#blue suede couch

[vieformidable]

The ONE time a blue suede couch works in a library. 😂😂

Okyuraxarie

[tkwrites]

Congratulations - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Gif from gabelandeskog

Title: Congratulations

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (ofc)

Warnings: smut (18+ only), Oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), protected p in v

Summary: Sarah congratulates Quinn on clinching into the playoffs.

Word count: 4,200

Comments: Mostly just some good old fashioned Smut.

The opportunity to set up for another portion of their story presented itself, and I had to take it, so this continued in a bit of a different direction at the end than I originally intended. 

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Congratulations 

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

After dropping his parents off at the airport, Quinn was looking forward to taking a nap. Maybe he’d even get some reading in before he and Sarah were going out for an early dinner to celebrate clinching the playoffs before he had to leave on a flight that evening.

“Hey,” someone said as he stepped onto the second floor landing.

“Jesus,” he cursed, grasping the railing to keep from falling back. His eyes found Sarah sitting on the suede couch, wearing black jeans and the blue top she’d had on at her first game.

She giggled. 

“I thought you had work.” 

“I called in.” 

“Are you okay? Are you not feeling well?” he hated to think it, but it really wasn’t the best time for him to get sick. 

“I’m fine. I just wanted some extra time with you.”

“Yeah?” 

“I need to congratulate you,” she said, getting to her feet. The usual warmth he saw in her eyes was still there, but there was something more - something passionate and vibrant shining in them. 

Feeling the air in the room shift and thicken, he gulped. His mind was running itself in circles. “Oh,” he said, because of course he did. 

She crooked a finger to invite him closer. “If your parents weren’t here last night, I would have done it after the game,” she said.

He nearly stumbled over his own feet in his haste to get to her side.

Both of her hands came to rest on his chest. “Do you want to sit or stand?” 

“I — What?”

“Do you want to sit or stand?” she repeated. 

“For what?”

“For when I congratulate you,” she said, giggling a little despite her attempts to be sultry. 

“I don’t know,” he said, truthfully. “What do you think?”

She gave him a coy little smile that made his skin suddenly hot. 

“It doesn’t really matter to me. I’m going to be in the same position either way. I think you might like sitting more, though.”

Wondering if this was actually happening, he felt his heart begin to pound as he moved in front of the seat she’d just vacated. Was this what he thought it was? Maybe his imagination was running away with him.

“Sit,” she ordered, pressing lightly on his chest. 

He flopped into the cushions and tilted his head back to look into her face — at her beautiful blue eyes and perfect, plump mouth.

She immediately climbed into his lap, knees bracketing his hips. 

“Congratulations,” she said quietly, her mouth centimeters from his. Her hands slid into his hair.

He held himself back from pulling her down into a kiss, anxious to see what she had planned.

When she finally did catch his mouth, there was no stopping the moan that filtered up his throat. Her tongue brushed over his before fleeting back. 

She was teasing, and it made his whole body weak.

Her hands flitted under his t-shirt and started lifting it up. He obeyed the silent request and raised his arms. 

After the garment was discarded, Sarah kissed a slow trail to his ear, loving the panting breathing it resulted in. 

“Can I congratulate you?” she asked so quietly he felt her words as much as he heard them.

His hands, which were gripping her waist, tightened. “Okay.” 

Her mouth dipped to his neck. His head tipped almost at once to give her more access. She left a trail of wet kisses down his throat before licking into the divot of his collar bone.  

Before he really even knew how it happened, she was on her knees between his legs.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

He certainly would not. 

Knowing she wouldn’t continue without his consent, he nodded anyway. 

Every muscle in his stomach twitched when her fingers wrapped into the waist of his joggers.

“Hips up,” she instructed, and he jumped to obey. 

After pulling his pants down his legs, she ate up Quinn’s wide eyed wonderment as she gathered her hair and secured it with the scrunchie she had around her wrist.

Her head dipped down, and he let out a stuttered little breath when her mouth connected with his navel. 

“Sarah,” he breathed, “I —” he broke off when she lifted her head.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

He shook his head — probably too hard. 

Not breaking eye contact, she brought her hand to her mouth before licking her palm, tongue soft and wet as she showed off for him. 

His mind was frantic, trying to remember everything about this moment. What had he ever done to get so lucky?

Her hand wrapped around his length and tugged, her saliva providing just enough slip as she pulled him to fully hard.

Lashes fluttering as he struggled to keep his eyes open, his chest rose and fell in thick, quick breaths.

Sarah gave him a cocky little smile, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him, and twisted her hand. His hips jumped, and a keening noise rolled off his tongue.

“You did so good,” she purred, leaning in to brush her lips over his. 

He tried to catch her mouth, but she pulled away before the kiss could ignite. He felt himself pout. It wasn’t enough.

“I think my mouth can be put to better use, don’t you?” 

“Shit Sarah,” he managed to say as the air rushed from his lungs. He knew this snarky, cocky side of her from the golf course but never imagined it directed at him like this. 

Settling back on her haunches, Sarah glanced up at his face. His mouth was open, that prominent bottom lip of his loose and kissable. Visions of leaning up to bite it flooded her thoughts. She tucked that desire away for later. He deserved this. He’d earned it, and she wanted to give him something else to remember the moment by. 

She ran her tongue over her lips before leaning down to take him in her mouth. He grunted, and his hips thrust up of their own volition. 

She pulled off so he wouldn’t hit the back of her throat. 

“Can you try not to thrust that far into my mouth?” she asked, her hand still working.

He nodded, desperate to feel her again.

Through her thankful smile, her tongue came out to play again, wetting her lips before she swirled it around his tip. She stopped to tease the soft, sensitive spot under the head, exploring it with the length of her tongue. When he whimpered, she kept pressing against it, even as she wrapped her lips around him. 

Quinn was in paradise. She felt so good. He felt so alive. Everything was made better by the fact that she'd done this only once before. It was a real reward, not something she did because she thought he wanted her to. 

She pulled him deeper into her hot mouth. Her name came out a broken moan.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he panted, fingers digging into the cushions in an attempt to keep himself still. 

Before too long, she felt the muscles of his left leg twitch under her hand and she eased back to suck the head of his cock. The first time she’d blown him, he’d responded so animatedly to that, she just couldn’t not do it again. 

Glancing into his face, Sarah found him watching her through hooded eyes. Mouth open and panting, his lips were shiny with saliva, and she could clearly see his tongue resting on the inside his bottom jaw. Pausing, she took a moment to memorize how good he looked so she could recall the image on the long, lonely nights when she was missing him. 

He nearly lost it when he realized she was watching him, too. Seductively looking through her lashes, she was seemingly as entranced with him as he was with her. That, along with the way her tongue fluttered over the tip, had him hurling toward climax. 

His hitched breathing and the slow flex of his left leg told Sarah he was close. 

She pulled back even more, lips sucking on the sensitive tip. He gasped before she parted from him with a slow, wet kiss.

Her hand kept moving, sending a wave of pleasure through him with each stroke. 

“I’m so proud of you.”

Something about her words, coupled with the way she was looking at him — full of love, adoration, and pride — sent him right over the edge. He didn’t even have time to warn her. One second he was rushing to the precipice, and the next, he was so mesmerized by her words and her beautiful face, he fell right over it, streaking her nice blue shirt with a messy, white stripe. 

His mouth dropped open with a low nonsensical grunt.  

God, he was hot when he came.  She gently pulled her hand away, letting his softening member slip through her fingers. 

Letting his head thunk onto the back of the couch, Quinn moaned, “fuck, Sarah. I don’t —” he didn’t even have words, “that was — you’re so —” 

The ghost of his blissed out, pleasured expression still lingered on his face, even when the flush of his orgasm started receding.

“You deserve it,” she whispered, rising onto her knees and guiding his chin down so she could kiss him. 

Some of his friends hated kissing their girlfriends after they gave head. Quinn didn’t mind; he was clean. Plus, it was kind of hot, knowing she’d just sucked him off with these same lips, with this same tongue now brushing his. Her mouth brought pleasure everywhere it went. 

“God, I love your mouth,” he breathed against her and felt her smile. 

“She loves you too,” she said, tipping to intensify their kiss again. 

Hands coming up to cradle her jaw, he moaned, “you’re so fucking hot,” before nipping at her bottom lip, smiling when the shudder he hoped it would pull from her materialized. “So fucking good,” he continued, catching her mouth again in earnest, trying to express how he felt physically when his words were so jumbled.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sarah wanted to smack herself in the forehead. She loves you, too? What was wrong with her? There were about a million other things she could have said that wouldn’t be nearly so corny or embarrassing. 

Feeling her mouth on him and kissing her stirred up visions of going down on her. He’d thought about it, but his first time had been so awful, he couldn’t bare the thought of letting Sarah down, especially not after she just gave him a blowjob that rocked him to his core. A few nights before, he’d tasted her release on his fingers and wanted to try it again. From what he remembered, the first girl he went down on didn’t taste nearly as good. 

Instead of letting himself spiral down that rabbit hole, he scooped her butt into his hands and hauled her onto his lap. 

She was wearing entirely too much clothing. He ripped the ruined shirt over her head and snapped her bra undone as their mouths frantically found each other again. Even the first time they made out wasn’t nearly as needy and frenetic as this. 

Her hips rutted into his, and he winced. He was still overly sensitive, and the denim of her jeans didn’t help at all.

“What’s wrong?”

“Either the jeans come off, or you need to stop doing that.”

She was quick to stand, popping the button before shoving the offending garment down her legs along with her underwear. She kicked them off before settling back in his lap. 

“Better?” she asked. 

His response was to cup her ass and haul her hips against his, guiding her grinding. 

Melting against him, skin alight with so much contact to his, she choked out, “touch me, Quinn.” 

Just like that, he was on fire again. 

He slid his hand between her legs so he could stroke her smooth, slick folds.  

Head tipping back, she moaned, “inside.”

It took longer than he’d like to admit to realize what she was talking about. She wanted his fingers inside her. He eased one in, and she groaned, hips rising and falling in wave after steady wave. 

“More.”

He was quick to obey. 

Her face was so serene and beautiful - soft with bliss. He was watching, mesmerized, when one of her hands drifted up to cup her breast. Her chest hitched, nose scrunching a little with the pleasure that was brought on when she tweaked her nipple.

“God, I could watch you do this all day.”

Her other hand gripped his shoulder, seeking more leverage. “Do what? Ride your fingers?”

“My fingers, my cock,” he groaned just thinking about it, “touching yourself. Doesn’t matter. Just like watching you come.” 

Her hand abandoned her breast to seek her clit, rubbing soft circles around the swollen nub to bring his words to fruition. 

Something about watching her touch herself made him feel hot all over. “Fuck Sarah,” he groaned.

A cocky smile ghosted over her lips, and her eyes found his. “Make me come, Quinn.” 

Curling his fingers, he tried to find the spot he knew would send her over the edge. 

“Down, down,” she winced. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, adjusting. 

“Higher, now.” It wasn’t hurting anymore, but he still wasn’t where she needed him.

Quinn felt his face flame, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said, “just follow my lead.” 

Taking a deep breath to reset himself, he slipped a little higher.

“There,” she moaned as he found her g spot, and pleasure shivered through her body. “Right there.” 

The electricity between them crackled back to life. 

Leaning in to catch her mouth, he kissed her and kissed her. Continuing on, even when he felt her nails dig into the skin on his shoulder and she clenched around his fingers. She moaned and moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed them all.

Pleasure rippled through her, and she stilled her hand, riding the waves of Quinn’s fingers until the pleasure melted away.

Hips slowing, Sarah settled back to sit on his thighs, pulling her mouth from his in the process. “Goddamn,” she whispered. “I wasn’t even planning on that.” 

“Planning on what?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers. He almost put them in his mouth.

“I was just planning on sucking you off,” she said, still panting. "I didn't expect you to get so worked up after."

“You can’t say something like ‘she loves you too’ and expect me to just be normal about it,” he said, giving her an incredulous look. 

A hand fluttered up to cover her eyes, “oh, God. That was such a ridiculous line.” 

Hand sliding from her bum to her shoulder, he eased her forward so he could kiss her again, “It was the hottest thing a woman has ever said to me.” 

Pulling back, she raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. 

“I’m serious. You just told me your mouth loves getting me off. You think I’m not going to like that?”

“I don’t…." It was mostly just something to say, but she wasn’t about to ruin his fantasy by telling him that. "I didn’t think about it that way,” she admitted

Laughing, he pulled her closer so her sweat sheened skin was flush to his. Were they further along in their relationship, this would be a time he would tell her he loved her. He felt it so clearly, more clearly than he ever had before. But it didn’t feel right for the first time. Wasn’t the first time supposed to be special? The unsaid words tumbled from his mind to his stomach. 

“Do you have a condom in your wallet?” she asked, hand wandering down to stroke his renewed erection, standing proud between them. 

“I…” He bit his lip to gain control of himself, the thoughts of confessing his love rushing out of his mind. “I don’t think so,” he managed to say. Truth be told, he rarely even carried a wallet. Everything he needed was on his phone. And why would he need condoms to drive his parents to the airport? If Sarah had been with them, maybe. But that was still a huge maybe. They didn’t have sex outside of the house, so he didn’t worry about carrying them with him. 

“I’ll go get one,” she said, moving to slip off his lap. 

His hands tightened at her waist, desperate to keep her close, “do we need to?” 

“I don’t know about you, but I really don't want to have a baby right now.” 

“No, I don’t either, but I can pull out.” 

“In my experience, when guys say they'll pull out, they only manage it about 40% of the time, and I've had one pregnancy scare too many to leave that up to chance.” 

He tried not to be offended at that. Sure, maybe some other dude wouldn't pull out, but he had plenty of experience. 

Sarah giggled at the determined annoyance on his face and peppered kisses over his cheeks and nose, ending with a peck to his lips. Truth be told, she’d been thinking about ditching the condoms with him, too. She’d even had an IUD put in, but her doctor said it wouldn’t be fully effective for a while. 

“I’ll be right back. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” 

Like hell he wouldn’t. 

He did enjoy the sight of her running, naked, into his bedroom in the middle of the day, though.

She reappeared, triumphantly holding one of the foil wrapped squares from his nightstand. He’d had to order more when he'd reached into the box the week before and felt only two. It’d been a long time since he’d had to replenish, and he felt oddly proud when he’d placed the order the next day. It was nice knowing he wouldn’t be spending any of the coming months celibate. 

“Do you want me to?” she asked, bringing the package up to her mouth so she could rip the foil with her teeth. It was an outrageously arousing sight, something he’d never thought of before, like her desire was so feral she couldn’t even bother to fumble with her fingers. 

Plus, anything that brought attention to her mouth sent him back in time 15 minutes. He was going to dream about that blowjob for the rest of his life. 

“You can.” 

She rolled the latex on, and his breath stuttered at the feeling. 

“Do you wanna do this here?” he panted, even as she raised her hips so she could sink on to him. 

Pausing, she asked, “do you want to move?” 

He thought briefly about having to clean the couch afterward, then decided it didn’t matter. Sandra, his cleaning lady, could get out any stain they left behind, and if she couldn’t, well, he’d buy another. 

Shaking his head, he nudged her hips down, groaning when she sunk onto him. It didn’t matter how many times they did this — though it did seem fitting that this was lucky number sixty nine —  he would never get used to the feel of her around his cock. 

“I love this couch,” she said against his neck. 

