#canvasism whispers

[canvasism]

Ah shit I love crazy bitches

[satellite-evans]

Drunk in love

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: When their wives get drunk, it is up to the Bridgerton brothers to take care of them ;)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Kate and reader are drunk lol, just pure fluff

A/N:

this is just something silly I had in my mind lol enjoy

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The Bridgerton household was steeped in the soft glow of the evening, and in the library, two brothers sat comfortably. Benedict Bridgerton leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips as he listened to Anthony's latest tirade about the complexities of running the family estate. The occasional crackle of the fire punctuated Anthony’s words, creating a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

"It's all well and good for you, Benedict," Anthony was saying, "to prance about with your paints and canvases. But someone has to keep this family afloat."

Benedict chuckled, shaking his head. "You take life far too seriously, Anthony. One day, you'll realize there's more to it than ledgers and land."

Before Anthony could retort, a burst of laughter erupted from the drawing room, loud enough to make both men pause. They exchanged curious glances, and without a word, rose to investigate the source of the commotion.

As they approached the drawing room, the laughter grew louder and more infectious. Pushing the door open, they were met with a sight that brought simultaneous smiles and sighs to their faces. There, amidst a sea of discarded shawls and half-empty wine glasses, were their wives: Y/N and Kate, draped over the settee in fits of giggles.

"My love," Benedict began, striding over to Y/N, who looked up at him with sparkling, mischievous eyes.

"Ben!" Y/N exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "Have you come to join our party?"

Anthony moved to Kate, who was similarly animated, her cheeks flushed with wine. "What on earth is going on here?" he asked, unable to keep a smile from his lips.

"We were just... having a bit of fun," Kate replied, her words slightly slurred. "Isn't that right, Y/N?"

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, her grip on Benedict tightening. "Yes! And you should have been here, Benedict. We were planning all sorts of adventures!"

Benedict exchanged a knowing look with Anthony. "It's getting late," he said gently. "Perhaps it's time to retire for the night before we wake the whole household."

"But we’re not tired!" Kate protested, though she yawned right after.

"Yes!" Y/N said eagerly. " We have work to do. We need to save the pirates!"

Benedict looked at Anthony with a confused look on his face, not understanding a word his wife is saying.

"The pirates? What pirates?" He asked his wife.

"Silly Benedict, the pirates that got captured of course! If we don't help them they will die or worse, catch a cold." Kate said to her brother-in-law while slurring the words, indicating that the night was surely over for the 2 ladies.

With a mixture of gentle coaxing and persuasive charm, Benedict and Anthony managed to guide their wives towards the staircase, their efforts accompanied by more giggles and shushing noises. Y/N and Kate were like a pair of mischievous schoolgirls, clutching each other for support as they swayed precariously.

"Shhh, we must be quiet!" Kate whispered loudly, her finger pressed to Y/N's lips.

"Yes, shhh!" Y/N echoed, though her laughter threatened to spill over.

Benedict exchanged an amused glance with Anthony. "Easier said than done," he muttered, placing a steadying hand on Y/N's waist.

The trek upstairs was a comedic parade of whispered laughter and shuffling feet. Y/N, in her drunken state, decided it was a brilliant idea to try walking on her tiptoes to avoid making noise. She stumbled, her giggles turning into a high-pitched squeal as Benedict caught her just in time.

"My hero," she declared, leaning heavily against him.

"Always," Benedict replied, his voice filled with warmth.

Meanwhile, Anthony had his hands full with Kate, who seemed determined to recount an elaborate and entirely fictitious tale about their latest adventure. "And then the pirate said, 'No, it's my treasure!' and I told him, 'You can have it, but only if you dance a jig!'"

Anthony shook his head, suppressing his laughter. "Let's get you to bed, love. You can tell me the rest of the story tomorrow."

As they finally reached the top of the stairs, the brothers carefully navigated their wives down the hall to their respective bedrooms. Y/N clung to Benedict, her fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt.

"Do you know what we should do, Ben?" she whispered, her voice conspiratorial. "We should have our own little party. Just you and me."

Benedict raised an eyebrow, amused. "Is that so?"

Y/N nodded, her movements exaggerated by the effects of the wine. "Yes. And I have... ideas." She bit her lip, trying to look sexy for her husband but failing miserably.

Benedict couldn't help but laugh softly at her earnest expression. "I'm sure you do, darling. But I think you might regret them in the morning."

She pouted, leaning in closer. "You're laughing at me," she accused, though her own lips twitched upwards.

"Never," Benedict said, kissing her forehead. "I just find you utterly adorable."

Y/N’s pout deepened. "I’m trying to seduce you, Benedict Bridgerton, and you’re laughing."

Benedict wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "And I love you for it," he murmured. "But you’re far too drunk to remember this tomorrow."

Y/N huffed, but her eyelids were already drooping. "Fine. But you owe me, mister."

"I’ll gladly pay my dues," he promised, tucking her under the covers, making sure she was comfortable.

Once the bedroom doors softly clicked shut behind them, Benedict and Anthony exchanged amused glances, their expressions a mix of fond exasperation and lingering mirth.

Anthony let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "Well, that was certainly an eventful evening."

Benedict grinned, running a hand through his hair. "Indeed. I never knew Y/N had such a penchant for dramatic declarations."

"And Kate," Anthony added with a raised eyebrow, "tyring to save pirates? I wonder where she comes up with these ideas."

Benedict chuckled softly, moving to pour himself a glass of water. "It’s all part of their charm, I suppose. Makes life interesting."

Anthony nodded thoughtfully, leaning against the dresser. "Indeed it does. They certainly keep us on our toes."

Silence settled between them for a moment, the sounds of the quiet house filling the space. Benedict took a sip of water, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at Anthony. "At least they provided us with some entertainment."

Anthony grinned, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To our adventurous wives and the mornings after."

Benedict laughed, clinking his glass against Anthony's. "May we always be prepared for their antics."

The next morning, the dining room was a scene of quiet activity as the Bridgerton family gathered for breakfast. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the table laden with a variety of morning fare. Benedict and Anthony were already seated, exchanging knowing glances as they sipped their coffee.

"Good morning," Anthony greeted with a wry smile, his voice a bit too cheerful as Kate and Y/N finally made their way downstairs. The two women looked thoroughly sheepish, their faces pale and their movements slow, battling clear signs of a hangover.

Kate, with a hand on her throbbing head, groaned softly as she took her seat. "Please. Not so loud, Anthony," she muttered, reaching for a slice of toast but ultimately settling for a glass of water.

Y/N, trailing slightly behind, sat down next to Benedict, doing her best to avoid his amused gaze. "Good morning," she mumbled, her voice hoarse, reaching for a cup of tea as if it were a lifeline.

Benedict leaned over, a smirk playing on his lips as he whispered in her ear, "How’s your head, my love?"

She shot him a sideways glance, her cheeks coloring. "Let’s not talk about it," she replied, taking a tentative sip of her tea.

"But you were quite the charming seductress last night," Benedict teased gently, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Y/N buried her face in her hands, groaning softly. "I’m never drinking that much again."

At the other end of the table, Kate was having a similar conversation with Anthony. "Honestly, I can't remember the last time I felt this awful," she confessed, gingerly rubbing her temples.

Anthony chuckled, passing her a plate of fruit. "Perhaps next time you’ll heed my warnings about overindulgence."

Kate shot him a baleful look, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "Don’t be smug, Anthony. It’s not becoming."

"Who, me? Never," Anthony replied with a wink, earning a soft laugh from Kate despite her discomfort.

As the morning continued, the initial awkwardness began to fade, replaced by the comforting normalcy of family life. Eloise and Colin entered the room, their curiosity piqued by the unusual quietness of their typically lively sisters-in-law.

"Good morning," Eloise said brightly, her keen eyes darting between Kate and Y/N. "You two look like you’ve been through the wars."

"Something like that," Y/N muttered, managing a small, embarrassed smile.

Colin, always one for humor, grinned broadly. "Did we miss an adventure last night?"

"Let’s just say it was a night to remember," Benedict replied, his eyes meeting Y/N’s with a tender affection that spoke volumes.

Eloise raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do tell."

"Another time, perhaps," Y/N said quickly, the color rising in her cheeks again.

As the conversation flowed around the table, the bonds of love and laughter only grew stronger. Despite their mortification, Y/N and Kate couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for their husbands’ gentle teasing and unwavering support.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Benedict asked Y/N, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. "Bits and pieces," she admitted. "I remember laughing a lot. And I think I tried to..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing.

Benedict chuckled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "You were very determined to have a private party," he said, his eyes twinkling. "It was quite the spectacle."

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I’m so embarrassed."

"Don't be," Benedict said softly, leaning closer. "I love seeing every side of you, even the tipsy, adventurous one."

At the other end of the table, Kate was facing a similar interrogation. "So, what exactly were you and Y/N plotting in the drawing room?" Anthony asked, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

Kate looked mortified, her face pale except for the flush of her cheeks. "I think we were planning an expedition to find some pirate treasure," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Or something equally ridiculous."

Anthony laughed, the sound rich and warm. "You certainly had quite the adventure in mind. Perhaps we should consider a career change?"

"Very funny," Kate muttered, though she couldn’t help but smile at his good-natured teasing.

The rest of the family, picking up on the mood, joined in the light-hearted banter. Colin leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "It seems our sisters-in-law have a penchant for late-night escapades. We'll have to keep an eye on them."

Eloise, never one to miss a chance to tease, added, "I think it’s wonderful. We could use more excitement around here. Perhaps next time, I'll join in the fun."

"Absolutely not," Anthony interjected firmly, though his smile betrayed his true feelings. "Two tipsy adventurers are quite enough."

Amidst the laughter and teasing, the lingering embarrassment began to fade. Y/N and Kate, though still feeling the effects of their overindulgence, found themselves relaxing, their initial mortification replaced by a growing sense of comfort. The warmth and acceptance from their family wrapped around them like a cozy blanket, reinforcing the love that bound them all together.

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE + SMAU ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( seventh installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , masturbation , angst , profanity , descriptions of violence , toji being a pathetic little sicko :D

୨୧˚ an; sorry this part is on the shorter side😅😅 it’s more of a filler chapter but i still like it!

It’s well past midnight when Toji slips his way back into his motel room. It’s dingy and drab, the once-white walls twinged a sickly yellowish tint from chain smoking guests. Ugly bedspread details different flowers that Toji couldn’t name, the same aged pattern clinging to the drapes that were pulled shut over the front window, never to be opened. It smells of heady sweat and open wounds, though maybe that’s just him. No, it definitely is him. He’s hyper aware of the grimy layer of filth that acts as a second layer of skin. It’s gritty and uncomfortable.

The bathroom cubicle is claustrophobic; if Toji were to stand in the center of the room, he could easily touch all four walls that boxed him in. He sits on the closed toilet seat lid, staring at his hands. They’re huge, intimidating. Trembling, spattered in blood that’s long since crusted into a dark concretion, cracking at the hinges of his fingers. His hands that took the lives of two innocent men just hours prior. Toji didn’t want to kill them, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Oh, how they shrieked and hollered for their lives as he dragged them into that alley. They just kept fucking screaming. 

“Fuck…” The man sighs grimly, letting his head dip forward to rest in the cups of his filthy palms. His bangs feel matted and crunchy with remnants of sweat. Disgusting self-pity blooms at the base of his hollow chest, and suddenly Toji has the urge to ram his skull into the drywall. Or dislocate his finger. Or do anything to punish himself for that feeling of defeatism. The nerve to possess such a shameful victim mentality, as if he deserved sympathy. He’s a killer; the best he deserves is a fucking electric chair.

Toji showers. A long, scalding shower that singes him to the bone. Water stained red cascades down the rippling wall of muscles that was his body and swirls down the rusty drain. These post-slaughter showers used to be blank canvases of his life. Ones where Toji’s brain would shut off and try to forget the atrocities committed by his hand. He would scrub his flesh raw, scrub scrub scrub mindlessly until he ached all over. But now, he only thinks of one thing.

You.

Maybe it’s some sick coping mechanism, turning to thoughts of you in times like these. In a pathetic form of self comfort, he reminisces. Your hands holding his face, your know-it-all smile, your way with words. God, your fucking way with words. 

“My sweet boy,” Toji whispers under his breath, touching himself. As if he could replicate the delicate way in which you spoke to him. His eyes shut, desperately clinging onto the mental image of you beneath him in his bed. Your arms outstretched, reaching for him like you want him. Like you love him. “My sweet…” Toji tries to fade into the warmth of the spray, imagining it to be your body heat encapsulating him instead. But the water is far too hot, it hurts; you wouldn’t hurt him like this. He tries so damn hard to disassociate into the pleasure, as if his hand would magically dissolve into yours. Yeah, right. His hand is too big to ever compete with yours. Too fucking rough and gritty and mean.

The flat of his palm finds the greasy tiles of the shower wall. Toji fucks himself with all the roughness he deserves, lower lip staked between two rows of teeth to cease its quivering. He’s going to cum. Your face appears in his psyche once more, but this time, it’s from the first time you visited him in the hospital all those months ago. He can see the picture so vividly, it scares him: you seated at his bedside, poking and prodding over his obliques, muttering a stream of concerned questions. But you were never upset or angry. No, despite the worries, you were still smiling. At him. 

