#also I LOVE having a partner who lets me dress however I like and is so supportive of me.

[knavesflames]

heyyy el

requesting politely reader ... tending to ... arlecchino with her mouth and going from starting timid to taking a bit more control to arles surprise

lots of care and love just like in the one you just posted :3

mhm ty

Hi anon<33 I hope you are doing well and having a nice night (it’s night for me). I liked this idea >:) sorry lol it took me a while to come up with a concept but I hope this suffices 😁😁😁 (hi guys the dirty words are slowly making a reappearance)

Word count: 2.2k

Contents: soft dom!reader (kind of yes), bottom Arlecchino, cunnilingus (funny word), fingering at the end, orgasm denial (ONCE GUYS OKAY ONCE), also praise (guys I’m cooked)

Songs I listened to (for fun): fantastic- king princess (is this one obvious or not), disease- lady gaga, shhh!- viviz, pivot- HEYOON, boyfriend- dove Cameron, impurities- le sserafim

There’s more but I forgot

Nsft utc<3

Arlecchino is not a receiver. She gives and takes nothing, it’s how she’s always liked it, whatever the reason may be. She has not explained, and you doubt she will. Arlecchino is very secretive, you’ve come to learn. She divulges what she must, and keeps the rest hidden. Even you, who seems to know more about her than anyone ever has, is kept in the dark about a lot of things– what exactly triggers her nightmares? What truly happened with that ‘Mother’ of hers? There are rumours, of course. Arlecchino is mad and cursed, she killed her Mother ruthlessly without reason, she killed her best friend for nothing other than a simple quarrel. You know them to be false, now you know her better, but what you can’t seem to understand is why she lets the lies fester, why allows herself to be portrayed as a cruel monster. She can’t seem to answer you.

Arlecchino also refuses to tell you why she pushes herself so hard, or why she has such strict rules for herself. You beg her to take that damn suit off constantly (for.. Multiple reasons, both you and her know that well enough– she only obliges when it ends in you as a quivering mess on the bed). “What happened to regular clothing? I know you dislike dresses, but you don’t have to force your body into that silly suit all the time.” is a phrase often uttered. Silence is the only answer given.

Silence seems to be an answer you get from her often. In different contexts, of course. Sometimes, she is silent when she is comfortable, when she is thinking, when she is angry.. You realised long ago that she is a woman of few words– and even fewer sounds. During the rare occasions you get to make her feel good (whether that’s simultaneous to your own pleasure, or before), the only sounds you really hear are the soft breaths and the slight grunts whenever you do something she particularly likes. You have made it your mission to coax more sounds out of her, even if it’s the last thing you do. You experiment with different things each time you get to make her feel good, anything remotely sexual she’s done to you, you try with her. Degradation doesn’t work, her only response is a cock of her eyebrow and a scoff. Praise is a little bit better, earning a soft kiss on whatever part of your skin she can reach. Tying her up is out of the question– she has made it abundantly clear multiple times she only enjoys the act of bondage, however small, when you are on the receiving end. It’s the case for a lot of things, and it almost irritates you. Almost. it turns out the answer is something much simpler than anything you’ve ever tried, and you mentally curse yourself for taking so long to figure it out (for Arlecchino, that was the point. She likes the game, even if she truly is trying to keep her weakness hidden).

The answer was something she had done to you almost every time you had engaged in some form of intimate act with her. There aren’t many acts more intimate than your partner giving up the ability to speak because their tongue seems to be.. Busy. You just hadn’t realised that Arlecchino would ever be on the receiving end. So, after much pleading (and begging to the point it almost seems you’re begging her to fuck you instead of the other way around), she seemed to relent. Barely.

“Let me try,” comes the soft whisper from your lips, hitting the side of her neck as you gently place kisses there. There’s no reaction, but you could swear you felt a shiver. Moving away from the milky, unmarred skin of her neck (one of the only places that isn’t marked with either her curse or an array of scars), you almost expertly push the blazer off her shoulders before slowly sinking to your knees. The carpet is fuzzy, but it doesn’t do much to soften the hard wood underneath. You can’t find yourself caring. The blazer lands on the back of the desk chair. Excited, desperate fingers tug at the buttons of those godforsaken trousers until they finally do what you want them to do. You’ve done what you can, you can’t push her hips up so you can continue to take them off, she’s stronger than you’ll ever be (you like that). “Don’t you think it would feel nice? You know it feels nice. Do you not think you deserve it?”

“I do not deserve the pleasure you give me,” she murmurs, a rare show of her inner thoughts. The woman criticises herself too much, you think. You wish she wouldn’t be so strict with herself.

“Irrelevant,” She shivers at the slight sternness of your voice. It mirrors her own. “Do you want it?”

Arlecchino doesn’t respond for a while. Her hand moves to your head, and she caresses your hair, gently stroking and tugging at the strands before she eventually speaks, a whisper, a subconscious attempt to hide the fact she’s about to chase something she never allows herself to. “Put a pillow under your knees, at least.”

You grin, so pleased with yourself. You stand again, only to sprint and find a pillow. It happens to be the pillow you sleep on, it doesn’t matter. You return to your position only to find her trousers messily on the ground, and the top four buttons of her dress shirt undone. The look in her eyes is one you’ve rarely seen– want. “Beg.” you whisper, the grin still on your face. Arlecchino’s own face twists into a frown.

“I will die before I beg for anything.” Her tone is resolute, and you sit there nonetheless, unmoving apart from the finger tracing up and down her toned thigh. You both stay like that for an agonising two minutes before she barely mumbles. “Please.”

You are incredibly aware that you won’t get more than that, so, even though you know it doesn’t do much, you mutter “good girl”. It does do something, though. You barely hear it, but her breath shakes. You take it as an initiative to start, so you let your lips find her thigh, planting wet, open mouthed kisses up towards her inner thigh. You continue, and– she’s soaked already. You’ve done exactly nothing and she’s as wetter than you’ve ever seen her. Your eyes move up to hers, a raise of your eyebrow as you open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off before you can speak.

“Do not. I am aware of the.. situation.”

“But you’re all wet and it’s all for my tongue. Isn’t that sweet?” You’ve never been this cocky at all, and Arlecchino would be a liar if she said she didn’t like it. She tries to find words, something to refute the claim, but her words are ripped from her lips when she feels your own lips graze her clit. It’s a tiny movement, really, but one she isn’t entirely used to. The only reaction she makes, however, is a slightly sharper exhale. Until your eyes stare straight into hers and you do it again, though for longer. Then again, though this time your tongue presses flat against it. Your tongue doesn’t move, much to Arlecchino’s dismay. The hand that rested in your hair gently tugs.

“Continue.” She speaks breathily, and her words shake. You can practically hear her gulp as she tries (and fails) to calm herself, and you know she’s probably telling herself to show no emotion. Though, when you finally start moving your tongue in slow, languid motions, you hear her shaky sigh and feel her hand in your hair tighten even more. You try to find a rhythm that affects her the most, alternating between soft licks and harder presses— you find that swirling your tongue around her clit, occasionally moving down to dip your tongue into her aching cunt. Your eyes dart up to her every few seconds to catch her mouth falling open and her head tilting back. When her mouth isn’t open, she’s stifling any noise she could possibly make, gritting her teeth so hard you’re almost certain they’re going to crack. The next time you tear your eyes away from her skin and move them to her face, her eyes are squeezed shut, and only then does a quiet groan escape her.

Something seems to change in your mind, because your hands move to grip her thighs, holding them apart despite them trembling. She’s sensitive, after all, it isn’t often she gets taken care of, is it? The blackened hand not pulling greedily at the strands on your head moves in an attempt to push your hands away, but your voice vibrates against her (which of course, causes another quiet sound to slip from her). “Keep your hands on the chair.”

Arlecchino’s eyes shoot open, a gasp practically ripping through her lungs. “You cannot expect me t—“

“Do it or I stop. Let me finish making you feel good.” She scolds herself internally for letting you get too comfortable with her own tricks. Either way, it feels good and she doesn’t want you to stop, though she’d rather cut off her own arm than admit it. She doesn’t need to say a word, though, the small groans (and whimpers) tell you everything. Especially when they grow louder, and her chest begins heaving, and her voice breaks with every utterance of your name. It’s the most pleasure she’s ever outwardly expressed.

“Why did you stop?” Her exasperated, breathless voice echoes the room. You stopped just as her orgasm was reaching the peak, causing it to ebb away quickly, a sense of disappointment growing in Arlecchino’s stomach. Her eyes, now piercing into you with that familiar irritated stare, meet yours, your own full of amusement. Wiping your chin (when you’re eating pussy like it’s the last meal you’ll ever eat, it tends to get messy, doesn’t it?), you chuckle and respond in your own teasing lilt.

“You taste so good, and your pussy is so damn pretty, Arlecchino. I don’t particularly want to stop right now. You can take it, can’t you? Keep your hands still.” Her face twists into some odd mix of mortified and aroused, but your tongue meets her clit again, and the only sound she can make is something so uncharacteristic, a whine. You continue exactly what you were doing before, though this time you decide to slide a finger into her— the reaction she gave was definitely a pleasant one, her back arching off of the chair, her hands squeezing the seat of it in an attempt to keep them still. Arlecchino reaches the peak quicker this time, and despite your bossy orders, she finds herself melting into you completely, her hips grinding herself onto your tongue as much as she possibly can. It’s completely different to how she was at the beginning, her plan to remain unbothered and stoic foiled.

“Can I— please don’t stop this time.” When there comes no response from you other than a curl of your finger, she moans your name in a useless attempt to get you to answer her. You’re being mean, she thinks, and you’re using everything she does against her. “Answer me. Tell me I can cum.”

How is she still demanding things from you even in this position? She lost all control a long time ago. You find your eyes opening though, and while adding a second finger, your voice softens and you speak, voice full of affection. “Be good and cum for me, then. Now, before I change my mind. Let yourself feel good, yeah?”

Arlecchino doesn’t need to be told twice, because her hips lose whatever rhythm they had when your tongue presses flat against her, letting her choose the pace and the rhythm she knows will get her there quickest (it doesn’t take long, the woman is so sexually pent up it’s laughable). Within a minute, she’s crying out, her hands flying up to her face to cover the obscene expression she knows is there. You pay no attention, only watching every movement with a sense of satisfaction and a smile in your eyes. You keep your finger curling and your tongue still until her body stops rocking, and her hands leave her face. When her face, the one you find so beautiful, emerges from behind her hands, mascara slightly smudged, you can’t help but snicker as you pull out and away from her.

“Better?” You ask, wiping your chin once more with the back of your hand. You somehow look so smug and the look on your face pisses Arlecchino off, just a little. How you’re so calm and collected and she’s a fucked out mess sat in her desk chair.

“Yes,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends it to be really, but she continues in the same tone. “I do hope you don’t think we’re finished, hm?” Your head tilts in slight confusion, but the smile remains on your face. After a while, Arlecchino’s own lips twitch upwards, barely noticeable, but you notice nonetheless. “How could I leave you without feeling good, too? Go to the bedroom, please.”

[that-cheer-up-anon]

Yesterday was really fun (despite having to wake up early)! Went to the city w my partner to hang out w my big sister at a Japanese market.

There were quite a few stalls w stickers, charms, ceramics, and even a build-your-own terrarium! Had hojicha gelato and honestly I can see why my big sis likes hojicha more than matcha (I think I do too).

There was an area where you could write your wishes on paper and tape it to bamboo for Tanabata. There was one where someone drew a tall among us, and another where someone just wrote "Live, Laugh, Love" which I don't think is a wish, but whatever.

Bought a lot of stickers, an enamel pin and a couple of scrunchies from local artists which was really nice! I was so caught up w the stalls I forgot there was a second level and grocery, so I guess we'll have to go another time to see what's up there.

After the market we got some ramen and it was soooo good! It was my second time going there but the first time for my big sis. We all got black garlic ramen. She said it was really good and worth the money (she lived in Japan for years so I know she knows her stuff), so I'm glad we know at least ONE good authentic ramen place.

We split ways w my big sis and went to a billiard hall and played pool for an hour before heading home. Never been to a billiard hall before which was cool. We got there as soon as it opened so it was mostly empty. I had a lot of fun (even though I lost both rounds lol).

[softspiderling]

picture of you in an invisible locket | j.v

summary:

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion.

OR; loving jacaerys velayron means more than loving just him, something that you are painfully aware of

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: none :)

word count: 2,5k

author's note: my first jacaerys fic! ngl it was super hard to jump from obx to hotd bc i wanted my writing to feel authentic to the fandom/show??? yeah obx and hotd could NOT be any more different tbf. i have a bunch of ideas for jace but if you want you can send me some requests! also tagging @zyafics and @sunderlust bc they've been encouraging me to write for jace ily guys. happy reading and pls leave some feedback/comments/nice words!!! <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The light of the torches were flickering as you walked down the hallway, your shoes clicking against the marble stones that lined the ground. It was nearly midnight and a lady of your rank shouldn’t be awake at this hour, much less out of her chambers by herself, roaming the halls.

But you were hungry.

You hadn’t had much to eat during dinner, trying to avoid him as much as possible, which is getting increasingly more difficult. Usually, he wasn’t so persistent, opting to stay close to your father during dinner, exchanging information about their culture, or drinking with your brother. Tonight, however, it seemed like he was on quest to find you whenever you were standing idly by, asking for a dance. And of course, you couldn’t decline for no reason, as it would appear rude or even slight, so you busied yourself with other - much less distracting - dance partners. By the time he was approached by one of your guards, inquiring about his training, and you saw your chance to sit down and eat in peace, the table had been cleared for the last course. While you did love cake, your hunger couldn’t be stilled by a mere dessert and you spent the remainder of the night famished, longing for some hearty food.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled of hunger again, and you picked up the skirt of your night dress, hastening along to the kitchen. When you finally reached the stair case that led down to the kitchens, you hurried down the steps, letting yourself into the kitchen, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind you.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you headed to the pantry, searching for bread and butter and if you were lucky, some smoked ham. You were so focused on your search, you didn’t even notice another presence lingering in the doorway of the pantry.

You heart nearly stopped when you finally did see him, your gasp echoing in the empty kitchen.

“Prince Jacaerys!”

The crown prince of the Seven Realms was standing in front of you, arms behind his back and brows raised. You forced your heartbeat so calm down, hand still clutching your chest.

“You gave me a fright,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“I have been waiting for your arrival. You took quite some time, I was certain you would be here an hour past.”

Your eyes narrowed in slits, growing wary at his words. “And how did you know that I would come to the kitchens at this hour? I do not make it a habit to skulk around the keep at night.”

Jacaerys chuckled dryly, his beautiful dark curls bouncing as he shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“Given how you occupied the dance floor with various dance partners earlier, I did not see you sit down for supper once. You were certain to still your hunger somewhere.”

So he did notice.

You acted nonchalant, turning away from him eyes searching shelves in the pantry.

“Searching for this?”

Jacaerys brought a loaf of bread from behind his back, wrapped in a cloth. Your eyes gleamed, taking a step forward to reach for it, nearly bumping into him as he took a step forward as well, breaching into your personal space. Your heart stopped, feeling his hot breath fanning on your cheeks and the prince’s lips tugged into a grin.

“Ah ah,” he tutted, moving the bread out of your reach. “You do not expect me to give this away without a price now, do you my lady?”

You took a moment’s pause, considering his words with caution.

“… What sort of price do you speak of?”

“How about…” Jacaerys begun. “A kiss?”

With a small breath, you faltered, looking up at him through your lashes, your shoulders slumping.

“Jace.”

“Ah, now we are back to Jace?”

Snatching the small piece of ham and the butter that sat in a small marble bell from the shelves, you walk back into the kitchen, knowing Jacaerys would follow you. Making a stop at the counter, you spread your findings on it, waiting until Jacaerys stopped next you, loaf of bread still in his hand.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“You danced with every single man at your brother’s name day celebration except for me,” Jacaerys pointed out. You shrugged with your shoulders, an act you would never do in front of other people, but this was Jace.

“I was merely being a good host.”

