, little else. Should hear the way she speaks to the castle staff, Cole, it's as if they're friends."

"Once she's out of her element, she'll calm down and depend on you, my Prince, she'll come to follow the rules. Then, I suppose all that's left is to thank the Targaryen whores for such a pretty bride," Cole snickered.

"How's that?"

You were repulsed by what you were hearing yet could not walk away, intrigue rooting your feet.

"You heard your mother," Cole lamented in amusement, "the Vanished Princess was granddaughter of Old King Jaehaerys, sister of the Queen Who Never Was."

"Mhm," Aemond agreed.

"She broke off her engagement to a Northern Lord, married some Tyrell instead, and was overlooked in favor of Viserys. But before that, she was disinherited and became a whore, all promiscuous and rebellious. At least Lord Tyrell managed to wrangle her in, right? Saddle such a ridden filly?"

"Unless you believe the rumors that say the Vanished Princess was pregnant already and Lord Tyrell raised the bastard as his own out of the goodness of his heart. Or that he was infertile, a eunuch, the rumors are vast - "

Cole cut Aemond off, "It still gives Lady Tyrell Dragon Blood, and we need her dragon, my Prince. So, bastard or not, we need Balerion on our side, it's in the Realm's best interest you cast aside your prejudice and conclude romancing her."

"She makes her decision tomorrow."

"So go to her tonight."

Your face pulled in a look of disgust, stepping back a few steps and loudly approaching. You knocked heavily on the door, letting it swing open further to reveal yourself to the two scheming bastards. Your hand discreetly held up to halt Eyme before she was in view, intercepting the decanter of Dornish wine before it could be delivered.

"My Lady," Cole jumped to his feet.

"No, please, don't get up, I will not be long," You spoke diplomatically, waving the guardsman back to his seat. "I merely wished to offer my apologies to the Prince again, explain what caused me to leave in such a dramatic fashion."

The two didn't seem to pick up on your choice of words.

"As most of the Realm knows, my father has been sickly for quite sometime and as his firstborn, his responsibilities fall unto me. My father is now fully disabled and bound to a bed, but for years, he's been friendly with Death. He's not long for this world, and without our mother, I am all my brother has. He's just a boy of 10, named Ryden. When he was about 7, he fell from a tree and hit his head, where now, he suffers from some affliction that gives him what we call 'episodes' or 'fits'. Any could be his last and it takes a team to pull him out of them. I apologize for my abrupt departure earlier, my Prince, but Ryden began having symptoms last night and I knew today could get bad; so I wanted to be there - since he has nobody else."

Family. Duty. Honor.

"Oh," Aemond blinked, slowly standing from his seat, "no, no, my Lady, please, do not apologize. Is your brother all right?"

"I appreciate the concern - yes, he's all right now. I have assigned a trusted few to the nightshift in preparation for the morrow. I trust your company will be present?"

"Of course," Cole agreed, looking rightfully shellshocked.

"Right. Then, goodnight, I shall see you both tomorrow afternoon."

Aemond might've opened his mouth to stop you, but you were rushing from the room and shutting the chamber door with a loud, reverberating clang. It was your silent way of saying, 'That's how you close a fucking door!'

You seethed against the wood for a moment, feeling your lip authentically twitch in pure rage; movement catching in your peripheral and alerting you to another presence.

It was Eyme, still holding the wine.

Swiftly, you lifted a silencing finger to your lips and ushered her back several feet. She followed suit, hustling along your side when you changed direction to head for your chambers instead. You were huffing and puffing with exertion when you reached your private salvation, facing Eyme in anguish as tears filled your eyes.

"What did I miss?" She asked softly.

"Much I care not to repeat."

"If you do to me, you need not to anyone else."

You mulled over her words, nodding along. "You knew my mother, didn't you, Eyme?" You asked instead.

Your handmaiden set the wine to a table and sighed, "Aye, I did. I adored the woman, we knew one another in youth and she brought me here when she married your father."

"Would you pour a glass?"

She nodded and did as bid, handing you the chalice; pausing, then pouring her own. Eyme deflated into one of your armchairs, asking, "Why do you ask, poppet?"

You gulped about half the wine, swallowing bitterly. "I think I wish to address rumors of her... I know what I wish to say, would you help me write it out? Tell me what I missed?"

"What brought this on? What did you hear Prince Aemond say?"

"For that, we'll need more wine," you muttered, going to open your door to flag a passing maid as Eyme gathered parchment and a quill with ink.

It was a long, sleepless night.

< < < previous part, part two: read here

> > > next part, part four: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread series masterlist

[lightseoul]

YOU'RE MY MUSE (THAT YOU ARE)

welcome to lightseoul's 2k milestone event! to commemorate our small albeit growing community, i'm hosting a drabble game centering on our one and only bakugou katsuki <3

the rules are simple: below is a numbered list of prompts based on which i will write short bakugou x reader drabbles! simply send an ask with your chosen number, and i'll whip something up!

in all seriousness, thank you to you beautiful humans for reading my silly little pieces. hearing from y'all brings me such joy, and i can only hope my writing gives you even just a fraction of that :,)

© credits to @creativepromptsforwriting for all 30 genius prompts!

“Don’t say another word.” (coming soon)

“This is not practical at all.” (coming soon)

“Thank you, I really hate it.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“I’m not leaving so get used to me.”

“Just stating the facts.” (coming soon)

“The ghosts would disagree with you.”

“We should have been in bed 3 hours ago.” (coming soon)

“Why won’t you let me braid your hair?” (coming soon)

“Just five more minutes.” (coming soon)

“Is that my shirt?”

“I could use a hug right now.”

“You do know that we’re in public, right?”

“Would you just shut up please?” (coming soon)

“Are you traveling alone?”

“I want to go home to my wife.”

“Did you buy me flowers?”

“How long were you standing there?” (coming soon)

“I feel dirty.” (coming soon)

“This is such a waste of time.”

“Can you feel this?” (coming soon)

“Are you single?”

“Is there a law against that?” (coming soon)

“There you are.”

“Really wish you were here.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” (coming soon)

“Still hard at work?”

“You should sue them.” (coming soon)

“I need this to work.”

“We share the same name!"

looking forward to playing with y'all! - zee

[nanamiscocksleeve]

HIIIII you're amazing! Can I get “i love making you so flustered, you get so cute” but it's reader saying it to Nanami if that's not too much to ask? Thank you for blessing us

I wasn't sure, but now I'm starting to think, yes, I AM amazing. Here's your thirst blessing.

--------

Kento is trying his best to appear normal but you're not making it easy. You chose the shortest skirt you could possibly find, just barely covering your cheeks, fluttering invitingly each time you moved.

And you weren't exactly being demure about it either, dropping things unnecessarily just to have an excuse to bend down and flash him the sheer fabric of the lace thong you wore, wet with excitement.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks through gritted teeth as his cock swells in his pants.