Fuck, he’s really going to cum.

Toji grits his teeth, climaxing with a harsh shudder and a broken gasp of your name on his lips. Small jolts force him into a twitchy state, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against the tiles beside his hand. Semen paints the wall below, too far to the left for the shower spray to rinse it off. He doesn’t bother to clean it off. He’s too repulsed by himself to do much of anything. 

The plasticky sheets stick to his skin. Sleeping in just a pair of boxers was probably a stupid idea, bed mites were a real cause for concern, or so Shiu had told him. But it’s hot. He’s hot. And restless. And uncomfortable. He always had trouble falling asleep in foreign beds. Lidded eyes peek over to the alarm clock perched on the side table, its cherry digits splaying 2:47am. You were asleep. 

He reaches for his phone anyway, wracked with guilt all the while. The tension in his thighs still persisted, still succumbed to the aftershocks of his orgasm he fucked himself to with your face in his mind. He’s fucking gross. This is gross.

She’s sleeping, jackass. Don’t wake her up because you’re lonely.

Be a fucking man and lick your own wounds. That’s what his father would say.

He texts you anyway.

He presses the call button. It only gets through half a ring before the line cuts on and he hears a groggy “hey” filter through the receiver. How long has it been since he’s heard your voice? Not that long, only three days and yet it feels like it's been three lifetimes. And that’s truly the moment when Toji knows you’ve fucked him for life, because when did he start thinking such sappy shit like that?

“Hi,” he answers, melting back into the stiff mattress. His gaze wanders along the waterlogged ceiling, tracing the abstract damp stains that have settled in its popcorn surface. He thinks offhandedly that one of them vaguely resembles a rabbit. “Sorry for waking you.”

“You already apologized, silly. I told you it’s okay.” There’s a pause. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

It’s nice to hear yours, too. “Go to sleep.” 

“Yeah, okay.” The sound of sheets stirring crackles, Toji assumes you’re tossing in bed. “You’re sleeping now, too, right?”

He paws at his stomach, the pads of his rough fingertips tracing the gutters of his abdominal plates before he sinks his blunt nails into his own flesh. “In a bit.”

“Soon. It’s late, Toji.” You order him to bed like a mother would her child.

He nods as if you could see the gesture. “Soon, then.”

You bid him a good night, turning once more into bed before settling back into the depths of the slumber Toji had interrupted. He clasps his cell between his ear and shoulder, basking in your gentle breaths. It’s the same sounds you made the night you fucked him. He slept upon your chest, head over your heart, listening to its beats. You drooled on his pillow, he gave a quiet scoff at the memory. Are you drooling now?

Toji never sleeps.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume

[astralnymphh]

want to kiss ellie all over her hands. bite and print reminders of a deep-seated appreciation for nature; for flesh and bone. let convictions of decorum rot away as you prove them inessential, making even the quietest bird sing over your loving. trailing up her wrist, across the knuckles, bothering the palm. thank her for the callouses, the pockmarks, and other stories born violently with kisses softer than her defeated face. though, the lips, they become envious; for a fire is not satisfied until something has fed it. she needs you somewhere else.

small dimples pool in her cheeks each time it happens. always off-schedule, never unintentional. ellie found it long and winding to comprehend what made her hands so desireable to eat; they are not apples, they are not her lips—you should stray the summer and return to winter; end the vacations on her fingertips, and warm her cold, empty lips. of course, you ignore. repeat and ignore. kiss and kiss, and kiss. the room was never filled with such confused sounds before.

“hey, kinda need that hand right now,” she would claim, the oddments of an uncompleted sketch sitting still without a pencil caressing it. “please, babe?”

this life felt situated in a pastoral. idyllic, painless. she worked day to day on her biography of artistry; building up a stockpile of canvases, wearing through the guts of severeal sketchbooks until they rejected new modifications. it made her hand look nice. the muscled definitions. all that pinching and rolling and painting. no, her hand is yours to eat.

“mh-mn,” you hum and tighten authority on her wrist, pecking her thumb.

ellie giggles like you're a playful dog that will not let go. outwardly hating this—but inwardly loving this. “man, you're a nuisance.” you hear her chair creak and her breath come closer, the curls of a smile vibrant in her polite whispers just as her hand breaks free. “could you be less of one and just be normal about this?” fingers now inviting your mouth someplace else, a nudge that reads as: fuck, kiss me?

[hyunesent]

. ۫𝜗𝜚˖ ࣪ SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL

"The idea of exploring the beauty and complexity of the human body and physical connections wasn't uninteresting, and you couldn't think of a better person to do it with other than the one sitting next to you."

art student!hyunjin x art student!reader (afab)

chapter cw: pining, drinking, masturbation (m + f), depictions of oral sex (f receiving) and p in v sex, pre-cum eating. I honestly wanted to do a lot more in this chapter but I also want the slow burn ;p

Chapter 1: Beneath the surface

How could you not be entranced by him? Where the scent of paint thinner mingled with the whisper of the sound of paintbrushes on canvases, you found yourself drawn to the figure at the far easel; conveniently placed at a comfortable pining distance.

An unmistakable art style so different from your own paired with his sculpted features. His presence was an intricate masterpiece of quiet confidence and unspoken dreams. Each brushstroke he made, imbued with a natural fluidity, seemed to capture the essence of something ineffable, something you yearned to unravel.

Hyunjin was a study of classical beauty. Dark, expressive eyes, often framed by a fringe of soft, slightly tousled hair, and his lips, full and slightly pouted as he fully engrossed himself in his work. But of course, your admiration didn't halt at appreciation for his artistry. You couldn't help but cross your legs tighter when you caught a glimpse of his tongue resting between his lips in concentration, and your thoughts could not help but wonder how smooth it would feel against–

“I have already assigned you all partners for this conceptual art task you have been given, these have been chosen strategically so I want you to all challenge yourselves and each other to push your creative boundaries for this piece. Each pair will be given an abstract concept to interpret and express in three different mediums. The themes will be emailed to you separately this evening but for now, I will send you all the list of pairs so ensure you have means to contact them.”

You paid little mind to your professor's description of the task assigned to you but perked up while packing your stuff away at the last sentence. As you carefully slung your bag over your shoulder you felt the vibration in your pocket, clicking on the notification your eyes pulsed open with a mix of emotions when you saw your name next to Hyunjin’s.

Sure you were acquainted with him in class and had worked with him in group settings before but that was all at a comfortable distance where there was no need for the two of you to understand each other on a deeper level. Your excitement and anticipation transitioned into panic as a tall shadow covered you.

You look up and are greeted with a short yet soft smile from the man before you and are instantly weak in the knees. There was a moment where you were allowed to take in the way he looked so effortlessly perfect with his hair pulled out of his face with a hair tie and you had to stop yourself from frowning as he swiftly released it allowing his to fall to his collarbones as he raked his hands through it. He spoke so comfortably as the two of you walked side by side out of the building.

“Y/n I was wondering if you’re okay to start the project today we can meet after my shift? I’m honestly excited to do this assignment,” He looks at you and lets out a chuckled sigh “It seems so much more interesting than the last.”

You almost roll your eyes at the memory of the material studies essay that was due and it provokes Hyunjin's contagious laugh. The two of you light-heartedly complain as you reminisce about the sleepless nights spent on such an unfulfilling part of the course.

After a few minutes, you make it clear that you're more than happy to start the project tonight and he sweetly expresses gratitude before hastily saying goodbye to ensure he won't be late for work. You make your way to your dorm blissfully and in contrast to your usual bed rotting and doom-scrolling combo you get in the shower. Hours later your phone lights up several times.

Hyunjin: Just got back to my dorm, gonna shower and order food for us Hyunjin: be here in an hour? Hyunjin: and don't open the email with our theme!!! Hyunjin: let's do it together so we can brainstorm Hyunjin: see you soon :)

As you scroll down, the last notification catches your eye—an email from your professor. Smiling fondly at Hyunjin’s messages, you swipe the notification away. Biting your lip to silence a laugh, you can't help but notice how playful his demeanour is through text, a sharp contrast to the mysterious allure he maintains in person. Setting your phone aside, you put a little extra effort into your appearance, more than you usually would for a simple assignment, before making your way to his dorm.

When you arrived at your assignment partner's dorm, your heart pounded in sync with your tentative knock on the door. When Hyunjin opened it, his warm smile and lingering gaze made your pulse race.

Stepping inside, you were pleasantly surprised by the room's unexpected sensuality. Soft lighting bathed the space in a golden glow, while the scent of sandalwood and paint lingered in the air. Abstract paintings in Hyunjins distinctive style adorned the walls, each one more evocative than the last. You always knew Hyunjin enjoyed more provocative themes in class but this was different, more intimate.

Your eyes met again, and his gentle, lingering stares hinted at something unreadable, making you feel both exhilarated and at ease. As you settled in to get ready to work on your project, Hyunjin took your jacket from you and hung it next to his before coming back to where you were seated with two glasses of wine. You take it from him with a warm smile and a whispered thank you then take a sip before placing it down next to his.

“What do you think the theme is going to be?” he asked, his attentive eyes fixated on yours. “Not a clue,” you replied after a moment's thought. “I think it’s cool we’re all doing different themes, though. It'll be interesting to see everyone’s interpretations.”

He nodded in agreement before taking out his phone and unlocking it, positioning himself so you could see the screen. He spared you a glance, a silent plea that the theme assigned would be intriguing. As he opened the email and scrolled down, you read together, and the disparity between your synced reactions was almost comical. The Human Form and Intimacy. As you read those words, a blush crept up your cheeks, almost as if you had been found guilty of something. Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin’s eyes gleamed with something exhilarating.

“Oh my God, that’s so good!” he exclaimed, looking over at you with an uncontainable smile. You instinctively sat up straighter. “There’s so much we can do with this. I’m so excited.” You couldn’t help but feel a warmth seeing the genuine joy exuding from Hyunjin. His passion for his craft was truly admirable. In comparison, you were much more of a stay-inside-the-lines kind of person, not as outgoing or experimental with your art or your personal life. However, despite your initial hesitation, the idea of exploring the beauty and complexity of the human body and physical connections wasn't uninteresting. And you couldn't think of a better person to do it with than the one sitting next to you.

The room was quiet save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint scratching of pencils on paper. Hyunjin suggested the two of you brainstorm ideas and then feedback to each other. He sat comfortably at his desk, his posture relaxed and confident, while you fidgeted with your supplies. The theme of the assignment, "The Human Form and Intimacy," loomed large in your mind, casting a shadow of nervousness over your creativity. Hyunjin’s ease with the subject was palpable. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he began sketching and writing, effortlessly capturing the fluid grace of the human body in simplified forms and creating lists of ideas on what mediums could be used. You, on the other hand, found your hands trembling slightly as you tried to put pencil to paper. The suggestive nature of the theme felt almost too intimate and too revealing, and you struggled to express yourself without feeling exposed.

Sensing your discomfort, Hyunjin looked up from his work, his gaze softening. "You seem a bit nervous," he said gently, his voice a soothing murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. "Are you okay with this theme?" You hesitated, biting your lip before nodding slowly. "I’ve never really done anything like this before. It feels…vulgar, almost. I’m not sure how to be open and expressive with something so personal."

Hyunjin listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze a comforting anchor. "I understand," he said softly. He did, sex and intimacy weren't something that he took lightly either and he understood why holding it in such high regard would cause a sense of conflict for a task like this. "It can be intimidating to delve into such intimate themes, but there’s a lot of beauty in it too. The human form, the connections we share, they’re all part of our most profound experiences."

He paused, then continued, his voice low and sincere, laced with a quiet intensity. "There’s something incredibly powerful about capturing those moments of vulnerability. It’s not just about intercourse; it’s about the raw, unfiltered connection between people. That’s what I find beautiful." With that, he reached for a sketchbook tucked away on his shelf, one he rarely showed to anyone. He silently handed it to you, so you opened it and saw page after page filled with sensual sketches, each one a masterful depiction of human bodies intertwined in moments of passion or singular bodies enjoying their own pleasure and tenderness. The drawings were explicit, yes, but there was a grace and elegance to them that transcended the vulgarity you had feared. Hyunjin’s eyes met yours as he explained, "These sketches are my way of exploring and celebrating intimacy. They’re meant to capture the beauty of those private, sacred moments."

You were taken aback, but also deeply intrigued. His perspective was so different from your own, and yet, you couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Growing up, you were always taught to view sex as something simple and utilitarian, a straightforward act with a singular purpose. Your upbringing, steeped in traditional values, framed intimacy as a means to an end, devoid of nuance or emotion. However, as you grew older and moved out on your own, the world began to unfold in all its complexity. You found yourself exploring new ideas and experiences, each one peeling back layers of understanding. You discovered that sex could be a profound expression of love, a dance of trust, or a celebration of physical pleasure. It was a spectrum of emotions and connections, each encounter adding depth to your perception. Still, in spite of your own experiences, you couldn't deny how affected you were seeing the array of drawings in front of you.