He laughed, sharp and loud. “You’ve got me balls deep, and you want to talk about my couch?” 

“It’s a nice couch,” she defended, finding a steady pace, slipping up and down. “Much easier on the knees than anything else I’ve done this on.” 

That was not something he wanted to think about. Conveniently, she swiveled her hips and, it and every other thought fell right out of his brain. 

Her breath was in his ear when she asked, “can you hold me?” 

“What?” he was already holding her. Her question snapped into place as she leaned back, relying on his hands to keep her from falling. He splayed his fingers to get a better grip. 

Her thrusts shortened as she ground against his stomach. 

One of her hands shot back to grasp his knee for better balance. The other slid to his shoulder, her fingers curling to get a surer grip. Her nails pricked at his skin, causing a pleasant sort of pain.  He was going to have marks on that shoulder, he was sure of it.

Her grinding increased, and he tried to follow her lead. Moving with her, he matched her rocking with his own. 

“Quinn,” she breathed as ecstasy raced through her veins. “You feel so good.” Managing to pull herself out of her lust addled thoughts, she asked, “feels good for you?”

“Feels fucking fantastic,” he groaned, mesmerized by the sight of her. Watching her take pleasure from his body was something he hadn’t realize he wanted. His fuse shortened centimeter by precious centimeter.

“I’m almost there.” 

He said the first thing that came to mind, “yeah, take what you need.”

She moaned happily, keeping a steady pace, as the swell of emotion and energy gathered like a whirlpool in her belly. She’d never felt so comfortable seeking her own pleasure before. It was freeing in a way she’d never expected. 

When the pressure finally burst and her muscles constricted around him, Quinn let out a primal grunt. Lights popped in his vision with each successive pulse.

Sarah collapsed and went a little boneless in his hold. His broad hands and flexing arms were the only things keeping her from falling off his lap altogether. 

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling her into him, so her chest, sheened with sweat, pressed against his. She tucked her face into his neck. 

Finally coming back to her mind, she blinked a few times, surprised to find him still rigid and throbbing inside her. Her stomach fluttered as she realized, and breath rushed from his mouth. 

Slouching back into the couch, he flexed his hips and thighs to thrust up into her. 

She squeaked, and he slowed immediately, “okay?”

She nodded into his shoulder, “yeah. Just a little surprised.” 

He began again, and it only took a few thrusts before he was unknotting, spilling into the condom. He collapsed into the couch, breathing heavily. 

Mouth on his neck, she licked and kissed before sucking hard. She wasn’t usually one to mark him so visibly, but she was proud, and part of her wanted the world to know she was, even if they didn’t know her. 

He let out a little whine when she pulled away.

A few nights later, while watching the game with her roommates, a camera passed over Quinn as he argued with an official over a penalty that Sarah agreed was undeserved. 

The hickey had faded, but the oval shaped bruise was still starkly visible against the pale skin of his throat. 

Quinn had laughed when he saw it and mumbled something about the guys giving him hell, but he was still smiling, so she knew he wasn’t that upset. 

“Marking your territory, eh, Sarah?” Eunice asked, quirking her eyebrows.

“Eunice, gross,” Jane said, picking up the stuffy of Fin and throwing it at the other woman.

Sarah blushed, feeling caught. 

“Oh my god,” Jane said, her voice laced with disbelief, “you did.” 

“I was proud of him. And in my defense, I didn’t mean for it to be that dark.” 

Eunice howled with laughter. “The fangirls are going to go nuts over this.” 

“The fangirls?” Sarah repeated. 

“You're all over Tumblr.”

“What?”

“They showed you on TV talking with Jim and Ellen a few nights ago.”

She had no idea they’d shown her on TV. Her stomach flipped over. “What does that have to do with Tumblr?”

Eunice walked into her room to get her laptop. When she came back, she pulled up a post of several gifs of Sarah animatedly talking with Jim. Ellen was in the shot, too, listening to their conversation. Sarah was gesturing from one end of the rink to the other.

It was impossibly weird seeing herself in looped animation. She wondered if this was when she’d been asking about forecheck.

The post was tagged: #Quinn Hughes #Jim Hughes #Ellen Wenburg Hughes #is she a cousin? #is this the girl he's dating? #WHO IS SHE?

Eunice pulled up another post, a screenshot of Sarah’s Instagram profile, thankfully already set to private. “Some girl looked through everyone Quinn follows on Insta and found you that way.” 

Though her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest, Sarah’s voice stayed cool as she asked, “why do they care?” 

Internally, she was incredibly thankful the only information on her profile was her name and NV -> BC. Ask me about the ocean. with an octopus emoji.

“They’re just puck bunnies.” 

“What the hell is a puck bunny?” 

“Girls who want to marry an NHL player just because he plays hockey.” 

Sarah gave her a look that was less than impressed. 

“I don’t tell them to do it,” Eunice defended. “That’s just what they do.”

“Anyway, they’re all trying to figure out who you are.” 

Sarah clicked on the notes of the instagram profile post. The person who had reblogged most recently added the tags: #i’m pretty sure she goes to my school #i swear i’ve seen her before #can’t believe he left june for her #june is so much prettier

Anxiety bubbled in her stomach, and Sarah felt a little like she might be sick. 

Eunice shut her laptop before she could read any more.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[fortheloveofexy]

Right now, Andrew and Neil are waving goodbye to the last few stragglers (Renee and Allison) as they head out the door with an armload of opened presents and leftover Christmas dinner. The others have all left already, all equally loaded down with gifts and Tupperware of food. Neil lets Allison hug him goodbye one last time before he closes the door. He turns to Andrew with a tired smile, still a little tipsy from spiked eggnog and the last dregs holiday spirit.

Andrew quirks an eyebrow at him and nods at the tree. Nestled in the back corner are two little boxes still wrapped in red and gold. They'd decided to wait to exchange gifts with each other until after the others went home, wanting to have this moment to themselves.

Andrew extracts their presents while Neil tucks himself onto the couch. The living room is mostly tidy, the carnage of ribbon and wrapping paper already gathered into neatly tied garbage bags. All that remains are a few wads of tissue paper left out for King and Sir to play with.

"You first," Andrew says, thrusting a box into Neil's hand. Neil accepts the gift with a grin that turns into a yawn. Andrew's wrapping is surprisingly neat, with crisp even edges and a minimal amount of tape.

Neil tears open the paper carefully, revealing the navy blue jewelry box inside. It's a necklace; a silver pendant shaped like a key. There's no inscription, but there doesn't need to be; Neil already knows what it means.

Home.

"Thank you," he tells Andrew, and he knows he's being gooey when he says it, because Andrew gets that look where he's feeling something too big to name and defaults to annoyance instead. "Your turn," Neil adds, because he's capable of mercy when he wants to be.

Wordlessly, Andrew opens his gift. His box is a little bigger than Neil's was, wrapped in soft red suede. Inside is a brand new Swiss Army knife - smaller than the blades Andrew used to carry, but no less useful.

Engraved upon the handle is a single word: Always.

"I know you said you didn't need your old knives anymore," Neil explains quickly, "But this one isn't just for protection. It's got everything; a bottle opener, a file, a flashlight - anything you might need. You'll never be without again."

Andrew considers the knife, his thumb rubbing idly against the engraving. His knee is warm where it's pressed against Neil's thigh, his expression thoughtful and relaxed. Finally, he sets the knife aside, resting it gently on the coffee table.

Neil opens his mouth to ask a question, but he's interrupted by Andrew cupping his cheek with a calloused hand. "You and your 'always'," Andrew murmurs, his eyes on Neil's mouth, "Yes or no?"

Neil smiles before leaning in. "Yes," he replies, and meets Andrew's lips with his own.

[moondirti]

DEE IK THIS IS SO OFF THE BAT BUT IMAGINE RIDING MIGUEL’S ABS??!;!;?:?:? WHATS UR CRUMB ON THAT BCS IM LITERALLY ASCENDING INTO HEAVEN JUST BY THE THOUGHT OF IT😩☝🏼

SUMMARY: after the events of DOUBLE RAPTURE, we follow Mig back home and explore his less than ideal relationship with his world's version of you.

explicit (18+) | 1.5k words

part one / can be read as a standalone! WARNINGS: smut, ab-riding, handjobs, codependant relationships, submissive (?) miguel, ANGST, fear of commitment (on the reader's part), implied parental issues, drinking, anxious/avoidant attachment styles NOTES: did this take me forever to respond to? yes. have i been thinking about it every day since i received it? also yes. please have a little drabble as a sweet treat for your genius mind, anon. sorry i took it too far

This is how it is with Miguel.

Buttressed on a leather couch that isn't so much leather anymore, but cotton dotted with the flakes of black suede that've managed to hold on through the years since you bought it. It's old, unstable – somewhat an apt metaphor for your relationship to the man – and stands situated across a television with no cable. He shows up at your door on any unannounced night, where for once you wish he'd catch you with plans pre-made, and intrudes on your vain attempt to connect the old screen to your neighbour's internet.

And it's ironic that you should end up watching dated cartoons anyway, stuck inside your apartment that is a fraction the size of his, because he always opens on some variation of the same line – the very thing that woo'd you all those years ago, when you were younger and prone to any man's charm:

What's a pretty thing like you do in a place like this?

It's dark outside – night-worn inhibition being one of the main constituents to poor decision making – and his skin gleams golden in the dim lamp light. You can't refuse him for all your rationale on why, so he comes in and you pour a strong drink whose hangover tomorrow will take precedence over your guilt. He drinks too, perhaps to make your eventual rejection easier, and the two of you make-out on that tumbledown couch until your lips turn blue.

Sometimes, he comes up for air – only when he gathers enough courage to break away from you – to whisper filthy nothings and little promises on the shell of your ear. Neither are empty, you know. Miguel’s good at making good of every word when it comes to you. The push and pull gets to him, fuels his gears until he’s pouring proper work into making you happy. From what you can physically face – gonna have you creaming on my cock, cariño – to prospects that remain ever-frightening – wanna stay like this forever, you on my lap, sharing our home. 

You’ve never had a reference to ‘our’. Commitment remains a fickle thing for you, instilled by parents who didn’t have the mind to give it. He knows as much, but you don’t think he understands just what keeps you around regardless. What keeps you at the door, waiting for an acknowledged three-knuckle knock. None of the in betweens, flowers, nor the heights you reach spread-eagled underneath him. It’s always just been exactly that – his return, done every time without fail. 

(And there’s the ever-negging fear that one day he’ll grow sick of the cycle. 

On one hand, you hope he does. It hurts him more than it does you, and you hate to watch him leave. Yet on the other, more volatile hand – you pray he fucks you so well you forget your reserve, that he breeds and carries you away from this hole you’ve dug yourself in.) 

For now, though–

For now, you lift the shirt off his frame. He’s let his chest-hair grow since you met him last, and if you strain to remember, he’s gotten bulkier. Abs more pronounced, with pecs that bounce when you graze your nails down his side. It’s refined, a look that makes him appear older. You swoop down to lick his neck, moaning hotly once you reach his mouth. 

“You been working out, Mig?” 

“For you, hermosa. Figured you’d like me better like this.” He groans, kneading the flesh of your thighs. His fingers dip into the waistband of your underwear, snapping it on your skin in an explicit plea to take it off. 

“And who told you that?” You say, acquiescing, working the lacey strip off your hips. Your cunt sucks at it, belligerent in letting go now that it’s soaked the fabric through. 

“A couple I met. They remind me of us.” His head follows yours when you draw away from an attempted kiss. It’s unintentional, done to stand off and strip completely, yet his reaction to it sends little tremors of pleasure to your core. “Of what we could be.” 

“Shhhh.” Once you’re completely bare, tits freed from your tank top, you straddle him again, a little higher this time. His waist is cinched enough to allow you to do so with little fuss, tendons at the top of your thighs aching only slightly. “Make me feel good, please.” 

“Of course.” 

His thumb presses down on your swollen clit, holding it in place while you arch your back and trap it underneath you – sandwiching it between your mound and his midriff. The pressure is electric, charged to fervency, buzzing as it lights every nerve ending from your waist below. And three thrusts forth and back see to it that he’s slick, lubed with the juices that gradually seep from your needy slit. 

The sight, the sensations, the thought that he’s putting effort outside of this room for you – they all make you exceedingly weak. Your legs wobble, practically jello, spine made out of sand and unable to support you fully. Miguel stays firm, one large paw squeezing your breast and the other at your pelvis. You’d ask him to help, to move you against him until you see stars, but a stone lodges in your throat and prevents the words from finding clarity. 

It’s guilt, of that you’re familiar, but for a number of things; the fact that he would help you seek pleasure in spite of his own – his erection left abandoned under the confines of his pants. The idea of desecrating his hard work, those muscles made pronounced, with your filth without fully appreciating it first. For everything, everything, and it’s so crushing that you stop moving altogether. 

“No, no. C’mon, pretty. Keep going.” He begs, pelvis thrusting up with need. You shove your arm behind you, seeking out the zipper keeping him from you, palming his hard length with clumsy assurance “Don’t worry about me. Wanna feel you cum on my abs. Gonna lick you clean after. We have forever if you’d let me. There’s no rush.” 

No rush. It’s far from the typical Miguel sentiment, and you blink in perplexed contemplation. But he just grins, brows knitting up with reverence. 

“Did these people also teach you to take your time?” You struggle to say patience, because he’s always been patient with you. 

“Something along the lines.” He mutters, suddenly sheepish. His fangs always intrude when his tone is quiet, like they’re intentionally making him difficult to understand. He knows he’s special to you when you try to decipher it nonetheless. 

“Don’t be making me jealous, now.” You taunt, dipping to bite his lip. It’s fun to pull up, up, until he whines and shoves you harder onto him. Achingly empty and close to cumming on his abdomen alone. Slowly, you start to gyrate again, riding unrelenting sinew. And in the meanwhile, you manage to get his zipper undone, sneaking your hand beneath his briefs.

“I’ll explain lat… later, p-promise.” 

“I don’t doubt it. F-Fuck,” Somehow, the pleasure is simultaneously heavenly and not enough, this little game you decided to engage in tiptoeing the line. He’s good even when he isn’t trying, just laying there, pinching pebbled nipples with enough callousness that it aches in the best way. On your first date – which wasn’t really a date, but a happenstance meeting at your father’s shady bar – he’d been hesitant to hurt you like you wanted. The best he could do was pepper your neck with sore hickeys, pocketed in the back alley, touch kinder than any you’d experienced before. “Oh my god.”

“Y-You’re so soft. My gorgeous girl. So soft and… and pretty when you do that.”

“Mig.” You wail, useless in properly pumping his pulsing cock. It’s all you can do to palm the head, smearing prespend all over his velvet tip. And it’s hard, like smelted iron, throbbing hot and heavy. It’s been so long since you’ve had it in you that you’re sure it’ll take some effort to fit. The abstraction fills you with desperation so poignant that you start moving faster, rougher, seeking an end where you’re stuffed full yet doing nothing to actually achieve it. 

That is, until–

“What do you need?” He asks.

Your hole clenches. Your guts knot together. Your orgasm gathers, full and sloshing wet, trapped behind the wall he’s been breaking down since his arrival. 

“You!” You finally admit. “You.” Softer. 