“Don’t insult me, my lady. I saw your grimace when Lord Ren twirled you over the dance floor while stepping all over your feet with his barbaric dance moves.”

Seven hells, he got you there. You never were able to keep your real feelings hidden when it came to Lord Ren. He was just too insufferable. Pursing your lips, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were still a lady after all, you had some manners.

“Will you give me the bread when I admit you’re right?”

“I should not,” Jacaerys sniffed. “Because I know I am right, I do not need a confession. I just want to know your reasons.”

With a huff, you snatched the loaf of bread out of his hands, reaching for knife in the wooden block. You cut out several slices, maybe with more force than necessary.

“You know my reasons.”

Jacaery is quiet next to you and you dropped the knife on the counter, wrapping the rest of the loaf up again. You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread the butter on the bread slices, knowing he was waiting for you to elaborate, and after a few more moments, you broke, the knife clattering against the wooden surface.

“Jace, you know I… Have a deep affection for you.”

“As do I for you.”

The two of you both skirted around the big word, not quite bold enough to say it yet.

“I do not wish to give my father the expectation to marry me off to you.”

“I’m the crown prince, surely your father would not have any grievances against a match.”

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion. “I don’t understand. Isn’t a match born out of affection and not duty what you have been wanting?”

“Jace, this is more complicated than me harboring any affections for you-” you started, but your words were cut shot by Jacaerys speaking your name.

“If it’s about leaving home, I promise King’s Landing is not as bad as it seems. And on dragonback, it is only a three day journey. When I first left, I got terribly homesick as well, but-“

“I do not wish to be Queen!” you exploded, falling into Jacaerys’ words and he took a step back at your outburst, surprise flickering over his face. You let out a long, deep, breath, hand clutching at your chest, calming yourself down.

The kitchen is eerily calm, neither of you spoke, the only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth. Your voice is quiet when you finally spoke again.

“I am the youngest child of my father, Jace. His only daughter. My oldest brother is betrothed and to be wed in less than a year’s time, the second oldest is courting his partner to be betrothed. I was not trained to rule, to have any responsibility or to represent my house. You are the crown prince, set to inherit the Iron Throne, to rule over seven kingdoms. Seven, Jace. How exactly do you expect me to fulfill the role of a Queen consort?”

Jacaerys’ mouth was parted, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Which you understood. You have never shared your feelings about his position as heir before, how you resented it a little for it was the only reason you couldn’t let yourself be matched with him.

“I’m not fit to be Queen.”

“I… Didn’t know that you felt this way,” he said, his voice tight. “I can’t shirk my duties.”

“And I am not asking you to,” you assured him. “I just can’t… Be the wife you need.”

“What if-”

“Jacaerys, please.”

Your voice was pleading, knowing discussing this any further was no use. You weren’t fit for a Queen. Jacaerys’ face shut down, and he put his mask up, before nodding, ever the understanding prince, much to your luck. “Of course. Whatever you wish for, my love.”

His love.

“I will see you on the morrow.”

Reaching for your hand, he grasped it gently with his, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, before stepping back, letting go of you. As he departed from the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, your breath shaky. You knew you hurt him, disappointed him, but this was so much bigger than the two of you.

You breathed out deeply, hoping the sorrow would leave, but it didn’t. Reaching for the bread, your appetite had gone, but leaving it would be wasting it, so you bit into your dinner. And as you ate, you couldn’t help but think that the bread tasted like ashes in your mouth.

The next few days, Jacaerys seemed to respect your wishes to keep his distance. You still saw him around the keep, occasionally walking with your father, mostly though you saw him accompanying your brother as they conversed quietly, but intently. You wondered what they were talking about. Whenever you saw him, you noticed that Jacaerys kept his gaze away from took, and you couldn’t help but feel saddened, even though this was what you asked him for in the first place.

You missed his company. Especially at night. Despite the fact that you had never crossed any lines, or did anything improper - spending the dark hours at the library talking, exchanging stories about your childhood, maybe coming very close to a kiss - you were still a maiden. Of course you spending time with him alone was unseemly, and your father would betroth you immediately would he find out. It might be better for you, that Jacaerys kept away.

It was the end of the week when you saw him again. You were sat in the dining hall, at another feast your father had called for. It was the night of the departure of the representatives of House Blackwood, though even if it weren’t, you didn’t doubt that there would still be a feast. Your father didn’t need an occasion celebrate.

Your demeanor was polite, bht curt, hoping that it would deter any lords from asking for a dance, but of course Lord Ren was keen on offering you his hand.

Giving him a polite smile, you let him lead you around the dance floor, already forming some sort of excuse in your head when someone stepped to you, offering you his hand.

It was Jacaerys.

“May I, Lord Ren?”

“Of course, my prince.”

Lord Ren bowed to Jacaerys and you bowed your head out of respect before Jacaery placed a hand on your waist, his other finding your hand. You couldn’t help but feel relief that Jacaerys had freed you from Lord Ren, but you tried to keep your composure.

“I thought we talked about this, Jacaerys,” you muttered out between gritted teeth, as to uphold the image of a happy lady, dancing with her guest.

“We have.”

Jacaerys replied easily, never missing a step as he spoke, despite keeping his eyes on you. Ever the perfect prince.

You turned away, not being able to hold his eyes on you, your stomach churning.

“I am sorry if I hurt your feelings, Jace,” you said quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear you talking to the crown prince in such a familiar way. “I wish things were different- That I was different.”

Jacaerys’ hand tightened on your waist, and he used that to pull you closer.

“I spoke to your father, and he gave his blessing for our betrothal.”

Your eyes widened at his words, as you hadn’t expected them, the shock evident on your face. You had told him about your fears of being Queen consort and he just disregarded them.

“What?”

“I know you’re afraid that you won’t be able to fulfill your duties as Queen, my Queen consort. My mother will teach you, I will be by your side. My mother is set to live a long life and by the time I will inherit the throne, you will be properly trained. And I swear on my life, you will make the best Queen consort the realm will ever see.”

Stunned, you blinked your eyes at him, as if this all was a dream. Never before had you experience someone being so stubborn to prove you of your own worth.

“It hurt me greatly when you told of your reluctance of our match, because I cannot fathom that you see yourself anything less than you are.”

As he spoke, Jacaerys kept his gaze ahead, but he finally he turned to look at you, his eyes softening.

“I will not force you. This is your choice. If you do not wish to marry me, you won’t have to. Just know that I believe in you and what you will be able to do as Queen consort.”

You were trying so hard to find the right words, your feet stopped working for a second and you stumbled, but Jacaerys was quick to tighten his grip around you, keeping you upright.

“I- don’t know what to say,” you admitted.

“Say yes?”

Jacaerys looked down at you, his eyes hopeful and you felt your resolve melt away, especially because it looked he had planned it down to the last detail.

“Yes, okay.”

Jacaerys smiled at you before turning to the side, giving a curt nod and that was all it took for your father thrust his jug into the air, the ale spilling over the rim.

“I am thrilled to announce that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen of the Seven Realms, has asked my daughter for her hand in marriage… And she has accepted!”

The raucuos cheers that followed after nearly deafened your ears and you hid your face in Jacaerys’ chest - an act of affection you allowed yourself now that the two of you were betrothed.

“This couldn’t wait until we were in closed chambers?” you whispered, pink tinging your cheeks. Jacaerys shook his head, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles.

“There’s no backing out of it now, my love.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: thoughts?? :)

[mochinomnoms]

i know in the leech family that its a running joke that the mc is their cleaner shrimp and i cant help but think when its finally the leech parents turn!

Imagine mc and the leech family are going out to do some family bonding and the mc causally picks off some lint or hair off papa leech or mama leech and their mood just instantly brightens :D They go like “thank you dear! Is there anything else on me?” And the parents are just spinning around happy because their child-in-law is doing shrimp things with them! (Meanwhile jade and floyd are off to the side being like “what about me D:<”)

also may I be 🪸 anon or 💫 anon?

YEEAAAAH FAMILY SHRIMP!!!

I think it's a very sweet idea! Whether it's just one of the twins or both that you've gotten involved in, they both enjoy your fretting and picking at them. Floyd most often gets your attention, as he's always getting up to stuff and messy. However, he's more prone to scrapes from basketball and burns from cooking at the lounge, so he gets lots of attention from you. Floyd loves it, he loves being taken care of for once, instead of being feared or seen as a big bad eel. He needs loving too! He needs to be treated tenderly and kindly. Floydie just wants to be loved, and who better to do that than you?

Jade on the other hand will just get dirty when hiking and foraging, but rarely get any scrapes or cuts. He might bruise here or there depending on how it went, but over all you're more likely to need to clean stray twigs, leaves, and dirt for him. In fact, you'll find Jade approaching you after his extensions, every single time, asking for your assistance. Maybe join him in the bath and help him clean up? As his cleaner shrimp? Pretty pleeease? After all, the caretaker needs some caring too sometimes.

When you eventually get introduced to the family and properly fit into your place with the Leeches, with an appropriate shrimp merform! Papa and Mama Leech are just happy that their boys have such a sweet partner. You further solidify your spot when they learn about your “shrimp” tendencies. They think it's so cute! So imagine their delight when you start tending to them like you do their sons!

Papa Leech will often find himself get into...”scuffles” after work. Normally, the family doctor would be available to patch him up, but they were already attending to a patient of theirs. Here comes their resident shrimp, offering to patch him up! You babbling about Floyd and how he always got hurt from his activities at school, so it wasn't a problem. At this point, you're practically a pro! Papa Leech has stars in his eyes, though, he has the cutest child-in-law!!! And you've been doing this for his boys, for free??!! Screw Floyd and Jade if they ever break up with you (like they'd ever would) cause Papa is keeping you in the family for the foreseeable future. Not only are you convenient, but you care for him like family, he'd be a barnacle to let you go. If you're not already married to his boys, prepare yourself, cause he's already organizing the engagement and wedding. No, he did not ask his boys beforehand.

As for Mama Leech, she's been repeated described as a worrywart, and overly cautious, especially regarding her family. I think that, since you weren't brought up in the family like her boys, would be prone to keeping you at her side. If Papa and the twins are off for “work” then you can find her snatching you up for some mother-in-law time to keep you nice and safe! This is when she gets her own version of shrimp tending, via you doing her hair and makeup! She does love dressing up and looking pretty, and is delighted when you start brushing through her hair with your fingers, braiding it and softly applying her lipstick. It's been so long since her boys were little and played dress up with her! But here you are, so sweet and soft and gentle with her! She's now become attached, if you so much as try and leave the family, Mama is sobbing and begging you to stay, while also strangling her sons for what ever they did wrong (she knows they did something the little troublemakers).

I'd say that the twins only get mildly jealous, after all, the more time you spend with their parents the less they get with you! And you're their partner!!! They suppose they should be happy that you get along so well with their parents. Except Floyd. Floyd wishes to monopolize your time and will hide you away with Jade in a dark coral nook. He called you Shrimpy first, it's his right!!!

(I will dub thee 🪸 anon!! welcome!)

[suguru-getos]

୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 18﹕✦﹕┈・୧

-> Event Masterlist

Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader -> Overstimulation

Warnings: Overstimulation, cunnilingus, squirting, Bakugou being a soft yet commanding dom, nipple-play, fingering, breeding. Let me know if I missed anything please? Thank you!

Summary: The perfect way to unwind after work with Katsuki is to share the solace of a perfect dinner, followed by a perfect fuck fest. :3

The recent days in the Bakugou household had been weird, you were busy and so was your husband. You had recently decided to step out of being a Pro hero. It was a big decision and you were thankful that Katsuki was there, understanding your emotions, understanding what you’re going through and soothing you with it all the way.

With the judgemental hero society and the fact that you’d never be able to come home one of these days— your dream of having a family, taking care of a family & being a mother, a wife, a partner. It was all fleeting away, your determination and priorities shifting from protecting the people of Japan to now, protecting the house. Even so, you can’t help but pout when Katsuki comes home at odd hours, it’s been a week or so that you two got to spend some time together. Katsuki was yearning! So were you, for the matter.

Katsuki (2:17 pm): Hey princess

You: (3:00 pm): Oh hey there Suki

Katsuki (3:01 pm): Coming home early today, missing you too bad. Gonna prepare dinner & wait for you.

The text made you beam with joy, fuck! You missed Katsuki’s cooking & Katsuki spoiling you. All he’s done is been your sugar daddy, you wanted— needed some quality time with him.

You (3:02 pm): OH OFCCC!!!!

The rest of the day went by in a haze, Bakugou’s bulls eye was to reach home on time, to spoil his wife. “Kiri handle the patrol for me will ya?” He mumbled, finishing the paperwork & the approvals with the signatures needed for the recent Ad campaigns his PR team has bagged him for.

“Ah man, gonna spoil Y/N?” Kiri smirked, “How cute, it’s been a while since all of us hung out together you know?” Kiri emphasised, which made Katsuki irritated. He just wanted to leave his agency premises right now. “Yeh, patrol. Don’t forget.” With that, he left. Katsuki has changed being a 27 year old Pro hero who is seasoned with the elixir of how to behave and also the self awareness of how to talk. The frequent outbursts weren’t there, however— the fire in his personality still blazed threateningly.

When Bakugou reached home, he was all set to prepare things for his lady love. Stove blazing, his culinary skills all out with every intention of showing off. He ordered your favorite flowers, loads of them— enough to magically decorate the house, your favorite scented candles & by the time you reached home. (Around 8), you were greeted with a different sight altogether.

“Oh my god!” You whined, while Bakugou opened the door and kissed your forehead. “Welcome home Princess, don’t want y’ to forget how amazing I am.” He winked, laced with his sassy, adoring signature grin as he guided you towards your shared bedroom.

“Go freshen up f’ me sweetheart. I’ve kept the dress I wan’ y’ to wear & want to see you in it kay?” You nodded blindingly, too enamoured by the preparations & the efforts Katsuki has done for you.

When you returned, the dinner was set properly, there were foods intermingled from Wasabi dipped sushi, Katsudon, some sweet mochi. Everything that you liked— or might like. The dinner was sweet, Bakugou let you unwind with some expensive roseé, listening to your babbling about what happened at work intently.

Before you knew it, you were being carried princess-style to the bedroom. Both you and Katsuki a little tipsy & you absolutely drowning in the warmth of his scent, in the comfort of his arms. “Let me unwrap my little present, yeah?” Bakugou hums, smiling tenderly and softly at you as he removes your dress off, leaving you in black lacey underwear.

“God damn, Princess.” he mused, licking his lip. “You look so fuckin’ gorgeous I feel like I’d lose my fuckin’ mind.” He smirks, leaning in and taking your panties off, gawking at your soaked pussy & your throbbing clit.

“Were thinking about being loved as much as me thinking about lovin’ you?” Katsuki hummed, not waiting for an answer and leaning in against your inviting folds, a soft groan escaping his parted lips, the moment he wrapped his lips around your needy clit. Thighs spread apart, and your legs falling over his shoulders. “You sound so cute moanin’ for me like that.” Katsuki smirks, gnawing at your clit and licking it over to soothe the irritation.

You were deliciously close to the edge, mouth agape, hands pulling at his hair closer & pussy clamping all up and all for him.

“Shit- mmgh- Katsuki, gonna—”

“Cum for me Princess, let me fuckin’ taste that sloppy cunt.” Your man daunted, the reverberations in his voice pushing you off the edge immediately. “Shit- hng.” Your body spasmed around his tongue, creaming all over him, meanwhile— Katsuki didn’t want to stop. It’s been a while since he’s away from his girl, he wants you, bad.

Your pleasure laced moans turned into gasps and whines, when your overstimulated clit found itself against Katsuki’s relentless thumb, “Give me another, yeah?” he croons, however it makes you feel that you don’t have any option but to— which is exactly what Katsuki wanted.

Leaning in and licking up your juices one last time, his thick, and long fingers found their way to your pussy. “Gonna make you squirt this time.” Katsuki smirked, leaning in and kissing your pelvis as two of his fingers nestled against your folds, curling upwards & against your G-spot.