Your cheeks and ears felt flushed as your eyes scanned over sketches of women and men indulging in self-pleasure, each figure rendered with exquisite detail and sensitivity. The scratches of his pencil conveyed a palpable sense of ecstasy, from the arch of a woman's back to the intense focus in a man's gaze as he explored his own pleasure. The sheets rustled softly as you turned them, your fingers trembling slightly, each new image a testament to Hyunjin's ability to capture the beauty and intensity of human desire. You could feel his intense gaze on you but the embarrassment you felt from it did not overtake your curiosity to keep turning the page. There was an undeniable attraction, an arousal even, in the way he spoke about and depicted sex and intimacy through his art. His passion was contagious, stirring something within you. Your heart pounded and a wetness collected in your underwear, unable to quell the surge of arousal these intimate. It was as if you could feel the passion emanating from the pages, each drawing tightening the feeling in your core and causing your pathetic attempt at clenching around nothing.

That did not go unnoticed. Too focused on calming yourself down you did not see the way Hyunjin’s eyes darkened. "I’ve always believed that art should make you feel something," he said, his voice a hushed whisper that seemed to wrap around you. "It should stir your soul, make your heart race. That’s what these drawings do for me. They’re not just about the physical act, but about the emotions behind it, the intimacy and trust."

You finally found the courage to look up at him and he almost gasped seeing your glossed over eyes. You felt a warmth spreading through you, a mix of admiration and a burgeoning desire to explore this new realm of expression. "I’ve always been afraid to push boundaries, to really let go," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. Hyunjin’s hand reached out, his thumb lightly brushing over the back of your hand in a gesture that was both reassuring and electrifying. "Art is about breaking those boundaries," he said softly. "It’s about being brave enough to express your true self, to explore the depths of your emotions."

You nodded, your eyes locked onto his, feeling a profound connection forming between you. "I want to try," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. His smile was warm and encouraging. "We can explore this together," he promised. His gaze loitered on you taking you in and feeling your genuinity. Hyunjin watched you with a mix of intense curiosity and restrained desire, the intimacy of the recent conversation hanging palpably between you. Your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes sparkled with a blend of excitement and sensitivity made his pulse quicken.

He had been able to sense the subtle shift in your energy and posture, a silent admission of arousal that mirrored the growing tent in his pants. He felt a powerful urge to bridge the gap between your feelings, to show you the depths of his passion in a more tangible way. Yet, as the moment stretched on, he wrestled with his own impulses, determined to remain respectful and honour the delicate trust you had just begun to build. With a deep breath, he chose to focus on your shared journey of exploration and expression, channelling his desire into a mutual understanding rather than a physical advance.

As you continued to talk, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the intoxicating possibility of what you could create together. The nervousness began to retreat, replaced by a growing curiosity and a need to understand Hyunjin’s perspective. You found a new sense of freedom, a permission to explore your creativity without fear. Hyunjin had gone to refill your glasses and the two of you had decided that the three mediums you would be using for this project were oil painting (hyunjin’s speciality), sculpting and photography. The alcohol prevented your mind from wandering too much about what that would entail so instead you spent the rest of the evening basking in each other's company trying to push aside any lingering thoughts.

The street lamps cast a warm glow on the quiet campus as Hyunjin and you strolled side by side. Your footsteps echoed softly against the brick buildings, a rhythmic soundtrack to your shared silence. The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of summer nights and possibility. Hyunjin glanced at the girl beside him, admiring how the golden light played across your features. Your brow furrowed slightly as you clutched your sketchbook to your chest, no doubt still pondering your art assignment. He longed to smooth away that tiny crease with his thumb, to feel the softness of your skin beneath his touch. "Thank you for walking me back," you murmured, breaking the silence. Your voice was low, almost reverent in the stillness of the night. Hyunjin's lips curved into a gentle smile, his own voice a rich timbre that seemed to resonate in the space between them. "I couldn't let you walk alone at this hour."

As you approached your dorm building, your pace slowed unconsciously, neither quite ready for the evening to end. Hyunjin's hand brushed against yours, a whisper of contact that sent electricity coursing through both your bodies. He heard your sharp intake of breath and felt his heart rate quicken in response. You came to a stop before the entrance, turning to face each other. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension. Hyunjin's gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, dark and luminous in the lamplight. "I had a lovely time tonight," you said softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sketchbook. Hyunjin nodded, swallowing hard. "So did I. Your ideas for the project were inspiring."

You couldn't help but smile at that knowing how much of an inspiration he was to you. His hand moved of its own accord, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips lingered, tracing the delicate outline of your jaw. You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief, exquisite moment.

When you opened them again, Hyunjin saw a flash of something primal in their depths – a hunger that mirrored his own. His hand lingered over yours, not willing to break the connection. At that moment, the air between them seemed charged with possibility. Hyunjin leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. You tilted your face up, your lips parting slightly in anticipation. But all too soon, realisation hit and you stepped back, breaking the spell, leaving you both breathless and aching. With a final, gentle squeeze of your hand, Hyunjin stepped back. You look at him wordless and it seems he caught on as he spoke for you.

"Goodnight," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Goodnight, Hyunjin," you replied, your voice trembling slightly as you turned and entered your dorm. As the door closed behind you, Hyunjin let out a shaky breath. He stood there for a moment, his mind replaying the evening, before slowly making his way back to his dorm. The walk back was a blur, Hyunjin's mind consumed by replaying every moment of your interaction. The soft brush of your arm against his as they walked, the way your eyes had widened when he'd touched your face, the barely audible catch in your breath. As soon as his door clicked shut behind him, Hyunjin leaned against it, his head falling back with a soft thud. The scent of your perfume clung to his clothes, a constant reminder of your closeness. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to shake off the intense arousal that had been building all evening.

Once inside your room, you leaned against the door, your heart pounding. The memory of Hyunjin's touch lingered on your skin, igniting a fire within you. Closing your eyes you imagined what might have happened if you’d been brave enough to kiss him. Hyunjin lay in his dorm bed, the dim light of the night sky seeping through his window, casting shadows that danced and flickered across his body. The memory of the evening lingered a heavy warmth that seemed to permeate everything. You had both held back, yearning to give in to your desires, but unable to find the courage to cross that final line. Now, as he lay there with his eyes closed, the pressure built within him. His hand drifted down his chest, fingers ghosting over the thin fabric of his shirt. He imagined your touch instead of his own, delicate yet curious, exploring the planes of his body. Hyunjin felt the throbbing need that had been building up inside him. He closed his eyes and thought of you, your body warm and inviting, gripping his hardness, guiding him inside you

In a room not too far from his, you laid in your bed, heart pounding in sync with his own. The memories of your evening together were just as fresh in your mind, and as you imagined his touch, your own arousal began to build once more, your body responding to his thoughts as if you were in the same room, touching each other. You ran your hand down your body, skin tingling from the friction of your fingers against you. Your thoughts were filled with the image of him, his bare chest rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing. You visualized your body gliding over his, your lips meeting his in a passionate kiss, your wet tongues exploring each other's mouths. When you reached between your legs, you felt a surge of desire for him, growing stronger with every stroke against your pussy. You imagined him between your legs, his face buried in your folds as he eagerly and desperately pleasured you. You could envision the intense focus in his eyes, his lips glistening with your arousal allowing him to taste his min rain with all the things he wanted to do to you; like you were his canvas waiting to be covered. Your breathing became more ragged, moans escaping your lips, hips arching off the bed as your hand worked faster and faster, seeking the release you craved.

Hyunjin's thoughts grew more intense, imagining you wet and aroused, your body yearning for his touch just as much as he longed for yours. His hand moved in a steady rhythm, his grip becoming more firm with each stroke. The sight of his own arousal, glistening in the dim light, was a tantalizing sight. The scent of sweat and arousal filled the air, musky and heady. His scent mixed with yours in his mind, creating an aroma that only fueled his desire. His lips were parted as he panted, his mouth dry and craving a taste. He imagined your lips on his, your dripping cunt. As his hand moved over his swollen tip, he could feel the stickiness of his desire. He brought his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to lick them in anticipation. He whined and bucked his hips up to the taste of his own pre-cum lingering on his tongue, salty and sweet. Yet he couldn't help but wonder what it would taste like mixed with yours.

He envisioned you climaxing beneath him, your body writhing in pleasure as he brought you to a shuddering, soul-shaking orgasm. The thought of your cries of ecstasy, the feel of your hot, wet core clenching around him, sent him over the edge. You imagined him cumming, his throbbing erection releasing its load deep within you, filling you, completing the connection you both craved. Your fingers slick with your arousal, were thrust inside yourself, your body responding to the fantasy as if it were your own touch that you needed. A hand came up to silence your loud whimpers. Your body convulsed, your orgasm taking over. Your body shook with the intensity of the climax. It was as if you could feel him inside you, your bodies moving in tandem, desires finally merging into a single, unified experience.

Hyunjin's orgasm was explosive, the rush of pleasure so intense that it felt as if every nerve ending in his body was alight. His climax crashed over him in waves parallel to the ropes of cum that landed on his stomach. He imagined you, your face scrunched in pleasure, your body locked in the throes of your release At that moment, miles apart, their highs intertwined as if they were physically touching each other. The heavy warmth of the emotions seeped into the air once more, leaving behind a memory that would never be forgotten. Hyunjin lay in his dorm bed, still trembling from the intensity of his release. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. They might not have crossed the line that night, but the connection they had built was undeniable, and the desire that burned between them was only just beginning.

𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: This is a work of fiction not a portrayal of anyone in real life. THIS TOOK SO LONG TO POST. I'm excited to continue this series, I have a few ideas for the smut and how it will link to the mediums chosen. I think the sculpting will be my favourite to write. I also really want to develop Hyunjin's character a lot in this so stay tuned for that Likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. Happy reading .ᐟ

[iriswritesforyou]

His Mona Lisa

Warning - small violence, prejudice against mutants, and maybe some other things? IDK

Word count - 1,889

Description: Reader is a human art teacher at the school. You and Logan had both been giving each other eyes for a while now but things heat up during a field trip.

Charles Xaiver had asked you, a human, to teach at his school for mutants, as an art teacher. You were reluctant at first, not because you were scared of mutants but because you felt as if you had nothing to offer them. Your only gift rested in your ability to paint and draw, to bring the images in your mind to life, and to help the youth do the same. 

It was rocky at first, the kids were hesitant to warm up to you and you were hesitant to discipline them but that all changed one day when you introduced them to what you liked to call ‘splat balloon painting’. You had set up a canvas for each kid with balloons filled with paint next to them outside, encouraging them to throw them at the canvases. The kids loved it so much and getting paint all over you was definitely worth watching them smile and laugh. The true solidarity came when one of the kids' powers acted up and you got freezing cold acrylic paint all over you. The kid expected you to be angry like most humans would but you werent, to their surprise you just laughed it off and assured the kid you were fine. 

After that day your class was one of the favorites among the students, even the kids who had hated art in previous years found themselves enjoying your class. 

And then there was Logan, the combat instructor teacher who plagued your thoughts and little did you know you plagued him as well. It all started when one of your kids came to class all battered up and looking worse for wear claiming it was from Logan’s combat class. You didn't know much about Logan and you didn't know much about his class but you did know that your students shouldnt be showing up to class looking like they just got beat up in an alleyway. 

So you marched down into the lower levels of the school determined to scold Logan like a parent would a child. 

He was quite surprised to see a young human woman dressed in paint covered overall hanging off one of her shoulders, paint brushes stuck in her hair, and mismatched jewelry stomping up to him.

He had heard about you of course, there was a stir when you joined the campus, people whispered about you with some saying you didn’t belong and others thinking your presence would be good for future relations between humans and mutants, he didn't particularly care. This was the first time he had seen you through and you certainly left your mark on him huffing and puffing about how the kids shouldnt be showing up to class battered and bruised. 

If Logan was being honest, despite what most people thought his reaction would be, he wasn't annoyed or angry, in fact he found it a little endearing how you cared for the kids, but he pushed that down and explained to you how it wasn't his intentions but the kids have to learn somehow. 

A couple months had passed since then and you and Logan were cordial to each other, you smiled at each other in passing but nothing more than that but the rest of the teachers and even students could see how both of your eyes always found each other in a room. 

Things started to heat up when you scheduled a field trip for the students to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Logan was going with you to help you watch the kids.

Logan knew he should have been paying more attention to the kids but he couldn't help but keep his eyes on you, the way you smiled when you explained the exhibits or how you lit up when they would ask questions. And you couldn't help but notice his watchful gaze, mostly on you and it unnerved you. Why was he staring? Was there something wrong with the way you were dressed? Something on your face? 

“Alright I want everybody to find a partner and split up, the sheet of paper I handed you all lays out the entire place and all of the attractions. Please, remember to meet up back here in an hour.” You told the kids as Logan came up beside you and you smiled at him gently “And you and I will be walking around keeping an eye on them.” he didn't say anything but nodded. 

You both had wandered over to the Museum history panel and read the date 1870, was Logan born just after that? 

“Can I ask you something personal?” He didn't even have to think about it before answering “Yes.”. 

“It says this place was founded in 1870.” your voice dropped into a whisper “weren't you born around then?” He snapped his face towards you while you stayed looking away. He wondered how you knew that you and him hadn't had a conversation in months. 