You giggle and wander close to him, tip-toeing to whisper in his ear, "I love making you so flustered, you get so cute." You smirk at him, as though daring him to react. In the next second, you knew you fucked up.

Kento's hands suddenly grab you, forcibly leaning you over, and smacking you ass loudly in the middle of the street. A few passersby stop at the noise. Your cheeks dust pink, not expecting such a move from him, then squeal as he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, your legs wiggling as you try to get free.

"Kento! My skirt!"

He spanks you again with his free hand as he walks towards your shared apartment, pedestrians staring at the sight. "Don't pretend like you don't love it. Why else would you wear something like this hmm? Now be a good girl and just stay still and let everyone see how soaked you are from showing off your ass like a little slut all this time."

You instantly feel a rush of shame followed by arousal at his words. They're all strangers sure, but knowing they could see your panties was turning you on more than you thought. When Kento finally gets to the apartment, he sits down and flips your skirt up, reavealing your pretty round ass cheeks.

"How many smacks does it take for a slut to beg for cock?" he muses, running his hands over your behind. He gives a sharp slap, making the skin redden, and you squeal again, only to be held down and spanked again harder on the other side.

"Look at that, how wet you are. Such a needy slut, needing her cunt to be filled." You lay still on his lap and then gasp as he suddenly pushes two fingers into your pussy.

"Go on. Cum like the good little whore I know you can be." His fingers pump inside you, curling up and hitting your sweet spot. You feel your mind starting to haze, moaning with abandon as he fingers you. Your climax hits with a jolt, and you can't control the loud sobs that you make as your body cums, ecstasy running in your veins.

"Hm. Not even 5 minutes. Must be a new record."

Send me a prompt!

[vintagebuckybarnes]

The Millionaire's Muse

Pairing → College Student! Escort! Bucky Barnes x CEO! Silver Fox! Steve Rogers

Total Wordcount → 1.7K

Summary → When Bucky went off to college, he never imagined he'd become one of the most exclusive and most wanted escorts that New York has to offer. Still, his favorite client - none other than the CEO of Rogers' Industries - is more than happy to remind him why his younger companion earned his reputation in spades.

Tags & Warnings → Canon divergence. College Student! Bucky Barnes. Escort! Bucky Barnes. CEO! Steve Rogers. Silver Fox! Steve Rogers. Large age gap (~ 30 years). College AU. Escort AU. Cursing. Hints of mutual pining. Explicit sexual content.

Tags: Smut → Dom/sub undertones. Dom! Steve Rogers. Sub! Bucky Barnes. Height difference. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Praise. Shower sex. Oral (M receiving). Deepthroating. Cum swallowing.

Story Rating → Explicit

Author's Note → Hi, everyone! First, thank you all so much for enjoying my first story! It has brought me a lot of happiness to see the support. With this story, I'll be diving into my favorite pairing - Stucky - for the first time, so please let me know what you think after reading it! 💜

Writing Prompts @fandombingo → Exclusive Escort For Rich Clients | Shower Sex | Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers | Deepthroating

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! I asked you to do one damn thing, and even that can't be done?! You're fucking fired, Odinson," Steve barks through the phone before hanging up and throwing it onto his large oak desk. His head of the law department - Thor Odinson - has once again failed to stick to his promises, and Steve's had enough.

As he falls back into his leather chair, he runs his hands through his greying hair, his eyes slipping shut as the anger soars through his body. He lets himself be angry for a few minutes, but then he gathers himself and his mood again, knowing he will need a distraction to get over how he feels now.

Steve reaches for his phone again, his fingers quickly bringing him to one of the contacts he's happy to have stored in such moments. With one hand, he holds the phone to his ear; with the other, he rubs his temple, a soft throbbing sensation starting to appear.

"Stark," the man on the other end of the line says, and Steve immediately smiles.

"Hello to you as well, Tony. Is this a good time?" Steve asks as his eyes roam over his desk, papers spread everywhere after his call with his former head of law inside Rogers' Industries. At the thought, he can feel his blood boiling again.

"It's always a good time when you call, Steve. Lookin' for a distraction again tonight?" Tony says, a hint of teasing in his voice. The two of them have been friends for as long as Steve can remember, and since Tony started an escort service, he's happily used his services.

"You know I do, Tony, but I have one request. Can you send the young boy over again - James? He will be exactly the right kind of distraction I'm looking for. I'll even pay extra if needed."

"No need; he's all yours for the evening. When do you want me to send him over?"

"As soon as he can be here."

With that, Steve hangs up and puts his phone on the desk again, but he's already feeling a bit more relaxed, knowing he's about to see his favorite escort again. From the first time Bucky came by Steve's luxurious apartment, they've had a special connection - almost as if they'd known each other for a lifetime already.

Soft, wordless music plays in the elevator, taking Bucky to the 50th floor of one of New York's most prominent skyscrapers. Even though he's been in this very same position more times than he can count, he can't help but feel nervous butterflies in his stomach as he watches the numbers go up.

He may only be a mere 22 years of age, but he's already built quite a prominent, well-paying client base while working at Stark Escort Services, and today, he'll pay a visit to one of his favorite customers: Founder and CEO of Rogers' Industries - Steve Rogers. Mere months ago, Tony named Bucky 'The exclusive escort for rich clients,' giving him a fantastic reputation while earning enough money to get him through college without any debt.

As the elevator lets him know he's at the desired floor, Bucky gets out before straightening his shirt and running a hand through his hair again, wanting to look nothing short of amazing for Steve. Soon, he finds himself in front of a dark wooden door, raising his hand and knocking rapidly.

From inside the apartment, Bucky can hear the click-clacking of expensive shoes on the hardwood floor, and when the large door swings open, he has to try his hardest not to drop his jaw onto the floor.

Steve stands in a tailored, dark blue suit, his shirt half unbuttoned and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His greying hair is lightly tousled from all the times he has run his hand through it, and the beard he's been growing gives him a perfectly rugged vibe, leaving Bucky speechless and hard.

"James, hey," Steve says before stepping aside, a warm feeling in his chest as he watches the young man enter his space. As Bucky walks into the living room, he admires the view that unfolds in front of him, with Steve trailing closely behind as he takes in the sight of Bucky's tight jeans, dress shirt, sneakers, and long hair that's been neatly styled, away from his face.

"Uhm, would you- maybe, want something to drink?" Steve asks, unsure what has suddenly gotten over him. He has seen Bucky more times than he can count, but something about today feels different, and he can't place his finger on why.

Instead of answering him, Bucky turns around to wrap his arms around Steve's neck, kissing the taller man's soft, pink lips in neediness. Though surprised initially, Steve quickly recovers as he pulls him closer, his tongue happily exploring the younger man's mouth.

They can barely let go of each other long enough to get undressed, leaving a trail of clothes on their way to Steve's bathroom, which has a huge rainshower.