And when you cum, soaking his middle with shameless indulgence, all he does is flip you over to settle beneath him. The couch rocks with the sudden upheaval, threatening collapse, so he keeps a firm hold of your shoulders, kneeling between your quivering thighs. His breadth bobs from over his pants – you don’t recall taking it out – purple with restrained pain and just waiting for your cue to allow him entry.

“I’ve got you, cariño.” Miguel hums, positioning himself onto the divet of your cunt when you give a frail nod. “I’ve got you.” 

And you know, of course you do. He’s never backed away from a promise before. Because that is how it is with Miguel.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I thought that this Windermere, FL home was built around the 1920s, but it says 2006. Apparently, the architect, Mark Nasrallah, is known for Art Deco style. The 5bd, 9ba mansion, called "Overjoy," has been on the market for 551 days. Asking price: $11.955M + $400mo. HOA. Take a look. I think it's beautiful.

Marble floors, and the house gets tons of natural light.

Not that you really need a fireplace in Florida, but it looks pretty, especially with the blue surround.

The living/dining room has a magnificent view of the pool and Lake Butler.

The pool has a waterfall that you can enjoy while you're in the jacuzzi.

They placed the dining table here, but it's not particularly close to the kitchen. (Not that they care about how far the staff has to walk.)

Next to the living/dining area is a smaller dining area and a family room.

I'm so fascinated by hidden kitchens. Very rich people must hate cooking so much, they hide the kitchen.

I like the peachy color of it, though. When you put Swarovski crystal insets, and no exhaust hood, over the cooktop, you're not the one who cleans the kitchen.

I'm guessing the double doors on the left are the fridges.

The primary bedroom suite has marble flooring, a view of, and access to, the pool.

It has a sitting room right in front of the pool and doors to the patio.

Bathroom with a sunken jetted tub and fireplace.

And, 2 closet/dressing rooms.

Then, this is the spa room for the massage table.

The home theater looks plain, but it has sueded walls and a Kaleidescape media system.

Kitchenette off the theater.

Behind the purple couch in this sitting area there's the floating glass 4 person elevator that goes up to the 3rd level.

The primary bedroom is on the main floor, but the other suites are on the upper levels.

Covered full outdoor kitchen with a door to completely enclose it. (It rains in Florida.)

Covered sitting/dining area with a fireplace and a view of the lake.

Outdoor sitting area and the boat dock.

.93 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/11301-Bridge-House-Rd-Windermere-FL-34786/82084477_zpid/

[pinksturniolo]

Divine Feminine

Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader Blurb

summary: They say it's unprofessional to have personal relationships with the customers... but it can be hard to keep your composure when your favorite one comes in every now and then to show you how good it can feel to break the rules.

content warnings: no actual sex but still smutty, stripper fem reader, kissing, grinding, lap dance, weed smoking

a/n: if exchanging money for sex, the stripper industry, or the general idea of this concept offends you, then sorry but don't read!

word count: 1,397

Glowing pink of neon lights reflect off the walls of the dark club, the music loud, bass reverberating through the room. The smell of vanilla and floral perfumes mixed with sweet sweat fills the air, the aura of sexual power emanating.

The cold metal of the pole glides as you wrap your hands around it, spinning effortlessly. You sway your hips to the music and look back over your shoulder, sensual gaze in your eyes as you see the crowd behind you. Almost every person in the room has their eyes on you, on your body and the way you move.

One pair of blue eyes catches your attention, as you recognize a familiar face in the very back, a cloud of smoke billowing from his lips. He sucks on the joint between his fingers, inhaling the smoke through his nose and continues to watch you intently.

His eyes on you has your heart thrashing, a feeling of nervousness you’re not usually accustomed to.

Still you move, your legs wrapping around the pole as you lift yourself on it and twirl. When he watches you, it makes a thrill course through your body, and it feels as if you’re only dancing for him.

It excited you in more ways than you can explain.

Chris watches from his spot nestled in the dark corner of the club, the curve of your ass and hips and the sleek way you grind on the pole has him intoxicated.

Tonight you had on your jet black lace set accented with sparkly thigh garters and glossy pink pumps. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, his need to run his hands all over your body growing stronger the more you dance.

But soon it’s ending and you take your last twirl as your song changes, meaning it’s time for the next beautiful girl to come on stage.

You steal one more look over your shoulder before stepping off, only to see him gone, the chair empty from where he was just watching you.

Before you can make it to the dressing room in the back of the club, a bouncer stops you, leaning down to talk to you over the loud music.

"You've been requested for a private dance." He says, handing you $200 and motioning to the small door on the side of the club, away from the stage and the crowd.

Your heart rate picks up, your stomach jumping as you look over to the door, knowing well enough who's just requested you.

You smile and nod, making your way to the private room and tucking the blue bills in the side of your lace set, sitting it snug on your hip.

Once you enter the dimly lit room, you shut the door behind you, turning the small corner to see Chris sitting on the large black couch, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smirk once he makes eye contact with you.

It's cloudy in the room as usual, from the weed smoke, and iridescent blue reaches every corner from the lights on the ceiling. You get closer and see nothing but darkness in his eyes, turning his usual blue piercing gaze on you into something incredibly sensual and even dangerous.

Subtle nerves fill you as his fingers motion for you to come even closer and his legs spread wider from his seated position on the suede of the couch when you lift one of your feet, placing the sole of your pink heel between his thighs.

His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he leans up a little, placing his hand on your ankle and slowly, slowly running it up the soft skin of your calf, trailing towards your upper thigh.

He tilts his head upwards, his eyes hooded and low, desire seeping from them and your heart races again.

"God, I missed you... so fucking much." He confesses to you.

His fingertips press into the flesh of your thigh and you could nearly melt from how the words sound leaving his lips, his voice raspy with want.

You tilt your head to the side a little, smirk forming on your face, glint in your eyes as you look down at him, a bit mockingly. "Poor baby..." You reply, your hand reaching out to grab his chin softly. His eyes slip close for a moment, the soothing feeling of your fingers rubbing across his jaw.

Meanwhile his own are inching closer to your inner thigh, skimming the lace of your garter.

"Why don't you show me how much you missed me, hm?" You tease and he slaps the skin of your thigh harshly before quickly yanking you down onto his lap, gripping the material of your outfit on your hips.

You gasp softly, the sudden change in position making you catch your breath and he squeezes your hips, pushing you down harder on top of him, his mouth hot against yours.

"Be a good girl and do what I asked you to do." He says, and you can't help the wetness that forms in your core as you feel the hardness in his jeans, his tongue poking out to slide over your bottom lip.

You grant him access, opening your mouth to kiss him, sucking on the tongue he so generously offered to you. You roll your hips lightly on top of him, eliciting a groan from his mouth.

One hand grips his broad shoulder as you reach the other one down to pull out the money from the waistband on your underwear, holding it up in between the two of you.

"You know, I don't need this from you to give you what you ask for." You say and his eyes roam over your face before moving down your body, the way you look sitting on top of him making his already straining boner even harder in his pants.

The only reason why he did that was solely so he could get you into the private room all to himself. If the owners of the club knew you two were having sexual relations for the past month behind closed doors for free, it would get you fired.

It was fucked up, but those were the rules.

This little game of push and pull is one you two have been playing for a while now. The first time he paid for a private dance with you, you were both instantly enamored, and he requested you and only you each time he came in. You started to turn down other patrons.

It came to the point where you craved to please him, and he became wrapped around your finger. The usual rules of a paying customer and dancer relationship were blurred.

“It still turns me on though…” You mutter, pure lust in the way your lips run along his neck as you lean even closer into him, sucking marks onto his skin.

Another tantalizing roll of your hips grinding down onto him and he’s nearly whimpering in your ear, his hands grabbing at your sides, the heat from your core tempting him to buck his hips up in need of more but he controls himself, letting you dance over him.

The music from the club is muffled but can still be heard almost clearly in the small room, the beat carrying your body to sway over him. You lift yourself to turn around and place your feet back on the floor, grinding your ass on his crotch in circles. You balance your self by placing your hands on his thighs, bending over so he can get a good view.

Chris is in a trance as you bend and bounce on his lap and then lean back to rest your head on his shoulder. He can’t keep his hands off you, running them up and down your body. He teases the edge of your underwear, the cold but soft touch of his fingers causing goosebumps to rise, the wetness between your folds growing.

Your ass feels amazing pressed against him, and the tension in the room is palpable. The need to have you do this exact position on him naked in his bed is all he can think about.

He pulls the band of your garter on your thigh, releasing it with a snap against your skin and it makes you moan his name aloud. He grits his teeth at the angelic sound, his blood rushing and heart skipping a beat. “Come home with me baby. Please.” He breathes in your ear and his request is one you know there’s no chance of turning down.

It’s then that he pulls a stack of money folded with a rubber band from his pocket, placing it in your hand.

You would gladly leave with him regardless but he grips your throat gently and kisses you deeply before you can say anything else.

taglist!!

if u would like to be added/taken off, pls comment on this post or on my masterlist. :)

<3

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @seahorsie11 @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @erysium @sturncakez @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn @mattscoquette @jnkvivi @h3arts4harry @chrizznmetswife @bambi-slxt @streamermattsgf @mattspolitank

[rosecoloreddesire]

Not A Lie ~ Elvis Presley

Summary: You could never imagine THE Elvis Presley to show up in your little diner. How can you tell your parents that…he’s your fiancé??

Note: IM BACK! I’m going to be graduating in February so I’m hoping I can get some writing out! I’m so sorry if this is a bad come back? I haven’t proofread yet! But I think it’s good 💙 missed you all so much!

Warnings: FLUFF!

“Y/N, you gotta stop lyin’! You know how much your daddy loves Elvis!” You huff out as you chase your mom around the kitchen island.

“Mama! Just listen to me! I’m being honest! I am enga-“ she put a finger to your lips as you both hear the front door unlock, opening to your daddy whistling a soft tune of Blue Suede Shoes.

“Not a word in front of him, got it?” You sigh loudly not wanting her to put you down.

“But mama! He’s comin’ ton-“ she cuts you off with an ice cold glare. You finally let it go, walking past your father to your room.

“God damn it all! Why won’t anyone ever listen to me?” The small phone in your room begins to ring, picking it up you sit on your bed. A certain southern drawl cheers you up.

“Hey there, lil’ lady. How’s my girl doin’? I’ll be there soon I promise. My parents are wantin’ us to get together and do some photos here at Graceland for the family album.” He chuckles while you heard his grandma in the back.

“Hi grandma! Um, pictures? Like engagement pictures?” You nervously hum, twirling the phone cord around your finger.

“Well, I did get you that pretty rock on your finger. And I think that means your stuck with lil’ old me, baby.” Your cheeks flush as he lowly whispers.

“I’ll see you soon. Lest your flirtin’ make my face flush!” His giggles are cut off as you hang up. Your face aglow. Your phone rings once again.

“Elvis Presley- if you don’t stop-“

“Elvis Presley?! I knew it!” Your best friend Amelia was on the other line….her screams of joy influence you to push the phone as far away from you as possible. You wince as she continues.

“Amelia Jones! You needa keep it down! What’ll you do if your mama says she won’t be gettin’ you into my mama’s salon this Thursday!” The other line dies down.

“You know your mamas the only one you can actually do my hair and make it look good!” You chuckle as she tries to explain herself.

“Yes! That’s why when I tell you the boy I’ve been datin’ all year and last year is Mr. Elvis Presley.” You state confidently as she squees softly.

“That’s why you wasn’t impressed when we saw him for the first time! You were kissin’ him!!!” Her giggles and squeals made you roll your eyes. Amelia was always into the whole romance and love at first sight tropes in the movies.

“Y/N! Get down here! Your mother and I need to have a talk with you!” You grumble and hope your mom hadn’t told your father about the whole engagement.

“Gotta go, Ames! Bye!” You hung up, smooth your skirt and make your way down the stairs.

“You know the policy we have on lyin’, young lady.” Your daddy was sitting on the couch with your mother.

“Daddy, I ain’t lyin’ to you! I really am-“ your mothers laugh breaks you off again.

“We are supposed to believe that Elvis Presley is coming tonight to meet us after askin for your hand?” She fans herself. Your mom usually was so supportive but you do have to hand it to her. This was kinda crazy.

“I ain’t! He’s really sweet! His mama and daddy are arranging a photo shoot for us to be in the Presley family album! I’m gonna be a Presley, daddy!”

“I wanna believe you but how did you even meet?”

—

“And will that be all for you today?” The man in front of you was clearly flirting as you wrote off his receipt.

“Uh actually this is gonna sound weird but are you an angel?” You rolled your eyes, waving your hand.

“Hm, I’ve actually never heard of that one but I am very aware thank you. Bye!” You spun around on your heel and grabbed a new pad and paper. You fixed your hair in the reflection of napkin holder.

“You handled that well, Darlin’.” You jump a little. The voice was low and oddly familiar. You turned with a flush to your cheeks.

“ yeah well creeps like that don’t like the word no so-“ you paused as you finally saw the person speaking to you.

“It’s a shame cause he ain’t wrong. But he forgot to say you look like a goddess.”

“You’re-“ you stuttered holding your hand to your chest.

“Your future boyfriend I hope.” You must have looked like a tomato with how warm your cheeks were getting.

“Uh- are you serious? Is this a prank?.”

“Here’s my number. Use it wisely.” And with a wink he was gone as fast as he came.

——

“I’m supposed to believe he came to our family restaurant when your mama and I were gone?” You nod desperately. You take your mothers hand and show her your ring.

“Oh my god, Y/N. That’s a real ring! How did you-“ your doorbell is going off before you can explain.

“Do you want to get that, daddy?” You ask softly, praying to whatever god that Elvis was standing at the door. He huffs as he sits up, making his way to the door.

“Afternoon- OH MY GOD. You-“ Your father brings your fiancé into a bear hug. Your father squeezes the poor boy as you giggle. Your skin flushing at the display.

“It’s really Elvis! What in the hell?” Your mom grasps your hands tightly as the boy walks into the house, more like pulled. You giggle as he finally sees you, a bit frazzled. He detaches himself from your father as he makes his way to you. His lips soft against your cheek as your body warms.

“Uh, mom, dad, this is my fiancé.” You spout awkwardly as Elvis slips his arm around you. Your father gleams with excitement.

“I understand why you didn’t ask for my blessin’, son! You can marry my daughter!” You’ve never seen your father so ecstatic in your life. Except the one time he won a ticket to see Elvis. Or the one time he heard Heart Break Hotel on the radio in his car. Huh….you are sensing a running theme…

“I really do love your daughter. It’s jus’ been rough tryin’ to get a time together to meet y’all.” He smiles boyishly at your parents. Your mom still reeling in the fact that you were telling the truth.

“D-did ya enjoy our family diner?” Your mom stutters out. You stifle laugh placing your hand over your mouth. You look at Elvis awaiting his answer.

“Of course, ma’am! Great atmosphere, great food, and even greater waitresses.” He bumps you with his shoulder as you blush.

“Well, don’t be a stranger, Mister Presley! Come on, we were just gettin’ ready for our meal!” Your father pushes Elvis to a chair at the table. You shakily sit next to him as your nerves still haven’t fully settled.

“Why our daughter?” Your breath hitches as your mom starts to plate the food.

“Lord, where do I start? She looks as if she walked right out of a Hollywood movie. An absolute starlet.” Your skin flushes as his hand drifts to your thigh.