“How did you know that?” You now turned to face him completely, faces close and heart racing, he could hear it. Your eyes were locked onto each other and he couldn't help but study how the light danced in them and skin became flushed under the cool lighting, he thought he was making you scared and took a step back. He wouldn't admit it but he didn't want to take a step back. He wanted to take a step closer. 

“I’ve been - asking around, about you. I'm sorry, I should have asked you but-.” Unspoken words held in the air. 

It was your guilty pleasure to find out more about Logan, the more you knew the more you had answers and you couldn't ask him, he was, well, him. 

“You could have just asked me.” He said. You thought he would be mad, furious even but instead he looked hurt. “You're right Logan, and I’m sorry. If I’m being honest you intimidate me a little.” 

He raised one of his brows at you, he knew he had that effect on people but he didn't want it on you. “Well, you don't have to be. I don't want you to be.” His gruff voice made you stay locked onto him. 

Time could have passed for a hundred years and you both could have stayed right there forever but time didn't care what you wanted as a blood curdling scream snapped you both back to reality. 

Over in the Egyptian side of the room one of your kids and a human boy were having an all out brawl with your kid winning. Logan got there faster than you and pulled him off while the human boy quickly got up and spat at the ground by your feet, “mutant.” 

That one word was all it took for your kid to start kicking in Logan's arm, trying to claw his way back over to the human boy while he just stood there glaring. You quickly walked over to the human boy and grabbed his forearm,  “where are your parents?” and it was as if they heard you. 

A lady in an expensive looking green suit and a man twice the size of you came over, the woman with tears in her eyes, hyperventilating and the man getting red in the face with anger. 

“Let go of my son!” the man huffed getting up into your face, so close you could see the pimple about to burst on his nose. Letting go of his son you took a step back and he took one again closer to you. “Mutant bitch” It was two words now that snapped Logan into action, as he had been watching the exchange with the kid still fighting in his arms. Quickly, Logan let him go, not caring if he went back over to the human boy and started another fight. No, his only concern was you. 

Stepping in between you and the man, blocking him from your sight, they stood toe to toe. Logan was clearly taller and stronger than the man but that did nothing to deter him “And you must be her mutant bastard”. You grabbed the back of Logan's clothes hoping he wouldn't start something “Logan” you gently whispered. Logan may be an angry man but it was never for himself, he wouldn't start anything. 

It wasn't until you stepped around Logan hesitantly, still keeping your grip on him and started to try and mend the situation. “Please, ma’am, sir, we are truly, very sorry. And -”, a sickening slap echoed around the now quiet room, he had hit you and Logan wasn't going to let that slide. 

In the blink of an eye Logan pulled you back and into the arms of your mutant students who had now gathered around the both of you and punched the guy right back. 

Chaos exploded, the woman shrieked as Logan had the man jacked up against the wall as he cried, half of your kids went for the human boy who had bullied your kid and the other half stuck by you as you stood there in shock. 

It took ten security members to pry off Logan and the aftermath was quite horrific. Blood was on the walls and floors, but only the man and his boy had seriously gotten injured with your mutant students only having minor bumps and bruises. 

They would have hauled Logan off to jail if it wasn't for Charles showing up and sweet talking to them, promising not just financial compensation for the museum but for them personally as well, the human family too. 

It wasn't until you got back to the school that you really felt the pain in your upper cheek bone and eye. As you were about to open your door Logan stood there with his fist raised about to knock. 

“I’m so sorry Logan.” He didn't say anything back, his eyes not wavering from a particular spot on your face. He reached towards it and gently touched it making you hiss and jerk back “I should have hit him harder.” 

You shook your head in disbelief  “No, anything more and you would have gone to jail Logan.” 

“You need to go down to the infirmary.” He took your hand in his. “That's actually where I was about to go.” but he still held your hand and led you to the infirmary. 

“I’m sorry.” The gruff man apologized this time.

“Why?” he stopped and fully turned to you, feeling ashamed for running your first field trip. 

“It was a shitty field trip, your first one.” you shrugged but still stayed looking at him “I'm more upset about not being able to tour the museum, I've always wanted to go.” 

He felt guilty now, he knew art was your passion and he didn't even think about that part of the debacle. 

“I'll make it up to you, I'll take you next time.” He couldn't even believe the words that had come out of his mouth but he wanted to take them back, not because he didn't want to but because he assumed you wouldn't want to go with him. But to his surprise a smile grew on your face “Like a date?” 

There was a beat of silence as he gazed down at your beautiful face and gave a small smile down at you “Like a date sweetheart.” 

[da-rulah]

Rubenesque - Secondo x F! Plus Size Reader

Summary: Retirement had its perks. For Secondo, one of those was being able to spend much more time on the things he enjoyed. And there were only two things he truly enjoyed these days; art, and you. Although if you asked him, he’d insist that they were one and the same.

So how would he react when he learns that your peers are mocking your sinfully gorgeous body, and you're struggling to love yourself?

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: Fatphobic comments, low self esteem, sensual sex, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), body worship, p in v sex, creampie 

A/N: Yes, this is self-indulgent. Sue me. And whilst it is a plus size reader fic, anybody can still enjoy Artist Secondo who enjoys his women...

Disclaimer: The painting in the header has been modified using photoshop to edit out a creepy old man. It is a Rubens painting, named "The Hermit and the Sleeping Angellica". It's important to also note, Rubens never painted any scenes for the satanic church. This is fiction for this particular story.

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | TIP JAR

Retirement had its perks. For Secondo, one of those was being able to spend much more time on the things he enjoyed. And there were only two things he truly enjoyed these days; art, and you. Although if you asked him, he’d insist that they were one and the same.  

Except, you were finding it harder and harder to believe him in that regard. With the whispers of harsh siblings as you passed in the hall managing to reach your ears, you were struggling more and more to understand why you were one of Secondo’s favourite things at all. He was unaware of your harsh feelings towards yourself, let alone of the whispers in the halls. But then, now he spent most of his time in his art studio on the edge of the grounds, you weren’t surprised that he was oblivious to the going’s on in the Ministry. Now that his younger brother was running the show, he didn't have to meddle quite so much in the politics of the Clergy. He’d only get involved when they tried to undermine Terzo; something he would never stand for, no matter how much he aggravated him. The burden had been passed on, and after decades of devotion and servitude, he figured he’d earned a little respite. 

His studio was his sanctuary. Few were allowed to set foot inside; the exceptions being his brothers, and you, naturally. You still remember the first time he invited you in. It had been one of your first official dates, and he’d set up a quaint little dinner by candlelight surrounded by his art and tools, showing you a piece of him so heavily guarded from the outside world, lest they think he’d gone soft.  

The studio itself was rather beautiful. It had once been a greenhouse, ornate green iron housing panels of thick glass from floor to ceiling. The panes considered as walls were covered in old stained-glass patterns of every colour in the shape of intricate florals. It had belonged to Papa Primo before, but in his old age, he simply didn’t have the time to run multiple greenhouses, and chose to keep the ones he did work out of closer to the Abbey itself to save him the trouble of a long walk. But for Secondo, it was perfect.  

Now out of commission, the old greenhouse had been repurposed into his own studio. Shelves of pots had been replaced by blank canvases; racks of plants now saved for his supplies. He’d added a potter’s wheel and small kiln at some point too – one of his many artistic adventures that he revisited from time to time.  

But his chosen medium had always been oil paints. Despite his talents in clay sculpting, pottery, sketch work, watercolour - any and all of it - oil paints were the greatest weapon in his arsenal. Many of his paintings hung in the Ministry, amongst the art commissioned centuries ago by various painters of the Renaissance and Baroque eras. Some of these painters had been commissioned to do large pieces in Catholic places of worship too, but had been swayed by the money and a promise of a life free from judgement to paint beautifully dark imagery throughout.  

Secondo’s oil paintings fit right in, his style similar to the artists he’d admired for much of his life. His subject matter varied, from beautiful scenes of sin, to intricate studies of the human form, to landscapes and still life. You adored his work, finding yourself having to rotate the canvases you hung in your quarters when he’d gift you a new one every so often.  

As Secondo spent the summer evening on the finer details of a scene from the Book of Revelations, the sun had begun to illuminate the colours of the stained glass with a warmth that cascaded over the stone floors. When you’d quietly entered into the studio so as not to disturb his focus, you were struck yet again by the beauty of his hideout.  

The coloured rays of light cascaded over your lover, stood at his easel without any acknowledgement of your arrival. How one man could look so dreamy, as if he’d been plucked from the most romantic of novels, was beyond you. You could only see him from behind, but it didn’t go unnoticed how his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the fabric stretching over his thick arms and solid back and tucked into his slacks. His apron was tied around his waist, pulling him in and showcasing a strong torso that Pythagoras himself would theorise about.  

Secondo was an artwork you wished you could paint and immortalise yourself. But you’d have to settle for committing this to memory instead as you approached where he stood, pulling a stool from a workbench and gently setting it down beside him.  

“Buonasera, amore mio,” he greeted as you sat, never taking his eyes from the canvas as his fingers handled his brush so carefully.  

“That’s beautiful,” you told him honestly, eyes scanning the half-finished work of the Whore of Babylon atop her beast of seven heads.  

Secondo smiled, his eyes flicking to the side to look at you briefly as he muttered a “grazie.” He continued the detail he was trying to finish, the two of you settling into comfortable silence. You hadn’t come here to chat, anyway – more to escape, than anything. You had once again heard harsh whispers of cruel siblings as you’d passed them in the halls not twenty minutes before deciding to find Secondo, and you weren’t sure you could take anymore today. You simply wanted his company. 

“I may need your assistance soon, mia musa (my muse),” he announced after a few moments of quiet. “I will finish this soon, and I need some... inspiration,” he paused to smirk back at you momentarily, “for my next work.”  

“What could I help with?” you asked, your tone somewhat dejected. Secondo stilled, his brow creasing as his head tilted slightly in your direction enough to be able to study you. If you’d been looking at him instead of your fingers in your lap, you’d have seen the way he squinted at you, noticing everything.  

“I want to paint you, mia musa,” he explained so gently, reaching towards you to tilt your chin up to him. When he met your eyes, he knew instantly something was the matter; you never avoided his gaze like that. 

“I wouldn’t make a very good subject matter...” you shook your head, standing up and wandering over to the rack of finished canvases Secondo was yet to do anything with. You looked through them, your mind elsewhere unable to really take in the art itself.  

Secondo studied you from his easel, watching with concerned curiosity. Something wasn’t right; that was incredibly obvious to him. He’d known you long enough and intimately enough to know that you weren’t yourself. And it didn’t sit right with him that you were putting yourself down either.  

You ran your fingertips over the tops of a particular art piece of his, feeling the texture of dried paint as your thoughts raced through every comment you’d heard through the halls since your relationship with Secondo had gone public. Such hurtful things about you and how you looked... 

“At least Papa Secondo is strong - he’ll need to be...” 

“I know... he could have his pick of sisters, and he chose her?”  

The laughter and digs at your body rattled around in your head; so much so, that you weren’t aware that Secondo had noticed at all until two strong arms were wrapping themselves around your waist from behind you, his unusually bare palms flattening against your stomach which had you recoiling instinctively. Secondo’s hold on you loosened, his hands hovering around you instead as he tried to work out what he’d done wrong. 

“Amore, I-” 

“I’m uh... I’m sorry, just...” you back peddled, trying to find an excuse for how you were acting that wouldn’t result in more questions, but you had nothing. Instead, you slid out from between him and the rack in front of you, back to his easel to find something to occupy your hands and avoid further conversation. You’d come here to watch him work in silence, to avoid people yet to not feel alone. You didn’t want to talk about this and make it into a bigger deal than it was. 

But Secondo watched you still, feeling oddly rejected for the first time with you. You’d never refused his touch before, never run away from him before. He could only imagine he might have said or done something wrong... Perhaps he was spending too much of his attention on his art and not on you. But that had never been an issue before – he’d always made such an effort to balance his affections.  

He took a few steps towards you, slowly like he was testing the waters, but you could barely even look at him, studying his half-finished painting instead as your cheeks began to ache from holding back unshed tears.  

“Have... Have I upset you, amore?” he asked cautiously, keeping his distance if that’s what you wanted. You pressed your lips together hard, taking a deep breath in and shaking your head. “You can tell me, I won’t be angry. I’d like to know so I could correct it-” 

“You haven’t,” you interrupted him, still focussed on the painting as one pesky little tear dripped down your cheek. With such a keen eye for detail, he noticed immediately, and his chest tightened. He was at your side in just a few quick strides. 

“Amore, what is it?” he asked, frantic but being so gentle with you as if he’d break you with a simple touch. His fingertips once again guided your chin to look at him, and when you saw the concern and fear in his eyes you could hardly hold up the dam anymore. 

You tried to speak, but the words got stuck in your throat. You didn’t want him to worry, and you knew if you told him everything, he’d want names. But now the tears were flowing, it made speaking all that much harder. Secondo waited patiently, wiping at the tears as they fell with the pads of his thumbs.  

“I just... I’m not sure I understand why... you’re attracted to me,” you hiccupped, your shoulders shaking, eyes trained on your feet. Secondo was taken aback... Why wouldn’t he be attracted to you? 