"James, I need you so bad," Steve whispers against Bucky's neck between a trail of open-mouthed kisses as the shower's water warms up. His cock is already standing at full-hardness as Bucky wraps his hand around it, his fingers barely fitting around his girth.

"Hmm, you need Daddy's cock, don't ya? So desperate for it you can't wait until you're down on your knees, lookin' all pretty for me?" At those words, Bucky's cheeks turn a deep shade of red, making him look adorable as he meets Steve's gaze.

"Y-yes, Daddy," he breathes out, his thoughts slowing down exponentially while slipping into a fuzzier headspace. Steve's smile spreading on his features has Bucky smiling with him, pride swelling in his chest as he takes his time working Steve's length.

"Well, if ya need my cock so bad, you'd better get on your knees, sugar."

Bucky's eyes widen at the words, but he nods slowly as he steps back, his body drenched by the water from the large showerhead above him. His mouth is hanging open slightly, eagerly awaiting what's to come. Between his legs, his cock is also in need of some attention, but he knows better than to touch himself without Steve's permission.

"Look at ya on your knees, such a good boy for me," Steve praises him as he lets the water run over his broad, muscled back, his thumb pushing between Bucky's lips as he looks up at Steve. A smirk appears as he enjoys the sight beneath him of the young man sucking his digit, his cock being so hard it's almost painful as he takes in the moment.

Without warning, Steve replaces his thumb with the tip of his cock as he presses gently against Bucky's plump lips, pre-cum smearing on them as he opens willingly. A groan escapes Steve's chest at the feeling of the warmth he's entering; Bucky always seems to know how to suck his soul out through the older man's cock.

"That's it," he grunts as he slowly feeds Bucky more and more of his hard length, the younger man's fingers digging into Steve's thighs as his own hands gently guide his head with every move and every thrust.

"Feels so good, fuck- I needed this, needed you so bad." The words keep flowing out as Bucky expertly takes more of Steve into his mouth, his tip quickly hitting the back of Bucky's throat. Drool escapes around his length, and the look in Bucky's eyes is sure to drive Steve crazy - there's not a single thought behind them, and it makes him feel proud of getting him to that point.

Steve entangles his fingers in Bucky's hair, gripping gently as he sets the pace of working himself deeper into his throat until he's taking every last inch of him so deep Steve can barely think straight anymore.

"James- 'm gonna- so close," he grunts as he fucks Bucky with long, deep strokes, the gagging around his cock being like fuel to his fire as his orgasm crests quickly. Without warning, Steve stills as his tip on Bucky's tongue, eagerly waiting for what's about to come.

Bucky expertly swallows around every last drop of his orgasm, the salty taste invading his mouth in the best way possible. Steve's head is thrown back as he ruts his hips a few more times until he's spent and slowly softening in Bucky's mouth, every last bit of his frustrations he had earlier gone completely.

"C'mere," he says as he hauls Bucky onto his feet before kissing him, though this time a lot gentler than before. His thumbs run over Bucky's cheeks as they take their time with the soft kiss, their hearts beating faster with every passing second.

"I'll never get enough of you and this amazing mouth, you know?" Steve says with a smirk, and Bucky's eyes lighten at the compliment.

"And I'll never get enough of your thick cock, Daddy," Bucky says teasingly, making Steve smile widely before kissing him again and sinking onto his knees, wanting to give Bucky the same amount of pleasure he had the honor of enduring not too long ago.

At the end of the night, when it's finally time for Bucky to leave, Steve grabs a few 100 dollar bills for Bucky, even though payment typically goes through Tony, who will give Bucky a fair amount after the fees of using his Escort Service have been paid.

"I-I can't take this, Steve!"

"Buy yourself something nice for the next time you come over, James. I definitely want to see you again this weekend," he says with a wink and a smirk, making Bucky blush deeply. He wants nothing more than to see Steve again, too.

Steve steps forward, pushing the younger man against the front door before kissing him again, needing one last taste before finally letting him go for the evening. That night, he's sleeping better than he has in a long time, and it's all thanks to Bucky - the sweetest, kindest boy he's ever met, but who's also the best lover he could have imagined.

And he can't wait to make Bucky his soon.

Masterlist → Stucky Masterlist

GIF: Source → All the other graphics are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

If you'd like to be tagged in future stories, add yourself to my tag list here.

[landoscar-fest]

Hello and welcome to the very first Landoscar Fest!

We've had the pleasure of these two idiots (affectionate) as teammates for two whole seasons now and have been provided with plenty of material both on and off the track to fuel our imaginations.

Ever thought of an idea that you wish you had the time to write? Or hoped there was fic out there that fit that exact situation you're craving to see Landoscar in? Or wanted to see how others would write our boys in a well-loved trope? Well, that is what this fest is for!

What better way to spend this upcoming winter break than to share these ideas and prompts with others, all the while picking up ones that might catch your eye.

Read on for more details!

Landoscar Fest AO3 Collection

By clicking on the link above, you will be able to sign up for this fest, submit your own prompts, claim prompts, and see how the fest is growing!

This collection is where all prompts will be kept to be claimed, and where all prompt filled fics will be collated.

Schedule

Sign Up & Prompt Submission Opens: November 15th (sign up here)

Sign Up & Prompt Submission Closes: December 10th

Prompt Fill Fics Due: February 4th

Collection Reveal: February 10th

FAQs

How does this fest work?

This fest is a prompt fest, meaning fest participants are able to add prompts to the collection on AO3 for fics they would like to see written. Fest participants are able to peruse the prompts being posted and claim the one(s) that tickle their fancy and motivates their muses.

Is there a minimum/maximum word count for the prompt fills?

Although we don't want to police this fest too harshly, we would recommend a minimum of 1000 words per prompt fill fic. There is no maximum limit.

Can I claim more than one prompt?

Yes, of course!! All we ask is for writers to remember that readers always prefer quality over quantity, so please keep this in mind and don't overwork yourselves with too many prompts!

Can I write more than one prompt fill?

Yes, but please make sure each prompt fill has its own fic to be fair to the prompter.

Why are the prompts anonymous?

We have kept the prompts and claims anonymous for fairness and to encourage newbies to the fandom or to writing to do so without any expectation. Lets even the playing field and have some fun! (Don't worry, your posted prompt fill fics won't be anonymous!)

Can I tell an author that they have fulfilled my prompt?

Yes, of course! In fact, we would love it if prompters left a comment on the fic(s) to let the author know it was then who sent in the prompt, and what they thought of the fic!

Can my prompt fills contain other ships?

As this is a Landoscar fest, they should be the main ship of your prompt fill. But yes, other ships and characters can be featured as background characters/relationships

I want to take part but none of the prompts are calling me. Can I still take part?

We hope that the prompts that are submitted by the fest participants will be varied enough for everyone to find at least one they vibe with. However we understand that this isn't always possible so we have added a few vague, starter prompts just in case. If you are still having an issue, please reach out and we'll see what we can do!