“I wish! We met up with some of his Hollywood buddies and they were super sweet! They think Elvis has a real shot of hittin’ it big!” You smile as he laughs. His gaze focuses on you the whole time. How could he have found the most amazing thing to have come out of him having to hide from fans in a local diner? His eyes never leave your lips as you continue to sing his praises.

“I really think it’s a great idea to see you two married! Can you believe it, honey? We’d be related to the Presley’s!” Your dad claps as he excitedly dug into his food. Your mother still seems a little hesitant.

“What’s gonna stop you from chasin’ other girls around town? My daughter hasn’t even dated before you!” Your eyes widen as you take a bite of your dinner. You hadn’t really had that conversation with Elvis yet…

“I’m your first boyfriend?” You wince at his surprised tone. You turned to face him.

“Uh, yeah. I, uh, never really thought about the whole dating thing. Until you kissed me at that charity concert…I-“ his lips are soft against your cheek. Your hand shaking in his hand.

“You don’t need to explain nothin’, darlin’. Thank you so much for the lovely dinner but I best be goin’ soon I only had a it of time to spare.” He began to get up as your father rose from his seat.

“How about you go with him, sweetheart? Your mom and I are gonna have a talk about all this.” You nod, hugging him quickly. You all but ran up the stairs to get away from the tension.

“How cute. Pink really fits you.” Elvis smirks as his fingers traced your bed sheets. You scoff as you pack a small bag.

“I haven’t gotten to change my sheets since I was like 10, E. Give me a break. Do you really want to do this?” Elvis’ hand caresses your face, pushing a few stray hairs out of your face.

“I want you. Every day. Afternoon. And night. You are all I think about.” His voice just a bit above a whisper. Your eyes were heavy as you stare at his lips.

“Can I be yours forever?” His lips were soft as he pulls you close. The kiss was delicate but passionate as he grips your hair slightly.

“If you’ll let me.”

[kuwajima]

@demonslayedher posted an amazing Akaza pillow concept, which prompted me to make this prototype. And after more trial and error, I think I finally have a pretty decent pillow!

I can’t decide if he should live on the KNY couch or hang out with the face pillows on the KNY bed…decisions, decisions.

Unlike the prototype, this one has less polyfill stuffing which allows the rounded blue pattern to look more accurate to Akaza’s designs. The fringe is also suede rather than my DIY acrylic fringe from the first attempt! It’s a tag bit too stiff, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for a more accurate color and length.

I didn’t realize how weird Akaza’s color scheme was until I tried to find a fringe color to match it. This specific one is listed as “watermelon” and it’s pretty close to the Akaza towel I was using as a reference guide.

Overall I think it’s cute! Now that I’ve made kny food and kny home decor, I need to find another project…

[arthistoryanimalia]

#TwoForTuesday: how many different critters can you spot on these purses? 🔎

1. Purse, Japan, early 18th c. Leather covered w/ embroidered linen w/ silks, lined w/ suede, silver; 4x4cm

2. Purse, Japan, c. 1890 Embroidered felt, silver, ivory; 4x4cm

V&A T.124-1964, T.383-1977

Description of #1:

“Leather purse covered with linen embroidered with coloured silk & cord in laid, couched & raised work with some satin stitch. The purse is bound with leather & lined with brown suede. The division inside & the sides outside are made of green suede stamped with a repeating geometrical pattern in white. The purse has a silver fastening in the form of two butterflies. At the top are series of silver chains for suspension which end in a heavy round ivory button containing a silver plaque decorated with chrysanthemums.

Embroidered decoration consists of background of clouds worked in couched circles of cord in blue & buff, against which various creatures appear. On the front flap are a dragonfly, a butterfly & a small fly; on the main part of the front a praying mantis & a moth; on the back a frog and a horned beetle.”

(Note: praying mantis isn’t visible in photo, and the “moth” looks like a cicada)

Description of #2:

“Purse of felt with an all over embroidered pattern of flowers [note: they’re actually butterflies] and dragonflies. It is in shape of an envelope with a cast silvered metal clasp shaped like a chrysanthemum and a metal chain with belt suspension loop with an ivory washer. Felt ground is pressed with stencilled pattern. The inner pocket fastens with an incised bone tab and loop.”

[chiquita99]

*PMS-ing*

Summary: it is that time of the month

⚠️Warning⚠️ None

_____________________________________

You were cozy on the cream suede couch with a fleece blanket and some chocolate, watching The Vampire Diaries.

You had popped some extra strength tylenol and it just started numbing the pain.

Finally some relief ugh.

Your husband wanted to get frisky last night but you couldn't allow that level of intimacy due to pain.

The first day is always the most brutal.

The sound of the front door opening, made you turn your head, even though you knew it was your husband.

"How was your day babe, do you feel better?" Michael asked as he entered the house and removed his jacket.

"I'm alive" you sigh and lay into your soft body billow.

He comes over and kisses the top of your head, then hands you a pack of Hershey kiss chocolates.

"Thank you hun" you smile softly.

"Anything for you sweetheart" he smiled back and sat in the spot next to you.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, making you let go of your pillow.

He looked at the scene on the TV and asked "what team are you? Damon or Stefan?".

You hummed and then replied " [your choice] ".

"If I were a girl, I'd be team Damon" he smirked.

"Really? Why?" You quizzed and looked at him with your soft eyes.

He gave you a quick peck on the lips.

"Damon would burn the world for his woman. I would also"

You snuggle more into his side and he rests his head against yours.

You both shared a few moments of silence. Taking in the day.

"How was work?" You ask him.

He hummed in thought before responding, "it was pretty okay. I was going over blueprints for a beautiful Mediterranean tower a husband wanted to build his wife"

He looked down to his cheek and gently moved a piece of hair that fell into your face.

You smile at the romantic gesture. It was sweet to see what a person would do for another.

"What would you like for dinner babe?" Michael asked.

"I think I have chicken in the fridge" you tell him and get out of your comfy spot.

"Oh babe, you didn't have to worry about it right this minute" Michael said and got up with you.

He followed you into the kitchen.

You opened the fridge and quickly skimmed the contents.

"Oh f**ks sake" you curse in frustration.

You forgot to pull the chicken from the freezer to thaw.

"What is wrong??" He asked in confusion.

You face palm and shake your head in anger.

Tears then start falling from your eyes.

Michael is stunned and doesn't know what to do.

His eyes glued to you.

"Babe" he says.

"Babe"

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You start balling and sobbing into his blue dress shirt.

He cooes you like you would a baby, and he strokes your hair.

"We will get chinese food. We can get starbucks. Do you want pizza?.....um do you need a burger?" He starts babbling.

You shake your head no into his chest and cry some more.

"I'll get your chocolate from the livingroom" he says and goes to grab your chocolate in a rush.

He returns in a jiffy and is unwrapping the foil on the chocolate to give to you.

You push his hand away that carried the chocolate.

He still had a bewildered look on his face.

He looks into space before undoing his belt.

"Is it sex you need?" He asked, fumbling the buckle.

Your tears stopped pouring and you couldn't help but let a giggle slip.

"I heard sometimes women get upset when they need more sex. I mean, I can give it right here on the counter"

You put your hand on his and he stops.

"No baby, it is just hormones" you tell him softly.

"I'm sorry" you sniffle.

"Don't say sorry baby. I understand" he tells you and pulls you into a hug again.

"It's a build up of not feeling good last night, forgetting things, and the extra feelings that are present at this time of the month" you say.

"I understand what you're saying" he assures, "pick out delivery, we'll finish your show, do some cuddles and kisses, and if you're up for it.........." he winks at you.

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

"Yes, I need some papi time" you giggle

[twenty-one-fics]

Cobwebs and flies

Tyler Joseph x reader // requested

(No warnings)

————————————————————————————————-

Sundays are your favorite days, for multiple reasons. However, mostly because you don’t have to work and you never make plans on Sundays so you have a wide open 24 hours to do whatever you want with. Whether that be baking, gardening, drawing, or reading, or perhaps all of the above.

Today you started your morning with a lovely hot mug of coffee made your favorite way. You smiled to yourself as you carried your ceramic baby blue cup of goodness to the living room where you planned to watch YouTube and rot until it was time for bed.

With a sigh you grabbed your remote and took a sip of coffee as you settled in on the plush, inviting couch. It was a beautiful suede wrap around that your parents got you for Christmas that year. You scrolled through suggested videos on YouTube until you found something of interest. ‘A day in the life of a medieval peasant’ you hummed to yourself with amusement and pressed play.

Knock knock knock

Your eyes shot to your door. Who the heck is that? You’re certain you made no plans today. You never did, it was a personal rule. you set down your coffee and reluctantly made your way to the door. It couldn’t be your parents they’re out of town until next week. None of your friends would even be awake yet , let alone standing at your front door. Your heart rate began to quicken at the prospect of something being wrong or someone you loved in trouble.

You gripped the door knob , sent up a quick prayer and pulled the door open. your jaw dropped. A mix of emotions pooled In your chest and you felt a lump form in your throat.

“Tyler..”

Your voice was nothing More than a light whisper , you weren’t even sure what you said had been audible.

“Hey”

Tyler smiled shyly with a small wave of his hand. His grin grew wider as a yell escaped your lips

“TYLER?!!”

You ran out the door and flew in to his arms, your tense shoulders relaxed at the warmth of his body flush with yours. His chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths. His fingers digging in to your sides like he was afraid if he let go you might float away. You felt like you might.

“What are you doing here?? I thought you guys were on tour”

You smiled into his neck , inhaling his familiar scent. You haven’t seen him in almost a year and you missed him everyday. Tyler was one of your oldest and best friends, he was your partner in crime all through highschool. He was there for everything , your first boyfriend , your first failed test, your first soccer tournament, your first job , first highschool dance … everything. the memories flooded back to you as you looked into his chocolate brown eyes. They shimmered with…. What was that? Happiness? Adoration? Perhaps just relief , sometimes it’s just nice to see an old friend.

You pulled away from the hug first , holding Tyler at an arms length, his gleaming teeth bared as he smiled down at you , eyes searching every inch of your face.

“We are still on tour but we have a week or so in between shows and we’re in town and … I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you… so surprise!”

He laughed as he did jazz hands

You just stood there smiling at him , you were in awe. Your Ty guy was home and took time out of his ,what you could only imagine is an insanely busy schedule, to come see you.

“Oh my gosh this is my favorite day , come on come in I’ll get you something to drink”

You all but squealed with excitement as you gestured for him to follow you inside , and he did so with a small chuckle. He was happy to see you and it was written all over his wonderful face.

“Do you have any-“

Tyler began to ask as you led him to the kitchen

“Red Bull?”

You finished with a smile , he returned the gesture with a nod

“Yes redbull”

He smiled coyly leaning against the marbled white and gray counter top , his head cocked slightly to one side as he took in his surroundings. He’d been here many times before of course , but you’d made a few small changes to the place since he’d seen it last.

“No I don’t , that stuff is literally poison for your body”

You replied with a grimace

“Still on your health kick?”

He asked , now stepping towards you as you stood in front of your refrigerator.

“Itsssss not a health kick Ty , just called taking care of yourself”

You giggled, he always picked at you about your constant strive to live a healthy lifestyle, but you knew he didn’t mean any of it , he actually admired the care and attention you put in to taking care of your body and your self.

“Always such an inspiration aren’t you?”

He chimed reaching in the fridge and grabbing a cold pressed juice

“I’ll bet you made this yourself”

He added holding up the bottle of red liquid.

You scrunched your nose at him

“So what if I did”

You retorted grabbing a water for yourself and closing the refrigerator door.

“It’s beet juice by the way , you’ve been warned”

Tyler chuckled

“I knew it”

You rolled your eyes and nudged his ribs with your elbow gently.

“Come on let’s go outside and enjoy the nice morning “

You perked up at the prospect of a cozy morning on the porch with your dearest friend. You had so many questions and wanted to know absolutely everything about all the wonderful places he’s been in the last year. You grabbed his hand without even thinking about it. You felt his fingers twitch like he was going to pull away but then he gripped your hand tightly and allowed you to pull him outside.

You both sat on a chair and just took a second to look at eachother

“You look so good Ty!”

You smiled letting your eyes fall down his figure and back up , his face reddened slightly and he waved off your comment with a small laugh that barely bubbled over his mauve lips.

“So do you (y/n). You really do”

He replied looking In to your eyes, his tongue flicked over his lips and your eyes flew to his mouth and then away again. You felt your cheeks heat and shifted your position to play off the fact that you were flustered.

“I wish you would have given me a twenty minute warning or something, I just woke up, I look like hell”

You gestures to your outfit: grey sweats and a white t shirt from highschool that had a few holes in it and splashes of paint here and there. Your hair was in a high bun and it was far too early for makeup.

“You look beautiful, wouldn’t have you any other way than you are right now. This is my favorite version of you”

He chimed, his voice was quiet but his eyes never left yours as the words left his mouth. For a moment you were speechless , for some reason this felt different. Tyler had complimented you before , tons of times but it felt heavier this time , like there was more behind it.

was it due to the fact that you hadn’t seen him in so long ? You know what they say , absence makes the heart grow fonder.

“Tell me everything”

You demanded with an excited smile as you leaned back in your chair. Tyler beamed at you and shook his head.

“But I want to hear about you (y/n) how are you? What have you been doing? How’s Max?”

Tyler’s fired off questions, leaning toward you his elbows rested

on the tops of his thighs. For the first time since he’d been here , your smile fell.

Max.

How does he not know? Had you really not spoken to him about it?

“What’s wrong?”

Tyler asked , immediately picking up on the change in your demeanor.

You blinked and shook your head slightly

“Oh nothing , max and I aren’t together anymore”

You let out a sigh , like the words were heavy on your heart and saying this out loud to Tyler lifted their weight off of your shoulders.

His face fell with concern

“What happened?”

He questioned , syrupy sympathy dripping from his words.

You waved a hand in the air as if to play down the statement that was about to leave your lips

“I found him with another girl.. it was stupid..”

Your voice broke on the last word and you cursed yourself for getting emotional. This wasn’t what you wanted , you didn’t want this to still hurt you, it had been a few months now and for the most part you’ve been okay. You’ve learned how to be alone again, but saying this to Tyler, finally talking with him about it , made your heart ache and realize how much you’ve truly missed him.

You didn’t look at Tyler , you couldn’t bring yourself to do it because you felt so stupid. Tyler had had his reservations about Max when the two of you first got together, but of course you brushed his concerns off. You didn’t want to go in to your relationship with Max on negative thinking.

But Tyler’s intuition was right and you felt so so stupid.

Tyler didn’t say anything just looked at you, he didn’t know what he could say and he wasn’t the type of person to say ‘I told you so’

“I feel so stupid”

Was all you managed to get out. Your voice was hoarse and you were trying with all your might not to cry.

“Hey… no”

Tyler said standing and moving to you, he crouched in front of you and grabbed your hands , resting them in your lap.

“You’re not stupid. He’s stupid. This isn’t your fault (y/n) none of this is your fault”

He stroked your hand with his thumb , it was consistent and gentle. Tears raced down your hot cheeks, you hadn’t cried about this in a while , but Tyler always made you more emotional, he just had that affect on you. He made you feel things so intensely when he was around.

“How come my relationships never go right? Is something wrong with me?”

The question was rhetorical but Tyler held your hands tighter , he had a broken despondent look in his eyes as he gazed at you.