“Amore, you... you are one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever laid eyes on, what are you talking about? Have I not been making you feel so?” he panicked, immediately thinking perhaps he had been neglecting you in some way. But surely not, he told you how beautiful you were at least once a day in some shape or form. And it wasn’t as if your sex life together had been dwindling...  

“N-no, I know you are attracted to me, I just... Don’t understand why,” you sniffled, meeting his eyes. “Nobody else would-” 

“Why does anybody else matter?” That stumped you. You couldn’t explain yourself without informing him of what he didn’t hear himself when he spent his days in his studio, away from the whispers. You didn’t have much choice, here... 

“They... they talk,” you mumbled.  

“Who?” 

“The siblings. They whisper, they believe you deserve better, they don’t understand why you would pick me.”  

Secondo’s face darkened, the hard lines of a lifetime of stress forming deeper crevices across his brow. He was infuriated to know that members of his own congregation could be so narrow minded, despite the decades of teachings of what beauty meant and learning to accept anybody and everybody, no matter who they are or how they looked... But above that, he was enraged at the thought they were hurting you. He would find them and tear them a new asshole – but his first and only concern was you. 

“There is not a single thing about you that isn’t beautiful, amore. Do you not see it?” That only made you cry harder, because no, you didn’t see it. You had struggled with your body image for so long, and while you did your best to tell yourself you were beautiful despite your hang ups about your weight, you’d never come to love yourself in the way you intended.  

“I just... I struggle to see how all this,” you gestured to your body, “is beautiful. It’s not easy when the world is constantly telling you your body is wrong,” you cried. Secondo had no idea of the years of torment you’d faced at the hands of your peers, no matter where in life you found yourself. Beauty standards had plagued you for the longest time, and it constantly chipped away at the shred of self-confidence you had.  

Secondo stepped closer to you, an arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer as he wiped your tears again. “There is nothing wrong about your body, mia musa. You are un'opera d'arte (a work of art), no?”  

He was doing his best to comfort you, to tell you how exquisite you were but he could tell in the way you looked away from him with a small shake of your head that you didn’t believe it. All those years of being told your body wasn’t attractive had worn you down, and now you were hearing it all over again in the one place you should be able to feel truly comfortable. Secondo wouldn’t stand for it.  

The arm around your waist dropped to untie his apron, lifting it from over his head and throwing it down onto the stool he’d been working from. Then he threaded his fingers through yours, with a tight and reassuring grasp. “Come with me,” he told you, giving your hand a light tug as he stepped back. You followed him, allowing him to walk you out of the studio and through the gardens towards the Abbey. Panic washed over you, thinking he was taking you to confront the siblings in question. 

“Secondo, I don’t want to talk to them-” 

“That’s not where we’re going,” he assured you, “but they will be dealt with.” His protectiveness of you made your chest ache. How did this man adore you this much? You may never know.  

The grounds were relatively deserted. The sun was dipping below the mountainous horizon, casting a deeper orange glow over the Ministry and signalling the end of another day. The majority of Siblings were busy with their own lives, spending their downtime in the mess hall or in their dorms. A few stragglers were walking through the halls, including a couple of the siblings who’d whispered such cruel things to you.  

Secondo felt your hand squeeze his momentarily, and when he looked, he saw the look of embarrassment on your face as you walked towards them. He put two and two together very quickly when the siblings in question watched on, staring at you with amused little smiles. As Secondo marched you down the hall, his glare stuck on them and the moment they looked at his face, their smiles fell to looks of fear. Even as he walked you past where they stood, he stared with a look of thunder that chilled each of them to the bone - and rightly so.  

But he kept walking, until he stopped outside the large doors to the chapel. He dropped your hand only to open the heavy door and push it open.  

Inside the chapel, a handful of siblings were busy replacing candles and reordering the pew cushions as were their duties after any kind of service. At the sound of the heavy door creaking at the top of the aisle, all of their heads whipped around and stared in confusion between you and Secondo. He ushered you inside and held the door open as he turned to the siblings. 

“Out,” he ordered, his face stern and in no way amused by the puzzled looked the siblings shared between them. No one moved, looking around at the jobs that were yet to be done around the chapel.  

“B-but, Papa... we still have to-” one of them stuttered, Secondo’s mere presence and demeanour enough to have the poor soul on edge.  

“OUT!” he yelled, startling even you who jumped beside him. The siblings didn’t argue, knowing better than to stick around and hurried out of the door past the two of you. Once the last sibling had scurried out, Secondo closed the door with a heavy slam, pulling the wooden plank down that bolted it shut from inside. 

He walked around the pews towards the edge of the Chapel, stopping in front of one of the murals that had been painted centuries ago. He gazed up at it, before looking back at you and holding out his hand for you to join him. You did so with caution; not because you were scared of him, more so plagued by your own insecurity than anything. But when you approached his side and placed your hand in his, he held it so gently, guiding you closer to his side. Now stood shoulder to shoulder, you followed his gaze to the beautiful artwork on the wall that Secondo himself had worked to restore and keep in perfect condition since he was a young man.  

“What do you see, when you look at this?” he asked with tenderness, leaning down but never taking his eyes off the painting, “what do you notice?” 

You studied the images in front of you; a large scene of the Garden of Eden that differed from the traditional depictions. In this scene, it was Adam who was eating the apple, the Devil’s serpent coiled around a branch above Eve’s head. It showed the truth of that long-standing story, falsely peddled and passed down through centuries. Adam had been the one to sin, and lied to protect himself. The apple had become stuck in Adam’s throat as he lied to his God, hence the anatomical term ‘Adam’s apple’ that only men are born with. Eve sat on the roots of the large tree, weeping at Adam’s betrayal. She had played no part in this sin, and yet, she was to be blamed for it; but even that was not the first injustice of a patriarchy.  

“It’s... Adam’s betrayal. I see a woman scorned and forced to carry a burden of centuries of judgement,” you told him, feeling almost like a student being quizzed by her professor. You wanted to get the right answer, even if art was subjective.  

“Eve looks beautiful, no?” he asked, waving his hand in her general direction. 

“Of course,” you told him, her ethereal presence highlighted with gentle pastel colours, her body on display as she wept on the large tree roots in a way that could only be described as elegant. Eve was one of the first of many scapegoats throughout the teachings of the Bible, and yet, not the first woman to have been cast from the Garden of Eden. Another painting on the opposite side of the Chapel depicted that first woman; Lilith.  

Secondo turned around, again guiding you by the hand to the other side of the large Chapel where her painting resided. Her scene showed her expulsion from the Garden of Eden long before Eve was created from Adam’s rib. Lilith was Adam’s equal, his first wife, born of the same soil as him. And yet, because she didn’t obey Adam, she was cast out.  

Again, this was how the Bible would describe Lilith; rogue, disobedient and evil. But this was merely a patriarchal fantasy, her story twisted and moulded into a lie through generations. Truthfully, Adam believed Lilith should lie beneath him during the marital act – sex – but Lilith had disagreed, stating they were of the same soil, the same earth and were equal. She should not have to lie beneath him at all. That is what got her cast out of the Garden.  

In her scene, she looks freed. There is no weeping, no remorse. She looks strong and independent, marching her way towards the fallen Angel known as Lucifer to begin her work with him; as his equal. Her painting is a triumph, and she looks as beautiful as you had always seen her.  

“And what do you notice here?” Secondo asked, his tone still so calm and tranquil, how he always spoke of his beloved art.  

“I... I see Lilith, marching towards her truth and forging her own identity.” 

“And she looks beautiful too, does she not?”  

“Well yes, of course,” you agreed without hesitation, but you were confused as to his point.  

“These women – these two symbols of our very existence – do you notice what they have in common, amore mio?” 

“Adam’s betrayal,” you scoffed. Secondo smirked. 

“Well, sí, sí, but... I mean to look beyond the meaning of the scene itself, and look solely at them, their form.”  

You looked behind you back at the painting on the other wall, scanning Eve before turning back to Lilith to find the similarities. But you were at a loss. Different hair colours, slightly different skin tones, different coloured eyes. 

“I don’t follow?” you admitted, feeling a little silly for not understanding.  

“You say they are beautiful, sí? And of course, hai ragione (you are right). But,” he stopped, stepping closer to the painting and reaching his fingertips out to trace the nude body of Lilith, having you look closer. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper, and said, “their bodies, amore... Do you not see?”   

His fingertips continued to trace the artwork, every beautiful curve of Lilith’s figure, unashamedly thicker like her flesh would ripple if the painting came to life. Secondo looked back to you, a softness in his eyes as he watched it dawn on you. You’d never noticed before, never questioned it but now that you were looking around at all of the artwork in the chapel, you noticed more and more that the prominent women, the ones whose beauty and power are marvelled within your religion, looked like you... 

Your eyes glossed over with emotion; how had you missed that? The very essence of beauty, and their bodies were nourished, full and spectacularly curvy. They were voluptuous and had always been revered throughout time as soft, feminine figures of power.  

“These paintings, amore, were all commissioned by a painter known as Peter Paul Rubens. Do you know of him?” he asked, turning his back to the painting to stand in front of you, still holding your hand. You shook your head, pressing your lips together in the fight to keep your cheeks dry. “He is very famous for how he painted women. He enjoyed the larger women; more of them meant more beauty to paint. And people worshipped the women in his paintings, fawned over them. He became so famous for his portrayal of beauty, that there is a term for a thicker, healthy, beautiful woman such as you, mio dolce...” 

He took a step closer to you, his free hand brushing strands of hair you’d let fall to conceal your face away behind your ear, so he could see you in all your beauty. The softness in his eyes he reserved only for you forced a stutter in your pulse, seeing the adoration he never tried to mask since the moment he’d met you when you joined the Ministry months ago.  

And then he leaned forward, his hand slipping to the back of your neck to keep you gently in place while he brought his lips to your ear, and whispered, “Rubenesque...” 

Your hand squeezed his in a visceral response, something you couldn’t control. Secondo lingered there, completely consuming your personal space as he was always so welcome to do.  

“Dolcezza, you have been mia musa since the moment I laid eyes on you. If I could not have you, then I knew I at least needed to paint you – over and over again, if you would allow me.” As he spoke, the hand holding the back of your neck began to trail down your spine, making a beeline for your waist where he gripped a handful of your body and gently squeezed. “You instantly reminded me of all of my most treasured art pieces, an amalgamation of the strength, power and elegance of all the women in paintings I had studied for decades.” 

He dropped his chin to press light kisses to just below your ear, still whispering his adoration of you as they travelled over what little skin was exposed. 

“When you walked into this Ministry, I was so sure you had walked right out of a Rubens painting, that you could not possibly be real.” More kisses, his lips tickling your skin with every word in between. “That you had somehow been sent here for me alone. And then...” more kisses, his chest now pressing against you while your hand in his at your side tightened in arousal, “you indulged me... You sat for your first painting, so shy and timid with the most intoxicating pink blush to your cheeks. I tried to remain professionale, to focus on the art but... my mind wandered so freely.” Just like his hand was now. From your waist, it wound its way around your hip and down your thigh, pushing back to trail up the back of your thigh to the swell of your buttocks.  

You cast your mind back to that first sitting, before Secondo had truly shown any interest in you. You assumed you were simply sitting for a painting, that he asked various people to do so throughout the Ministry. And whilst he had on the odd occasion, it was never for a piece as intimate as that...  

He’d been so gentlemanly in his invitation, setting up part of his studio with a chaise longue and allowing you the time you needed to feel comfortable. He’d left you to undress and replace your clothes with a robe, shown you how he had pictured your pose and then allowed you your privacy again to disrobe and drape the chiffon fabric across you in a way that made you as comfortable as possible. There was no requirement to be completely on display – his only request had been that you were comfortable showing as much of your body as you chose.  

“If I had thought before then that I wanted you, the way that I craved you after that moment, mia musa...” Secondo’s voice remained low and deep as he stepped around you, keeping his lips hovering by your ear as he took up his position behind you. He dropped your hand in his in favour of holding you steady by your waist, softly gripping at the flesh there. Naturally, you sank into him, pressing your back to his strong chest and extending your neck to allow his lips to ghost over the skin.  

“It was truly a test of my self discipline to have you sit for me. But I had just been gifted the most beautiful art to work with and I was petrified to lose it if I had made my move then. And then...” His arms wrapped further around your body, strong, paint covered hands sliding around you like boa constrictors. One arm crossed over to grip the opposite hip, while the other, crossed your chest to knead gently at your breast. “You made me fall disperatamente innamorato di te (desperately in love with you.” 

Your head was swimming with Secondo. All of this, you had known to some degree but to hear him truly spill confessions while his hands were all over you felt like the most erotic experience you’d ever encountered. His breath felt hot against your exposed throat, radiating through your entire body and setting it alight. All you could do was cover his hands with your own and get lost in his touch.  

“I remember the first time I touched you, amore... The smallest, most innocent of touches... During your third sitting, I had to angle your chin to match the work in progress and you were so soft...” If you didn’t know any better, you would think Secondo too was lost in his imagination. And that he was, his eyes shut as he touched you, recounting those early memories with you. “Your eyes were so wide, glistening orbs of innocence and nervousness. I could stand it no more... I had to have you. I had never needed anything so much in my life, dolcezza... To taste your lips, to feel how soft you were beneath the fabric.” 