What if my prompt fill isn't complete by the due date (February 4th)?

Please do not worry and let us know as soon as you realise that you won't be able to make the deadline. We will see what we can do to help :)

Any more questions? Please feel free to send us an ask or a DM!

Rules

This is an easy-going fest. We don't have many rules but please keep the following in mind:

Please be mindful with how your prompts are worded and to avoid anything excessively explicit.

If you have any triggers, squicks or DNWs (do not wants), please state these in your prompt request.

Don't forget to tag your prompt fill fics with the appropriate tags so they're easy to find.

If your prompt is filled, don't forget to leave a lovely little comment to let them know how much you appreciate their hard work!

Please keep in mind that this is a Landoscar-focused fest.

And most importantly, have fun! 🧡

(psst, don't forget to sign up!)

[freelancearsonist]

there are 4,000 of you here now???? this is crazy to me????

i am so so so so eternally grateful to each and every one of you. i wish i could personally thank each of you, i'm giving everyone a massive virtual hug 🫂

i don't want to get too sappy but being here brings me so much joy and i'm so glad that so many of you enjoy my silly little stories. ily all <3

in celebration i'm going to be holding a week-long event! it's all movie themed because 4k (i think i'm clever). the event will last one week (may 27-june 3), and you're welcome to send in as many as you want on or off anon! (please send separate asks for each prompt so i can keep them organized ☺️)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

🎙️ // send in a character and i'll make you a ten-song playlist for ✧vibes✧

🎞️ // let's celebrate the community! send in a shoutout for yourself/your own fic or your favorite writer/favorite fic!

🎥 // send in a character and i'll give you a sneak peek of what i have in my wips/ideas folder for them.

🎬 // for the friends and mutuals i've made along the way, send this one in and i'll tell you which character i most ship you with and why.

📸 // send in and i'll make you a random moodboard from my pinterest dashboard.

send in your emoji here :)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

no pressure tagging some of my lovely mutuals (pls ignore me if you’re not interested) <3

@writefightandflightclub @moonknightly @ineffablepspspscal @mattmurdocksscars @joelsgreys @chronically-ghosted @ezrasbirdie @swiftispunk @beskarandblasters @sp00kymulderr @schnarfer @wannab-urs @joelsgreys @mrsmando @covetyou @morallyinept @perotovar @mothandpidgeon @cavillscurls @pedroshotwifey @strang3lov3 @goodwithcheese @ozarkthedog @bitchwitch1981 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sin-djarin @futuraa-free @janaispunk @fettuccin-e @missredherring @party-hearses @kedsandtubesocks @hellishjoel @endlessthxxghts @penvisions @fairycoreboyloser @syd-djarin @qveerthe0ry @magpiepills @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @bitchesuntitled @joelmillerisapunk @julesonrecord @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring @pedgito @thesluttylittleknee @rosellacwrites @catchallfangirl @chaotic-mystery

[chaosheadspace]

How about #15 for the kissies? Hope you feel better!

Hello! Thank you for sending in an ask. Yes, I am better by now, but I still have for prompts to do :D This is a continuation of this prompt, because they wouldn't shut up in my mind (tagging @academicblorbo for obvious reasons).

15 is passionately, I hope this qualifies.

Of course Hob gets the job. It just takes the interview and five weeks of waiting, during which Dream misses him that much more fiercely, because Hob could be here, with him, if they would just hurry up and answer.His inability to do anything about it almost drives him crazy.

When Hob does get the answer, the search for a house proves to be equally frustrating—slow at first, before it's all over fairly quickly. They're on a phone call, both scrolling through listings.

“Here, look at this one,” Hob says, sending a link. Isn't that—”

The listing is for a flat identical in layout to Dream’s, albeit decorated somewhat more… frilly. “There is no way to know, Hob,” Dream says. “There are thirty-five apartments in this building alone, you cannot—”

“No, look at the pictures of the balcony, it's the one next to you. It's the exact flowers you're always stealing, and the pink bird bath.”

“Excuse me?” Dream asks, offended. “I do not steal, I simply take what grows over onto my side, which—”

“Do you think we could knock down a wall?” Hob muses.

“—is very well within—what?” Dream's train of thought comes to an abrupt halt.

“Like. Make a passage. From this one to yours.”

“The lease is very particular about holes left by nails,” Dream tells Hob, holding back a smile. “I do not think they would take at all kindly to holes very much larger than that.”

“Pity,” Hob says. “Okay, have you seen the one with the double parking spot that we don't need because we both go by bike?”

In the end, they get very lucky. Through one of Dream’s coworkers, they find a small house with four rooms and a fairly large kitchen, tucked away from the seaside hotels and tourists, just a short walk away from a stone beach. The style of it is, as Hob would call it, romantic. Dream just calls it “in dire need of renovation.”

“I know you'd have loved grey stone and glass,” Hob teases. “If you want, you can paint the bedroom.”

And so Dream does. Hob knows Dream secretly loves the house just as much as he does. He’s seen him caressing the wooden framework when he thought Hob wasn’t looking, as well as trying and failing to tuck the overgrown roses back behind the archway. When Hob, who only offered up the bedroom walls as a means to make peace between the house and Dream, checks up on the room after two days, he's left there in the doorway, gaping.

The room is painted in dark blues and greys in a soft gradient until it dissipates into a light grey in the middle of the ceiling, a rippled almost-circle around the cables where Dream detached the lamp. The walls and ceiling are covered in bioluminescent sea creatures, winding themselves around the corners of the room, swimming up, partly hiding behind an underwater volcano that covers most of the wall where the wardrobe will go. Amidst all of this kneels Dream, on cheap, taped-down paper sheets, painting something close to the floor.

“Love, that's amazing, Hob gasps as he finds his words again.

Dream, veritably covered in paint, looks up at him. “You always seem to forget that my second major was art,” he pouts.

There's a bright green streak on his cheek and a white spot on his nose, his usually raven hair flecked with grey. Hob thinks he's adorable. “Never,” he vows, stepping up to Dream to carefully press a kiss on his as of yet clean forehead. “You'll always be my little artist.”

“I am not little,” Dream says.

“You so are,” Hob grins.

Dream gets up from the floor, where he has been painting the very bottom of the wall with little rocks, the paper he put down to protect the floor crinkling. “Just because I am one centimetre smaller than you—”

“One and a half,” Hob corrects cheerfully.

Dream points at him with his brush. “I am not small,” he tells Hob again.

“To me you are,” Hob sing-songs, narrowly avoiding getting his face painted on. He gently grabs Dream's wrist to stop him, his tone turning earnest. “Does it really bother you? Because I'll stop if it does.”

Dream arches his eyebrow, stepping closer, making no move to free his wrist. “Are you insinuating that I cannot take a friendly barb about my height?”