A lewd moan escapes you when your body registers the pleasure on your clit and your G-spot at the same time.

“Oh my god—” You croak, clamping once again after Katsuki found the perfect rhythm to play with your sloppy pussy. He loved watching you whine and whimper when he goes on at your cunt until you cry.

“Gonna cum again sweetheart?” Katsuki cooed, watching your face contort with pleasure & smirking along. “Yes she will, yes she will.” he hums when he finds you speechless, drowning in pleasure with no escape.

Another, harsh and unforgiving orgasm rakes through you, and as promised, your body ended up complying to Katsuki, you ended up squirting your essence all over, screaming at the shattering waves of pleasure.

“Yeah, yeah baby, just like that.” Katsuki rode out your orgasm, not stopping when he finally unzipped himself, thrusting his cock balls deep in your twitching cunt. “Argh- fuck, so snug & tight.” He lewdly comments, not giving you any time to adjust and railing onto your sweet pussy. “Going to cum for me again, mhm?” He smirked, watching you try to push him away when his thumb finds it’s way back to your clit.

“Awh, don’t be a bad girl Princess.” He chided you gently, leaning in and swallowing your nipple, suckling on it and thrusting deep inside you. Tears glossed into your eyes at the threatening pleasure intermingled deliciously with the pain of overstimulation. The pain of feeling your senses on fire.

“Shit- I- I feel like- m’ close.” You gritted your teeth when Katsuki pulled the hood of your nerves, rubbing onto your now exposed bundle & watching you whine & squirm away to no avail.

“Go on, let your pussy massage daddy’s cock until he cums.” Katsuki leaned in, kissing you passionately and eating away all your moans when you finally, tipped off the edge again. Your overworked pussy spasming around him, clamping around him until ropes of his warm seed fill you up.

“Fuck- good- fuckin’ girl.” Katsuki groaned, stilling inside you, eyes softening when his senses complain to him about how far you’re gone. “Let it go Princess, gonna take care of you now. Leave it to me, yeah? Leave it to your Katsuki.”

[lynk-zee]

hey lynnie,

Ok so there's this tweet "(my gf can) dress slutty I can fight" by a guy right. I don't necessarily think he means dress slutty on purpose but like if his gf wants to express her fashion in a more sensual way, he supports and defends her right to do so. Could you do a scenario where MC/reader know she looks good and flaunts it and the lads don't mind? They're also willing to step in and remind any entitled creep to stay in their place. I'm really curious to see Rafayel's thoughts on this but all would be great.

“Dress Slutty, I Can Fight.”

Rafayel always wants you to feel good about yourself. He’ll buy you lavish jewelry, designer clothes, and ask you to give him a fashion show so he can see them on you. That being said, fashionable clothes sometimes is less about the type of fabric and more about the lack there of. And he’s here for it! He walks with you on his arm with pride, wearing whatever you want, flaunting your assets, and strutting your stuff. He thinks you’re gorgeous, like a work of art! And art is meant to be admired.

Though, when it comes to creeps checking you out longer than appropriate, he gets a bit protective. If he notices someone checking out your ass in that skimpy little outfit of yours, he cop a squeeze, smirking right at the perp. As if saying “look what I have that you don’t”

If his glare doesn’t deter the creep from looking at you, Rafayel will call him out in front of everyone.

“Do you mind? I know my partners hot as fuck but keep your eyes to yourself, damn!”

Usually it doesn’t escalate from there, the perp feeling thoroughly embarrassed from being called out like that in public. But if it does, Rafayel will handle it.

“It’s okay, babe. I can fight”

Zayne absolutely loves spoiling you with the money he makes as a surgeon. Which mostly consists of clothes! Whatever you want, just point and he’ll get you it every color. Absolutely loves when you dress however you want. His main goal in life is for you to live as comfortably as possible. So if looking all dolled up in pretty makes you happy, go for it!

When you’re dressed up, he’d always have his hand on the small of your back, guiding you this way and that under his careful watch. He’s gotta keep his baby safe. If someone is staring at you for two long, they’d be frozen solid by Zayne’s evol.

Just kidding. More like frozen solid by his icy glare. Much like Rafayel, Zayne would make it public because he knows that most people will get intimidated by a large crowd.

“Could you not stare at my partner? We are trying to enjoy our night out.”

If the creeps too persistent, he’ll clench his jaw and place his jacket on you.

“Sorry, dear— could you give me a moment? That man over there seems like he wants to talk.”

Zaddy

In all seriousness, Zayne really wouldn’t resort to violence because he has standards to uphold. But he definitely would stand his ground and tell the creep off. Your comfort is his utmost priority. He won’t let some filth make you feel self-conscious.

Xavier’s all for your slutty era. You look beautiful, he’s enjoying the view, it’s a win-win in his books. What he doesn’t enjoy is the amount of unwanted attention you garner when you dress up. Yes, it’s not your fault that you’re beautiful, he would never fault you for that. He’s just sick of the guys staring as if they have the right to. Absolutely not.

So, he marks the shit out of you. Your neck is covered in hickeys, branding you as his. They can look all they want, but with his arm around your waist and his marks on your neck, you’re his and his only. Wear less, he doesn’t care. He’ll just make sure his hand print on your ass peaks out from under your shorts.

If it gets too bad, we know Xavier would step in right away to stop it. He’s pretty blunt without meaning to, so when it’s intentional—sorry to any guy who even breathes in your direction. Sometimes you have to step in though because you know it’s game over if Xavier swings. But Xav will always protect you, so dress however you want. He just wants you to be happy.

“Ignore those creeps, my love. I’ll take care of it.

[kittenlittle24]

Sleepy girl

A/n: I am not a doctor nor have any medical knowledge. I used Google and I hope I did the request justice! Also, the first time I am writing smut! Good luck to us all.

Warnings: narcolepsy and smut

Request by @gregsgoodlookingneighbour : House has a girlfriend with narcolepsy

Masterlist

Narcolepsy is a chronic neurological disorder that affects the brain's ability to control sleep-wake cycles. Narcolepsy is a sleep disorder that causes an urge to fall asleep suddenly during the daytime that’s almost impossible to resist.

You were diagnosed after a car accident brought you to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You fell asleep while driving and got hit by the car behind you, you were prescribed Armodafinil and Modafinil. Stimulants to help keep you awake and alert; and to help with your follow up Dr. House suggested dinner once a week, which turned to early coffee runs, sleepovers, and occasional lunches.

The humble man that he was, Dr. Greg House loved to remind you that he was the one to put the clues together and diagnose you, to remind you what a great partner you have.

When you moved in together, he made sure every morning that you took your meds, which is why he was extra worried when one morning he woke up to see you breathe and move your eyes, but you couldn’t talk or move the rest of your body.

Seeing the panic in your eyes, he sat closer to you and stroked your hair and with his other hand he held yours.

“You’re having sleep paralysis, a temporary inability to move or speak. It should pass on its own in a few minutes.”

You wanted to nod or say something, but you couldn’t.

He stayed home with you that day, he also changed your prescription.

Sometimes, when you’re sleepy all the time, that can affect your sex life. You might not feel like having sex as often, but when you do it’s always mind-blowing.

Greg was a generous lover and as a doctor, he understood that your low sex drive is not in either of your hands. However, when you were in the mood, like when he came home from work one day wearing a red dress shirt, something about it just instantly turned you on.

“Had a mom today, diagnosed with schizophrenia. Turned out to be Wilson’s disease.”

Taking his blazer off he sat down next to you on the couch, “Also had a mom who tried to get me to tell her daughter to diet.”

Taking him in, you slowly folded your legs underneath you to sit on your knees facing him. He leaned his head back, his eyes closed.

“You’re not listening are you?”

You didn’t reply, proving him right. Instead, you straddled his legs and moved to kiss his neck.

Cupping your face he pushed you back so he could crash his lips against yours. Lifting your(his) shirt, he slipped his fingers down to rub against your dampened panties. Tapping his chest, you pulled back, “Off.” you tell him, indicating your and his clothes. Standing you pushed your panties off and carelessly threw them behind you before unbuttoning his pants, not bothering to take them off, just pulled his pants and boxers down enough to expose his hard dick. Sinking to your knees, you wrapped your fingers around the base and slowly licked up the shaft but gasped in surprise he grabbed your hair to pull you away, “I want to be inside you.”

Nodding you giggle at first but the second his fingers dig into your waist you realize it’s no joke so you return to your place on his lap.

Slowly sinking,

“Fuck (Y/N)… you’re so fucking tight,” He mumbled as you waited until you adjusted to his size, leaning your head against his shoulder for comfort. you gasp as you stretch around him, stilling your body as you let it accustom to his girth.

“Gonna make sure you sleep well tonight.” He murmured against your ear.

You slowly lifted yourself, almost pulling away from his dick completely before you let yourself sink back down, clenching around him again as his fingernails dug into the side of your hips. You started to pick up pace, switching between grinding and moving up and down on him, his grunts encouraging you even more. He watched as your tits bounced with each movement, your head thrown back in pleasure as you let soft moans escape, a sight he saw both hot and beautiful at the same time. A strangled whine travels up your throat, and you moan softly, your body shook, trying to force your thighs to do their job and move.

“I’m close,” you whispered.

“I can feel it, let go.”

As your body tensed he felt you clench around him, your moans becoming more and more incoherent as you let your body release itself, your eyes now pricking with tears from pure pleasure. He gritted his teeth together at the feeling of you cumming around his dick, which only pushed him even more to cum inside you. He gave a few more messy thrusts before he let himself cum, letting out a few grunts as he wrapped his arms around your waist and clung to you, hugging you as he rode out his orgasm.

You were both sweating and now panting for air, exhausted from the rough but passionate actions. You felt him rest his head against your shoulder.

You started to lift yourself off him, but he only gripped you harder and let out a grunt, making you pause, “aren’t I hurting your leg?” You asked quietly.

He shook his head “Don’t move yet, just stay for a second,” His voice was still raspy. Even though he would never say it out loud, he loved the way you felt when you just sat there, letting him be inside you as you warmed his cock, especially after you guys were done having a rough session.

After sitting a few more minutes in just the silence, you started to lift yourself again, this time he didn’t stop you. You sat down beside him on the couch, he wrapped his arm around you before turning his head to look at you, “Not that I’m complaining but what was that about?”

Blushing you tucked your head into his shoulder before replying, “It’s your damn shirt.”

[lovemomhatepolice]

charles leclerc nswf alphabet (part 2!) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) There is no question of any degradation. Never in his life would Charles turn to you - whether during sex or in normal functioning - in an offensive way. No sluts, whores, bitches. To him, you are the queen and mistress of his heart, so that's not an option. O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Honestly, it depends on your mood. Sometimes he can't get away from you and all he would do is spend time between your legs (you can't accuse him of lack of talent, the boy knows what he's doing) and not pull away. However, he also likes it when you take the initiative and take care of him. Especially if you both have developed such a mode that you are damn satisfied. P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Here, in the same way, I can say that it depends on the mood. Mostly, however, he puts on intimate, hot close-ups that are so infused with romance that one could even dream of such…. But if you just ask him to be faster or harder, he won't refuse. Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Despite his fondness for romantic close-ups, he is not opposed to quick rounds. If you just don't have much time, and you're already both bursting from lack of touch, definitely a quickie in the toilet is a great opportunity for him to be able to feel all of you. However, it's definitely more common for you to have quick oral sex when a man dives under your dress or you go on your knees. R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Since Charles told you directly that he would like to have children with you, you happened to have sex once or twice without any protection - to his disappointment, it didn't work out. And as for the risk of space, Charles tends to shy away from that. He loves to show that you are together and love each other, but the sexual sphere is only for your eyesight. S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) I think so 2-3 rounds at ease. I do not think more is needed here. Your sex mostly lasts quite long because of the techniques you use to make it better and longer, so don't need more than 2 rounds mostly. T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) No. I don't feel like Charles has any toys or wants to use them in his relationship with you. Don't take me wrong - Charles is not the type who would be jealous of toys, however, he doesn't feel the need to own them. He is not against them - on the opposite, if you do own one, it will definitely come from his lips at some point that you should show him how these wonders work on your body… U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, Charles on the one hand loves teasing you and on the other hand hates doing it. It all depends on the moment - if it's a quick round, there's no time for teasing either. If you have intoxicating romantic sex, he mostly doesn't do it either. But when it comes down to it, and it's Charles who is on his knees in front of you, oh my gosh! He loves it when you're one big moaning pile in front of him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) The middle of the Leclerc siblings loves to pay compliments during intercourse. Sam also constantly shows how good you are to him, but I wouldn't say it's somehow super loud. Yes, his mouth often opens with a loud breath or moan, but it's mostly you who are louder, which doesn't bother him at all… W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) A man loves the sight of you on your knees in front of him. It's really never been a big deal to him in his life, but if it's YOU kneeling in front of him with the intention of doing him good, you don't have to wait long for the finale… X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Not too big, not too small - a little larger than standard. The main thing is that it's perfect for you. Well, I swear! The two of you are so made for each other that you connect like a puzzle. Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) When he sees you in skimpier clothes, you don't have to wait long. Oh, Charles himself just has his hands on you already. It doesn't take much for him to come running to you like a stray puppy. But let's not kid ourselves, you also have a high sex drive and it doesn't bother you at all. You have sex often, but without exaggeration - you love the intimacy you can give each other, but in a fit of exhaustion or stress, you just let it go. Showing love in other ways with you is as much as possible, and you do it all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Oh, it takes Charles a long time to fall asleep. So you practically always have a long talk with each other after sex, and mostly you fall asleep first in his embrace, and he falls asleep quite a while later. Despite your best efforts, he chooses the moment of his own falling asleep. He loves to contemplate, stroking your hair and smiling to himself at how lucky he is.

A/N: part one if anyone missed it!! i will be very pleased if you leave something behind - orders are open, and I am very close to 200 followers! maybe I can get in by the end of the week? please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

this time, according to the votes, the chapter with lando won, so there you go!

[sxcret-garden]

Mingi ღ NSFW Alphabet [M]

ღ Ateez - NSFW Alphabets ღ Ateez Mingi x gn!reader ღ words: ~3.1k ღ genre: smut ღ warnings: none

A = Aftercare (what he’s like after sex)

Will do his best to do aftercare for you, but I think it’ll usually be you taking care of him afterwards. He tends to really wear himself out, especially when you’re going at it for a longer time. However, he’ll also usually be in a very cuddly mood afterwards, so after you’ve gotten yourselves some water and cleaned yourselves up, he will welcome you into his arms and hold you tight. Places soft kisses in any spots where he might’ve been rough with you, and will let his fingertips draw mindless patterns all over you. To be honest he could stay like this for hours, but eventually he will either allow the two of you to drift off to sleep, or let yourselves get on with your days.

B = Body part (his favorite body part of his partner)

The little details! He strikes me as someone who will be fascinated by your shape and definitely takes his time to worship you too, so in general he makes sure you can feel how much he loves your body overall. But he will pay especially much attention to moles, birthmarks, scars, and the likes. Likes to study the placement of each as his hands and lips are mapping out your body, and eventually he will remember their exact spots even when you’re fully dressed.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Really doesn’t mind much where he cums, and strikes me as the type where things might get a little messy. However, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a favourite place to cum. Loves it when you suck him off and let him cum in your mouth, will visibly gulp at the sight if you swallow. Idk what it is, but he just can’t look away from the image of you taking his load at once - especially if there’s some stains on your lips or chin afterwards.

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret or secret desire of his)

A secret desire that keeps popping up in his head is the thought of you sucking him off with his or your friends in the other room. Something about having to keep quiet and at the same time having to hurry so you won’t get caught is just very hot to him, but this is probably something that’s more of a fantasy he has, and not something he absolutely wants to turn into a reality. If it happens - great! If not - also fine by him.

E = Experience (how experienced is he?)

This is a tough one because the answer could literally be anything. What I think is that he’s slow at gathering experience first, and probably the type to exclusively sleep with a partner, because he really needs a certain level of trust to have sex with someone. But I also think he’s actually pretty dirty deep down, and so once he starts getting some experience, he’ll quickly gain some more. So I’d say he has his fair share of experience!