You remembered the way he’d looked at you in that moment, like he was fighting for his damn life inside his head to keep away from you. He’d stared at your lips for too long, and when he’d met your eyes again and saw no hint of you backing away, he had lost his control. That was the first time Secondo had you.  

The hand kneading at your breast travelled further up your chest to your neck, his thumb reaching to tilt your chin up towards him so he could look you in the eye. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, desperate to keep him close.  

“Satan himself blessed me with a woman such as you, mia musa...” he breathed with hooded eyes as if he were drunk on you, and without giving you any time at all to argue or respond in any way, his lips came crashing down on yours with a lust that neither of you had ever felt for another soul in all your years.  

He held you upright when he felt you melt too far into him, succumbing to his kiss with ease. You couldn’t help yourself, consumed by his very being and already so tightly wound up from his teasing touches and admission of the extent of his obsession with you. This man was as desperate for you as you were for him and it didn’t matter if you understood the reasons why or not; you simply accepted then and there that he was, that to him, you were the most beautiful creature to have graced his world.  

Lips and tongues clashed together without rhyme nor reason, moans lost to each other’s mouths as you lost yourselves also. His hands roamed your body as he held you against him, his grabs a little harsher, needier now. You could feel his hard chest and soft stomach pressing tightly against your back, a bulge that had long since begun stirring nestling between the cheeks of your backside. You could feel that heat inside you building to unbearable temperatures, the need to have him doubling with each second that passed.  

Using all the strength you could muster, you ripped his hands away from you just enough to spin in his arms, gripping him by his shirt and pulling him into you for another heated kiss. In an instant, his hands were back on you, fisting handfuls of your body as he pulled you tightly into him, his chest rumbling low in satisfaction.  

“Secondo...” you moaned, his name coming out as a whisper against his lips.  

“Sí, mia musa?” He nuzzled his nose against yours, leaving brief but frequent kisses to your lips as he waited for you to speak and tell him what you needed from him.  

“Take me to bed...” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him again, “Please?”  

Secondo chuckled devilishly when you asked so sweetly to dive headfirst into sin. Knowing what you were truly like when he would have his way with you, he always found it so amusing that you were so polite and demure otherwise. He revelled in the idea that it was only him who saw your untamed side.  

“To bed, dolcezza?” he questioned, teasing his fingertips along the edge of your jaw until he was low enough to tilt your chin up to him. “But we worship right here, in the Chapel, no?” 

The smirk that spread across his face sent a shiver of delight down your spine. Was he suggesting...? 

Before you had any time to question him, he began walking backwards, gripping your hands in his to pull you along. He pulled you through the pews to the centre aisle, then began to back up towards the Sanctuary steps that lead to the Altar at the head of the Chapel. As he did, he jolted you closer, attaching his lips to yours and carefully manoeuvring you both while he stayed attached to you, keeping the burning embers of arousal stoked.  

When he reached the steps he spun you around, pushing you to step up them until he sat you down on the middle step. Then he dropped to his knees on the stone as if he were about to pray at your feet. He crawled his way up the steps between your knees, forcing you to lay back as he hovered above you, his hands all over your thighs like he couldn’t bare not to touch you. 

“One day, mia musa, I will paint you naked as the Dark Lord intended, laying on these steps...” he promised, his lips tickling yours as they barely grazed them, teasing you. “And I intend to draw from memory...” 

With that, he pushed the hem of your habit up and over your thighs, fingertips pressing into the supple flesh as he enjoyed every inch of you. He popped the buttons that hid your chest from him, pushing the fabric from your shoulders and arms until he could drag it all from your body, helping you to shimmy from the skirt and kick it from your legs. He was wasting no time at all, attaching his lips to your collarbone and suckling marks into the skin while he worked quickly to take your underwear from you too until you were just as he’d wanted you; naked as the Dark Lord intended. 

Just as his hands had roamed your skin, his lips now followed suit. Every inch of your glorious chest was being suckled at, nipped at, like a starved man. He was careful to pay close attention to your nipples, hardened not simply from arousal alone, but the slight chill in the air within the stone walls of the ancient Chapel. But with Secondo crowding you, riling your body up so, you barely noticed, heat instead continuing to burn from within.  

Secondo growled into your flesh at the sound of your moans, truly worshipping you like a deity. “Tu sei fottutamente delizioso (You are fucking delicious),” he roared, ripping his lips from your body only to attach them to yours again with hunger. As he lapped his tongue into your mouth, his hand disappeared between your thighs, heading straight for your core with no hesitation. He needed more of those moans and fast, wanting to hear you sing for him. He’d take your song over the choir’s in this Chapel any day.  

Just as he’d wished, you cried out into his mouth, unable to hold back as pleasure shot through your core the second his fingertips dragged over your clit. You fell back against the steps, your arms spread out either side of you onto the red carpet runner. Secondo chased you, never letting you get far away enough from him to not feel his hot mouth on you somewhere.  

“Tell me, amore mio, may I indulge in the communion wine?” he asked. You had no idea what he was talking about, too lost to the pleasure his fingers were giving you to put two and two together, but you nodded anyway; you’d let him do just about anything to you, the state he’d got you in so far. “Grazie mille,” he thanked, as if you would ever truly deny him.  

He pushed himself upright, only to crawl back down to the bottom step. His fingers lost contact with your core but just as quick as they had disappeared, his tongue replaced them. You couldn’t help but sing for him yet again.  

He kept his eyes on you the whole time, watching as you lost yourself against the steps. At this angle, he could barely see your head thrown back over the delectable sight of your wonderful body, and it only drove him further into ferality. You would never appreciate this sight as he could, watching your body as it moved in ripples with every sensitive jolt and contraction of muscles. He could see your responses to his tongue all over, like echoes emanating from your centre.  

When he inserted two of his fingers inside you to compliment the work his mouth was doing to your clit, your head jerked up, eyes meeting his. Seeing the hunger in his eyes peeking above the curve of your stomach had you clenching around his fingers, a fresh wave of arousal dripping from you. Immediately, you felt Secondo lap it up, humming at the taste while his eyes fluttered shut.  

“S-Secondo... I...” You wanted to tell him how incredible you felt, how close you were to your undoing already but the words never came, stuck in your throat thanks to his fingers curling inside you to hit the spot he’d memorised that first time he’d slept with you.  

His free arm wrapped its way around your thigh, pulling it over his shoulder to surround himself with you. He loved that feeling, being encased in your gorgeous body as he pleasured you; he’d easily lose himself there. As your moans grew louder, reverberating off the stone walls, Secondo seemed to muster more energy to barrel you towards your undoing. What was fuelling him, you weren’t sure, but you were more than grateful for it. Perhaps it was the anger from before at the comments of your peers. Maybe it was the thought of defiling you on the Sanctuary steps. Maybe he had riled himself up so damn much talking about how much he adored you, how attracted to you he was that he couldn’t help himself.  

The only thing you knew for sure, was that he was making good on his word; he was worshipping you.  

It took mere minutes for him to have you dangling on the edge of sanity, your moans so high pitched he knew you were about to snap. He watched you again, his eyes staring up at you. It wasn’t until you looked down at him again and made such exquisite eye contact that you snapped, too turned on to hold off anymore.  

Your body convulsed as your orgasm hit you, back arching from the steps beneath you, body shaking. You gasped, lungs filling with too much air and stopping any sound from leaving your body. Your eyes rolled back into your head, completely overcome as Secondo didn’t let up. He knew better than to slow down now, letting you ride your orgasm out. He ground your hips into his face, using that delicious nose of his to his advantage until he was completely buried in you, smudging your inner thighs with his face paints.  

As you came back down, your body twitching under him, he made sure to clean you up, lapping up every drop of your essence he could despite your whimpers of oversensitivity. You reached a point where your clit was just too sensitive, throbbing under his tongue, and you had to push him away from you. But you hated the idea of rejecting him in any way, and so you dragged him back up to you by his collar to smash your lips to his breathlessly. You didn’t miss the flavour on his tongue, knowing that was your essence only driving you to absolute distraction...  

“You’re... wearing... too many... clothes...” you told him between kisses and deep breaths. He only grinned into your kisses.  

“Mi dispiace, amore,” he apologised with a smirk, immediately rectifying the issue as he untucked his shirt from his slack, unbuttoning the buttons and throwing it to the side with your habit and underwear. You couldn’t help but lay back on your elbows on the steps, watching as he undressed, enjoying the view. Such strong arms, a solid chest, and a soft stomach, all deliciously covered in a layer of black and grey hair; arousal began to stir again within you... 

“I am supposed to be worshipping you, amore mio...” he smirked, a cockiness glinting in his eyes.  

“I'm not stopping you,” you teased, spreading your legs a little wider and arching an eyebrow at him in invitation. As he threw his slacks and underwear to the side, you caught him licking his lips as his eyes dragged over you, waiting for him on the steps...  

Unholy shit, you were sublime, with your flushed cheeks and forehead glistening with sweat... With your beautiful curves and soft skin... He would never tire of you. Never.  

He couldn’t help himself then, crawling over you and dipping his head down to initiate yet another moment of passion with a sordid kiss. It seems he was unable to keep his hands to himself, wanting nothing more than to feel you, but more importantly, to make sure you knew he wanted you. After today, all he wanted was to make you feel wanted, appreciated, fucking deified. He was certainly doing his part.  

The longer he made out with you, the more you needed him... You could feel his length pressing against you and it was driving you mad being so close, yet so far from what you wanted. To encourage him, you reached your hand between the two of you, wrapping your fingers around his tip and paying particular attention to the frenum piercing of his you loved so damn much, sitting on the underside of his cock.  

At your touch, his lips parted, a low hum vibrating in his throat. It was as if you were taunting a beast within him, the animal poised and ready to pounce. And pounce he would, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them to the steps above your head.  

“You want my cock, dolcezza?” he teased, his lips so close but just out of reach no matter how far forward you tried to lean. “So keen to be fucked on the Sanctuary steps, eh?”  

He wouldn’t let you answer, instead shuffling so he was lined up perfectly between your legs, rolling his hips against you to coat his shaft with your essence. You could feel the ridges of his veins and that fucking piercing at they caught on your clit, still sensitive but the stimulation bearable now.  

“Worship me, Papa...” you whispered the order, catching him off guard. His eyes widened for just a moment, and there was no way he could deny you...  

Trapping your wrists in one of his hands, he used his free hand to guide himself to your entrance, sinking into you in one fluid motion. Secondo breathed out a long breath through his nose, humming again as your heat consumed him. You felt everything, every ridge yet again, filling you deliciously in the way his fingers never could. They were no match for his thickness and length, reaching places you’d been unaware of before him.  

When every inch had sunk deep inside you, his hips pressed flush against your own, he dove into you for a deep, hungry kiss. Like he couldn’t stop himself, his hips dragged back and slammed into you, the slapping sound echoing through the Chapel. And after that, he wouldn’t relent, repeating the same motion over and over again, slamming his hips into you as he grunted his pleasure into your mouth.  

Eventually he let your wrists go in favour of grabbing at your body again, kneading it like pizza dough with love and adoration. You held his head in place, whimpering into his kisses every time his cock slid inside you. He lifted your thigh to his hip, deriving a better angle to rock up and hit where you needed him.  

“Sei la mia opera d'arte preferita, una cazzo di dea che prende vita, (You are my favourite artwork, a fucking Goddess come to life,)” he spewed his words quickly, his brain unable to translate to English quick enough to spill his thoughts. You understood him just fine, his confession having you clench on his length. He roared in pleasure at the feeling, barrelling toward a climax.  

“S-Secondo please...” you begged, “’m gonna cum again.” 

“You’d better, dolcezza. I will not leave mia musa unsatisfied on the steps, eh?” he promised, the hand that was kneading at your breast dipping down to press flat against your stomach, fingertips digging into the softness and thumb dragging over your clit again.  

It didn’t take much now that he’d added more stimulation, and you were coming undone in no time at all... Your walls clenched around him so incredibly tight, body curling up into him until his face was pressed into the crook of your neck, his chest cushioned by your voluptuous body. You spluttered out a litany of curses and his name like a chant at Black Mass, filling the Chapel’s empty hall.  

Everything became too much for him too, biting down on your neck and growling into it while his rhythm faltered, and his cock shot load after load of his spend deep inside you. His grip on your body tightened, pulling him closer to you as the two of you shook and convulsed from your respective orgasms, overcome with pleasure.  

“Y-You are a dream, mia musa...” Secondo panted above you, removing the hair stuck to your forehead with sweat and tucking it behind your ear. “Don’t ever forget that, eh?” You could only nod, your mind still very much hazy in post-climax bliss.  

“I couldn’t give any less of a fuck what the other fottuti idioti (fucking idiots) think of our relationship, you understand? You must never forget, you are the beauty standard to the greatest artists in history,” he assured you, peppering gentle kisses to your neck, your cheeks, your lips – anywhere he could.  

“Including you,” you complimented with a smirk, catching his gaze with heavy eyes, drowsiness overcoming you. Secondo chuckled, shaking his head.  

“Including me,” he repeated, “If you say so...”  

“I do,” you told him earnestly, “Nobody has ever made me feel as beautiful as you do when you paint me, my love.” You cradled his head in your hands, fighting the urge to curl in on yourself out of shyness.  