“Of course not, you’re perfect… I’m so sorry he did this to you (y/n) I’m so sorry, you’re the last person on this planet that deserves that. You’re such a warm and compassionate person, you’re living sunshine and the kindest, most selfless person I know , and you’re painfully beautiful. Inside and out you are absolutely beautiful”

He soothed , his voice was low and Earnest. His hands moved up to your arms as he stood and pulled you up to him wrapping you in another time stopping hug.

You let yourself cry, you let yourself be an absolute mess on Tyler’s shoulder because this is exactly what you needed to finally let go of the pain that max instilled on you.

Tyler was what you needed.

His hand moved up and down your spine with purpose , his touch was gentle and warm. You shook lightly as you sniffled wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Oh … I’m a mess”

You sighed , before letting out a pathetic self deprecating chuckle.

Tyler didn’t let you go , his lips brushed your ear as he spoke sending a jolt of hot awareness down your spine

“You are too good for him (y/n)”

He looked down at you as you swiped more tears from your eyes, trying to clean yourself up and stop all this nonsense crying. Max was done and over with , this had happened months ago and you didn’t even have feelings for him anymore. The tears were more or less therapeutic, especially here with Tyler. You needed this, this was the nail in the coffin of yours and Max’s relationship.

You lifted your head , giving Tyler a watery smile

“I needed that”

You admitted as his hand caressed your back.

“I think I did too, It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, I don’t want to wait that long ever again.”

Tyler stated as he eyed you carefully. His eyes narrowed and his brows creased slightly. You knew him long enough to know that was his thinking face.

“What are you thinking about?”

You asked poking his chest. neither of you had made a move to step away from each other. You just stood there in his arms , letting him soothe you.

“I’m here for a week, and then we’re leaving for Europe..”

Tyler began, watching you as each word left his lips. You nodded your understanding, waiting for him to continue. A slow smile curled his lips , brightening his eyes before he spoke again

“Come with us”

———————————————————————————————

A/N: hello! I hope everyone enjoyed this short one shot, I’m actually considering doing a part two but I haven’t decided yet! Please let me know if you liked it or not I love any feedback anyone has. The person who requested this was anonymous but whoever you are thank you for the great prompt.

If you would like to send in a request for me to write a fic for you please send it to my ask box

Thank you again for reading!

-💌

[mindibindi]

Dress Scully for a Day/Night Off 🎂☕📚👖🛁⚾️🍻🍿🤰🏽

Dress Scully for Work (Results)

Dress Scully for the Field

Looks That Didn't Make the Top 10:

[slocumjoe]

How the Companions would decorate their homes

...and how I would lose my goddamn mind wrestling with Tumblr's formatting nightmare hellworld.

sorry to anon who requested this, I deleted your ask while fighting for my life :[

Cait; The punkest of punk design; whatever the hell makes her happy. Would take interest in things she previously never cared much for, like music, or tinkering, or model making. So, you'll have posters and vinyls of her favorite bands and artists everywhere, tools and materials strewn about flat surfaces. Lots of reds and plaid/flannel. Likes big couches you can sprawl out on and thickly-knit, chunky blankets. Think of pop art with darker colors, chaotic patterns. Loves warm, bright lighting, dim areas remind her of the Combat Zone. Her spaces are messy, but freeing and charismatic. Her style is best described as rocker college dorm room. Reminiscent of Chloe Price's room, but more mature and with less teen melodrama. Would have lots of candles. Has a statement shelf with feature lighting for unique alcohol bottles.

Codsworth; Post-modern. Modern is medium-toned, neutral colored, and somewhat minimalist. Post-modern likes colors, soft shapes, having art as part of the house itself. Bright wood paneling, one-line artwork wallpaper, multiple colors in one room. It's very birds of paradise in color pallet. Brown suede couches are a classic. Lots of plants. It's inspired by 1950s, but with bouncier aesthetics, where 1950s can feel stiff. Codsworth wouldn't want anything too out there, though. Dani Dazey is kinda close to what he'd enjoy, but tone down the amount of color, go less crazy with the decals. But otherwise, bright colors, patterns, textures—that's the vibe. Just a less plastic 1950s, and it doesn't have the Great Depression's fingerprints all over it. I would have said something Colonial, or classic British, but I didn't want to think exclusively about his accent. Codsworth is chipper, he's friendly, he invites people over. Something fun, welcoming, and optimistic is up his alley.

Danse; However he got the house/apartment, it would stay that way. Danse does not provide for himself like that. It wouldn't be until he made friends that his residence would have personality. Nick gets him an orange-patterned bedspread that's a lot more neon than it looked in the store. Cait gets him a retro CD player and wall-mounted CD case displays. Preston and Deacon team up to repaint everything minty green and install walnut wood paneling. The furniture is gone the next day, replaced with lodge-style log-and-leather. Everyone pitches in something different, something from their own tastes. As a result, Danse's space would be a constant visual reminder that he's loved, and gaudy as fuck. Nothing matches. The colors are everywhere. Textures? A nightmare. You could kill Ty Pennington with this house. There's a giant mural of cats having mimosas and he isn't sure how or when it got there. Loves it, but...who...why...

Curie; I really struggled with Curie. I first went with French Provincial, then French Farmhouse, French Country, Rustic Glam, Scandinavian, Flemish, bauhaus, pastel bauhaus...I felt like I was trying to convince myself of everything. Nothing fit her. Eventually I settled on girly vintage. The thing with vintage is that technically, 'vintage' has like 70 years of vastly different styles. So...you get a little bit of Victorian-esque, a little bit of art deco, Hollywood Regency...imagine a really nice Barbie dollhouse. That's the vibe, just make everything blues, greens, and purples instead of pink. Curie has a bit of an older grandma vibe. Floral quilts, Wedgwood china dishware and cabinets, antique paintings. I imagine she'd repaint or reupholster her furniture, if not get it new. Definitely has white or blue painted furniture, rather than open wood. Ornate vanity, seashell wallscone lighting, embroidered curtains, kidney desks, corner cupboards...Curie's style is elegant, a little outdated, cherubic, and somewhat saccharine. Would have naturalistic wallpaper with flora and fauna.

Deacon; Like Danse's, but intentional. He's extremely fond of furniture made to look like other things. Mushroom ottomans. Fried egg light switches. Wall-mounted shelving/hangers that are open, grabbing hands. Toucan table lamps. Surrealist thrifter in style. Goes to yard sales, estate sales, those sales put by storage unit owners when a tenant doesn't pay. Grabs the weirdest shit he finds. A McDonalds sign from Thailand. A taxidermied rabbit. A Bigfoot track mold. His walls are never the same color or wallpaper. The kitchen is mint green, the living room is pink and orange, his bedroom is black and blue. Maximalist. There's a story behind every item in his space and good luck figuring out which are true. The least chaotic room is the bedroom, decorated simply with space/star aesthetics. Most chaotic? The empty hallway filled with wall-phones. Only one of them is real. The others go off only when the real one does. He won't tell you this before housesitting.

Gage; You'd think it'd be a Male Living Space. No. Gage is a mean, old, materialistic [sexuality redacted] man. He has tastes. He has standards. Will act like it's a Male Living Space keep up appearances, but his place is probably one of the more expensive. It's fine, money isn't an issue for him. Favors greens, yellows, browns, lots of swampy colors. Steals streetsigns and hangs them up. Weaved and leather furniture, linens, animal pelts, mounts. Worn teak wood, cream walls, travertine floors. If this sounds luxurious, consider that Gage lives here. Unclean. Has no bed frame, only a mass of sheets and pillows. The most pristine places in his house are the coffee maker's counter, and the spaces for his pet lizard, who roams freely like a small dog. The lizard is the only thing keeping him from smoking indoors. So many fucking books everywhere, all dog-eared to death. Has stolen something from every party he's ever been to. Keeps them on display. Has a worrying amount of wedding cake toppers.

Hancock; Psychedelic culture-nerd hippie meets a grizzled ex-starlet who moonlights as a show girl. Think Whimsigoth, without the victorian influence and a lot more drippy shapes. All light sources are lava lamps. Conversation pit that you could meet God in. Many colors, most of them moody and 'sleepy'. Stereo system through the entire space. Paints on his walls whenever he's feeling creative/high, they're constantly changing. Has to scrape off the paint every so often. Collects movie memorabilia, particularly horror movies. Has masks, outfits, props. His kitchen/dining room is unintentionally Japanese-eqsue in style, in that the table is low, and you sit on beanbags. Really not into dealing with chairs in the morning. Hancock's ideal furniture is made of moldable jelly, him being a cat in spirit. His office is a complete divorce from the other rooms. It's entirely 1700s luxury Colonial in style. Dark mahogany woodwork, deep reds and blues, a (electric) chandelier. Big library.

MacCready; Eclectic. This style is defined by maximilism, mismatched everything, lots of tchotchkes. The core tenent of it is that it takes whatever looks good from other styles. It's magpie core. It's how the gremlin thief in your DnD campaign would style a home. So, lots of different kinds of fabrics, many shelves for trinkets, posters of all kinds on the wall. You ever make a wall with just the posters, signs, etc in your settlements? That's what he does. In canon, MacCready likes midnight blue and leopard print, but I can see olive greens as well. Very messy and busy. Raw wood furniture seems like it would be a good fit for him. Would have a big entertainment center, very nerdy space. I think Rodrick Heffley's and Eddie Munson's bedrooms are a good way of getting an idea. Kind of basementy, kind of glamrock. He's 22, what do you want from him? Very much "baby's first place." Duncan's room would be more child-friendly, lighter colors and softer furniture. His drawings always get hung up wherever there's space.

Nick; Also struggled with this one...I didn't want to just make him Victorian/Gothic, that felt too obvious. But...it's obvious because it's correct. It just is. His name is Valentine. He has a neon pink sign with hearts on it. This man is modern Victorian meets dingy alleyway in a Hollywood noir film. So, we're looking at victorian settees and woodwork (which is when the walls are carved all fancy, by the by), lots of dark colors, leathers, a fireplace to stare into broodily with a glass of whiskey. We'll also need a bit of industrial to blend the Modern Victorian and Urban Night vibes, so some dark brick/stone, perhaps? Or industrial light fixtures. In terms of materials, the aforementioned leather, but also velvet and dasask fabrics, marble, and rosewood, possibly treated to bring out the red, or be made darker. This space is mostly dark and black, with pops of pink, purple, and blues. Would definitely need an LED indirect lighting for mood setting. It's not as dark like X6-88's home, though, it's more intimate and warm. Heavier emphasis on coziness and inviting auras. Nick's home is an older queer man's home, so obviously it's a little extra, a little theatrical. Has a sweet cocktail bar setup, will make you a martini while you unveil your tragic backstory.

Piper; Also eclectic, but brighter and with some intellectualism. So, more vintage, but bolder and more assertive than Curie's vintage. The best thing I can do it point you towards Arianna Danielson's blog, and ask that you imagine most of those pinks to be darker, or just red. Similarly, Dani Klaric and Tay Beep Boop's viral design. That vibe of confidence, a little bit of feminine rebelliousness, and generally just spunky. A crucial item would be book paper lighting shades. It clashes but Piper would be into it. I imagine she'd want the place to be fun for Nat, satisfy that little girl urge for Maximum Colors. Piper would have a messy as hell writing room, papers everywhere, red-string corkboards, coffee cups. Collection of vintage newspapers, lots of plushy rugs and pillows, probably has weird little knickknacks hidden about. The type to have rubber ducks in her fridge and refuse to elaborate. Don't question the writing process.

Preston; Walnut, shiplap, rattan, navy blue. Reeves Connally put me on this combination and now I'm spreading the propaganda. People have feelings on rattan but it deserves more respect, just like Preston. His style is best described as hygge with a beachy edge. Hygge is all about neutrals, extremely soft and squishy fabrics and furniture, warm ambient lighting, and worn wood. Fairy lights everywhere. Cozycore, really. Blue and shiplap walls, walnut flooring, rattan furniture. Blues + white + sandy + rich brown. Best combo. Fucking fight me. Chunky wool blankets, velvet for more decorative cloths, like drapery or the fabric of the seat cushions. For decor, you're looking at handdrawn maps, paper light fixtures/shades, plants kept in colored glass vases, nature photography, a reading nook filled with historical fiction and textbooks. I can also see hanging greenery. Preston's space is refreshing, energizing, but not bombastic. I imagine he has a kitchen island with stools, but no dining table.

X6-88; Dark modernist, hands down. Crucial item is the Zaha Hadid moon sofa, in black. Steel, concrete, and sparingly, brass/brassy wood. Blacks, greys, and with the brass, an inoffensive pop of color. It's a minimalist style that, when darkened, takes inspiration from Gothic and industrial styles, but doesn't lean into them. Also has some futurism elements. X6-88's home is clean, elegant, sharp. It's designed to not be overstimulating, like the Institute's stark white plastic and fluorescent lighting is. LED indirect lighting + metal-caged hanging lights, velvet and taffeta fabrics, glass tables. There is no better kitchen for him then the Modern Kitchen 2020 from Burak LACFI on Behance. For the bathroom, Anna Kolos' work, also on Behance. His bedspread, the Ithaca Sateen set from Sleep by Sānti. I spent three years designing this man's home for a 40k word fanfic and I will hear no opposition.

[ob-writes]

A cute short one shot

Prompt by @me-writes-prompts Those nights when they come home late and see you asleep on the couch and they come, pick you up and tuck you into bed with a kiss on your forehead. .

.

.

Silas hated how late he had to stay at work this evening. It was nearly, no it was midnight.

As Silas shut the front door to his home, the fear of waking his two toddlers at midnight had his muscles tensed. His wife would murder him if he were to wake the children. A sigh of relief escaped from his lips; the door was near silent. All tension left his body with the sigh. He carefully let his bag slide off his arm and placed it next to the shoe rack.

Dimmed blue light filtered in from the living room, his wife Emilia wasn’t usually awake at this hour. Curiously he stepped further into the house.  Silas mouth quirked up into a smile. His gaze warmly glided over his wife’s sleeping body. Her arm was raised over her head, partially hanging over the arm of the suede couch. The other rested on her stomach tucked under the oversized t shirt she stole from Silas’s side of the closet.

Emilia stirred as Silas slowly lifted her off the couch, his arms holding her legs and her shoulders. As if on cue, she nuzzled her face into Silas’s cotton button-up. For a moment he stood there, holding his sleeping wife, savoring the warmth that radiated from her. A gentle kiss was pressed to her freshly dyed white hair, the smell of her lavender shampoo filled his nostrils.  

“You didn’t have to wait for me, sweetheart.” Silas kept his words near silent, the trip to their bedroom was short but it did pass the nursery.  Occasionally, Emilia would attempt to stay awake during his late work nights. Every time Silas told her she didn’t have to, but the offer did make him smile. She was the kindest, most hardworking woman he had ever met; and in his opinion, she deserved a full night’s sleep.

Gently, he placed his wife on her side of the bed, pulled the covers over her and placed another kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, Emilia.”

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

aftermath 1

A dark blue, fish-eyed globe turns itself across the screen, starting in Canada and traveling eastwards around the world. Five words flash over the globe: TOTAL - TAKES - WORLD - TOUR - AFTERMATH!

A static flash to Mexico, atop the volcano. 

---

Scruffy holds out the necklace proudly, but hesitates when they see Julia. 

“One thing first,” they say, jogging over to Max. They pick him up off the ground, hold him by the ankles and shake him until the blade falls from one of his pockets. 