F = Favorite position 

You on top of him! Strikes me as an ass-enjoyer, so depending on his mood he wants you simply riding him while facing him, or facing away in reverse cowgirl. Loves it when you’re on top of him and you set the pace while he can marvel at the sight in front of him and let his hands wander your body. What he also likes about this position is that it’s easy for him to control how much power you have, and if he feels like it he’ll simply grab onto your hips to guide you into the rhythm he wants.

G = Goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous?)

Shy during his first sexual encounters with a new partner, so he will feel thankful if they’re a light-hearted person and don’t take things too seriously. If you laugh, he will laugh along! But after getting familiar with each other his burning passion will take over and there often won’t be much time to laugh in between fucking each other real good.

H = Headspace (how much does he think about it/you during the day? how elaborate are his fantasies?)

Whether he wants it or not, sexual thoughts will randomly pop up in his head throughout the day. Usually it really is just a thought that floats by and is soon forgotten, but especially when he’s just started getting intimate with someone these thoughts can be rather distracting. Has pretty elaborate fantasies when he gets off by himself, but otherwise keeps it at a level that won’t give him a visible boner in public dksjfklasdjfa

I = Intimacy (how passionate or romantic is he?)

He can be very romantic!! He’s definitely the type of person to want to just make sweet love to his partner every now and then, and though he can be a bit clumsy, the way he touches you and talks to you during will make your heart soar. He’s so sweet and will take his time with you, exploring your body as if it was the first time, and watching as he has his breath taken away by how beautiful he thinks you are makes you fall in love with him all over again. However, I’m convinced there’s also a not so soft side to him, and when that comes out his touches feel like fire burning your skin. He’s full of need at times like these, in a way where he manages to sweep you off your feet effortlessly.

J = Jack off (how does he masturbate and how often?)

Likes to deliberately take time out of his days to get off. Like he will pick a day and then plan for a few hours of “me-time” in the evening and get really into the mood as he lets his hands wander and take care of himself. Might turn on some music and let his mind get to work, might watch porn to get him going, but his favourite thing to accompany his masturbation sessions are voice mails by his partner. Loves simply hearing your voice moaning into his ears as you’re getting off yourself, but he’d also be very curious to try guided masturbation if you’re open to that!

K = Kink (one of his kinks)

I’m gonna go nice and simple with this and say biting! He undoubtedly has a bit of a thing for pain (or maybe more than a bit, who knows…) and so you sinking your teeth into his skin just gets him going. Loves the feeling of the pain mixing in with the pleasure and goes absolutely crazy if you bite down real hard as your own pleasure is overwhelming you. He will let out a pained noise, but don’t be mistaken - he’s totally into this and he could cum from that alone. Will wear your bite marks like a medal and as proof of just how good he can make you feel, but at the same time they serve as a reminder of how good you can make him feel too. He’s more than happy to return the favour if you’re into that too, though he tends to be more careful with his partner than the other way around.

L = Location (favorite places to do it)

The comfort of his or your home is still his nr 1 spot to do it. It’s just where he feels safest to be completely himself and to lose himself in the act, but if the situation is dire he’ll also opt for a less private space. Semi-public is totally okay for him sometimes, and especially when he’s really horny he doesn’t worry about being caught too much. But overall I’d say at home, in the comfort of your or his bedroom is his best choice.

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

He’s so easily turned on (and has also become pretty good at hiding it if the time or place aren’t appropriate) that at times it’s enough for him to catch a glimpse of you and his mind will already spew ideas at him about what he wants to do with you. While having sex what especially motivates him to keep going are definitely your moans, but aside from what I wrote about biting earlier, it’s also the way you cling to him desperately, let your nails run down his bare back, etcetc. But it’s also your praises, when you tell him what a good boy he is for you, and sometimes also your teasing, prompting him to do more, to impress you, to earn your touch.

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

Stuff like humiliation and degradation are a bit difficult for him. Being on the receiving end is okay for him, so long as his partner doesn’t take it too far. Will definitely get off on you degrading him a bit at the right time, but if you do it too much this will quickly make him actually feel bad. However, he would never do that to you, he just can’t bring himself to. He can tease you sometimes, that much is fine, but he can’t bring himself to humiliate or degrade his partner. Maybe if you’re super into it he’ll eventually give it a try, but it’s still not his favourite thing to do to you ever.

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

He loves both, but prefers receiving head over giving. Definitely the type to grab your hair (if possible) and to control the pace as he fucks your mouth and gets really into it to the point you might feel the need to slow him down a bit. He likes it when things get messy, so if you give him permission he will sometimes pull out just in time to cum all over your face.

Though he prefers receiving, he certainly gets very into it when it’s his turn to do oral on you. Once he gets a literal taste of you he could spend hours just giving you head, and you bet that even if he wasn’t so skilled at first, he’ll know just how to sweep you off your feet in no time.

P = Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He definitely has his slow and sensual moments where he’s having sex with you less as a way to chase pleasure, and more as a means to make you feel just how much he loves you. However, I think usually when he’s the one setting the pace he’d be impatient and his desire for you would translate into touches on the rougher side. Whether that’s manhandling you a bit and grabbing you with a bit too much force, or if it’s him deliberately sinking his nails into your flesh, he’s INTENSE to say the least. Will fuck you especially rough in the chase of his own orgasm, and if you let him know it’s something that you enjoy as well, he’ll definitely stop holding back completely.

Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies?)

Quickies are way too short for him, but that doesn’t mean he can resist the temptation. Especially when you two are out somewhere and you keep teasing each other and riling each other up, unnoticed by everyone else in the room, it’s very likely that he will eventually grab you by the wrist and drag you out of there and into a room where you can be by yourselves. The need and the urgency behind the way he gets your clothes out of the way just enough for him to slip inside you is already driving you crazy, and with how desperately he’s racing towards his release while doing everything he can think of to have you reach your high just as fast, there’s really no way either of you is going to last long.

R = Risk (does he like to experiment or take risks?)

He’s a bit hesitant with introducing new things to the bedroom, both from his side and if his partner brings up something that they want to try, especially if it’s something he’s not super familiar with. However, after talking it through he’s very likely to be willing to at least try, and a lot of the time when you have an idea on what you could both like, he ends up very much enjoying it. 

He definitely is a risk-taker as in… not always thinking of wearing a condom. He might sulk a bit if you tell him you’re definitely not having unprotected sex with him, but he’ll understand jfkdsfjlajksflsa but also the sight of his cum dripping out of you is just too damn hot to him, and he may or may not feel the need to give you yet another orgasm as your and his taste are mixing on his tongue…

S = Stamina (how long does he last?)

When he really gets into it, he cums fairly quickly, but he recovers just as fast. Will definitely be able to manage his energies to last several rounds, the problem is just that he tends to forget to manage anything when he’s balls deep inside you and you’re both chasing your high jasdkfljsas. But with a bit of assistance and some reminders by you, this guy can definitely keep going for A WHILE.

T = Toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

Pretty sure he has toys to use on himself for when he’s masturbating, and he also won’t be opposed to sometimes using toys with a partner. Will be all for using vibrators or dildos on you, and might actually get you one he finds pretty and then watches you getting off with it. He also likes seeing you wearing stuff like anal plugs, and goes absolutely crazy if you have piercings down there.

U = Unfair (how much he likes to tease)

He’s very straightforward with what he wants and certainly not a big tease about it. Though sometimes it can be fun to push your buttons a little, he enjoys it more if he’s on the receiving end of the teasing. He’ll play along so well if you keep giving him just the bare minimum, and at the same time he will let you know just how frustrated it’s making him. And this can go two ways - either he becomes really whiny and lets you do to him whatever you want, or his patience will eventually run out and he’s going to take matters into his own hands. Depending on how much teasing he’s endured prior, he tends to get very rough with you, and he knows that, so he’ll make sure to talk this through with you beforehand to make sure he doesn’t do anything you don’t want.

V = Volume (how loud or vocal is he? what does he sound like?)

Very vocal and very loud. Though he will die of embarrassment if it turns out anyone heard you two, he couldn’t care less in the moment. Will tell you exactly what he’s thinking at any given point, including praises, what he wishes you would do to him, or what he wants to do to you. And this ranges from begging for you and making the most shameless noises as you’re on top of him, having your way with him, to growling in your ear how much he needs you and how good it feels to be inside of you when he’s taking the lead.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon)

Mingi lets out a desperate groan as he finally releases inside of you, filling you up with his seed. His motions come to a halt, there’s a drop of sweat making its way down his forehead, and his eyes are squeezed shut as he’s trying to catch his breath. You reach out to comb your fingers through his hair, and then eventually he begins to move on top of you. He pulls out as he sits up, spreading your legs that have been wrapped around his waist apart to get a good look at how his cum is dripping out of you slowly. You can hear him mouth a curse word, before he leans in, but then stops himself.

“Can I?” he asks, his face hovering above your core, his hot breath grazing your skin causing shivers to run down your spine. You merely nod, even though you only half expected him to bury his face between your legs, tongue immediately reaching deep into your hole. You cry out at the sensation, and your legs begin to tremble as he hums at the way your taste mixes with his own in his mouth, as he works you right towards your next orgasm. 

X = (X) as a mark (does he like marking you/being marked? where?)

Likes to leave his mark on you anywhere he can reach when he’s in the heat of the moment. Might even forget about being careful around spots where it might be hard to cover, but will move on to a different spot right away if you tell him to. Marking you as his is just something he needs to do every now and then - while he might not be super possessive he does like showing you just who you belong to, and vice versa as well. Will moan instantly when your teeth graze his skin, and the sensation of you marking him is just gonna make him need you even more.

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

High. Very high actually, but he’s very much content to take care of it himself from time to time too if your sex drive doesn’t match his. I’m convinced that not only is he a very sexual person deep inside, but he’s also pretty dirty-minded, and so it’s only natural that the need for sex would arise quite often - especially when he’s dating someone and he just can’t keep his thoughts about you safe for work. And while this does result in some pretty amazing sex due to the fact that you’re gonna learn about each other’s turn ons very quickly, he’ll also be understanding if you don’t want to have sex quite as often as he does.

Z = Zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

Seems like he’d fall asleep fast but unless he’s super tired to begin with I don’t think so. Quite the opposite actually - you might end up staying up for another hour or two because of him, just talking about whatever comes to mind. In moments like these, after you’ve been intimate, he feels very strongly that he can talk to you even about the things he usually keeps hidden deep inside, so a heartfelt talk afterwards is something that does happen with him from time to time.

[lasirenatarot]

{18+}What turns them ON about you?❤️‍🔥

Pick -a-card reading.

*intended for your specific person in mind, but can be used for future spouse if you modify the question. If traditional gender roles don’t apply to your situation convert the words to feminine&masculine energy.*

->Pile 1

{Brad and Angelina}

{cards that fell: king of fire; mirror; justice; the world;5 pentacles;ace of swords; 7wands; ace of swords;2 wands}

This pile is really interesting, this person loves earning you in a way, feeling emotionally $ubmi$$ive, like you have control over them in all aspects without even touching them.

You may be bossy,this is definitely a turn on for your person. Ironically you chose the Brad&Angelina pic, and the situation being painted with those cards is exactly Mr and Mrs energy.

They enjoy a push and pull dynamic. If you try to dominate them I feel like they would also enjoy it👀 (even if they seem sceptical at first).

Arguing may be a turn on of theirs, puni$hing them with your absence or other ways when they don’t act accordingly; (that includes the makeup $£x after.) May sound toxic for some, but they may be one of those people that start little arguments for the smallest things sometimes, on purpose, so you two can ‘make up’ and they can ‘apologise’ by being good and pleasing you however you want (you know how) after..

They like when you’re acting kinda bitchy & like you’re ‘the prize’ they need to earn, but the key here is to do everything in moderation and not be mean&rude 24/7.

Your confidence may be a turn on for them. When you’re seducing them on purpose and then pulling away &acting like they can’t have you..(yet), because they should work more and ‘be better’ to get your attention. Your person needs constant passion to feel stimulated.

->Pile 2

{Vincent and Monica}

Cards that fell: 2fire,the punishment,earth,the priestess, 9water,king of water, 9swords,10chalices,knave of chalices,9pentacles,2pentacles }

This person loves the fact that you seem to have no restraints around them, you are quite open emotionally, in tune with your emotional side and know how to balance it well. (earth sign moon/venus energy).

Getting dolled up for them is sth they would probably appreciate- nice dress, hair & makeup done..

It may be a turn on for them knowing only they can have you in ways other people cannot.(you can tell them some bs like ‘yOu’Re tHe bEst I eVer Had..’ etc😂😂 it doesn’t matter if it is actually true, it would make them feel like a God.)

Praising them may be a turn on as well, it would make them feel more dominant, more in their power. Letting them take the control in bed, as well as non-$€xu@l situation would also be a little turn on for them, again, it would make them feel appreciated.

Knowing they can be the person that is capable of fulfilling all your needs is something very important to them. This pile is heavy on the praise k/ink, they need to feel desired&needed.

When you attend to them & their feelings, have obvious feelings for them ( i feel like this is important to mention, they may have been in a relationship where they’ve felt unappreciated, unwanted, not desired enough by their previous partner. The partner might have used them in a way.)

$€xting and writing notes to keep the anticipation during the day when u’re not together may work on them.👀

->Pile 3

{Jane et Serge}

Cards that fell: the moon, justice, the tower, 8pentacles, 10wands, 8fire,6air, 4swords, the world, king of air, ace of fire, temperance }

It will be hard to explain this energy but bare with me:

This person probably likes what I like to call more « bright » women- women who are confident&feminine, such who love the spotlight and getting lots of attention. ( in my mind is this scene where Jessica Rabit where she performs..)

People who are sensual & confident but not arrogant may be just their type.

A situation where they can feel turned on by you is for example if (hypothetically speaking) you’re in a group setting with some ppl who do not like you, they are passive aggressive with you, but you choose not to reply with the same energy and remain kind&graceful.(they may feel the urge to protect you and stand up for you in such situations) When you act like a « damsel in distress » basically, and they can be your « savior »..

A turn on for them I feel like it would be a situation where you’re ‘feeling yourself’, for example if you’re dancing in the club and they happen to be there as well and see you doing that.. $educing them in public places where you can get caught (or public $\€x)

Another turn on for them would be for you to ‘put on a show’ for them (you can decide yourself how, ex. give them a lap dance or sth, beautiful lingerie, a special dress..). They probably like the concept of « femme fatale » type of women who can ‘turn their life’ around.

This may not resonate for all, but if you are from a different culture/country, this may also be a turn on for them.

Decks used: ‘$£xual magic’ oracle deck by Lo Scarabeo; ‘Manara’ €rotic tarot deck by Milo Manara/ Lo Scarabeo;

That was all from today’s PAC.

thank you for reading! Hope it resonated.💞 Don’t forget to follow for more.

-La Sirena.💋

[nolita-fairytale]

j is for james beard... and for jealousy | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader

pairing: jealous boyfriend!carmy x female!reader 

word count: 7.4k

summary: after sydney takes home a big win at the james beard awards, you and your boyfriend carmy run into an old rival for a fiery, chaotic, and surprisingly sexy night. companion piece to 'make my heart surrender' but can be read as a standalone oneshot.

warnings: 18+ chapter, minors dni: lots of swearing, p*rn with a plot, smut, p in v unprotected sex (reader is using hormonal birth control in monogamous relationship), praise kink, rough jealousy sex

a/n: how dare I drag poor james beard into this hetero nonsense?! anywayssss surprise i'm back because i keep having ideas for these two. maybe one day i'll just write a carmy x reader piece that doesn't include this character but for now... please enjoy this literal porn with a plot. also: let's all agree that toxic jealousy is a red flag in relationships, however, i wanted to work with a scenario where carmy would perhaps be more sexually assertive.

“I look ridiculous,” Carmy had grumbled earlier that day, at his reflection in the mirror. 