“Ah. Then I simply have to paint you more... What a shame,” he teased with playful sarcasm, a grin spanning across his very smudged face as he leaned in to plant a slow, loving kiss to your lips.  

[oneforthemunny]

🦇🍯🌀 here r mine instead (redid it)

mafia!eddie, fluff, pet based.

"God fuckin' dammit," Eddie's hiss rang through the halls, echoing in the most cryptic of ways, leaving you halting with hesitation.

"Can you fucking do this shit right? Do something right for once in your life, Gareth." Eddie snapped, tone filled with agitation.

"Sorry, I'm not a fuckin' arts and crafts expert, Munson." Gareth snapped back, tone just as biting, filled with sarcasm. "I don't know how to do this type of shit, man."

"Oh, you don't? Don't bullshit me. You used to make disentanglement puzzles and fuckin' scrolls every week. Don't tell me that bullshit- Diablo, sit- just fuckin' do it." Eddie growled, his voice growing more and more irritated with each step you took.

You lingered for a moment, hoping your footsteps were quiet, muffled by the carpet as you crept around the corner, peeking into the office.

The boys must have heard you, whining and squirming with defiance, only to be corrected by Eddie's sharp click of his tongue.

"Fuck! He moved." Gareth huffed, tossing the canvas to the side, with a growing pile of others. "This is so stupid. Why are you doin' this, Munson?"

"Because- Just, shut the fuck up and do it again." Eddie sneered, nerves grated with irritation. He craved a cigarette, maybe a joint. "Don't use as much paint this time."

"Then you do it." Gareth huffed, throwing his hands up. "You try and dip their paw in this shit. They're moving-"

You leaned in, seeing the gaggle of Dobermen sitting at attention, tails wagging at the sliver of sight of you. Diablo wrapped up in Eddie's arms, his right paw lifted, coated in... paint?

"-God, all you do is bitch." Eddie grunted. "I'll fucking do it, since you can't-" His eyes caught yours, snapping back with intensity that had Lucifer running, taking his master's shock as his chance to run to you.

"Baby," Eddie's voice caught, breaking boyishly in his throat. "You're- I thought you said after five?"

"Nice, real nice." Gareth laughed humorlessly. "Did all this shit, and look. Surprise ruined. Good going, dumbass." He rolled his eyes at Eddie, standing.

"Martha Stewart over here is trying to surprise you." Gareth muttered when he passed you. "You deal with him. He's your's now."

Eddie grumbled under his breath, shoulders slumping with defeat as the dogs ran to you, Diablo leaving a trail of paw printed paint behind him.

"What... What are you doing?" You whispered, looking at the pile of canvases, a few on Eddie's desk, others tossed in a pile.

"I, uh, I was trying to make you something." Eddie admitted, muttering towards the ground. "I wanted it to be something special. Like priceless kinda thing, and... and I saw something similar at a shop- Well, it was a painting, but I thought I'd make the real thing with each of their paw prints, but I fucked up and asked Gareth, that worthless fuck-" Eddie cut his rant short, breath catching when he saw you.

Your eyes wide, face neutral in an unreadable way as you scanned the room. Eddie's heart skipped, palms sweaty. "I, uh, I'm obviously getting you a better gift too." He added quickly, not wanting you to think this was your only birthday gift. "I just... I thought you'd like this too."

He paused, your eyes not meeting his, slowly walking towards the two canvases on his desk- Vecna and Lucifer's names printed on their respective canvas, a perfect paw print above them.

"Do you?" Eddie said after a moment, his voice way needier than he would have ever allowed with anyone but you. Your eyes met his. "Do you like it?"

A laugh bubbled up through your chest, head swimming with emotions, heart swelling so much you thought it might burst out of your chest. "Like it? You- Eddie," Your voice shook, holding back a wave of emotions. "This is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me in my whole life."

Eddie's chest loosened, letting his nerves fall and pride take their place. "Really?" Eddie whispered, petting Diablo's head as he returned back to his side.

You nodded, tears brimming your waterline. Here he was, the man with the roughest reputation in most of Indiana, doing crafts- for you. Making a gift just for you. Sure, he could buy anything, would buy anything for you. But still, he chose to give you something truly priceless.

You pulled him into a sweet kiss, one that left you both burning with excited, loving heat, pressing kisses to his cheeks, noses rubbing together as you muttered strings of thanks and praises.

The rest of the night, you spent with your boys, carefully stamping each paw print on the canvas, despite Eddie's protest that it defeated the gift aspect. You assured him this was the greatest gift.

[verinarin]

I need to repost this since the tags didn’t work T-T, but omg thankuu sm for asking and I love you (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵), anyways since you didn't specify on fluff/smut this would fully be fluff but I will make a full on smut on this specific trope lololol

spicy fluff | Someone flirted with you on his exhibition, he does not take your friendliness kindly

You're currently stuck in between a whiny Rafael and a wall, his breath warms your neck as he rests his arms beside your shoulders, leaning down to hold intense eye contact with you while caging your body like a prey, "Miss bodyguard, you're my bodyguard right ?" he voice softens but there's a distinct emphasis on the word 'my bodyguard’

“Yes Rafayel, I'm your bodyguard." you sigh as you try to make sense of how this happened in the first place, you were idly chitchatting with a person who was admiring Rafael's painting at the exhibition.

The guy made some silly jokes which made you laugh and then all of a sudden Rafael whisked you away to the closet filled with canvases and other works of his, "So if you're my bodyguard why didn't you stay beside me, what if some crazy stalker tackles me to the ground?!" he frowns, it took you quite the mental strength nor to laugh in front of his face

It is clear as day that it's not your work ethic that he's questioning, but rather the fact that you were idly talking with someone else, he's jealous

"Well I don't think someone is going to tackle you to the ground princess, I already did a thorough background check on all of your guests." you chuckle, his face turns into a pinkish hue as he mumbles a curse

But something didn't feel right, you could see a mischievous glint reflecting from his eyes. He leans in closer, way too close that you can feel his soft lips against your neck,

"Well that doesn't change the fact that you should've been by my side during the exhibition." he mumbles against your neck, you can feel his sentences forming a silent spell on your neck, like a siren his voice lingers in your ear, guiding you to meet his wants

You want to move away but before you can he gripped your wrist and pins it over your head while his other hand holds your waist tight, keeping you in place, "Miss bodyguard I think you need repay the for the lost time by indulging me, I don't pay cheap money for your service y'know ? he whispers beside your ear, you body shudders at the electrifying feeling

"Rafayel, are you jealous ?" you ask teasingly, he scoffs before dragging your body closer to his own, your chest presses against his before he replies, "What do you think?, it's open for interpretation,"

"I think that you're jealous and you're trying to mark my skin before letting me out so the guy from earlier would back down," you deduce as much, he seems to be pleased with your answer,

"Well I know you're a smart one Miss bodyguard, but the question I'd like to ask is would you let me be childish enough to mark your skin with my love just because I'm jealous" he asks as he kisses the side of your neck

"Yes you can, but promise me you won't do it too hard," you huff which he replies with a chuckle of his own "Can't promise you that, sorry." he smirks against your skin before latching his teeth on the poor skin

Well let's just say you have freshly tinted purple marks on y while standing beside him who's conversing with his guest, how embarrassing !

[hoshifighting]

minghao as a sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar baby x sugar mommy relationship, smut, penetrative sex, wax play, hao is a bit reluctant at first. — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

you met minghao at an art gallery, of all places. the kind of place where the air feels thick with pretension, and every other person is silently judging the brushstrokes on canvases they pretend to understand. you weren’t there for the art, though. you were scouting—looking for something that would catch your eye, something different. that’s when you saw him. he was standing in front of a massive abstract piece, hands in his pockets, head slightly tilted like he was trying to decipher a secret code hidden in the swirls of paint.

“what do you think?” you asked, walking up beside him. you weren’t talking about the art, though.

he glanced at you, surprised at first, but then his lips curved into a small, almost amused smile. “i think it’s a mess,” he said, eyes flicking back to the canvas. “but sometimes, messes can be beautiful.”

you smirked, recognizing the double entendre, and that was it. you knew you had to have him.

he was reserved, his words carefully chosen, and his gaze, while intense, held a certain distance. but there was something about him that intrigued you, something you couldn’t quite place.

the relationship started slowly. minghao was cautious, almost wary, as if he didn’t want to get too close too quickly. you showered him with gifts—designer clothes that suited his lean frame, tickets to exclusive art exhibits, and, eventually, those pearly white veneers that made his smile even more captivating. at first, he accepted these things with a polite nod, a quiet “thank you,” but you could tell he was holding back.

the first time you took him to an exclusive gallery opening in paris, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than most people’s yearly salaries, you saw something shift in his eyes. minghao loved the attention, loved the way people looked at him when he was with you. from that point on, he became more than just your sugar baby—he was your partner in crime, the one who could match your energy, your hunger for more.

and then there was the sex. minghao was a fast learner, eager to explore every kink and fantasy you threw at him. you remember the first time you introduced him to wax play. the way he flinched when the first drop of hot wax hit his chest, but then he bit his lip and looked up at you with that mischievous smile, his pearly white veneers catching the low light of the room.

he tried to stay composed, his lips pressed into a thin line, but you saw the way his body responded, the subtle arch of his back, the way his hands gripped the sheets.

“you can let go, you know,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing as you ran your fingers over the hardened wax. “i want to hear you.”

minghao’s jaw tightened, his eyes locking onto yours. for a moment, you thought he’d resist, but then he let out a soft moan, his control slipping. the sound making you clench around his cock, and you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that you’d broken through his carefully constructed walls.

from then on, the dynamic shifted. minghao still maintained that cool exterior in public, but behind closed doors, he was different. there was a rawness to him, a desperation that surfaced when you were alone together. he kissed you with a hunger that surprised even him, his hands rough as they tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.

you remember that night in the french hotel vividly. you’d been louder than usual, the combination of minghao’s skilled hands and the intense pleasure he brought you pushing you over the edge. he’d tried to stay quiet at first, but as your moans grew louder, he couldn’t hold back anymore. he kissed you, hard, swallowing your cries as he thrust into you, his own moans vibrating against your lips.

“fuck, you’re so—” he didn’t finish the sentence, too lost in the sensation to find the words. his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you down onto him as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

you knew you had him hooked when he started buying things for you—little trinkets from his travels, rare pieces of art that he thought you’d like, things that showed he was thinking of you even when you weren’t around. it wasn’t the price tag that mattered, but the thought behind it. minghao had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered, and that was something no amount of money could buy.

together, you became a force of nature, tearing through life with a passion that few could understand. you were the power couple everyone envied, the ones who seemed to have it all, and for the most part, you did. but it wasn’t just about the material things—the luxury cars, the designer clothes, the extravagant vacations. it was about the connection you shared, the way you brought out the best and worst in each other, pushing each other to new heights, both in and out of the bedroom.

and as you lay there, watching minghao sleep, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of someone who’s truly at peace, you couldn’t help but smile.

[canvasism]

Brushes I use

@horrorzaxe here you go :)

[brookghaib-blog]

Shattered Dreams

Pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

tw: abusive behaviour, angst, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N navigates a loveless marriage to Hoshina Soshiro

pt.2

--

The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow across the room, but it did little to dispel the cold atmosphere within. Y/N stood by the window, her eyes focused on the horizon, though her thoughts were miles away. Her hands absentmindedly caressed her growing belly, a reminder of the life growing inside her, a product of a union devoid of warmth.

She had dreamed of being a painter, of bringing colors to life on a canvas, but those dreams were tucked away like the paintbrushes and canvases she kept hidden in the small corner of their home. Her parents had been ruthless in their determination to see her married into a powerful clan, and so, her fate had been sealed with Soshiro Hoshina, the Vice-Captain of the Defense Force's Third Division.

Their marriage was an arrangement, a strategic alliance between families, devoid of love or affection. Soshiro was often away, his duties calling him to fight kaiju, the monstrous threats to humanity. When he was home, their interactions were minimal, their conversations cold and formal.

One evening, as Y/N was finishing a small painting, the door creaked open. Soshiro walked in, his uniform stained with the grime and blood of battle. He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"You're painting again," he remarked, his tone flat. It wasn't a question, merely an observation.

Y/N nodded, trying to find her voice. "It helps me pass the time."

Soshiro walked past her, his eyes scanning the room with a detached indifference. "I wish you wouldn't waste your time on such frivolities."

Her heart sank at his words, but she kept her composure. "It brings me some peace."

He turned to face her, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Peace? In a world like ours, peace is a luxury we can't afford."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on her. "I know, but it's all I have."

Soshiro's expression hardened, his voice dropping to a low, harsh whisper. "I wish I could get out of this situation. This marriage is unbearable."

The words cut through her like a knife, and for a moment, she felt as if the room was spinning. She had known their marriage was not built on love, but hearing him say it so bluntly, so cruelly, was more than she could bear.

She looked down, blinking back tears. "I... I understand."

Soshiro sighed, his frustration evident. "Do you? Do you really? I am bound by duty, by obligation, and this—" he gestured around the room, "—this is a prison."