The tension in Hob's stomach eases at once, while other parts of him light up with a spark of interest. Dream really does look cute covered in paint. Maybe they should split the library room to double as an art studio. “Well, I know all kinds of things you take very well, but even I can't know everything, can I?” Hob says softly, smiling.

With a hoarse, sobbing laugh, Dream buries his face in the crook of Hob's neck, dropping the brush in favour of embracing him. “Are you seriously coming onto me right now?” His disbelieving tone is belied by his hands that wander down to tug Hob flush against him by his waist, his breath that ghosts hot over the side of Hob's neck, followed by a playful nibble.

“I might be,” Hob hedges, his breathing just a little heavy. “Why, are you objecting?”

Dream moves away from his neck to frame Hob's face with both hands. “This house is basically empty save for painting supplies, and I am filthy,” Dream states before kissing him, deep and hungry. Hob sighs and opens for him, snaking one hand under Dream's shirt, feeling a cold smear of paint on his cheek from Dream’s nose.

“A shower, then,” Hob murmurs, “so we're clean before we get filthy again.” His fingers trail up over the knobs of Deams spine, finding goosebumps on their way back down.

“So you are suggesting two showers with work in between?” Dream asks, rubbing his nose through Hob's scruff, no doubt still leaving paint, before biting at his Adam's apple.

“I think you’ve worked enough for today,” Hob says, emphasising his words by sneaking one hand into the back of Dream’s paint-smeared jeans. “Could let me do some work for a change.”

“Very well,” Dream says smugly, wrapping his legs around Hob’s waist, leaving Hob to catch him so they don’t fall. “You may.”

Hob just laughs and kisses him again before walking them unsteadily towards the bathroom.

Send me a kissy prompt or read the other one's here

[hotchfiles]

Hi!! Happy 100th follower bash! I wanted to request Seth Cohen with the prompt “what if you just want something, and you want it so bad?” If you decide to write it, I can’t wait to read whatever you come up with. Thank you!!

lari's 100th follower bash + send me a prompt and one of my boys for a blurb

seth + “what if you just want something, and you want it so bad?”

three times seth let you go and the one he didn't

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

      You were his best friend, two little kids watching cartoons and drawing around while your parents drank wine and talked about things you both didn't understand.

      As days and weeks and months went by, the more the drinking wine encounters became something only your mother would do, frequently going to the Cohens to talk to Seth's mom.

      "Your mommy looks sad."

      "She cries a lot too, more than me."

      Divorce is the word that has been making your mother cry apparently, and soon it makes you and Seth cry as well. Divorce means you're going away to a new city with your mom.

      Seth can't do anything about it but hug you tight and hand you the collection of not really great drawings he made of you, for you.

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

      You come back for high school, thank God, your mother's job is much more demanding now and she feels your dad can be more present than she is.

      It's like you never left, you feel. Seth instantly clings to you like he did when you were children, except this time his mind is going a thousand miles per hour. He wasn't exactly expecting you to come back and now his mind is completely torn into Summer obsessive thoughts and you.

      You spend hours and hours watching terrible sci-fi tv shows, he's drawing (more often than not, you're the muse), while you read or write on your journal. It's silent and comfortable and people often tease you about how you're the only one to keep him quiet for so long.

      Seth doesn't understand it much either, but he enjoys watching you, the way you furrow your brows when you forget a word, or how you take a deep breath following a surprised sound when something happens in the book you're reading.

      He's been thinking about how at peace you make him feel and he has plans to ask you to homecoming, but some sophomore beats him to it. And he could ask you to go with him instead, drop the other guy. But your eyes almost close while you're smiling telling him about it, so he just lets it go.

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

      2.027 miles. 31 hours drive. 4 hour flight.

      Writing came to you as drawing came to him, you both had collab comic books even. He should've known you wouldn't go for Irvine or Berkley. Or any goddamned college in California with a creative writing program. No.

      Northwestern University. Illinois. He heard you gush about it all senior year, and doubting yourself, saying you wouldn't get in anyway. But you did, obviously, you had everything they required and everything any university could hope for in a student. He knew you would get in and he obviously couldn't ask you to stay for him.

      You were just friends.

      And even if you weren't, he would never stop you from going after your passions, what made you happy.

      He visits you when he can. You both kiss and make out and tell each other the sweetest things in whispers only you can hear in those times. Nothing more comes of it though, you're busy and two thousand miles away. He accepts it, he lets go of the idea of having you just yet.

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

      Enough is enough though. And when you tell him about the internship opportunity outside of the country you don't smile with your eyes like prom. Your tone uncertain, your whole body weight being held by his arms as you both laid down on your terrible dorm bed.

      And as always he wants you. He wants you so bad. He wants you to stay. To ask him to go with you. Like he wanted you to stay with your dad after the divorce. Like he wanted to be your date for homecoming. Like he's been wanting to call you his girlfriend, his partner, his lover, his wife even.

      "Is it bad to want something so badly?" he says more to himself than to you, really, but still you turn your head to him, using his chest as a support for your chin.

      "I mean... It's just an internship I don't want it that bad—"

      "That's not—I want to ask you to stay. With me. Don't go. And that's selfish." He keeps his eyes glued to the ceiling as if he hadn't just made your heart skip a thousand beats.

      "Then just ask me, funny boy."

      His grip to you tightens, if that's even possible, and he's finally able to not let it go, to not let you go.

[finniestoncrane]

Dano!Riddler x Fem!Reader, word count: 1k giveaway commission: thank you @cml-san for an excuse to get back to this loser boy!! eddie is released from arkham on advise of his psychologist and is transferred into the care of a stranger from his past who has been inspired by him in their own life as an aspiring actress/singer🐀💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: it's kind of unhealthy attachment fluff i guess!!

He'd been granted parole, much to his own surprise. Edward was smart though. He'd studied psychology, books upon books in his apartment, trying to figure out what he might say in order to convince them he was sane, that he was safe to be returned back to society. And he'd tricked the psychologists, his doctors, the warden. The one hurdle, however, that he wasn't sure how he had navigated it, was the supervisory element of his freedom.

There had to be someone on the outside who was willing to take responsibility for his wellbeing, to facilitate his reacclimating to the world, and Ed had no one.

But someone out there had agreed to take him on. A gesture he'd never known. No one had offered to take him from the orphanage. No one had offered to take him out of the low level position he'd slaved at for years. So why would someone offer now?

Long gone were his hopes that it might have been Batman, looking to help Eddie find redemption, to have him as his assistant, finally understanding what it was that Eddie was doing for him.

As he was ushered out through the last of the doors that kept him prisoner, Eddie looked out towards the wrought iron gates. The last threshold. And just beyond them, a woman standing by a car. Someone vaguely familiar.

He had managed to place you by the time he was walking out of the Arkham grounds. You had gone to college with him. His quiet, unspoken crush. There you were, reaching your arms out to hold him, pulling him into a warm embrace.