He had never felt like himself while wearing a suit. Sure, he would spend time, effort, and money into finding the perfect vintage denim jacket, but a suit? He’d much rather be behind the scenes, in his chef whites, instead of this. 

“You look…” you’d countered him, emphasizing the word ‘look’. “...hot, Carmen.”

He’d given you somewhat of a half smile in response – flattered by your comment, and also unconvinced you hadn’t just said in an attempt to get him out of the house. 

Or out of obligation. 

Because he’s your boyfriend. Because you’ll say anything to get him out for Syd’s big night. Because you love him. 

Carmy had never gotten used to the whole celebrity aspect of the food world – especially his own. These award ceremonies were always an uncomfortable reminder that he never quite felt like he fit in. 

“Do you think Syd would kill me if-?” Carmy had asked, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Baby, Sydney is counting on us… and she and I will both kick your ass if you don’t get in the car,” you’d cut him off, because there was no way in hell he was getting out of this. With a scowl on his face, you’d dragged him down the stairs and into your Uber. 

And that’s how he ended up here, at the James Beard award ceremony on a Sunday night, as you all wait anxiously for the announcement. While the restaurant hadn’t been open long enough to be nominated and was actively in a state of ‘working out the kinks,’ Carmy’s celebrity in the food world had brought in a lot of press. Ever since Sydney and Carmy had become partners in the reopen, he had been more than happy to let her take center stage. When the nominations were announced, and Sydney was on the list, he was ecstatic for her. Truthfully, it was a relief that she seemed to do much better with all the stuff he wasn’t crazy about: press, interviews, the spotlight. 

“Wake me up when this snoozefest is over,” Richie mumbles trying his best to pretend he’s not having a good time. You snort, shooting Richie a look, because you know it’s one of the most exciting nights he’s had in a while. 

Besides Carmy, who wouldn’t want to get all dressed up to go to a fancy party and celebrate Sydney?

You’ve somehow managed to corral the core staff of The Bear here this evening. The entire restaurant had been abuzz when the nominations were announced, and talks of who would get stuck at the restaurant the night of the award ceremony had already begun. It was an easy decision to close the restaurant for that night, so that everyone who wanted to could attend. 

Your life here is better than you ever imagined it could be. Working your ass off in a kitchen that you love has been invigorating. It’s helping you fall in love with the process all over again. You suspect that your time in fine dining had, perhaps, run its course even before you quit your last job. Back then, here is what you’d longed for on the days you felt your most lost. You love being a teacher; you love mentoring Marcus. He’s got a desire to learn that never quits, and it inspires you day in and day out. But most importantly, you’re head over heels in love. You’re so deeply in love with Carmy that sometimes, you wonder what took the two of you so long to pull the trigger.

Tonight is no different. You’re surrounded by people you adore more than anything  – people you’ve been in the trenches with during a dinner service from hell, people you’ve laughed your ass off with after a round of drinks outside of the restaurant – and you’re all here to celebrate someone who’s become a close friend of yours. It’s just another reminder – another sign from the universe – that you made the right decision.

And you’re sure Sydney is going to win. 

You’re not sure how you know. 

You can just feel it. 

Sydney sits between Carmy and Marcus, and you’re seated in between Carmy and Richie. You notice Carmy’s leg is bouncing up and down impatiently as he anticipates the next category of awards. Even though you know these big social events put Carmy on edge, you know he’s really just nervous for her. 

“And the winner… for the James Beard Rising Star award of 2023…” the announcer, esteemed chef Mashama Bailey begins, grabbing the attention of the entire room. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and Carmy continues to fidget nervously. You reach across Carmy’s lap, grabbing Sydney’s hand and giving it a squeeze of reassurance. Sydney holds on to you, and while you’re sure she might cut off your circulation from squeezing so tightly, you don’t mind. You’re all on the edges of your seat. 

“Sydney Adamu of The Bear!”

You and Carmy are cheering as loudly as you can, while Richie jumps to his feet letting out a loud ‘whoop.’ A chorus of ‘that’s right,’ ‘she won!’ and ‘c’mon syd’ echoes through Tina, Gary, and Ebra and Manny, while Angel is already on his feet taking a video of the crowd. Everyone is cheering so boisterously you’re not sure it’ll ever stop. 

“You won, Syd!” you yell over the loud claps and cheers, giving her hand one more squeeze. She rises, letting go of your hand, you and Carmy both following to give her some space to walk through the aisle. 

“Let’s go, Syd! That’s right. That’s right,” Marcus calls out loudly, jumping to his feet with Richie and earning a few looks from the people sitting to the right and left. 

“Congratulations, chef,” Carmy whispers, as she passes him by. You watch as Marcus ushers her over to the aisle so that she can go up to the stage while Angel films the whole thing on his iPhone. Carmy has the proudest look on his face, the tip of his nose the lightest blush pink, and you’re beaming as you watch your friend make her way towards the stage of the opera house. 

“Remember when this was you?” you whisper to Carmy, catching his attention. 

“Tonight everything changes for her,” Carmy replies, grinning from ear to ear. 

“For the both of you,” you add. “For all of us.”

The night he won the rising star award put him on the map. While you hadn’t known Carmy at the time, you’d heard about him in those early days of both of your careers. Carmy had risen so quickly through the ranks that by the time you met him, he was only a few weeks away from his promotion to CDC at the old restaurant. Not only did this put Sydney on the map, but it was better press for The Bear than anyone could ask for. 

“Congratulations, baby,” you say, kissing him on the cheek. He just shoots you a look, the pride evident in his eyes, before wrapping his arm around you and holding you close. 

~

“I just wanna say,” Richie begins, having garnered the attention of your group. You’re all huddled in a circle at the reception, champagne flutes in everyone’s hands. 

“I know we don’t always see eye to eye…” Richie toasts, earning a few looks and side comments from your team. “And don’t forget about that time you stabbed me… but even if this brings a bunch of fuckin’ strokes to the restaurant, we’re so fuckin’ proud of you.” 

“To Sydney, who’s… what does Carmy say… changed the chemistry and who is the heart of this restaurant,” Ebra adds on. 

Tina smiles proudly, raising her glass to Sydney. It brings a smile to your face to see her all dressed up too. 

“Syd, I don’t know where the hell we’d be without you,” Carmy continues, raising his glass. 

“Cheers to you, Sydney!” you say, clinking champagne glasses, before taking your first celebratory drink as a team. 

It doesn’t take long for your group to break off into smaller ones – making comments about how out of place you all feel at this fancy of an event. Richie’s wrapping an arm around Carmy’s shoulder, ushering him to a side conversation – something about ‘lizards this’, and ‘the working class that.’ 

“So how do you feel?” you ask, turning towards Sydney, taking a moment to quietly congratulate your friend. 

“I think I’m still in shock,” she sighs in relief, earning a chuckle from you. 

“Well, I’ll cheers to that. You know. To calm the nerves,” you joke, raising your glass once more. 

“To liquid courage,” she agrees, clinking glasses with you again, as you both decide just to finish off your flutes of champagne. 

“Can I get you another drink?” you offer, placing your now empty champagne 

“Oooo can you get me one of those fancy themed cocktails I saw at the bar earlier?” Sydney replies, excitedly. 

“Anything for you,” you say back. 

“And when you’re back, I think I saw Carla Hall has a tasting table here so we should make our rounds,” Sydney mentions, because there’s no way either of you are missing out on the fact that the best chefs in the world are cooking in this room right now. 

You nod in agreement, heading to the bar to get both you and Sydney a new round of drinks. 

“What can I getcha?” the bartender asks. 

You glance at the menu, deciding on your go-to, a gin and tonic, and then one of the featured cocktails of the evening that Sydney mentioned, knowing she’s a tequila drinker. You wait at the bar for your drinks, knowing the fancy mezcal cocktail you just ordered for Sydney will take a little bit of a time to make. 

“I was wondering when I’d run into you,” you hear a voice say, grabbing your attention. It’s a familiar voice that you were really hoping you’d never have to hear again. 

“Funny, because I was hoping to avoid you,” you quip back, turning to the man who’s just joined you at the bar. His bravado alone is enough to earn an eye roll from you and you can feel your guard going up. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, unable to hide the disdain in your voice. 

“You haven’t heard?” he asks, a cocky smirk on his face that you just want to slap off of it. 

“I don’t make it my business to keep up with you, Walker,” you shoot back, using his last name as a formality, completely unamused by his question.

“God, I love it when you talk dirty,” he croons, a flirtatious low chuckle rumbling out of his chest. 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes for the second time in the last two minutes, as you thank the bartender who’s just come back with your gin and tonic. You raise the glass to your lips, getting a head start since now, you definitely need this drink. 

“Moved to LA. Took a CDC position out there. Besides, after you left… New York was… getting boring,” he explains, playing it cool. He drops the name of the well-respected LA restaurant that he’s running now in an attempt to impress you, which only seems to piss you off further. 

You scoff in response. If you weren’t waiting on Sydney’s drink, you’d be long gone by now, but as you watch the bartender burn a sugar cube, you wonder how damn long it takes for a fucking mezcal drink to be made. 

Maybe if I’ll just ignore him, he’ll fuck off, you think to yourself.

“You know, I was surprised to hear you moved to Chicago. Left without saying goodbye. Then again, should’ve known…” he provokes, continuing his very one sided conversation. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Nate?” you snap, turning your head to him, instantly regretting giving him the attention he’s so desperately seeking.

He raises an eyebrow, before nodding towards Carmy as a reply. Your gaze follows, and you can tell that Carmy’s noticed who you’re talking to at the bar. 

“It’s a small world. Word gets around. People talk.”

But you’re not listening to him, your eyes fixed on Carmy. Carmy sends a look of concern your way, but you nod back to him as if to say ‘all good.’ You can hold your own here. Nate watches carefully, noticing the look you share with Carmy across the room. He was always a detail oriented son of a bitch. 

“Classic golden boy,” Nate sighs, the envy in his voice giving him away. 

“Don’t you think your little one sided rivalry with Carmy is getting a little old?” you laugh dryly. 

“One sided?” Nate asks back, taking a step towards you. 

“Yeah, one sided,” you repeat, standing your ground. Now way in hell you’re going to let this asshole back you up. “Because if I recall correctly, he never indulged you in your silly little games.”

Nate laughs again, taking another step towards you that makes you increasingly more uncomfortable. 

“If that’s how you remember it.”

“Oh grow up.”

“Not when golden boy gets everything I want.”

“You’re so full of shit!” you exclaim, finally taking a step back. “Carmy’s had to work for everything he’s achieved. You and I both know that.”

“How do you think he’d feel,” Nate starts, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to sound seductive or intimidating – neither of which are working on you. “... if he knew about what happened between us? After he left New york? It was… what? A week, maybe two, before you jumped into bed with me?”

“Carmy knows I’m not a thing to be had, Nate,” you seethe, glaring at him. 

The bartender returns with your second drink finally. 

“You sure about that?” Nate smirks, reaching out to touch you. 

What a fucking asshole. 

“You’re disgusting,” you seethe, jerking your arm away from him. You take both of your drinks, and you can’t get out of there fast enough. 

“It was great catching up,” he calls after you, cockily. 

“Can’t say the same,” you say, not even turning to look back at him. 

You return to your group, holding in your fury. It’s Sydney’s big night and you’d much rather focus on that than the asshole of an old coworker you can’t fucking stand. You try to shake off the interaction, deciding it’s not even worth expending energy on. 

“What the hell was that all about?” Sydney asks, having witnessed your tenuous interaction with the man you called Nate. She thanks you as you hand her her new drink. 

“Absolute trashcan of a human. We used to work with him. In New York,” you said, letting out a puff of flustered air. 

“Okay but… that was weird right?” Sydney questions, seeing that this guy’s clearly gotten under your skin.

“Totally. He’s a piece of shit. He and Carmy always had this weird rivalry but it was mostly on his end. I… also may or may not have made the dumbest mistake ever once upon a time and slept with him… like… over a year ago,” you confess, feeling just a little bit guilty about it. 

“Noooo,” she replies, her eyes widening. “You slept with that guy?”

“Yeah,” you answer, regretfully. “Not one of my finest moments. Long story short: right after Carmy left New York to come back here, I got a little too drunk with some coworkers. I was really sad and it was stupid, and uh, he was… let’s just say more than happy to play the part of a good listener.”

“Can’t imagine that guy being good, or a listener, let alone both at once,” Sydney replies, seeing the negative effect he’s had on you in one conversation.

“Yeah, It was a stupid fucking mistake and I regretted it the next morning. If you can believe it, he got even more insufferable when he realized it would never happen again,” you tell her, shaking off the bad taste in your mouth the conversation left you with. 

“Yo,” Carmy says, hesitantly. He can tell that you’re pissed after your conversation at the bar. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, honestly. “Just Nate Walker being a fuckin’ asshole. But what’s new?”

“Hey Syd! Let’s go grab a bite,” Marcus calls to her. 

“You guys mind?” she asks, looking from you to Carmy. 

You shake your heads ‘no’, and honestly, you’re glad it gives you a little time alone with your boyfriend. You watch as Sydney leaves with Marcus to make the rounds, leaving you and Carmy alone. 

“Haven’t heard that name in a while,” Carmy starts, bringing Nate up again. He can feel his face beginning to heat up as he asks you about it. 

“Yeah.”

“Biggest jackoff in New York City.”

“Well, apparently he’s LA’s problem now.”

“Fucko,” Carmy says, shaking his head at the memory of his pain in the ass sous. He can’t figure out why seeing Nate talk to you near-sent him into a blind rage, but you’d reassured him that you were good so, he let you hold your own. 

“Seems like he had a lot to say to you.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” you reply dryly. 

“After that I think I need a shower. Or a bath of bleach.”

Carmy lets out a small laugh, releasing some of the tension he, unknowingly, was holding in his body. 

“Listen, I don’t want to talk about Nate,” you say, changing the subject. 

It’s not that you feel weird about it – that you’d feel weird telling Carmy about what happened between the two of you – but it just feels so small and insignificant in the face of the love that you have with Carmy. 

“Good, me either,” Carmy exhales. 

Another release in pressure. 

He wonders if he’d been this tense all night, or if seeing you with Nate had managed to piss him off this much. 

“You wanna dance?” you ask him, a mischievous smile on his face. You offer a hand out to him. 

“Baby, you know I don’t dance,” he states, matter of factly. 

“I know. But I do,” you say, with a wiggle of your eyebrows. 

“One dance,” he warns, earning a triumphant smile from you.

He takes your hand, prompting you to put your drink down on the table where you’re all posted up at. Carmy shakes his head, surprised that you’ve coaxed him this far out of his comfort zone. As he pulls you into his arms, you giggle, wrapping yours around his neck and sway to the loud music in the background. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks you with such genuine love in those beautiful blue eyes of his. 

He thinks you look like a goddess – could be the dress, but he’s pretty sure it’s you. Your hair is shorter now than it was a few months ago and lays in the softest, most gentle waves, parted perfectly down the middle. He hasn’t stopped staring at cherry red-painted lips all night, and every time he gets a peek of your legs through the high slit in the dress you’re wearing, he swears he short circuits. 

Not to mention the low neckline. He’d watched you tie the top of the dress into a plunging neckline, and had to hold back his ask for you to cover up. It’s not that he cared about what you wore. But if he hadn’t been going to therapy over the last few months, he might feel some kind of way about anyone else getting to see any part of your breasts – anyone but him. 

“A couple of times… but I won’t be mad about hearing it a few more, Bear,” you grin, leaning into him. 

He smiles at your use of his childhood nickname. Back in New York, he’d kept it from you. It was just a reminder of what he’d left behind: his psycho mom, a nightmare of pain from his psycho-fucked-up family, how much it hurt when Mikey cut him out. But now, he loves the way it sounds coming from your lips, your voice the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. While he knows it’s taken him a long time to let you in, he’s glad he has. Whether it be at the restaurant or at the home you share together, you’ve become one of the most consistent things in his life. 