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” Bonnie says as Scruffy drops a very disoriented Max and runs to Team Yaoi with the blade. He presses it into Julia’s palms. “I think you guys lost this,”

For a second, her harsh glare melts and she smiles sincerely. “Thank you. But what about-”

“I can handle economy,” Scruffy shrugs. “You’re better than winning. Plus, Team Mojo is nowhere to be seen, and I’d rather let them take the fall.”

---

Then to Greenland:

---

“Enough!” Joner shouts, catching everyone’s attention. “I’ve had ENOUGH of your fighting! I’ll do it, okay!” He gets up and walks around to the front of the sled. “Now are you done acting like children, or do you want a juice box and a cookie with that?!”

Courtney, Ass, and Mal stare blankly, then slowly shake their heads. 

“That’s what I thought,” Joner says, fastening the harness around him. “If I hear a single peep out of you, I’m turning this whole sled around!”

---

The Title Card flashes again and fades into a pink, warm-lit studio. Unlike last season’s aftermath, this peanut gallery is sparse and empty. O waves at the cameras as they zoom into stage, Alistair stares into a compact mirror and tries to fix his flyaways, Scary is wheelchair-bound and sitting off to the side of the rows of couches, clearly annoyed.

But no one directs the attention of both the cameras and the audience like the navy-blue haired, sharply dressed pastel puff standing in the center of the stage. Caesar waves and straightens his bowtie (not because it was skewed, but because his hands were empty and he needed something to align). Behind him, on the pink couch in the center of the stage, a moody-looking teenage boy is on his phone, leaning back against the sofa with his legs kicked up. His shoes are crumbling dirt onto the perfect pink suede. 

“Welcome, welcome back to the second ever Aftermath!” Caesar says, taking a seat behind him. He winces upon feeling the dirt and grits his teeth, trying to maintain his composure. “We have a very exciting season in store for us, don’t we? I’m your host- Caesar Flickerman! And with me today is…”

He looks off to his side. The boy sitting next to him sniffles and wipes his nose, not looking up from his phone. Caesar taps his shoe. “Is…”

“Mm,” he grunts. “Oh. Call me Noco.”

“From Celebrity Manhunt!” Caesar finishes his sentence after it becomes apparent that Noco isn’t going to. “And we’ve come together today to dish out the hottest, freshest cast drama this side of the CN Tower!”

“Lame,” Noco comments from behind him. Caesar forces a bigger smile. 

“Without further ado, let’s take a look at our friends in the peanut gallery. Joining us today is Peter,” 

The short boy waves from the lower seats, making a point to show his promise ring. 

“O,”

O smiles and finger guns at Caesar, who chuckles and returns the gesture back. Noco rolls his eyes. “Scary,”

“Don’t talk to me,” they mumble, pulling out a comically large particle physics book and setting it on their lap. 

“McLovin!”

The gangly boy stands and waves before tripping over the first row couch and pinwheeling into the audience (who shriek accordingly). 

“And Alistair, formerly known as Fren,”

The pink-haired actor snaps his compact mirror shut and waves. 

“A couple of charmers, huh?” Caesar winks. “We have a drama-packed episode for you today, four returning contestants, and questions from our lovely audience themselves!”

A brief silence. Noco sighs and pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his sweater, taking his time to loudly uncrumple it, smooth it out on the coffee table in front of them, and clear his throat. Caesar winces at every unnecessary loud noise. 

“Our first segment,” 

“Thank you, Noco,” Caesar says, gritting his teeth. “You guys asked, and we delivered- it’s time to pull out our detective caps and put on our thinking skills, cause this segment is all about mystery!”

The audience Oohs and Noco sighs, pulling out his phone again. 

“While we’ve been joined today by most of our lovely cast, we’re still missing one- It’s time for Lost Cat!” Caesar announces as the monitor overhead lowers above them. “We had our Australian viewers sweep the rainforests and the deserts to find any evidence of our beloved Kitty after they supposedly escaped from a Melbourne prison- and boy, did you guys deliver!”

The screen goes static before fixing on a blurry image of something red, black, and white, blurred by motion, walking across a desert landscape. “Mitch from the Northern Territory caught this elusive photo while on a family vacation- could it be our Lost Cat? Or was it a trick of the light?”

The Audience Oohs again and the screen changes to a shaky, hand-held video taken after dark in a suburban neighborhood. The sound of garbage bins toppling swings the camera in that direction and a flash of red and black disappears behind some bushes. “This video was captured by Jane In Victoria, who claims Kitty has been terrorizing locals for weeks now! Let’s get a rewind on that,”

The video rolls back and slows down, revealing the blurry edge of a red dress and a pair of legs scampering away. “Is this our Lost Cat? Or just an odd coincidence?” 

Noco grumbles to himself. Caesar frowns at the boy, but ignores him and presses on. “Any and all evidence of Kitty’s whereabouts is accepted in the Aftermath Inbox, so don’t be afraid to give us a lead!”

“Is it possible that they could’ve swam off the island?” O asks. “Or got a boat?”

“Anything’s possible, which is why we need your help to find them!” Caesar points at the camera and winks. “But for now, let’s welcome our first guest: You know them from their epic meltdown on Total Takes Action and their neon green style- it’s Scruffy!”

Scruffy walks onto stage, waving from side-to-side before taking a seat on the interview chair. Scary rolls their eyes. 

“Welcome to the show for the very first pre-finale time, Scruffy,” Caesar beams. “You stole audience hearts and attention when you went out of your way to help out Julia. Can you tell us what inspired you?”

Scruffy crosses their legs and puts their hands in their lap. “It’s pretty simple, really. Jules is my best friend, and I didn’t want her to go home,”

“And yet, you were the one to take the fall. One might even say you sacrificed yourself for her and let go of your World Tour dreams. Don’t you regret feigning your chance?”

They shrug. “I had my moment. Total Drama isn’t everything, after all, and Jules deserves her chance,”

The audience Wows (with a few Aws tossed in). Scruffy blushes and shrinks in on themselves. Noco rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “I think that-”

“Shh!” Caesar says, stepping in front of him. “We have an audience question for Scruffy here, from our favorite here in the studio: River! They say “Scruffy- Why name yourself after a dead spider. Duncan's dead spider. There are better people out there that aren't Duncan.””

Scruffy chuckles. “It’s actually a pretty funny story. See, Scruffy is actually a shortened version of-”

“BORING!” Noco stands, crossing his arms. “Can we please talk about my theories now?”

“Absolutely not,” Caesar says, glaring. “Go sit in your corner!”

Noco grumbles and walks off, making a point to shove into Scruffy’s chair on the way over. They fall backwards in the seat and Caesar sighs. “We’ll be right back,”

---

“Welcome back to Total Takes World Tour: The Aftermath! I’m your host, Caesar,” 

“And I’m Noco,”

Caesar sighs. “And he’s Noco. I guess,” he clears his throat and begins pacing the stage. “Moving on, let’s welcome our next guest- the man, the myth, the legend: Jonah Boner!”

The audience cheers much louder for Joner and Scruffy, stuck in the peanut gallery with a bag of ice on their temple, sighs. 

Joner walks on stage, waving, and then jumps in the interview chair. “Wooooo! Happy to be back, guys?”

“Didn’t you lose?” Noco asks, smiling slightly. 

He shrugs. “I feel bad about leaving Sha-Mod, but hey- I love this show!”

Caesar grins. “Now that’s what I like to hear! So, Joner- you kind of lost your mind on Team Yaoi. Any regrets?”

“Not really. They needed to hear it!” Joner says, crossing his arms. “And, well, no offense to Courtney, but they never would’ve lost their cool like that.”

“Fair enough,” Caesar chuckles. “As an insider- any drama to share from behind-the-scenes of Team Yaoi?”

Joner scratches his chin and thinks. “Umm. Not really. Ass uses gum-sensitive toothpaste. Courtney smells like strawberries. Julia keeps a picture of Scruffy under their pillow. Mal… um, I don’t want to talk about her,” he then whispers. “She scares me.”

“Wow. A lot to unpack there,” Caesar says, raising an eyebrow. “What was that thing about-”

The sound of loud screeching catches everyone’s attention and they turn to the backstage entrance. Noco walks in merrily, pushing a massive white board, the wheels of which are dragging across the floor and scraping the wood bare. 

Caesar covers his ears and winces until Noco comes to a stop, the whiteboard right in front of the host. He dusts off his hands and pulls out an Expo marker. “Let’s talk Total Takes. As we all know, the producers have a heavy hand in staging the show,”

“Um, no, they dont,” Caesar says, peering around the end of the whiteboard. 

“And how would you know?”

“I was ON the show!”

“Whatever. Maybe they just didn’t care about you. But our hot ticket players, like Julia, Courtney, Ass, Max… they’re all puppets,” Noco says, scribbling down Julia and Max on the board. “They get paid by the studio to stage certain plots, or play certain characters.”

“Craaaaazy,” Scary mutters, not looking up from her book. Noco glares. 

“If I may,” Scruffy says, walking down from the peanut gallery. “I’ve been studying Total Drama for years, and while “staging” is a popular theory, there’s nothing to back it up. I’ve interviewed plenty of former castmates-”

“Ever heard about contracts of silence?”

“-I found no evidence of legal forms that would include obscuring information-”

“Chris is sneaky,”

“And I’ve seen unreleased footage, heard witness testimonies, and have read enough memoirs to know that this is genuine,”

“Okay, you can have your little conspiracy theories, but this is the truth,” Noco says, putting his hands on his hips. “I have reason to believe Max and Michael are paid actors.”

“And that reason is delusion?” Scary asks, rolling her eyes. “That wet paper bag couldn’t act if his life depended on it.”

“That’s what he wants you to think!” Noco says, pointing erratically. “And it’s working!”

Scary sighs and finally looks up from their book, turning to Caesar. “How’d this guy even get in here, anyway? Are the security guards on strike?”

“I’m from Celebrity Manhunt,” Noco scoffs. “I’m a professional. I’m in high demand! I was assigned to this dumb show.”

“Do you think there might be a reason Blaineley and Josh shipped you over here?” Scary comments. “As in, getting rid of you?”

Noco grits his teeth. “I am a DELIGHT. But speaking of getting rid of people, let’s talk about a certain so-and-so I managed to dig up,” 

“Whatever,” Scary rolls their eyes. “Keep living in your little fantasy world.”

Noco pulls the monitor remote from Caesar and slams the power button, turning it on to a clearly old image of Scary. “Recognize anyone?”

Caesar leans in and whispers. “What are you doing? We agreed we wouldn’t say anything to provoke her!” Noco ignores him. 

Scary looks up. “Oh no, you called my mom for my high school pictures. I’m so scared! Shaking in my boots!”

“This is just the beginning,” Noco says. “Scary, age 14: a bright pupil about to graduate early from high school. Science prodigy.”

Scary rolls their eyes. “What’s the point here?”

“About to head off to an accelerated college. But there’s just one thing holding her back,” 

Scary raises an eyebrow. As the image on screen changes to a grainy image of her and a boy. The audience and peanut gallery gasps and she goes pale. Joner stands from the interview seat and points. “That looks like-”

“ENOUGH!” Scary snaps. “Where’d you get that picture?!” she yells, making her way over to Noco and grabbing him by the collar. “Where’d you get it?!”

“I’m an investigative journalist, sweetie,” he snaps, pulling back. “This is my job. And that,” he points. “Is none other than current World Tour contestant, Albert.”

Scruffy and Joner turn to Scary. “Explanation?” The former asks. They cross their arms and look away. 

“How did the TEC know to investigate Chris? Who tipped them off?” Noco asks, pacing the stage. “I traced calls. I asked members. Turns out Scary’s involved in a little more “environmental” action than we thought,” he smiles. “Isn’t that right?”

“No comment,” Scary looks away, eyes wide. 

“So, how’d you two meet? Girl scouts?” he chuckles. 

Caesar coughs. “Isaac, this is highly inappropriate. You said-”

“I take it back,” he hisses. “So, you admit it? You admit I’m right?” he interrogates Scary, who doesn’t respond. “That’s what I thought. I don’t want to hear a SINGLE person doubt my skills ever again. Scruffy.”

Scruffy shrinks back in their seat as Noco glares. 

“Now, as I was saying-”

“That’s enough!” Caesar finally shouts, shoving him aside. Noco falls to the ground with a thump. “This is my show. No more conspiracy theories, no more interrogation!”

He turns off the monitor and shoves the whiteboard away. “Or I’ll get the producers to send you right back where you came from,”

Noco stands uneasily, brushing off his shirt. After a long, drawn out silence. He exhales. Then, he smiles. “Okay. Understood,” he takes a seat and whistles, much to everyone’s surprise and discomfort. 

Caesar raises an eyebrow, but doesn't push it. “Okay, good. Now- Takes Three duo, I was told you guys have a song to share?”

Joner and McLovin take a moment to tear their eyes away from Noco as he pulls out his phone and begins humming happily. “Oh- yeah!”

The two get up and run backstage, returning a few moments later with instruments. “We’re dedicating this song to Sha-Mod,” McLovin says. “We’re rooting for you, babe!”

He clears his throat and begins: “You might think we’ve seen it all, and maybe we’re really gonna win it all… 

Joner continues. “We’re just those Takes guys… without you by our sides,”

“Baby!” McLovin squeaks. Caesar winces a little. Joner continues. “Singing without you ain���t right!”

“Boy…” McLovin goes on. “Win or lose or fool me, I just wanna hold you tight!”

“Cause we just gotta know…”

“How’d you get so sha-hot?” McLovin sings. The peanut gallery is shifting around uncomfortably as the two sing out of tune. 

“Baby!” the two sing in unison. 

“You’re so sha-fabulous,”

“Baby!”

“Our tunes and rhymes are lost at sea, without your sha-flow expertise!” Joner raps. 

“Baby, baby!”

“You complete our Takes Three,”

“Baby, baby!”

“Without you we’re just Takes Two,’

Caesar massages his temples and looks to the peanut gallery for help. Scary has a hundred yard stare.  

“Cause when you’re with us in the room, every eye is on you!” McLovin sings. “Baby, baby, baby!”

The music suddenly cuts out and the two stop. Everyone across the room turns to O, who’s unplugged their amplifiers. Caesar mumbles a quick thank you and clears his throat. “Well, that’s about it for today. Anyone got anything else to add before we go?”

“I’m still a little confused,” Scruffy says nervously. “Scary and Albert-”

They shriek in terror and duck just in time as a large volume of physics flies over their head. “Never mind!”

“Looks like that’s our time for today,” Caesar chuckles, organizing his notes. “We’ll see you all-”

“Wait, we wanna hear about Bonnie!” Joner says. McLovin nods. “Are you rooting for them?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Um... Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Doesn’t that give them an unfair advantage? I mean, you’re the Aftermath Host,” Alistair says. 

“That doesn’t mean anything in the game. I'm not Chris. You guys know that, right?”

“But aren’t you two, like, together?” Peter asks, fidgeting with his promise ring. “And you’ve been forced apart!”

“It’s not… Bonnie can take care of themselves, and they know I’m rooting for them behind-the-scenes,” Caesar says, somewhat nervously. “The distance is hard, but I have faith in them. In us.”

McLovin and Joner nod. “Ohhh. So, do you guys kiss?”

“OKAY, that’s all for tonight, folks! Tune in tomorrow for another episode of Total Takes: World Tour! Love from all of us in the studio!” Caesar says, a bright shade of pink. “See you all next time!”