"Eddie! I'm so glad to see you. I don't know if you remember me, but-"

"Of course I remember you."

You blushed at his words, a warm smile spreading into your cheeks. For a brief moment, Eddie wondered if he was actually dreaming. Freedom, reconnecting with a cute girl he'd been madly in love with? It didn't feel real. Even when you had driven back into the city, settling in at a booth at the back of a diner, he was certain he was going to wake up at any moment. But he kept himself invested in the conversation.

"So... you know what I've been doing lately..."

The topic was a difficult one, but he had to at least reference it, quickly, before changing the subject.

"... What have you been doing since school?"

As awkward as the topic might have been for him, it was just as uncomfortable for you.

"Well... truthfully, not much. There was a lot that I wanted to do. I wanted to act, but I never made it past any local commercials. And then I thought I could sing, but I'm kind of stuck at the lounge right now, doing late nights... only on week days."

You twiddled your thumbs, trying to turn things around, not wanting to sound so down on life now that Eddie had his back.

"I have a radio show too! In fact, I was inspired by you... by your words. Your streams."

Eddie choked on his sip of coffee, completely surprised by not only his effect on you, but the fact you were so casually bringing it up.

"R-really?"

"Yeah! I uh... I usually just talk, play some music, break some stories where I can. When I came across your streams, though... I knew there was more I could be doing. Like you. You're kind of my muse, Eddie."

You reached over the table, taking his hand in yours. It was warm and clammy, and you could see the nerves on his face, in his eyes.

"You know, I haven't done what I wanted to in life either. And anything I have done, it's been because of your inspiration. When I'm singing, it's like I'm serenading you, making a promise to you. And I owe you for all of this."

Eddie's eyes were wider now, dark pupils almost covering the iris as he watched your lips move with your words, not quite believing what he was hearing. Deciding that the silence couldn't get any more awkward, you made the choice to confess a long held secret to him.

"You know... I had a huge crush on you in college. I think we only shared two classes together, but those were my favourites. You never reciprocated though, which is fine of course, I just-"

"I thought it was a joke."

Your hand was still on his, but you let your grip loosen just a little, surprised by his statement.

"Eddie... I would never..."

Making up for the slight lack of contact, Eddie found it in him to squeeze your hand back.

"I know that. Now."

Another prolonged silence, one that felt a little more comfortable this time. You both finished your coffee, picking at the food on your plates as you both tried to figure out what to say next. Eddie was still wondering why you had offered your time up for him, and you were wondering how to tell him why. It was you that broke first, realising that he was vulnerable, confused, and deserved to know the truth.

"Eddie, you and I have a lot of work to do."

"What... what work?"

"I know what you want from life, Eddie. You want to complete your goal. Your mission. And I want... well, I want you.

He was staring intently, unblinking, a slight smile crossing his lips as the understanding sank in.

"You don't get many second chances in life. At love. At fate. At revenge. But I think if we work together, we can make it work for us. Don't you?"

Eddie nodded, his hand squeezing yours tighter than ever now. A giddy feeling pulsing through his chest. He'd been offered a second chance at everything, and he wasn't going to fail twice.

"I think we can. Just you and I. Real partners. Together."

Grinning, you sipped the last bit of coffee from your mug and held his hand as you left the booth, pulling him after you.

"Let's go get started then."

[yoshizawaviolet]

— ❝ One day at a time. ❞

✧ ADMIN. celeste (kroosluvr) / she/her / 23 / PST (but i'm pretty nocturnal)

✧ TATSUYA SUOU ASK/RP (@lonesingularity)

headcanon-based, canon-divergent at times, celeste's personal and beloved take on sumire yoshizawa! established july 17 2024.

all art posted or used as icons is either mine or from official persona media! please do not repost or use my art without permission!

please read my rules under the cut before following or interacting - we do not have to be mutuals to interact! ♡

no spoiler tags for p5r

open rp ✧ rp prompts ✧ all rp ✧ sumire musings ✧ art tag ✧ sumire answers ✧ verses

okay to respond to open rp, rp prompts, or musings whenever!

— ONE. my number 1 rule is absolutely no NSFW or R18 content. (even in AUs/timeskips.) aside from sumire being a minor, around age 15-16, i myself am not comfortable with that. i may also not interact with accounts that largely post nsfw/r18 stuff for my own comfort. please understand!!!  

— TWO. blood, violence is ok to a certain extent! but nothing crazy! i'll let you know if it's to an uncomfortable extent for me! 

— THREE. i may respond to asks/rp with art, but do not interact with me with expectations for art. if you even remotely tell me to draw something for you, i'll probably stop talking to you or block completely. (Vice versa, if you're an artist, please don't feel pressured to respond with art!!! <33)

— FOUR. this is my first time rping as a canon character, and running an rp/askblog at that! so, i'd like to restrict rp to persona series characters (and persona OCs) only for now. this might change later! the only mainline game i'm unfamiliar with is p1, and i haven't played strikers or finished tactica yet. 

— FIVE. i may not respond to your ask if 1) i can't think of a good answer 2) the ask is confusing 3) makes me uncomfortable 

— SIX. hopefully this is obvious but please no unsolicited flirting/overfamiliarity with the muse or admin, especially out-of-character.

OK !!! ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

sending asks about specific ships/leaning towards certain pairings, and feel free to specify if you'd like! "i.e. what do you like to do with x, what do you think about y?" as i am an avid sumire multishipper, basically any sumire x pthief or highschool-aged npc is valid! cross-persona series characters are also valid with chemistry! (so probably don't ask "what do you think about minato" as there's nothing to go off)

if we follow each other (reminder that i follow from kroosluvr!) honestly feel free to shoot a starter anytime, i don't mind at all! even multiple rps going at the same time are awesome!!! ^^

totally ok to drop a thread if you don't see it going anywhere or it's naturally come to a close! (though i think ending it with an [END] of sorts would be nice hehe

my sumire is bi demisexual! my favorite pairings for her are shusumi/shuakesumi poly/akesumi (my favorites! feel free to read here for more), kitasumi/violetfox, annsumi, sumitaba, ryusumi, and sumifumi!! but as mentioned, totally willing to rp/think/draw other ships!

NO !!! Σ(°ロ°)

probably no rp with other sumires, sorry - i just don't think i have ideas for that haha

please don't push headcanons or ships on me!

please don't dm me unless we've interacted before!! if there's any inquiries you have re: my art, commissions, please dm my main, kroosluvr.

please do not push me to answer your ask!!!!!! totally ok to nudge me if we're mid-rp though and its been 48~ hours!

do not use the icons that i make for sumire, as they're tailored to my depiction of sumire and therefore i don't want anyone else to use them.

thanks for reading! let's have fun! ♡

[enjoythesilentworld]

wilmon + paint me 👀

hello my dear! oh, you wanted a drabble? too bad. instead you get nearly 2k of unnecessary world building and musings about Simon's beauty.