The rest of the night is almost perfect. It’s filled with dancing, catching up with coworkers and friends in the culinary world, and most importantly, a celebration with your chosen family. That is, until you hear Sydney swear halfway across the room, catching the attention of you and Carmy both. 

Carmy’s looking past you to where Nate is towering over Sydney at the bar. If looks could kill, he’s pretty sure Nate would be dead by now. 

“Is that Nate again?” Carmy asks, his face pink as he feels a rush of blood flow throw him. 

You can see that Sydney is practically in the same place you were an hour ago. You watch as he steps in front of her, practically blocking her in between him and the bar. 

“I don’t like this. We should go over there,” you say with a sense of urgency. 

Carmy agrees, and Richie and Marcus, who you’re currently conversing with, follow close behind. 

“Okay. You need,” Sydney warns, her voice deliberate, like a rattlesnake giving one last warning before it strikes. “... to back… the fuck up.” 

His response is even worse, causing a fire to burn in your belly as you overhear what he says to Sydney. 

“Oh come on,” he coos, forcing himself closer to her. “I’m just trying to have a little fun.”

Sydney takes another step to the side, trying her best to escape him and holding her hands up as a barrier while you charge at him. Your sudden movement attracts his attention, giving Sydney the out that she needs. You put both of your hands on his chest, shoving him away from her as you shout. 

“She said ‘no.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Nate’s got such a smug, satisfied smirk on his face that, if you weren’t in a room filled with the best chefs in the world, you’d actually punch it right off of him. Carmy follows you, protectively standing behind you. 

“Jealous?” he asks, amused. His eyes flicker over to Carmy, whose face is beginning to heat up, turning a brighter shade of red by the moment.  

“In your dreams, asshat,” you spit back. 

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” he says, completely satisfied as Carmy’s fist clenches. He’s clearly enjoying just how much he’s getting under his old boss’ skin. 

You feel Carmy step towards him, but you turn to him, placing a hand on his abdomen to stop him, “Bear, it’s not worth it.”

“Did you tell him?” Nate asks you, with the intention of stirring the pot. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, shaking your head in absolute disbelief. 

“Tell me what?” Carmy asks you softly. 

“How does it feel, golden boy? To know that the one thing you always wanted… I got to first,” Nate sneers, a threatening sound in his voice. He looks from you to Carmy, assessing the damage. 

Before Carmy can say anything, it’s you who lurches towards NAte, and Carmy’s wrapping his arms around you to hold you back. You can feel the tension in his arms as he holds you against his chest protectively. 

“Okay this motherfucker is just asking for it,” Richie seethes, charging towards Nate. 

“Richie, don’t!” Sydney shouts, shooting him a ‘please don’t make a scene’ look. 

It takes all of Richie’s self control to stop himself. He nods to her, holding up his hands as a surrender. He begins to take a few steps back as your uncomfortably public standoff continues. 

Sydney has retreated back so that she stands side by side with Marcus, while Carmy’s loosened his grip on your waist. 

By the look on Nate’s face, you can tell he thinks he’s gotten away with it all, as he looks around at all of you one last time. 

“You all have a goodnight,” he smirks, before taking his drink and slithering away. 

You could care less where to. You’re just glad he’s gone. 

You watch as he goes before checking in with Sydney, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head. Marcus is by her side in an instant and you can see Carmy’s jaw twitching with anger. “Can’t believe you used to work with that guy. Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck that guy,” Richie agrees under his breath. 

“C’mon. Let’s just…” Marcus encourages quietly, nodding to your table. 

Richie, Marcus, and Sydney all make their way back to your group as you stay with Carmy. His face is red and you can see it on his face that he’s still processing what just happened – what Nate said. You can see the gears turning in his head, and he’s staring at the floor, his face still cherry tomato-red.

“Carmy,” you say, ripping him from his thoughts. 

He looks up at you, his face softening the minute you make eye contact. 

“Can we go somewhere? Talk?” he asks, trying not to look like he’s going to burn the fuckin’ place down. 

You agree with a nod, taking his hand and leading him elsewhere. 

The further away from the reception you go, the quieter the party gets, and the louder your thoughts get. Would he be mad? You were furious with Nate for trying to use what happened to get under Carmy’s skin, but you also wonder if he’s mad at you too. For sleeping with Nate? For not telling him? But was it something you were supposed to tell him? It’s not like you expected him to tell you about every person he’d ever slept with. 

Carmy finally stops, leading you into a quieter room, far away from the party. As you flick the lights on, it looks like a single dressing room for the plays performed here. The silence between the two of you is deafening, and it’s not just because it’s the first quiet moment you’ve had together since you arrived. 

“I’m not mad… about Nate… about what he said,” Carmy says, breaking the silence between the two of you. 

He’s trying his best to sound convincing, reassuring even, but he’s sure he’s doing a shit job. 

You’re surprised, so you just take him in, searching his face for any clue that he’s telling that truth. His face is red, and you can see a tightness running across his chest as he’s looking for the courage to ask:

“But why didn’t you tell me?” 

You sigh, unsure of what to say. 

“Because…” you begin, hoping that if you just start talking, you’ll find the right words to explain. “I-, I didn’t think I had to. It happened once and it was a stupid mistake with… a lot of tequila involved.”

“You had just left New York and I was lonely. I didn’t say anything because… it didn’t mean anything to me, Bear.”

He listens, taking your explanation in, his eyes fixed on the floor again. He’s not mad at you, but he can’t seem to shake this feeling of anger – this tension that has him wanting to punch a hole through the wall. 

“I don’t like what he fuckin’ said to you,” he finally blurts out. 

“That- that he thinks he can just say whatever the fuck he wants. That he forced himself on Syd like that, like he can-.”

Carmy looks down at the floor again, his words trailing off. 

He’s pissed. 

You can tell he’s pissed. 

But you have a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that says something else is going on. 

Is Carmy… jealous?

“Carmy, I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” you apologize softly. “He shouldn’t have-, I mean he really is the worst fucking person to ever walk-.”

“I’m not upset about-,” he interrupts, firmly. He holds your gaze, trying to give you the most reassuring look he can. “I don’t care about-. I just… I don’t like the way he talked to you.”

You wait as he stews on his thoughts, his anger simmering as he sorts through his feelings. It’s like watching a hot pot of water come to a boil. 

“I didn’t like seeing him touch you earlier like-.”

Let it rip.

“Like he can just put his hands on anyone he-. On you! I–.”

And then finally he explodes with, “I just fuckin’ hate that guy!”

It’s as if the pressure valve has been released as he lets out a big puff of air. While you can see it’s given him some relief, you’re still not sure what you’re supposed to offer at this moment. 

“Carmy, what can I- hmmph?” you begin to ask, before being cut off by his lips on yours. 

Well this isn’t what you were expecting.

Your head is spinning as your boyfriend kisses you with such passion, fervor, and urgency. He’s crashing his lips against yours at a desperate pace, and it’s all tongues and teeth and his hands are grabbing the back of your head, tangling into your hair. You’re not sure how you’ve gone from trying your best to hold space for your boyfriend’s feelings, to him pressing you up against the dressing room counter.

You gasp as he hoists you up onto the counter, pushing his body into yours. 

“Carmy, are you-?” you ask, feeling the tent that’s already formed in his pants as you wrap your legs around him. 

There’s a confident assertiveness he moves with, and as much as you hate to admit it, this is all turning you on.

“Hate that fuckin’ guy,” Carmy murmurs into your skin, as he begins to leave kisses down your jawline. 

His mouth moves urgently down your neck, to your shoulders, to the exposed skin the plunging neckline of your dress reveals. His teeth leave light pink and purple marks in their wake, and you’re gasping, moaning, grabbing at any part of him you can hold on to. Little love bites begin to appear, but when he’s making you feel this good, you could care less. 

He’s confident in the way he sucks little marks into your skin, biting down then immediately soothing the pain with his tongue. As he works his mouth over you, he looks up at you, his eyes wide, pupils blown out in pure desire, and it takes your fucking breath away. 

Pain and pleasure.

Just to show the whole world that you’re his. 

 “Thinks he can fuckin’ look at you. Put his fuckin’ hands on you,” he mumbles against your skin. His mouth has reached the lowest point of your plunging neckline as he stands up, pushing himself against you between your legs. 

“Baby,” you breathe out. You make a mental note to unpack why his sudden possessiveness has you so hot and bothered with your therapist next week. 

“I really, really don’t want to talk about him right now.”

Carmy drops to his knees, stripping off his suit jacket and throwing it elsewhere. The sight has you absolutely drenched and you think you may cum just from looking at him. 

“You’re mine,” is all he says, eliciting another moan from you as he sinks his teeth into the soft supple skin of your calf. You slide a heel-covered foot over his shoulder, as his lips begin trail up your calf, to your knee, to your inner thighs…

“Yes. I’m yours,” you breathe out, exasperated by Carmy’s sudden forwardness. You lean back, your head hitting the mirror with a thud. “All yours.”

He works his way up your thighs, leaving soft kisses on your inner thighs while his hands disappear underneath the skirt of your dress, frantically searching for your panties. 

“Carmy, I don’t know if we have time for-,” you gasp, as he pulls away for a moment. 

His curls are unruly from running your fingers through them, his lips swollen from the passionate makeout you started only moments ago. You feel his fingers hook underneath the top of your panties and he looks at you like he can see right through you. Holding your gaze, it’s impossible to not get lost into his ocean blue eyes you’ve fallen so deeply in love with. He takes his sweet time, teasing you, refusing to break eye contact, as he pulls your panties down your legs at an unbearable slow pace. 

You don’t look away. 

You don’t dare look away. 

Finally, finally, he breaks eye contact, sliding your panties over your feet, and putting them into his pocket as you brace yourself for what comes next. 

“We should-,” you start, your words ceasing instantly as he spreads your legs, licking a stripe up your dripping wet core. You cry out loudly, panicking almost instantly, because you don’t remember locking the damn door. 

We should stop. 

Do this elsewhere. 

Lock the door. 

Keep quiet. 

But you can’t seem to get the words out, as you let out another loud moan, and Carmy doesn’t have the heart to stop you. Something primal inside of him wants nothing more than for the whole party mere hallways away to hear you crying out his name. 

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue through your folds. “Already so wet for me and I’ve barely even put my mouth on you.”

He wonders if there’s an award for this. 

Lifetime Loser Award.

2023’s Most Jealous Boyfriend

Chef Most Likely to Fuck His Girlfriend During the James Beard Reception Because He’s a Sad, Jealous Fuck.

“Carmy, please,” you beg, scooting your hips off the counter and pulling him up from the ground. Your demand rips him from his own self deprecating thoughts. 

“I need you inside of me. Now.” 

You need him.

“Turn around,” is all he says. 

He’s not sure where he gets the confidence for such a demand and it has you clenching around nothing. 

You’re more than happy to oblige as you whisper out a ‘yes,’ and turn yourself around to face the mirror. You can hear the sound of him unzipping his pants, then he’s hiking up the skirt of your dress once more. He puts his hands on your hips to steady you – maybe even to steady himself – and you can feel the head of his cock running through your folds. 

Just when you think you may die if you don’t get what you want, you let out the loudest cry you think has ever come out of your mouth as he pushes inside of you. You gasp, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter as you feel him shudder against your back. Your head hangs low, just focusing on memorizing how every single inch of him feels inside of you.

Carmy’s thrusts are slow at first, deep and deliberate thrusts burying himself all the way to the hilt. The sight of his cock disappearing inside of you is really testing his patience here as he thinks he may go insane. 

Back out. 

Then back in. 

“You’re so fuckin’ wet. So fuckin’ perfect for me. God, I love being inside of you,” he groans, enjoying his last few slow and deep thrusts. 

He’s got one hand on your hips and the other, wrapped around your waist. As he begins to speed up the pace of his thrusts, the hand around your waist goes to the counter too, to brace himself. 

“Carmen,” you moan his name, as he starts to go faster. “Yes. Perfect for you. Only you.”

Only you. 

Your words cause him to smirk, and the sounds you’re making only encourage him to keep fucking into you like he means it. 

“Look at yourself, baby,” he says, his words causing you to squeeze around him. He groans, his eyes rolling back, before he returns his gaze to the mirror. 

When you lock eyes, it’s like you’ve been set on fire. Your skin feels hot, and the prolonged eye contact has you squeezing around him as you start to grind against him. You feel lightheaded, breathless, purely at his mercy. 

Carmy holds your gaze through the mirror and you want to commit this photo to memory. You watch your reflections in the mirror, seeing your face change as he speeds up again. His hands are everywhere: in your hair, grabbing you breasts, tracing over the little marks he’s left all over your chest.

 “This how I make you feel? Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel,” he asks, and you think this is the most vocal he’s been during sex.

“So good, Car,” you’re panting. He grabs a handful of your hair, guiding your head to the side so that he can kiss you. You manage to continue your praise in between wet, sloppy, and desperate kisses, and desperate thrusts between the both of you.

“So fuckin’ good. So high. Like I’ll never come back down.”

He’s satisfied with your answer, feeling more and more confident with each thrust. You can tell he likes it, so you decided, why the hell not?

“You feel incredible inside of me, baby,” you continue, wanting nothing more than to appease him. 

He’s swallowing your moans in his mouth, as he continues to fuck you, your pushing your ass back against him, your hands bracing against the mirror. You see stars as he hits that spot inside of you – the one that makes you let out a sob – and he’s bending you over the counter so that he can find that spot again and again. Carmy presses his forehead against your shoulder as his hands move underneath your skirt once again, rubbing fierce circles around your clit, trying to take you there with him. He knows he won’t last long when you’re moaning his name like that. He looks up for a moment, enjoying the reflection in the mirror a little too much, before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, feeling himself get closer… closer…

You can feel he’s close too, so you say something, something you know will bring him over the edge. 

“Want you to cum inside of me.”

“That what you want? Want me to fill you up? Have me dripping down your legs when any other fucko tries to talk to you tonight. Tries to even fuckin’ look at you…” he asks, his breath ragged and sentences becoming increasingly choppy. 

He's leaving little kisses and bite marks all over your upper back as he continues to fuck you.

“Yes,” you pant, moaning his full name once again. 

“Fffffffuck, baby. That’s so hot,” he stutters, his thrusts becoming more erratic. He grabs a handful of your ass, chasing his high with you. 

You’re squeezing your eyes shut so hard you see stars when he finds that spot again, and you remember that he wanted you to watch. You blink open your eyes, breathless as you take in the image of your boyfriend fucking you from behind. He’s got his forehead resting on your shoulder. You feel the delicious contradiction of pain and pleasure once again, as he sinks his teeth into the soft skin of your shoulder, in the same place from before.

So close. And you're already so tender.

“Carmen. Yes. Right there. Please, baby. Fuck. Don’t stop,” you’re crying out as you as your walls clamp down around him. It’s like an explosion erupts inside of you and you feel that you perhaps are on another fuckin’ plane of existence from the way he makes you feel. 

Your eyes close again as he fucks you through your orgasm, taking you higher and higher. The way your walls are squeezing around him have him on edge and he gives you one, two, and then a third thrust before painting your walls with his release too.

He stops, resting his head on your back again, still buried all the way inside of you.

Both of your heavy pants fill the room, before you interrupt the status quo with a laugh. 

“Holy shit, babe,” you finally say, exasperated and completely fucked out.

He pulls out of you, and you have to put a hand down on the counter he just bent you over, for balance as you stand up straight. You can hear Carmen pulling his pants back up and you’re adjusting your dress as you turn to look at him. His eyes are fixed on the button of his trouser pants, as you grab his face for another long, lust-filled kiss. 

“What do you say… to getting out of here? Maybe continuing this at home?” you propose, your voice hoarse from what you’ve just done. Your forehead is still pressed to his and you want nothing more for him to say ‘yes.’ 

“Fuck yes. Please,” he practically groans, wondering how it’s possible for him to be hard again already. 

“I’ll order a car,” you agree, reaching for where you left your phone on the dressing room counter. 

“Surge rates, babe” he sighs, the disappointment evident in his voice as he issues the little reminder.

You shoot him a look that says ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me?’