[somethingkindazainy]

♡ Pairing: Minho x Jisung ♤ Genre: Mafia AU, Romeo x Romeo ♢ Chapter Warnings: Angst, foul language throughout, mentions of: alcohol use, poor mental health & psychological coercion / emotional abuse, allusion to murder ♧ MINORS DNI

♤ ♡ TASTE Synopsis & Chapter List ♢ ♧

<< Chapter 3 - Broken Compass ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ Chapter 5 - Comflex >>

Inspirational Quote:

Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.  As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back — For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Rudyard Kipling - The Law of the Jungle

Chapter 4: The Wolf & His Pack

Jisung heaves off his boots as soon as he enters the apartment, adding them to the pile at the door. He flops onto the faded blue threadbare couch of the untidy lounge. Sighs as he watches little dustmotes dance in the sunlight.

This place is a lifestyle away from Minho’s.

Slightly cramped, stuffed with mismatched furniture and comfort. Everything exuding practicality and affordability over style. A pile of books occupies one corner, acting as a lamp stand whilst his neglected guitar leans against the other. The bamboo coffee table in front of him is littered with the previous nights take out containers. The armchair across from him is a green suede wingback affair that had been rescued from a skip. The couch he’s currently sitting on was left behind by the previous owners.

The apartment is basically a place for abandoned and unwanted things. Which is probably why he feels so at home here.

But Minho had made him feel wanted. 

Even now he can’t help thinking about him.

Maybe it’s because he’s wearing his hoodie, which smells like him. It’s a clean scent, like cotton. Fresh, like a spring sea-breeze. 

He idly twirls the drawstring around his finger, brings the collar up to his nose, closes his eyes and inhales. In his mind's eye, he can clearly see Minho’s slightly crooked front teeth. His full top lip curled in a dark smirk. His sparkling cat-like eyes and his too-long lashes. He can almost feel his muscular shoulders under his palms. His broad chest and how his heart beats through it. Can almost trace the tributaries of veins over his strong and gentle hands. Can recall the warmth of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the texture of his tongue– 

A rush of pleasure courses through him and he covers his face, giggling into his hands whilst his feet kicks out the giddiness he feels in his stomach. 

It had all been so perfect. Minho had been so perfect.

But more than that, Jisung had been himself. Truly, properly, entirely, himself. He hadn’t intended to let himself go so completely. But something about the way Minho looked at him, touched him, held him, kissed him… it was easy to let his guard down. Give in.

All his life, he wore what he was told to wear, spoke how he’d been taught to speak and had done… horrible things in the guise of upholding the family's honour and reputation. His whole life he’d been Han ‘jag-eun kal/ Little Knife’ Jisung, obedient son of the Lobos. His whole life, he’d been a marionette. Until last night.  

Last night, Minho had cut his strings. 

A short sharp pain at the back of his head, brings his happiness to a full stop.

“OW!”

Changbin is standing over him wearing a black tank-top and basketball shorts, bare feet pushed into foam flip-flops. His big arms crossed over his broad chest, glaring down at him with a murderous glint in his eye.

Rubbing the spot, Jisung snaps, “What the fuck was that for?”

“Do I need to slap you again?” Changbin asks, “What the fuck do you think that was for? Where the fuck have you been?”

Jisung drops his hand, “I know I should have called,” he sighs, “mian.”

Changbin’s eyes narrow as he grabs Jisung’s chin, tilting his head to the sunlight. “You’ve been fighting again.”

Jisung pulls his head away, tucks his bruised hands into the sleeves of the hoodie. “It’s nothing.”

Changbin does not look convinced. “I’ve had Chris on my back all fucking night. Your phone’s been off. You ended at least a dozen of mine and Chris’s calls this morning before you finally told Chris you were just heading back, so explanations are needed. Where have you been?”

Jisung thinks quickly. 

“And don’t tell me you were with Jon, because I will know you are fucking lying, since I already spoke to him and he wasn’t quick enough to provide you with an alibi this time.”

Damn it, Jon! Jisung stops thinking. “I went to a club, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” Changbin tugs at the collar of Jisung’s hoodie, “Official merch is it?”

“So I stayed out, for fuck’s sake, it’s no big deal. I had a night off. I am an adult. I can do adulty things!” He’s incredibly conscious of the fact that he doesn’t sound particularly adult-like when he says it. 

Maybe if Changbin didn’t look like he was ready to commit fratricide, Jisung would tell his brother that he’d actually experienced one of – no, the best night of his life.  

Changbin wipes a hand over his mouth. By the way his biceps tense, Jisung can tell he’s trying very hard not to throttle him. Jisung’s grateful for his effort. “Look, I have no problem with you crashing here until you get your shit together. But I do take issue with you telling me you will be back by such-and-such time then going fucking AWOL I almost started calling the fucking hospitals.”

Jisung shoves his hands into the pocket of the hoodie. He’d already said he was sorry. Changbin is just rubbing his nose in it now.

Changbin sighs, sniffs. “I hope your latest conquest was worth it, because Chris is on his way here, so I think that was your last hurrah for the foreseeable future,” he claps Jisung on the shoulder, smirks.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jisung groans. Chris is the last person he wants to see. “Why?”

“Why?” Changbin drops on the couch beside him, adding to the cloud of dust in the air. “His younger brother, who’s been acting a bit weird recently, went fucking missing.”

“I haven’t been acting weird.”

“You’ve been far from normal for a while now. Ever since you turned up to my door with a bag of clothes in one hand and a guitar in the other and asked if you could stay on my couch for a few nights,” Changbin drops his hands onto his own knees. “That was seven weeks ago, Hannie, and I still don’t know what triggered it and I have never fucking pushed it because I thought that you might tell me when you felt you were able to.”

“You want me to move out–”

Changbin groans, “No. I’m not asking you to move out. I’m glad you’re here. But you have a habit of disappearing into yourself and distancing yourself from the people that care about you when you’re struggling with stuff. But none of us know what you’re struggling with, because you aren’t telling us and we don’t know how to help. I was bloody worried about you last night. We all were.”

There’s no way to even begin to try and make them understand. “I didn’t mean to make you worry,” he chews on the thought that he hadn’t expected them to notice him not being there but Changbin is on a roll.

“You haven’t been to the office for over a month now–”

“– yeah, because I’m such a valued member of the team–”

“–I can’t remember the last time I saw you sleep–”

“–there’s no chance of me sleeping now that I know you’re watching–”

“–you’re out all hours and you’re starting fights–”

“–I didn’t start the fight! There was this girl and–”

Changbin raises a hand, ploughs on, “and you’re drinking more.”

Jisung groans now, “I don’t have an alcohol problem.”

“I didn’t say it was a problem now, but I think it’ll become one if you don’t address it soon.”

“Is this a fucking intervention?”

“Will you stop getting defensive and just listen for a second?” Changbin says, “Whatever happened between you and mum is your business and believe me, I get it. Fuck knows I get it. I know exactly what she’s like. Which is why I live in this little palace. But it’s not a valid reason to burn the bridges of the people who actually give a shit about you. I want you, we need you, to start looking after yourself for a–”

Jisung pushes himself off the couch. He’s endured enough of this.

“Where are you going now?”

He is at the door, shoving his feet into a pair of trainers. “Out.”

“You just got back! Hannie! You can’t keep running away when things get a little bit difficult–”

Little bit difficult? “You’re fucking clueless.”

“If I am, it's because you don’t talk to me!” Changbin’s voice is rising, but it’s more out of exasperation, maybe a little bit of desperation, than that of anger. “Just fucking talk to me–”

Jisung has the door open, his head turned to face Changbin, a scolding retort on his lips and his foot hovering over the threshold, when a hand seizes him by the throat, pushes him back into the hallway, slamming him against the wall, his feet kicking at the air as they search for the floor.

Chris looks fucking homicidal shouting up into his face, “Where the fuck were you? You realise how fucking stupid you are? Do you have any consideration for us at all? I’ve been driving around all fucking night looking for you!”

“Chan-hyung, let him go,” Changbin says tiredly, trying to step between them, his hands on Chris’s forearms. “He can’t breathe. Let. Him. Go.” 

Coughing, his feet back on the floor, Jisung catches his breath, rubs at his throat looking over the top of Changbin’s head at Chris.

There are dark circles below his eyes, his face paler than usual. And he is Pissed. Capitalised. A tired Chris is somewhat manageable, but a tired and angry Chris is a dangerous combination anyone with common sense and a will to live, tries to avoid. If he’s this angry about him staying out without prior notice, how angry would he be if he’d known what he’d helped his mother to do? Jisung’s pleased that Changbin is between them. 

Jeongin peers over Chris’s shoulder. Waves. Smiles. “You’re alive then.”

He doesn’t sound too disappointed. Which is touching.

“Jisung, go and sit on the couch,” Changbin says. “Hyung, the armchair. Innie…wherever.”

Chris and Jisung continue to exchange death glares.

“Now.”

Jisung moves first, not bothering to remove his trainers. He slouches over to the couch, drops down and crosses his arms. Chris, suited and booted and every inch representing what a perfect son should look like, steps inside, unbuttons his jacket before settling onto the armchair. Jeongin sits on the arm beside him. 

In their elegant tailored suits and fine shirts and perfectly placed ties with gold clips, they look like two respectable businessmen. But Jisung can see past the outward appearance. Past the con. He knows Jeongin is wearing a knife holster on his shoulder over his grey waistcoat. He knows the black leather belt of his trousers is more than just a fashion item, holding a knuckle knife at the back. Jisung knows about the second switchblade tucked into the top of his Chelsea boot. 

Chris is holstered too. Jisung can just about make out the outline of it under his jacket. He carries a silver coloured pistol, the black grip has a stylised silver wolf head on it. It had been a gift from the three younger siblings for his twenty-fifth birthday. Jisung has only ever seen the gun a handful of times when Chris has cleaned it. But Chris has never actually used it. He's never had to. His name and his reputation, has always outweighed the necessity. If Bahng ‘neugdae/The Wolf’ Christopher ‘Chan’, eldest son of the Lobos family, tells you to do something, you fucking do it. He doesn’t even have to list the consequences.

And that’s Chris’s real strength. The strength of their pack leader. The strength of their pack.

Changbin closes the front door, sniffs and sneezes into the crook of his elbow. “Fucking allergies,” he says to no-one in particular. “It’s too early for hayfever season, isn’t it?”

“You’re probably allergic to this one's bullshit,” Chris says, looking pointedly at Jisung who rolls his eyes maturely in response to the jibe. 

Changbin sits on the couch beside Jisung. Sniffs.

They are sat.

They are seated.

The air around them full of dust and tension, enough that Jisung wonders if an electrical storm could form above their heads.

No one says a word, until Changbin sneezes again. Jisung, Chris and Jeongin automatically say, “Bless you,” in unison, then half smile at each other.

“For fuck’s sake,” Changbin says, rubs his nose, sniffs. “What is this?”

“What happened to your face?” Chris asks, nodding his head at Jisung.

“Sorry we don’t share the same DNA. It’s called good genes,” he doesn’t want to be facetious, it just happens naturally.

Chris half smiles at that, raises an eyebrow. “And the cut lip?”

“Really good, really rough sex. You should try it sometime. Might release some of your pent up… manliness,” he gestures at all of Chris when he says it. 

Changbin nudges Jisung in the ribs, shakes his head in warning. Jeongin chuckles.

Chris drops his head to look at his clenched hands, but Jisung can tell he’s holding back a smile. As much as they hate each other, there is love there. You just have to squint, really hard. Okay, maybe not really hard. The truth is he’d do anything for his brothers. He’d had to. Mostly, he had no regrets about doing the things he’d done in order to protect them. But there was one thing he’d done that was unforgivable. One thing he couldn’t reconcile in his own heart. There is no way Chris could forgive him for what he’d had to do.

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. 

God, please. Please let that be true.

When Chris lifts his head again, the anger has almost completely dissipated, but he still looks tired, “You had us worried.”

Jisung sighs. The guilt trips keep coming. And he can’t really handle them coming from Chris.  “I’m sorry. My phone broke. I didn’t realise the sim card was loose until I checked it this morning.”

“Then you didn’t answer our calls.”

“I was in the middle of something,” he lets it hang in the air about what something could mean and hopes it’s enough to move on from it. He’s still a little bitter about how he’d left things with Minho.

Chris sits back and absently scratches at the silver white scar line that cuts through his left eyebrow. It looks pretty badass, though Chris is conscious of it. 

It’s been three years since Freddie gave it to him after Chris caught him stealing gear from a container at the docks. Freddie wasn’t seen after that. Rumours vary as to what happened to him. Some say he is still in the Han River. Some say he’s propping up the overpass on route to Incheon. Others say he had the common sense to flee the country. All are probable. Jisung never cared about Freddie enough to ask Chris what actually happened to him. He was pleased to see him gone. Some people are like that. Like clouds. Things are brighter when they are no longer there. Freddie was a dark cloud. Good riddance.

But anytime Chris got anxious, or concerned, he’d scratch at the scar Freddie had given him. It’s a ‘tell’ Jisung is familiar with and he’s already braced for bad news when Chris says, “Mother has called a family meeting. Today. At the Manor.”

Even this is enough for Jeongin to stop smiling. The groans from Jisung and Changbin seem to harmonise. 

Changbin sneezes. “For fuck’s sake,” he pushes himself off the couch, his flip-flops slapping against his heels as he crosses to the kitchen. “What does she want now?”

Chris raises his hands level with his shoulders, “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Jisung snorts, because that’s what Freddie had been. 

Changbin opens a cupboard and pulls out a small basket where they keep medication. He finds the antihistamines, fills a glass with water. Necks a pill. Sneezes. Swears. “Which one of you bastards has been near a cat?”

Jeongin and Chris shake their heads, look at Jisung who has sunk a little lower into the couch. He’d totally forgotten about Changbin’s allergy to cats, which in his defence is understandable, since the list of things Changbin isn't allergic to is considerably shorter. Changbin glares at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung says, but he’s giggling. “In my defence it was a very cute cat.”

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

Jisung wipes the palms of his hands on his trousers, puffs out his cheeks, his breath fogging the passenger window. 

“Gwaenchanha?” Chris gently pats his forearm. 

Jisung pulls his arm away, nods. He can’t trust himself to lie confidently. Can’t bear Chris’s kindness.

Changbin seems to be struggling too. Even sitting behind him, Jisung can see the tight lines in his shoulders and he hasn’t spoken since they left the apartment. Jeongin had given up trying to make small talk with him about ten miles ago. 

The further they drive out of Seoul, the greener everything gets. It’s pretty, but unlike the many city dwellers who enjoy a visit to the country for rest and relaxation, Jisung hates it. The further they drive, the fresher the air gets, the more his muscles tighten. Returning to your family home shouldn’t feel like this.

After a few more miles, Jeongin exits the freeway, and a couple of miles after that they are climbing a winding road. The trees outside are growing larger, clumped together on the hillside, their leaves scattering the sunlight. Too soon, there it is, Wolf Manor. A large, imposing stone building that would look more at home in the English countryside than in South Korea. A monstrous grey stone building three stories high, with large south facing windows, stone steps and huge oak doors. 

Even before they approach the main gates the security guard is waiting in front of them. A black fearsome looking german shepherd at his heel, its muzzle doing nothing to make it look any less threatening, or muffle its barking.

Jeongin lowers his window, then his sunglasses and the man nods at the small security hut and the gates swing open. 