(and surprisingly little spice, but i'll give this an M rating for nudity)

send me a prompt and i'll write a 'drabble'! (it will not be a drabble)

Wilhelm, looking to separate himself from his peers and secure a place in Florence’s Accademia delle Arti del Disegno, decides to find a new muse in the commonfolk. He finds Simon, a lowly leatherworker, in a bar in the slums.

Wilhelm surely looked out of place. Though he tried to dress down and muss up his hair a bit, there was something more that set apart the rich from the poor. Something about his paler skin, his lighter hair and smooth hands. The evidence he spent most days inside, well fed. Not working in the fields or a stuffy forge. They may call it high times, a renaissance for art and culture, but the divide was clear in this bar.

It was dark and drab and the wine tasted like shit, but Wilhelm was not there for that. He was there for the type of regulars that frequented this establishment.

All day every day Wilhelm was surrounded by pompous assholes, dressed immaculately in imported silks and feathered hats. The art that followed was all the same. Soft, aristocratic women draped over chaise lounges and round, pale men posed with their swords. It was a depiction of 17th century Florence, sure, but it did not show the rest. The underbelly. The real people who lived and worked and sweat and bled and died in the city, slaving away for the profit of the rich. Babies in buckets and shit on the streets. Wilhelm was tired of the glimmering image. People needed to see the real thing. He would be the one to show them all, to show the damned Accademia in particular. They would all see. Commonfolk could be beautiful, too, he was sure of it.

As he scanned the bar, hiding his grimace at the wine, his point was quickly proven. Across the way, there was a man bent over a goblet, pinching the bridge of his nose. Ever the artist, Wilhelm noted the way the light from the nearby lantern lit his tan skin in a warm glow, how it highlighted the frizz around his deep brown curls. The shadow from the man’s face, cast across the wood of the bar, outlined his beautiful profile, the sloped nose and pursed lips. His shirt had nearly no sleeves and was ripped in some places, stained in others, though he wore a nice, simple leather vest over it. He looked distraught, if not a little pissed off, and when he lifted the goblet to drink, his throat bobbed with the motion, muscles shifting as he swallowed. He also was the most exquisite human Wilhelm had ever seen.

He found his feet carrying him over before the man could even lower his cup.

“Hello,” Wilhelm said calmly, placing his own cup on the bar and staring down at the man, who, looking startled that anyone was talking to him, glared right back.

“What do you want?” His voice was like summer rain, and an array of light purples and blues swirled through Wilhelm’s mind as he spoke, though the tone was fiery.

“I’d like to offer you a job.”

The man glanced around the bar, almost looking nervous.

“I can tell you're not from around here,” he murmured in a low voice, “but this is not that type of establishment.”

“Oh, I—” Wilhelm stuttered, swallowing his blush at the insinuation, “No. Not like— A real job. I am a painter. I would like you to pose for me.”

A rough chuckle bubbled from the man’s chest, and he lifted an eyebrow, tentative eyes roaming over Wilhelm. He scoffed, “You want to paint me?”

“Yes. I can pay.”

“How much?”

“Twenty per sitting.”

“Thirty.”

Wilhelm paused. Now closer, he admired the man’s slim fingers and calloused palms, the cut muscles off his arms and the tilt of his eyes. His lips were perfectly symmetrical though there was a scar on his cheek and a grit about his demeanor that said everything Wilhelm needed to know. All inspections necessary before truly employing someone as a model. He was like nothing and no one he'd ever seen before.

“Deal.”

The man, Simon, as Wilhelm had learned, showed up to his apartment on the north side of the river one week later.

They had talked late into the night and agreed on a tentative business partnership. Simon would pose for Wilhelm for their agreed upon payment per sitting at least once a month, more often if needed for a larger painting. There would be sets and props and Simon assured Wilhelm he would have no issue holding one pose for many hours. Wilhelm was sure he would not either, based on the state of his arms and legs and the sliver of chest he had had seen.

At the door, he greeted Simon warmly, offering food and wine, both of which Simon declined, slipping past him. He smelled of leather and oil, his skin was just as smooth when it brushed against Wilhelm’s bare arm as it had the night before when, slightly deep in his cups, Wilhelm had forgotten himself and placed a hand on Simon’s arm. Simon had met his eye then glanced out towards the bar, a warning. Not a denial.

Wilhelm busied himself setting up while Simon roamed his home, which was really one large room. It was a warm morning for spring, so Wilhelm had tied back the curtains and opened the windows, flooding the room with light and the soft sounds of the city below. There were more painting supplies and easels than pieces of real furniture, but Wilhelm was quite content with it all. His lone mattress, piled with blankets and pillows, was plenty for him. All he longed to do was paint, the one thing that worked well enough to quiet his mind for some time.

He arranged his stool and easel just so, then checked his paints again. On the canvas, there was a loose sketch. This one was a commission for some noble lord, supposedly a friend of the Medici Family. Wilhelm had been sure to charge him extra for claiming that friendship, as he had never heard of the man before, nor had he seen him at any of the Medici’s dinner parties. Still, the man would surely faint if he knew Wilhelm was using a commoner as a model for this painting. That pleased him.

Wilhelm cleared his throat. “Shall we?”  

Simon turned from where he had been appraising a pile of Wilhelm’s works in the back corner and nodded once. With a careful hand, he accepted the clothing Wilhelm offered and began to undo the loops on his vest.

As more skin was revealed, he felt unable to turn away, and Simon’s eyes locked on him even as he slowly undressed. Wilhelm spoke quickly, “Would you be okay if we tried something different today?”

Fingers froze on leather and Wilhelm tore his eyes away from Simon’s chest, meeting his intense gaze.

“What’s that?”

Wilhelm glanced back at his easel, at the sketched-out commission. He had plenty of time to work on it, really. Simon could come back next week and sit for it then.

“I was thinking,” Wilhelm began slowly, knowing he was toeing a delicate line. “If this agreement is to my understanding, you may very well be posing for me for a good while.”

Simon nodded, hands still hesitating halfway through undoing his vest. Wilhelm swallowed dryly and prayed this was not a mistake.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “I should spend some time getting to know your body first. As I will need to get comfortable with all its forms and curves for future works.”

When something crossed Simon’s face, it became evident that Wilhelm was going to have to be state it out clearly. There was a challenge in that open, innocent look.

“Perhaps, you may like to pose nude for me, so I may… familiarize myself.”

“Familiarize yourself,” Simon said flatly, though the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Very well.”

Unable to believe it, and not wanting to break whatever spell had allowed this, Wilhelm spun away and began tearing down the background he had originally set for the comission. Thankfully, he had a new, blank canvas already prepared and set to the side.