“I will pay all the surge rates in the world, if I get to have you again, as soon as possible,” you state, and he’s not sure he’s going to be able to wait till you get home.

You glance back down to your phone, your fingers moving quickly through the right buttons to get a car on the way. As soon as you see the confirmation, your swiping out of the app, and over to an unread message:

Sydney: So that was weird. Where did you guys go?

You: Out for some air. Sorry, we’ll be right back in. 

Sydney: Angel wants pizza and a few of us are gonna go. Wanna come with?

You: Think we’re gonna head home. Breakfast tomorrow? My treat. 

Sydney: 100%

You: Congratulations again, friend. Love you. 

“What’s going on?” Carmy asks, as he sees you fiercely texting away. 

“Nothin’,” you answer, seeing the Uber notification popping up on your phone. “Just telling everyone we’re gonna head home.”

You turn your back to the mirror to examine the damage, immediately spotting Carmy’s bite mark on your shoulder. 

“Carmen,” you sigh, fingertips running over the huge bite mark on your shoulder – the one he left when he made while cumming inside of you.

Carmy takes a look, a small smirk on his lips as he sees what you’re referring to. He has to admit that he’s almost… proud of himself as he leans over, leaving a soft kiss against one of the rapidly forming purple bite marks left on the back of your shoulder. 

As much as he’d like to show the entire culinary world that you’re his, he removes the suit jacket he just put back on, and hands it to you. 

“Here. You can wear this.”

You giggle, taking it and appreciating Carmen’s act of chivalry. 

“As much as I’d love to do a walk of shame through a room full of the world’s best chefs… think I’ll keep this one between me and the one that just fucked me,” you joke playfully, as you kiss him as a ‘thank you.’

You check your reflection in the mirror as you drape the coat strategically over your shoulders, making sure you both look somewhat presentable enough to flee the scene with dignity. 

“Carm?” you ask. 

“Before we leave. I just-, I want you to-,” you stammer, uncertain if you’re doing the right thing by telling him. You’d hate to play into Nate’s little game – even if you both won after what just happened. 

“Hmm?”

“Just… you know… for the sake of factual accuracy and not that we’re playing Nate’s game at all but... you and I hooked up first. Nate just doesn’t know that.”

He nods in response, trying not to make it seem like a big deal. 

But it certainly makes him feel better.

“Well, if we’re being factually accurate…” he offers up in response. “I know you always thought our whole rivalry thing was one sided… but it wasn’t.”

“No?”

“Rode that guy as hard as I could, every chance I got,” he confesses, in reference to your old, very toxic work environment. 

“Because he deserved it?” 

“Because I hated how much he flirted with you.”

You shake your head with a small smile. Your phone is buzzing in your hand, letting you know that your Uber has arrived. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Bear.”

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[venerawrites]

Thanks for the headcanons of Itachi and the s/o who has illness🥰. Oh my god your writings are just awesome keep it up❤️💪

Can I request some headcanons of itachi,kakashi,naruto when their s/o is pregnant?🤭

author's note: oh my god, this has been sitting in my drafts forever! I have only one assessment left, so I finally have the chance to catch up with my requests! Thank you so, so much for your patience and for requesting! Hope you enjoy!

➤ Itachi

I think I am going to disappoint a lot of you, but Itachi was definitely not happy when he first learned that his s/o was pregnant.

HEAR ME OUT PLS!

It is not that he is not loving his partner, but given everything that has happened to him and all the decisions he had to make throughout his life, he has promised himself that he would never have children. He didn't want to put them at risk, or worse, make them suffer because of his own mistakes.

The initial reaction was shock.

He was always so careful and they always used protection, so how did that happen??

I imagine he would leave for a few days just so he can clear his head and gather his thoughts.

Itachi is naturally a carer and also loves kids, so it doesn't take him long to come around. After a few days, he is already back to his s/o and they better believe he would not leave them for ANYTHING.

Very overprotective, sometimes quite unreasonable - even in the early stage of the pregnancy, he would insist on taking care of his s/o, cook for them, clean the house etc.

Does not like the idea of his lover leaving the house by themselves, mainly because he is paranoid that either Sasuke or any of his enemies would target them. He always accompanies them when they want to go out, and when he does, he keeps his arm wrapped around their back or shoulders.

As the pregnancy progresses, so do his worries, and if his s/o doesn't want to be overwhelmed by him, they have to set clear boundaries and let him know they need some space to breathe.

Totally a man who would deliver his baby at home!

The moment he heard his baby's cry, he started trembling. No one loves like the Uchiha after all, especially when it comes to their love for their children!

➤ Kakashi

Just like Itachi, for most of his life he was of the firm opinion he DOES NOT want kids.

His s/o, however, was the one that brought up the question at some point in their relationship, and since then he couldn't stop thinking about it.

When his lover told him they were pregnant he was surprised, but not shocked. With the amount of "practice" they were doing, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

I think internally he would be worried and stressing about his s/o, but he would try and act cool about it.

He would purchase dozens of books about pregnancy and would read them all the time. (including during missions and night outs with friends!) Guy and Kurenai would find it cute and would often discuss their own tips with him, while Genma and Anko would roll their eyes at their antics.

Knowing how important is for him to give space to his s/o, he would subtly help around the house, but would still let them go out on their own, do chores or if they are a ninja, even go to low-rank missions.

The more their belly grows, the more fascinated he becomes!

Very touchy - his hands are constantly on his s/o's belly, caressing it or sometimes just holding it.

Kakashi would do that only when his lover is asleep, but he is totally talking to his s/o's stomach and telling his baby random stories.

During the last months, he would also become quite overprotective.

He won't bother his s/o that much, but he won't allow anyone to get close to them, touch their stomach, or bother them for longer than few minutes.

Overall, very supportive and sweet partner, who is going to make his s/o's pregnancy as easy as possible, despite his own fear of failure.

➤ Naruto

0 clue about what's going on! 0!

At first he thinks it is exciting - having a baby is fun, right? You get to dress it, feed it, take it out... it is like playing with a doll!

Buys tons of clothes and toys literally a week after he found out his s/o is pregnant, despite not even knowing the gender yet. (yes, they had to return most of them!)

Comes with a ton of weird names for their little one, because he wants them to be 'unique'. Oinks, Huggy, and Nemar (which is just 'ramen' spelled backward!) were on the top of his list.

The first months are pretty nice and fun! When the hormones start to kick in, however...

I love Naruto, he is one of my fav boys, but I bet my soul that he is so annoying during his s/o's pregnancy!

He would not understand when he needs to give his s/o space and instead will be in their face 24/7. I imagine that he would also (try to) do some housework, but because he put only like 10% effort, his lover would have to constantly go after him and re-do it!

Lots of small petty fights!

Which would always end in Naruto bringing his s/o their favourite snack or takeaway, so it works out!

Very proud to be a future dad - he would go around the whole village, telling everyone how excited he is and how he can't wait to see the baby!

Not scared or nervous at all - he knows that in the end, everything is going to work out! Plus, he and his s/o are going to have each other, so why fear?

His s/o better be prepared to take care of TWO babies, because it would take a long time for this man to become serious and laid back!

cc artwork: Clement Tingry

[shegatsby]

Hi, how are you? Please don't judge or kill me! Please, I don't condone this kind of behaviour. So, I have a request about Mads Mikkelsen's character Le Chiffre from Casino Royale.

So Female!Reader's father won against Le Chiffre his money at the casino.

To take revenge, Le Chiffre kidnaps Reader to get revenge on her father. Warning:Kidnapping, Non-con.

Please don't kill me, I don't condone this behaviour.!!! <3<3<3

A/N; Thank you for this request I sure had fun writing it ;) It got longer than i expected but hey, who cares. love you all.

Warnings; Kidnapping, smut, minors get the fuck out or else!

The only reason why you followed your father to Montenegro was to unwind from stressful year at the university. He said he had some business to attend to and he offered you a most generous holiday which you didn’t hesitate to indulge in. First few days were relaxing, you joined a yoga class, got several massages, swam in the sea and also at the pool, however, tonight would be the night to switch things up.

Your father said he was going to gamble at a casino, the hotel you stayed in was infamous for its illegal businesses such as gambling. Your father said it could be fun to have you there with him, he liked to show off his intelligent and siren looking daughter and to distract the gamblers.

Your dress was long and red, the fabric was satin, so smooth on your skin, the dress had a slash on your left side, up to your thigh. Hair let loose, red nails and red lips.. you were the walking femme fatal that night.

You entered the room with your dad, a soft 20s music was playing at the casino, yellow lights and dark green chairs, couches made the place look vintage, there were bodyguards at each door.

As you walked together you saw him

He was among his ‘’friends’’ or people he did business with. He was covered in black, which made him look manly and dangerous. His silver watch was shining under the yellow lights, you noticed that he had no ring, could be single. He was laughing at one of their jokes when he lifted his gaze and he saw you entering. His expression changed in a second, the way he looked at you up and down didn’t go unnoticed. His left eye twitched and he looked away, from afar you could see there was something in his left eye, looked like a nasty scar. It made you curious about him, because the way he dressed and held himself showed you that he had men to do the dirty work but maybe, time to time he liked to get his hands dirty… why were you so interested in a man who seemed older than you all of a sudden? You were here to enjoy your holiday and do a trick with our dad. Ever since you hit the age 18 your dad started to take you to casinos when he wanted to gamble, and you came up with this thing where you flirt with other gamblers to distract them, it worked usually because of weak nature of men.

Your father guided you to the bar to get drinks, there was still 20 minutes till the game started so he ordered you something and you gracefully took your place to observe the environment. ‘’Excuse me love, I have to use the restroom.’’ Your father announced and left, you were enjoying your drink and listening to the soft tunes when you felt a presence next to you. You looked up to see your father but you were surprised. That man with the scar was sitting next to you, ‘’Hello.’’ He said looking at you, he wasn’t shy showing his scar, it was infact nasty but you didn’t shy away, you directly looked into his eyes, you innocently smiled, for some strange reason you liked the scar, it suited him perfectly. His plump lips formed into a dangerous smile, ‘’Allow me to accompany you while you wait for your partner.’’ His tone was questioning, he ordered two drinks, ‘’He is my father. Not so smooth are you Mister?’’ he chuckled at your boldness, he extended his hand, ‘’Le Chiffre. And you are?’’

You accepted his hand, he had a strong grip, ‘’Ms. Y/N Y/L/N.’’ he gave a small peck on your hand, predator disguised as a gentleman. ‘’I assume you are here to accompany your father?’’ you took a sip from your cocktail, ‘’Correct. I didn’t want to leave him alone, plus, I’m his lucky charm.’’

‘’Good girl.’’ His eyes never left yours, you wondered if he could see from his scarred eye, of course you didn’t ask. With his comment you could feel heat rising up to your cheeks, thankfully your father came.

‘’Le Chiffre?’’ your father asked in a not so kind matter, ‘’Mr. Y/L/N,’’ he greeted your father with the same icy cold courtesy. ‘’Long time no see.’’ Your father said, ‘’Looking forward to see you at the game with your,’’ he looked at you, ‘’lucky charm.’’ His hand went to his pocket to get his silver inhaler and bid you goodbye. You didn’t understand the tension that they had, maybe it was because of the competitive business life.

Soon the game started, your father’s instructions were simple, wait for Le Chiffre to make a bold move and distract him, it was an old game of yours.

You were like a hawk watching the table from afar, your fingertips circling around the cocktail glass, you saw that it was his turn to make a move and you bolted to your feet. Your heels were making powerful sounds on the marble floor and you saw him looking up as he was shaking the dice in his big palm, your eyes never left his dangerous ones, he wasn’t ready the dice unintentionally fell from his palm, you saw the pure anger written on his perfectly shaped face as you got on the elevator you could hear your father’s victorious laugh.

You didn’t join your father, who was celebrating the big cash he just won. You were in your hotel room, just out of the shower and moisturized. You couldn’t help but think of Le Chiffre, was that money important to him? Did your father and he had a history? You needed a spa night. Since it was late you didn’t mind leaving your hotel room only in a long robe and nothing else, the halls were quiet, no workers around which was strange. You didn’t mind, the spa was at the top floor so you pressed the button and waited, after few floors two men who were dressed in black joined. When you reached the top floor something felt fishy with the situation but you couldn’t turn back to your room now so you decided to stick with the plan. Your steps were quick on the marble floors, you finally saw someone who was attending the spa area and you informed them, they smiled and showed you to one of the cabins. You were alone, thankfully. You just sat and closed your eyes to relax, the steam helped you calm your mind, well, it was too calming and soon you were asleep.

You slowly started to feel your body again, your eyelids felt so heavy but a sudden panic made you open your eyes, you weren’t at the spa, you were at a bedroom.. that wasn’t yours.

As you lifted your body with the help of your shaky hands you heard a voice which was familiar, ‘’Slow down, you are still recovering.’’ Someone, a man, sat on the edge of the bed and you could feel his hand on your small back. You looked up to see him and it was Le Chiffre, but why was he here?

‘’Wh-‘’ your throat was dry, ‘’Here.’’ He offered you a glass of water, you were hesitant but thirst clenched your being so you drank with his help. ‘’Good girl.’’ He said when you drank the whole glass.

You were coming to your senses so you pushed yourself away from him, your back resting on the headboard of the bed, ‘’You might be wondering why you’re here-‘’

‘’Might?!’’ you replied. Cleary not amused, ‘’As you can remember your father won a significant amount of money, thanks to your help, I want that money back.’’

‘’So you kidnapped me?!’’ you could feel anger boiling, ‘’Smart one aren’t you. Until that money is returned you are my-‘’

‘’Hostage.’’ You sarcastically said, ‘’guest.’’ He answered, ‘’It had been 5 hours since you were taken You must be hungry. Come.’’ He extended his hand but you refused, as you quickly stood up you got dizzy so he grabbed your waist, his scent filled your nostrils. He smelled good.

You couldn’t protest because it was hard for you to walk so with his help you left the room. You weren’t at the hotel anymore, it was a mansion. Was this his house? You walked down the stairs, all you could see was an astonishing house with large paintings and furniture. He took you to the dining room where breakfast waiting for you both. Your stomach growled, he chuckled and helped you to your chair. ‘’Why can’t you just win the money back? There is another game tonight.’’ You asked, looking at the breakfast. You had to keep your calm in order to survive because you didn’t know what was he capable of. ‘’I don’t have for another game and I don’t like taking chances.’’

You laughed sarcastically, ‘’Says the man who was gambling last night.’’ You drank the orange juice, it was tasty. ‘’I was going to win. Until I got distracted by a certain beauty.’’ His comment made you blush so you didn’t look at him, ‘’Is it scary to look at me love?’’ he sounded hurt, ‘’I understand if it is the case.’’ You didn’t care about the scar so you looked straight at him, ‘’There we go.’’ He smiled, ‘’Now, finish your breakfast, I have plans for us.’’

You didn’t know his plan but you had to play along, you finished your breakfast as he commanded so, it was delicious anyways and you were almost sure there was no poison. He looked at your finished plate, you could see a small smile forming on his plump lips, they distracted you, ‘’Well done.’’ You noticed that he kept giving you praises, which was your weak spot but he didn’t know.. or did he?

He stood up, extended his big hand, ‘’Shall we?’’

You thought he was going to torture you, lock in his basement, feed you to his dogs but instead he took you on a stream in the mountains, he said he liked to come here, swim and make plans for his business, he said the water calms his nerves and keeps him connected to mother nature. Before you left his mansion a maid came to give you a bag with everything you need, a bathing suit, towels, sunglasses, sunscreen, you name it. Le Chiffre didn’t need changing, he just took off his shirt and jumped into the stream, you thought he wanted to give you privacy so you quickly changed into your bathing suit, it was red, a color he choose but you had no idea. Once you changed you placed one of the towels on the grass and sat, started to put sunscreen on your legs, arms, ‘’Need a hand?’’ you heard his serpent voice, tempting and you looked up to see him, on the edge, his broad arms supporting his body by leaning into the ground, ‘’Yes, thank you.’’ Two can play the games, you thought. The way he jumped up to the shore, his arms and legs flexing did something to your core. You had to exhale the breath you were holding, without a word he sat behind you, put some sunscreen in his palm and started to rub your back. You literally held onto grass under your hands, his calloused hands trying to be gentle but you could sense the certain urge to go deep, and rough.