“You’d think they’d just look at the licence plate,” Changbin says, shoving a stick of gum in his mouth. “How many S-Class BMW’s are coming to the arse-middle of nowhere.”

“Cars can be stolen,” Jeongin says simply as he drives towards the house. “And GPS can be used to show frequently visited locations.”

“If I’m clever enough to steal a fucking luxury car, I’m not driving it to the places on the fucking GPS,” Changbin says.

“Well, we all know you’re not clever enough,” Jeongin mutters back.

“Bin,” Chris says, “Don’t take it out on the kid.”

“Don’t call me a fucking kid,” Jeongin says at the same time as Changbin says, “It’s fucking ridiculous the security she has on this place.”

Chris sighs, looks at Jisung.

Looking away, Jisung digs his nails into his palm. 

None of them are happy to be here and the fact that they had been summoned without cause or notice had them all on edge. 

Minders are already on the steps waiting for them as Jeongin swings the car round. Their black suits, openly displayed weapons and in-ear pieces make them look like secret service agents. From here, Jisung can see security with large dogs walking the perimeter fence.

Jeongin kills the engine and the minders are already at their doors, opening them as one, the cool air immediately flooding the car and chilling Jisung to the bone. 

They step out of the car. Jeongin and Chris buttoning up their suit jackets whilst Changbin shakes his out, tugging it over his shirt. Jisung helps him fix his collar. 

When Jisung had left, he didn’t bring his suits. His area of ‘expertise’ in the family, negated the necessity for him to wear them too often, but his mother liked to have her sons ‘properly dressed and befitting’ when in her presence. Now, he is wearing a soft blue jumper over a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black chinos. He’s sure mother will have something to say about his attire. But, well, tough shit. 

Jisung takes a deep breath, follows his brothers up the steps. 

“Sirs,” Kangdae, the head of the house and his mothers confidant and advisor, bows as they enter. He looks like an ex-marine, stuffed inside a suit, which is exactly what he is. A round face and neatly trimmed dark hair. The closest thing any of them have to a father figure. 

He’d taught them everything, from self-defence, to how to make hot cocoa. He’d taught them how to ride a bike and how to pick locks. He has a noticeable white scar on his chin from when he’d been teaching Jeongin how to drive, and Jeongin had crashed the jeep into the old oak tree. Once, when he’d been drunk, he’d even shown Jisung how to roll a cigarette. He smells vaguely of shoe polish and woodsmoke and is the only nice thing about this place.

“Where is she?” Chris asks, idly scratching at his scarred eyebrow. 

“The office, sir,” Kangdae says, holding a hand in front of Changbin.

For a second Changbin just looks at him.

“Spit is out,” Kangdae instructs. “You know your mother hates gum chewing.”

Rolling his eyes, Changbin spits his gum into Kangdae’s palm. 

As Jisung passes, Kangdae drops a heavy hand on Jisung’s shoulder. Smiles, “It’s good to see you.”

Jisung smiles, “Thanks, you too.”

“She’s missed you. She’ll be glad you’re here,” Kangdae winks, drops his hand.

Jisung wonders briefly whether she had been wholly honest to Kangdae about why Jisung had left all those weeks ago. Wonders if he knows their mother as well as Jisung thought he did. Smiling tightly, Jisung jogs to catch up with his brothers.

Their mother is sitting with her back to the open door. She only looks up when her two doberman pinschers get to their feet with a low growl. “Haemong, Yuryeong, down.”

The dogs, Nightmare and Phantom obey, though they seem to watch Jisung with hungry eyes. 

Their mother swivels her chair round, laying papers on her grand oak desk. She smiles widely at them and stands. She’s wearing a cream coloured suit over an emerald green silk blouse which matches exactly the colour of her shoes. A glittering white gold and diamond encrusted wolf broach on the left lapel. 

Today her silver hair is swept up into an elegant chignon. Despite her hair colour, she’s not that old. Lobos family members all got silver stripes in their hair from their early twenties. It’s a genetic thing - something that he and his brothers would never have. Though Chris does have a grey streak at the nape of his neck hidden beneath his black hair, earned from too much stress at a young age. 

Their mother, though, had gone entirely silver at the age of fourteen after something that had happened. Jisung isn’t entirely sure of the truth of the story, but he’d once overheard his grandfather tell a corrupt diplomat that it had something to do with the Clowder family. Something they had done to her. 

Lobos ‘the Silver Wolf’ Jade had been born the day her hair lost its ebony shine. Though these days, she went by ‘the Wolf Mother’.

“My boys!” she smiles widely, stepping round the desk, her arms outstretched to Chris. She hugs him, kisses him on each cheek. Jisung can’t watch it. She does the same for Changbin, then Jeongin, then she’s standing in front of Jisung, looking up at him. “Hannie,” she strokes the tops of his shoulders, feeling the fabric of his jumper between her fingers. He can tell she’s judging him. Assessing him. “You’ve lost weight.”

“I don’t think so,” Jisung lies. 

His mother gently takes his chin in her fingers, inspecting his cut lip. “I hope you made them pay for hurting you.”

“I did,” despite himself, he can’t help feeling pleased that she said ‘them’. He’s reminded that she knows him. She knows that one-on-one the opponent would have difficulty cutting him. 

She smiles, before she kisses him on his cheeks. “My good boy.” She gestures to the three cream coloured sofas at the centre of the room. “Boys, let’s take a seat.”

Jisung sits on the one nearest to the door, Jeongin at his side. Chris and Changbin sit opposite. Their mother sits in the centre of the third sofa, smiling at them.

Jisung gets a sinking feeling.

“Mum, what did you call us here for?” Chris asks.

She looks to the door they entered through. “Kangdae, could you give us some privacy?”

Their mother has a way of making orders sound like a polite question, but Kangdae has been around long enough to know the difference. He’d seen what happens when she’s misunderstood. Bowing, Kangdae retreats, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

After a few moments, their mother speaks. “I won’t keep you long. I know you all have matters to attend to,” Jisung doesn’t miss how her eye lingers on him a beat too long when she says it. “But I want to understand why I’ve had the head of the Choi family demanding reparations after his son was separated from his index finger?”

“His little finger,” Jeongin says. “Because he was being a dick.”

“How so?”

Chris looks at Jeongin, a silent ‘don’t say another word’, before he turns to their mother, “He was caught undercutting our shipments of microchips. We lost ten containers worth of business to his fathers own shipping line.”

“Ah,” Their mother sits back. “Is that all?”

“No,” Chris says slowly. “When we went to discuss the matter with him, he became… disrespectful.”

“He called you a whore,” Jeongin says. 

“Oh!” Their mother laughs in a low trill. “Oh, well now, that makes sense. Only his little finger, Yang? I thought I’d be worth more than that?”

Jeongin smiles, “You are, of course. I’ll take his balls if he says anything about you again.”

“Take his eye son,” their mother smiles. “I will look forward to my next conversation with Choi-ssi. I’m very much looking forward to it,” she is grinning devilishly. Jisung has a moment of empathy for the Choi family. They’d live to regret their son calling their mother a whore. “These older families seem to think we’ve become soft just because our business is legitimate these days. I would hate for there to be any other misunderstandings. We’re wolves. Don’t let anyone forget that we still bite.”

They all nod.

“Is that all?” Chris asks after a moment. 

“No, actually. It’s not,” she rises to her feet and walks to her desk, where she lifts a black folder. She holds it out to Chris, who takes it, flips it open. Frowns at the pages contained within. She sits down again, “I want that resolved by the end of the week.”

Chris nods, “Of course,” he closes the file, “Any recommendations on how you would like this handled?”

“Personally and permanently,” their mother smiles.

Chris nods again, scratches at his scarred eyebrow. He’s not happy about whatever he’s holding. 

“Have we had any more meetings with the Panthera?”

“None recently.”

“You may want to brush this past them. I don’t want any misunderstandings of our actions, especially if the need to cross lines arise,” she settles back against the cushions, “I understand Il Gatto is back from service?”

“Hmm, more than four months now, but he’s remained inconspicuous.”

Jisung has never come into direct contact with any Clowder family member. But he knows of them by reputation. None of them were to be trifled with. Clowder ‘Il Gatto d’oro’ Minho, is the most notorious son of the Clowder clan. A man who Jisung has heard described as a marble statue. The stories of the things he’d done are legendary, even to the Lobos and their associates. He’s someone you don’t want to get on the wrong side of. Him, or his brothers. Allegedly, he’d taken the eyes of a man who had looked at his brother, ‘The Artist’ Hyunjin, the wrong way. Once, he’d caused the leader of a drug cartel to piss himself, merely by looking at him. Such is the power of the eldest Clowder son.

Jisung isn’t sure how many of the stories he’s heard are actual truth or myth. But, legend or not, Minho, the golden cat, is one cat he hopes never to meet.

“You’re still dealing with the other one? What’s his name again?”

“Nikko. He goes by Lynx/Seurasoni. I don’t mind dealing with him. He’s pretty reasonable, for a Clowder.”

“Nikko?…Nikko?…he’s the legitimate one isn’t he?”

“Yes. The nephew.”

“That’s it. I remember now. Terrible what happened to his mother,” but she is smiling. “So you haven’t met the others?”

 “Lynx occasionally brings one of the youngers, um, Seungmin I think his name is. A really smart kid.”

“The Gambit,” Changbin supplies. “I think he’s their numbers guy. Does a lot in the background on their accounts and stuff. Nothing frontline. Bit of a rose, if you ask me.”

“Petals of a rose may bruise easily, but they still have their thorns,” their mother says. “If he’s attending some of these meetings, it means that they want and respect his opinion on matters. He may be one we need to be keeping a closer eye on.”

They all nod.

“As he’s bringing this boy with him on occasion, I would suggest that means you’re entitled to the same courtesy. I don’t like the idea of you being outnumbered.”

Jeongin smiles expectantly.

“Take Han with you, for your next meeting,” their mother says.

“Me?”

“Him?” Jeongin says.

Their mother smiles at Jisung, “It will be good for you. Just to observe,” she turns back to Chris, “That's okay with you, isn’t it, son?”

“Uh, yes, ofcourse.”

 “Let’s hope Il Gatto stays out of the game for a bit longer. Things have progressed smoothly with this Lynx,” she sits forward a bit. “I think that’s all for now, unless you have anything you want to raise?”

Everyone shakes their heads. Chris tucks the folder under his arm.

“Why don’t you grab lunch before you head back?”

It sounds like an invitation, but it’s not really. They all stand. 

“Hannie, you can remain for a moment.”

His brothers glance at him. Chris’s eyes asking a thousand questions. Jisung can’t bear to look at him. As they leave, Jisung sits back down, wipes his palms on his knees. 

He hasn’t been alone with his mother for several weeks.

She sits where Chris had been sitting. Closer, but not too close. She smiles, “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been worried about you.”

Jisung doubts this. “What did they tell you?”

His mother smiles with something that could be mistaken for motherly affection. “That you’re out a lot, drinking. Yang says you haven’t been to the office in a while, Seo says you’re not eating or sleeping and Bahng is sure you’re avoiding him.”

Betrayers, all of them.

Jisung can’t help himself, he scoffs. “I wonder why that is?”

“We discussed this,” his mother says. “That woman–”

“That woman?” Jisung can feel a burning in his eyes. “You mean his birth mother?”

“Lower your voice,” His mother isn’t smiling now. She inhales. “That woman,” she spits out the word, “gave up the right to be considered his mother the moment she gave him to me. I am his mother, just as I am yours, and Yang’s and Seo’s. I am the one who raised you. I am the one who fed and clothed you. None of the women who gave birth to you could have provided the life that I have given you.”

He inhales deeply, his eyes stinging. “Why do you call us by our birth family names? When you adopted us, why weren’t we ever made Lobos?”

“What have I always told you? Blood is thicker than water, Hannie. You weren’t mine to begin with, but I wanted you as my son. Never forget that I chose you. It’s important to me that you know where you originally came from.”

Until a couple of months ago, he had believed her. Had believed that his own mother was a drug using prostitute who chose her next fix over her son. Had sold him for a high. A high that had led to her death. Then the woman claiming to be Chris’s birth mother had changed all that.

He can still see her. The way she had looked up at him. The way her eyes were exactly like Chris’s as Jisung brought the knife down.

“He believed she was dead,” Jisung says, trying and failing to keep his voice level. He’s held this secret too long. “He has always believed she died when he was a child!”

“And now she is dead,” his mother says emotionlessly. Her words are like a cold slap. 

“And what about mine?” Jisung asks, and he doesn’t attempt to swipe the tear that falls or clear his throat. “Did she die like you said she did or did you end her life when she came looking for me too?”

His mother sighs, “I may have exaggerated the truth with Chris’s woman. And I may not have been honest with you about how your woman died. But she is dead.”

“How?” Jisung asks. “How did she die?”

“What version do you want, Han?” and his mother is finally losing her cool. “The version I gave you; that she died in her sleep after an overdose, in a warm motel room, where she was found the next morning by the cleaner, or the real version.”

“I want the fucking truth!” It is the first time he has ever sworn at his mother. 

She whips her hand across his face and Nightmare and Phantom rise to their feet, low growls in their throats.

Jisung stares at his mother. 

“You want the truth? She died in an alley, with a needle in her arm and the semen of several men all over her beaten and bruised body. She lay there for ten days before binmen came across her. It was seven months before they could properly identify her. She had lost most of her teeth, so there were no dental records. The DNA report returned several aliases that she’d used in an attempt to lessen her long criminal record, all to do with theft, prostitution and drugs. She was finally identified by the serial number on a pin she had in her arm which she broke when she was your age. Eleven months after she broke her arm, she had given birth to you and three months after that she sold you to me for a bag of heroin. That’s how much you meant to her. It took her less than a year after that to die. No one missed her. No one looked for her. She died and no one noticed because no one cared about her. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The sob that escapes Jisung fills the room. He collapses forward, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, trying to stop his tears. For the past couple of months, he’d had a glimmer of hope that his mother, his real mother, was still out there. Was looking for him too.

“My boy,” his mother sits beside him and wraps her arms around his shaking shoulders. Holds him, squeezes him and despite everything Jisung leans into her. Wraps his arms around her sobs against her. It’s the action of a child who doesn’t know any better. It’s the action of a child who wants to be comforted by their mum. “My darling boy.”

She strokes his hair as he cries. 

When his tears are finally spent, Jisung sits up. His mother gently strokes his cheeks with her thumbs. Looking at him with something that could be interpreted as love. 

“You do not tell Bahng about that woman,” she tells him. “He won’t understand why you did what I asked you to do and I would hate for him to hurt you.”

Jisung nods.

“That’s my boy,” she strokes the hair from his eyes and kisses his forehead. “My very good boy. My darling, precious boy,” his mother says, hugging him tightly.

Jisung looks at Nightmare and Phantom over her shoulder. They eye him suspiciously. Noses wrinkling, baring their teeth. He wonders whether they know.

He wonders if they know that he intends to kill their mistress.

♢ ♧ If you made it this far, thank you for your support! ♤ ♡ please consider leaving a comment, like or reblog ♤ ♡ ©2024Intrikatie ♢ Ao3 ♧ Quotev ♤ Wattpad ♡

TASTE M.List & Sypnosis

Chapter 1 - Parley

Chapter 2 - The DLC

Chapter 3 - Broken Compass

Chapter 5 - Comflex