Every day in the late morning, a beam of warm sunlight slipped through the windows to cast across his bed. Though it would be a pain to find the right timing each day, he knew that would be the place. He kept is back to Simon as he fiddled with the sheets and fluffed pillows, creating a small nest of luxurious fabrics.

When he turned, he found Simon standing in full nude, casually leaning against the wall, watching Wilhelm with careful eyes.

“How do you want me?” Simon asked, uncrossing his arms and pushing off the wall, then taking a step forward.

Wilhelm would not let himself look, not really, not yet.

He gestured to the bed, “Right here.”

Over the next bit of time, Wilhelm, in a great feat of personal strength and restraint, carefully arranged Simon on the sheets. At first he tried to explain with his words only, mimicking the gestures himself, but then Simon said, softly, “It’s okay, you can move me if you need,” and suddenly Wilhelm had hands on warm skin. A hand on his thigh to bend at the knee, on his wrist to prop up his head, on his waist to slightly tilt the hips.

By the time Wilhelm made it behind his easel, he felt as if he had lost his breath. Once he sat on his stool, he allowed himself to look.

In the back of his mind, he noted the colors he would need, which to mix to match the color of Simon’s skin where the sun hit it, compared to where it did not. The color of his lips, now redder than they were when he had first arrived. The flush on his chest was new, too. From this distance—too far for Wilhelm’s liking but just far enough to have the full body in frame — Wilhelm could not really see Simon’s eyes, though he knew the hundred colors that swirled there and would likely never forget them.

In the front of his mind, like seeing the sun for the first time after a long, long winter, he gazed at Simon’s body. His eyes tracked over the line of his neck, across his shoulder, the defined pectoral and ribs and toned stomach. The slight curve of his hip, muscled thigh, bony knee, all the way down to his ankle, then back up across every other piece of skin. Wilhelm could paint for three hundred years and never truly capture the dip of Simon’s collarbone and the jut of his jaw, how his core muscles twitched as he adjusted under Wilhelm’s stare.

“Do I look okay?”

Simon’s voice pulled him from his musings. Wilhelm smiled at the smirk on Simon’s face, the confidence to cover the insecurity, marked by the way his cheeks blushed lightly.

“Yes. You are perfect,” he said.

Perhaps he would never be able to truly capture Simon’s beauty with a brush and paint. But, he would be honored to spend his entire life trying.

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Mezo Shjoi x Reader - Make Believe - V

Summary: You ask Shoji to pretend to be your boyfriend for a dinner with your parents.

Warnings: Slow burn, fem!reader, fake dating trope, multi-parted, fluff, angst

With burning cheeks, you hastily hopped a variety of vegetables, the many embarrassing moments of the day playing on loop in your mind. "Honey, slow do, you're gonna hurt yourself." Your mother scolded lightly, stirring a large pot of stew.

"Sorry, Mom..." you muttered under your breath, slowing up a bit. "I think I'm about finished with these, just need to do the carrots now." You sighed, trying to shake Shoji off your mind. A lot good that did.

"Hey, is there anything I can help with?" His voice was smoother than earlier, calmer somehow, and you could hear the smile in it.

"Well, thank you, Shoji!" you mother gushed, patting his bicep as she passed him to make her way out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of food. "If you really wanna help, there's a sinkful of dishes that need washing."

He nodded, walking over to the sink and running hot water on one side. As soon as your mother was out of earshot, he spoke. "Seems like your quite the chef, huh?"

"Not really, I'm just chopping vegetables." you responded, almost in an uninterested manner, though it was unintentional.

"Still, you seem pretty good with a knife." he mused, wrist deep in soapy water.

"I guess so," you sighed before smiling to yourself. "Not as good as Bakugo, though."

"Got me there," he laughed. "That was such a crazy trip." He carried on, rinsing a plate and setting it in the draining rack. "It was kinda fun though, at first at least." Without warning, you fell into a fit of laughter, snorting and folding over, holding your stomach. "What?" he chuckled, setting down the bowl he was working on and fully turning towards you. "What's so funny?"

"N-Nothing, nothing!" you giggled, taking a shaky breath. "It's just, when you and Midoryira came back from dealing with Tokoyami you looked-!" You burst into another fit of laughter, imagining it in your mind. "You looked like you were traumatized! Your hair was all messy and your eyes were so wide! It wasn't funny at the time, but sometimes I remember it and it cracks me up."

"Well, one of my best friends tried to kill me," he rolled his eyes, trying not to smile at your antics. "Safe to say I might have been a little traumatized. But I'm so glad you look back on one of the scariest nights of my life fondly." He feigned annoyance.

Noticing this, you set the knife down, wiping your hands on a rag, before stepping over to him. Instinctively, he turned towards you, slouching- something he'd developed a habit of when talking to someone, considering his stature. With a gentle smile, you reach up, running a hand through his hair, mussing it. He was silent, praying you couldn't see the blush creeping up toward the hem of his mask.

"Don't be like that," you said softly," I think you look kinda nice when your hair's messy. Makes you look kinda rugged."

"Uh, thanks..." he replied, his hand slowly tracing up your arm to hold yours to his cheek as it rested there. Something in the back of his mind- most likely your grandmother's influence, screamed at him to come clean with you, right here, standing in your parents' kitchen with your hand cupping his cheek. Now was his chance. "L-Listen, (Y/N), I gotta tell you something..."

"What is it, Mezo?" You wondered, thumb slowly beginning to caress his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"A-After we finish this..." he trailed, whispering the next part into your ear. "Faking dating thing." His breath hitched, tickling the shell of your ear when he released it. "I was thinking maybe we could...go out on a-" Before he could finish his thought, he picked up on footsteps making a beeline for the kitchen door, prompting him to abruptly push you away on instinct. "N-Nevermind." He sputtered, turning away from you and back to the sink just in time for your mom to walk in.

You looked at the back of his head, a look of hurt flashing across your face, something that he didn't miss, having morphed a hand into an eye to gauge your reaction from the other direction. Your mother looked between the two of you, puzzled before asking: "Honey, you're not done with those carrots yet? It's been 15 minutes."

"S-Sorry, Mom..." you shrunk away from the center of the room, returning to the counter where you were working.

Awkward silence befell the kitchen, hanging there up until the meal was finished, nearly an hour later. Your mother had thought to ask if something had happened, thinking she might have interrupted a lovers' quarrel, but thought better of it.

-----

You sat at the table, Shoji beside you, so close that you more than occasionally brushed elbows when shifting or reaching for a drink. It astonished you how quickly he could go from being open to affection-sharing it even to being totally shut down. Once again, you wondered about the validity of the agreement, but luckily, the lively conversation kept your mind off it sufficiently enough. Yes, the distraction was nice, spending time with your family, and for the first time in the day, not focused entirely on him. That was until he nudged your shoulder, a pair of lips coming around to your ear asking a question that made your blood run cold.

"Hey, what time does our train leave?"