‘’When I first saw you at the casino,’’ he began, ‘’I thought to myself, I must have this girl somehow.’’ He wasn’t shy at all, ‘’I guess Universe finally decided to give me a break and let me have one good thing.’’ It was obvious that his life was difficult, and seeing you as something good  made you blush.

You turned to face him, his eyes were hoping for something, something tangible and you decided.

You leaned in to give him a kiss which he gladly took, his lips were so full and soft, his big hands went to caress your face, as the kiss got heated you followed his movements, he made you lay on your back, your legs invited him by opening. When he bit your neck you moaned, he pulled away, ‘’Did I hurt you?’’ he was out of breath, the genuine curiosity could be seen in his eyes and you almost cried.  ‘’No, keep going.’’

He kissed you again, you could feel his hard member between your legs, there was no going back.

His hand went to dip into your wetness and he moaned into your mouth, he pulled away to give kisses to your face and neck, ‘’just how I imagined.’’ He said as he started to rub your clit, your arched your back, his sweet torture was driving you mad. ‘’Do you want this?’’ he looked to see any sort of discomfort on your face but all he found was flushed cheeks, lust written in your eyes, mouth slightly parted. ‘’Yes,’’ you said, ‘’please’’ he grinned.

His fingers pushed the fabric away, he quickly got rid of his short and gave himself few pumps, you couldn’t help but notice how big he was.

He rubbed his tip into your folds, making you whimper, ‘’pleasee’’ you said whining, ‘’Please what, lucky charm?’’ you couldn’t help but moan deeply, ‘’Please fuck me, ever since I saw you last night I wanted you to bend me over and fuck me raw.’’ Well, it wasn’t a lie, he had a strange aura to him.

Your confession startled him at first, Le Chiffre, even though he didn’t want to admit, he had insecurities thanks to the scar on his face, ladies usually went for his colleges, not him. Hearing you openly admit to want him turned him on, he was planning on to be gentle with you but after what you said, that wasn’t an option anymore, he had to have you and keep you all to himself.

Your legs wrapped around him and he inserted himself with one thrust, you screamed in pain at first because it had been a while, ‘’Look at me.’’ He was deep inside you, you could feel his pubic hair tickling your skin. You meet his eyes and he started to move, you knew after this session you would have sore thighs, but you didn’t want him to stop. He stretched you out perfectly, ‘’Open your mouth.’’ And you did, he spit in your mouth, bit your lower lip, gave you multiple hickies.

Your fingers locking in his hair, you’ve never heard a man moan like him before, it made you clench around him again and again. You wetness and the sounds you make was heaven for him, of course he had multiple partners before but they all seemed fake, artificial, on the other hand you were screaming, tears in the corner of your eyes, you looked perfect. He sucked on your clothed nipples, gave them slaps, you were close and each sucking and slapping made you see stars, you liked his roughness. ‘’Come on my cock princess, let me feel it, come on.’’ He knew you were close and his praises pushed you over the edge, he followed behind.

His head fell to the crook of your neck, both of you were breathing heavily, ‘’I can’t let you go, not after this.’’

[eggluverz]

— LADY FU'S MATCHMAKING SERVICE

PAIRING. jing yuan x gn!reader

WARNINGS. gn reader but they are wearing a dress

WORD COUNT. 1,933

GENRE. blind date au, in-universe setting

SUMMARY. fu xuan thinks the lonely general needs to go on a date, and you are just the person she wants to set him up with.

SOF’S NOTE. for some reason the moment i write for jing yuan i’m like LET’S FOCUS ON HIS LIPS! HIS SMIRK! HIS EYES! and that’s basically what the whole fic is on i’m sorry but what he so pretty for :/ ahdkalc anyway pls enjoy!!

Fu Xuan wanted what was best for the Xianzhou. And she was certain the solutions she drew from her calculated predictions would were what was best for Xianzhou. However, there were some situations in which Fu Xuan didn’t need her third eye or the Matrix of Prescience to know what would be best. 

One situation included the general’s love life. 

Or rather, lack thereof if she wanted to be particular. 

The general seemed unsatisfied, almost lonely at times. Fu Xuan didn’t recall the last time Jing Yuan had ever gone on a date. It wasn’t as if she herself had much leisure time to attend meetings with potential romantic partners, but she also wasn’t half as unsatisfied with her life as Jing Yuan was. 

Besides, if the general were to find someone to be with, perhaps he’d be more likely to abdicate sooner. 

“Well, General,” asked Fu Xuan, eyes widen with hope, “what do you say?”

A half-smile stayed on Jing Yuan’s face. “Lady Fu, need I remind you this is the fourth time you’ve asked that this month?” 

“You do not need to remind me, I’m well aware,” she said with her arms folded. “I simply hope you’ll genuinely consider it this time. The person I have in mind is kind and intelligent, I know you wouldn’t regret just one date.” 

The general signed, gently stroking his chin. It took a lot for him to lose his patience, so Fu Xuan knew pushing him like this wouldn’t lead to any trouble.

“Do you truly believe I need to go on a date—a blind date, at that?”

“I believe it would be best for your health and wellbeing. Thus, it would best for the Xianzhou Luofu in order to have the best version of their general.”

Jing Yuan sighed louder this time, sounding more amused than frustrated. “If I agree to go on this blind date, do you agree to stop asking me to go on them?”

Fu Xuan nodded eagerly. “If my calculations are correct, you won’t need to go on a blind date with anyone else.”

“I suppose Lady Fu’s calculations are never wrong.”

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

You weren’t sure who you would be seeing on your date today. Naturally, that was the purpose of a blind date. 

Your acquaintance, Fu Xuan, proposed the idea of this blind match up to help out someone close to her. Since you were single and currently not opposed to dating, you figured it would be worth a try. You just wondered who in the world could the head of the Divination Commission set you up with. 

As calm as you may have seemed, you were somewhat nervous about this date. You knew the people she associated with tended to be highly ranked officials. And while you were a scholar by profession, you still felt just the slightly bit intimidated by the idea. You reminded yourself whoever it was is was just another person like you, and you had no reason to fear. 

You walked into Garden of Gourmet, the restaurant Fu Xuan told you to meet your blind date at, and were immediately greeted by the smell of classic Xianzhou Luofu cuisine. Your eyes scanned the place, landing on the corner table that Fu Xuan said she told your date to sit at. It didn’t take very long to spot the person sitting at the booth. 

Your eyes widened, checking your messages to see if you read what Fu Xuan sent incorrectly. Unfortunately for you, you did not. You read her message right and that was indeed the man she set you up with for dinner. 

The general.

Fu Xuan told you to wear yellow so your date would know it was you. You were donned in a metallic gold dress that you figured was close enough to yellow, and definitely enough to stand out in a crowd. 

Despite the bright gold sign on your body telling your blind date that you were here, you were tempted to see if you could walk out of the restaurant before he could notice. Then, you realized that would mean you were going to stand the general up if you didn’t show, and that simply wouldn’t do.

While you were deciding whether or not to stay or go, the general spotted you staring and slowly raised his hand. His hooded eyes crinkled up in a small smile; his demeanor looked almost smug and you weren’t sure if he was trying to greet you or challenge you. 

Realizing there was no chance of turning back now, you walked over to him, head held high. You swayed your hips side to side and gave him a sideways grin as you approached. 

“I’m guessing you’re my date for the day?”

The general kept his eyes trained on yours, nodding as he sized you up. “Correct. My name is Jing Yuan.“

He introduced himself as if all of Xianzhou didn’t already know who he was. Still, you were thankful for his introduction. He stood up as you grew closer, walking around the table to pull your chair out for you. 

“I’m Y/N,” you said, slipping into the seat. His hands stayed holding the backrest even as you leaned back. “Thank you.”

He made a hum of acknowledgment.

Jing Yuan stayed above you for a brief moment before pushing your chair back in. He then returned to his original spot across from you and handed you a menu. The two of you ordered wine and food and it was served shortly. 

“So, Jing Yuan,” you said, carefully  placing your hand around a glass of wine and drinking gingerly, “forgive me if this is rude, but… What is the General of the Cloud Knights doing on a blind date?” 

His lopsided smile widened as he took a sip of his own. “Enjoying his time with a lovely person, of course.”

You let out a small noise of laughter. “Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.”

Jing Yuan disregarded all table etiquette and rested his cheek on his hand while leaning onto the table. “Lady Fu was very persistent, to answer in full. But she also seems adamant that this is what’s best for me.” He smiled up at you from his nonchalant position. “And why is such a beautiful person as yourself on this blind date?”

His flattery made you shake your head. You knew he was partly teasing you for your own question, but his compliment still made you feel warm inside. There was something about his lidded eyes and mischievous drawl that made you want to cling onto every word he said. 

You replied, “Fu Xuan can be quite convincing, as you know.” The two of you exchanged a dry smile. “Besides, I am single right now and it seemed like a good time to get to meet someone knew. Little did I know it’d be the general himself.”

“Do you regret it now that you know?” he mused, straightening up in his seat. He tilted his head, wanting to hear your answer. “Would you have gone on this blind date if you knew it would’ve been with me?”

You thought back at the moment when you first saw him at the corner table and grew sheepish. When you saw the general, you did want to leave at first. You weren’t one to get tangled up in political drama; you simply wanted to enjoy your life and your prestige while continuing to read and learn.

“When I saw you here, I was debating on leaving,” you admitted. Noticing his expression tighten, you continued, “But once I got out of my own head, I realized there was nothing to be nervous about.” 

His brows perked up and you smirked at his eagerness. Did the general care this much about what you thought of him? How…fun. 

“I was still nervous because you’re really handsome and charming, naturally. But those are a different kind of nerves that I don’t mind.”

Jing Yuan leaned back in his seat, swirling the wine around in his glass, “Different how?”

“One kind of nerves is due to being slightly intimidated, maybe insecure even, at my own standing compared to yours. The other is due to the attraction I’m feeling—nerves like butterflies, if you will.”

“What caused your attraction towards me?” he asked, eyes lighting up with amusement. 

Now you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms over your chest with a coy smile. “Are you looking for compliments, General?” 

“I just want to know what I’m doing right with you,” Jing Yuan corrected, looking between his glass of wine and the dip of your dress in deep thought. “Perhaps so I can continue having your attraction.”

You almost laughed at his words. In what world would the general have to ask for anyone’s attention. Either he was flattering you or he was much less experienced with dating than you would’ve ever imagined. 

“Well, besides the obvious that is your looks, I like how you pull my chair out for me, how you fill my glass for me, how you maintain such strong eye contact,” you listed out the things you’ve noticed about Jing Yuan during your brief time with him this far, your gaze wandering around his face until they landed on his lush, pink lips, “how your lips stay in that lopsided smile…”

His eyes crinkled. “Staring at the general’s lips? That’s rather indecent, no?” 

“I’m sure he’s staring at mine, too. So it’s only fair.”

“I am.” Jing Yuan raised his hands in the air as if he was caught in the act. “And I find myself very attracted to you as well.”

“What do you find attractive about me?”

“Other than your lips?” he clarified with a chuckle. You laughed along at his teasing, watching as a more serious expression took over his face. “I’m attracted to how you present yourself with confidence and elegance yet can still grow shy with nerves and butterflies. Your honesty and openness is something I admire. I like the way you stick your pinky finger up when you drink. And how your eyes brighten when you smile...”

You were holding your breath by the end of it, waiting to hear what he had to stay. Jing Yuan had such a soft, yet commanding tone, fit for a general, but gentle enough to be a lover. 

“I haven’t been on many blind dates, but even so, this one has been my favorite,” you said, leaning forward as if you were whispering a secret to him. 

He matched your stance, his voice quiet as he murmured, “I haven’t been on any before this, but I don’t think I’ll go on any more.”

“Did I make the experience that bad for you?” you joked, a grin on your face. “Such that you never want to go on a blind date again?”

The general shook his head, though he knew your question wasn’t serious. You both knew how well this date was going. “Of course, that’s not it,” he said. “Lady Fu was simply correct. After this, I’ll never feel the need to go on one again.”

“Why?” Craning your neck to the side, you asked a question you knew the answer to. You just wanted to hear it straight from Jing Yuan’s pretty mouth. 

His lopsided smile widened and you were seconds away from leaning in further to kiss them. 

“Because,” he said slowly, the tip of his tongue wetting the corner of his mouth as his gaze stayed trained on yours, “I’ve already found what I’m looking for on the first one.”

[just-a-creep-babe]

Liu with a goth girlfriend that's really flirty? Sfw and nsfw if you would please♡

sO rare to get Liu requests so tysm for giving me the chance to write more for him! I also included Sully because I assumed this was a request for the package deal ;0

Hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist: x

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

SFW

Honestly, Liu would love himself a goth gf—and I mean, who wouldn’t?

But Sully? Sully would go nuts

Like, Sully would actively push Liu out of the front so that he could be with their goth gf instead

Which, obviously, would come to test Liu’s patience

Like, usually, Liu isn't the jealous type; he trusts his partner unconditionally

But always needing to share them with his alter would inevitably come to grate on his nerves

Especially if he's always getting jostled around the headspace so that Sully can front instead

The two would inevitably end up fighting over who gets to be with their goth gf

And so the best solution would be to work out well-defined boundaries so that things don't get out of hand

From that point on, the occasional bickering might still surface, but things should go relatively smoothly

Other than that, Liu considers himself more of a romantic than a flirt, while Sully’s definitely more of a flirt

So things with Sully are bound to naturally get a bit... steamier faster

But more on that later~

Liu's still always very flattered whenever she flirts with him

He's just a lot more prone to getting flustered about it, which is so damn cute, I swear

It's so fun to tease that boy~

In terms of the whole style thing, personally, Liu's always had more of a basic style preference

He adores his s/o's wardrobe, but he's never considered wearing anything like that himself

While Sully, on the other hand, has always thought their body could use a bit more of a stylistic flair~

So Sully has tried to modify what he wears, but since Liu's the main and original host, he's often stuck with a basic wardrobe anyways

Now, if his goth babe wanted to give him a makeover, however--

Oh, he certainly wouldn't refuse

The two might be able to convince Liu to dress a bit more goth-like on the regular

And, honestly, that doesn't just go for style; their girlfriend would have so much power and influence over both of them

She'd have them wrapped around her little finger like it's nothing

And they wouldn’t have it any other way~

NSFW

Like I mentioned, Sully’s a huge fucking flirt

And to have a very attractive girlfriend who also returns his flirting just as enthusiastically?

Hoo boy—it does things to him

He's not one to back down, so if his s/o doesn't give in either, things are bound to escalate

Especially if she acts kind of bratty in her flirting?

Oh god, it's such a weakness for him

No matter where they are, he will push her into some secluded corner to shut that bratty mouth of hers up

And there's almost nothing he loves more than tearing off all of those pretty black clothes from her body to absolutely ruin her

Liu, on the other hand, isn’t as provocative as his other counterpart

His sex drive isn’t as high, so while he’s usually flattered by the flirting, it doesn’t drive him nuts like it does with Sully

His love-making sessions are usually softer and slower

He'd rather reaffirm his love and dedication to his partner instead of using her for his pleasure

So on that note, he's very sweet and selfless

He'll worship every inch of her, murmuring sweet nothings as he does so, all while holding eye contact and treating her like the dark empress she is~

Even in such an intimate moment, he won't be able to stop himself from getting all flustered and bashful if she keeps flirting and teasing him

If she's more into rougher sex, he'll try to give her what he wants, but he will be hesitant, and he will need reassurance because he really doesn't want to hurt her

And honestly, if ever she really wants to try something he isn't into, he's perfectly fine with letting Sully take control

And Sully will be more than happy to do the dirty work~

With two polar opposites, it's basically impossible for their goth gf to not be fully satisfied with their sex life~

It's a sweet deal for all three of them~