Y/N felt a sob rise in her throat, but she choked it back, refusing to let him see her break. "I've tried to make the best of it. I've tried to be a good wife to you."

He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "A good wife? You're just another chain, another burden I have to bear."

She looked at him then, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and defiance. "And what about our child? Is that just another burden to you?"

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, a hint of regret, perhaps, but it was quickly extinguished. "I didn't ask for this. Any of it."

Y/N felt the tears spill over, and she turned away, unable to look at him any longer. "I know you didn't. But this is our reality now. Whether you like it or not."

Soshiro said nothing more, and after a few moments, he left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him. Y/N stood there, her heart shattered, the weight of his words crushing her spirit.

She walked over to her painting, staring at the vibrant colors she had once found solace in. Now, they seemed dull and lifeless, a stark contrast to the dark void that had settled in her heart. She placed a hand on her belly, a silent promise to the child within her.

"I'll be strong for you," she whispered. "Even if he can't love us, I'll find a way to give you the love you deserve."

As the sun set, casting long shadows across the room, Y/N realized that her dreams of being a painter, of finding happiness, were just that—dreams. Her reality was a loveless marriage, a life of duty and sacrifice. And in that moment, she vowed to find a way to survive, for her child's sake, if not for her own.

But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was as much a prisoner as Soshiro, trapped in a cage built by obligations and unfulfilled dreams.

--flashback--

The memory of their wedding day came flooding back, unbidden. The grand hall had been filled with guests, a sea of faces all watching her, judging her. Y/N had worn a traditional kimono, its intricate patterns and vibrant colors a stark contrast to the cold, emotionless ceremony.

Her parents had stood beside her, their expressions stern and unyielding. There was no joy in their eyes, only the satisfaction of a deal well-brokered. Soshiro had been there too, his face a mask of indifference. He had looked through her rather than at her, as if she were an obligation rather than a person.

"Remember your duty," her father had whispered harshly in her ear as he led her down the aisle. "You must uphold the family honor."

She had nodded, her heart heavy with resignation. This was her life now, a life chosen for her, not by her.

--

As the days turned into weeks, Y/N found herself growing increasingly lonely. Soshiro's coldness was a constant presence, a wall she could not breach. She spent her days painting in solitude, each stroke of the brush a small act of defiance against the life she was forced to lead.

One evening, she gathered her courage and approached him as he sat at the dining table, reading reports from the Defense Force. The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing across his stern features.

"Soshiro," she began hesitantly, "I was thinking... maybe we could try to talk more. Get to know each other better."

He looked up from his papers, his eyes cold and distant. "There's nothing to talk about."

"But we're married," she insisted, her voice trembling. "We have a child on the way. Shouldn't we at least try to understand each other?"

Soshiro's expression hardened, his voice sharp. "Understand? There's nothing to understand. You were forced into this marriage just as I was. We are bound by duty, not choice."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, but she pressed on. "I know it wasn't our choice, but can't we make the best of it? For the sake of our child?"

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I'm doing my duty. That's all that matters. This... relationship," he spat the word, "is nothing more than a facade."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I don't want to be just a facade. I want to be a family."

Soshiro's eyes flashed with anger. "You want? What about what I want? Did anyone ever ask me if I wanted this?"

Y/N recoiled as if struck. "No one asked me either."

He took a step towards her, his presence imposing. "Then you should understand. This is a prison for both of us."

She stared at him, her heart breaking anew. "But it doesn't have to be."

He shook his head, turning away from her. "Yes, it does. Accept it, Y/N. This is our reality."

With that, he left the room, leaving her standing there, her hopes shattered. She sank to the floor, the sobs she had been holding back finally breaking free. The walls of their home, once a place she had hoped would be filled with love and warmth, now felt like the cold, unyielding bars of a prison.

--

Y/N sat in the corner of their modest home, her brush gently sweeping across the canvas. The soft strokes of paint were like whispers, echoing her unspoken thoughts. Her fingers traced the curves of a landscape, every stroke a memory of a love lost and a life forsaken.

"My dear," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "this painting… it's a piece of my heart. Just like you."

She paused, her hand resting on her swollen belly, feeling the gentle movements within. The baby kicked gently, as if in response to her words. Y/N smiled faintly, a bittersweet expression crossing her face.

"You know," she continued, her voice tinged with sadness, "there was someone before your father. Someone who made me feel… alive."

Her mind drifted back to a time before the arranged marriage, before duty overshadowed desire. She remembered a young officer in the Defense Force, his smile warm and his eyes full of kindness. They had shared stolen moments of happiness, their love blossoming amidst the chaos of kaiju attacks and endless battles.

"He was an officer," she whispered, her voice catching with emotion. "Brave and kind. He made me feel loved, truly loved."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she recalled the day he had died, sacrificing himself to protect others from a rampaging kaiju. The pain of loss still lingered, a wound that had never fully healed.

"I wished…" Y/N's voice trembled as she spoke to her unborn child, "I wished it could have been him. That I could have married him instead."

She paused, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. The painting before her was a testament to her longing, a silent tribute to a love that had been torn away too soon.

"But life doesn't always give us what we want," she whispered sadly. "Sometimes we have to accept what we're given and find our own strength."

As she painted, the colors blended together in a kaleidoscope of emotions. Each brushstroke was a testament to resilience, to the quiet determination to create beauty from pain.

"You," she said softly, placing a hand on her belly again, "you are my hope. My reason to keep going, even when the world feels cold and lonely."

The baby stirred within her, as if sensing her love and sorrow. Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart heavy yet somehow lighter for having spoken her truth.

"We'll make our own happiness, won't we?" she whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Together, we'll find a way to make our own path, away from duty and expectations."

With a final stroke of her brush, Y/N completed the painting. It was a masterpiece of longing and loss, a testament to a love that had been and a love that was yet to come.

As she gazed at the finished canvas, she knew that her journey was far from over. But with her unborn child nestled safely within her, she found a renewed sense of purpose and a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for happiness in the midst of duty and sacrifice.

The memory of her lost love lingered like a soft breeze in the corner of her mind. He had been an officer in the Defense Force, dedicated to protecting humanity from the relentless kaiju assaults. His name was never spoken aloud anymore, but in the quiet moments of solitude, Y/N allowed herself to remember.

"He was everything to me your father is not," she whispered to her unborn child, her voice a mix of reverence and sadness. "He was kind, gentle… he made me feel cherished."

She recalled their stolen moments together, stolen from the chaos of battle and the pressures of duty. Their love had been a secret, a fragile oasis in a desert of obligations.

"He understood my dreams," Y/N continued softly, her eyes distant as she painted. "He encouraged me to paint, to pursue what made my heart sing."

But fate had been cruel. In the heat of battle, he had sacrificed himself to save others, a hero's death that left Y/N shattered and alone.

"I never got to tell him," she murmured, tears glistening on her cheeks. "I never got to tell him how much I loved him."

The painting before her captured the essence of their love—a tranquil landscape bathed in warm hues, a reflection of the peace they had briefly found together.

Y/N set down her brush, her fingers lingering on the canvas. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of paper and the gentle rhythm of her own breathing. She glanced at the painting, feeling a sense of peace settle over her weary heart.

"And your father," she said softly, her thoughts turning to Soshiro Hoshina, Vice-Captain of the Defense Force's Third Division. "He's not like him. But he… he has his own strengths."

Y/N's gaze softened as she thought of Soshiro, proud of his position and the dedication he showed to his duty. Despite their strained relationship, she admired his commitment and the way he commanded respect among his peers.

"I wish he would make an effort," she admitted quietly to her unborn child, "to see beyond duty and obligation."

There were moments, fleeting glimpses, where she saw glimpses of kindness in Soshiro's eyes, moments that stirred a fragile hope within her. She longed for him to understand, to bridge the distance that separated them.

"He could be a good father," Y/N murmured, her voice tinged with longing. "If only he would try."

With a sigh, she placed a hand on her belly again, feeling the baby's reassuring movements. In that tiny life, she found solace and strength—a reason to hope for a future where love and happiness could coexist with duty and sacrifice.

As the sun began to set outside, casting long shadows across the room, Y/N vowed to cherish the memories of her lost love while nurturing the possibility of a new beginning with Soshiro and their unborn child. She knew the road ahead would be challenging, but she was determined to find a way to make peace with the past and embrace the future that awaited them all.

In the quiet of their home, amidst the whispers of her heart and the promise of tomorrow, Y/N found a sense of resilience and hope that would carry her through the trials yet to come.

"I think one day, he'll come around, he's a great man, but we are stuck to a evil situation, I'll keep pursuing him maybe with the right timing, he'll see i'm worth his heart."

--

Y/N stood before the mirror in the bedroom, her reflection framed by soft morning light filtering through the window. She smoothed down the fabric of the floral dress she had chosen carefully, a hint of makeup highlighting her features. Today, she had decided, would be different. Today, she would make an effort.

With a determined breath, she adjusted a stray lock of hair and nodded to herself. Maybe, just maybe, today Soshiro would notice her efforts. She clung to that hope like a lifeline as she gathered a lunchbox filled with his favorite foods and headed out.

-At the Defense Force Headquarters-

The Defense Force Headquarters bustled with activity as Y/N navigated the corridors, the lunchbox cradled carefully in her hands. She had never been to the headquarters before, but she was determined to surprise Soshiro and show him that she cared.

She found her way to the Third Division's office, heart fluttering with nerves. The door was open, revealing a team of officers engrossed in their duties. Soshiro stood at the front, his commanding presence unmistakable. Y/N's pulse quickened as she approached, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

"Soshiro," she greeted softly, trying to catch his attention.

He looked up briefly, his expression guarded. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she pressed on. "I… I brought you lunch. I thought we could have lunch together."

Soshiro glanced around at his team, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. "You shouldn't have come here," he murmured, his voice barely concealing his annoyance.

Y/N felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks, but she pushed it aside. "I just wanted to do something nice for you," she insisted, holding out the lunchbox.

He hesitated for a moment before reluctantly accepting it. "Thank you," he said curtly, his gaze flickering over her outfit and makeup "Why are you wearing that? And are you wearing make up?"

She smiled, she did something right. "Yes, do you like it ? I thought that it would look nice."

"You're too big for that right now, wear something appropiate for God sake." ...oh

Some of his teammates exchanged glances, the awkward tension dancing in their eyes. Y/N fought to keep her composure, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

"Always putting on a show." Soshiro remarked casually to his team, his tone dismissive.

Laughter erupted from the group, the sound echoing in the small office. Y/N's heart sank as she fought back tears, her hands trembling, also laughing, as if she didn't recognize the mocking.

"I... I also made a cake for everyone, I hope everyone likes chocolate, you guys work really hard, so I decided to give you something since I was already planning on coming here." She tried, she really did, she just put it down and pretended to be as happy as she could fake.

"I… I'll leave you to it," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, she turned and hurried out of the office, the sound of laughter following her down the corridor.

--

Outside, Y/N found a secluded spot in the courtyard, hidden away from prying eyes. She sank to the ground, clutching her knees to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. The lunchbox lay forgotten beside her, the food suddenly tasteless.

"Why do I even bother?" she whispered to herself, her voice thick with despair. "No matter what I do, it's never enough."

She had tried so hard to make Soshiro notice her, to earn his affection and respect. She had dressed up, put on makeup, gone out of her way to show him how much she cared. And yet, it had all been for nothing.

"He doesn't care," she sobbed, the weight of rejection crushing her spirit. "He'll never care."

The courtyard was silent around her, the air heavy with the weight of her disappointment. She wiped away her tears with trembling hands, trying to regain her composure.

"He's right," she muttered bitterly to herself. "I do try too hard. I should have known better."

But deep down, beneath the pain and humiliation, a small voice whispered defiantly. She deserved to be loved. She deserved to be seen, not as a burden or an obligation, but as a person worthy of affection.

--

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself retreating further into the confines of her room. The once vibrant woman, filled with dreams of painting and love, now felt like a shadow of herself. Pregnancy had brought changes to her body—subtle at first, but increasingly noticeable to her critical eyes. She avoided mirrors, unable to face the reflection that stared back at her with insecurities and doubts.

Her maids bustled about the house, attending to chores she once took pride in doing herself. Y/N had withdrawn from everything that brought her joy. The easel stood untouched in the corner, the canvas blank and waiting for strokes that never came. Meals went half-eaten as she tried to compensate for the weight she felt she had gained.

"I'm not pretty enough," she whispered to herself, fingers tracing the curve of her belly where their unborn child nestled. "Not worth it enough."

She stayed in a separate room from Soshiro, their marriage now a chasm of unspoken words and unmet expectations. The sound of his footsteps in the hallway made her heart race with a mix of hope and fear. She longed for him to notice her absence, to care enough to reach out, but each day passed in silence.

--

Soshiro returned from a long day at the Defense Force headquarters, his thoughts troubled. He had noticed Y/N's absence at meals, her retreating presence a stark contrast to the woman he had married—a woman he barely knew. His duties had consumed him, but now a gnawing worry clawed at his conscience.

"Soshiro," his second-in-command called as he entered their shared living space. "Have you seen Y/N? She hasn't been around."

He paused, his brow furrowing. "She's probably in her room," he replied nonchalantly, though his heart tightened with concern.

"She hasn't been seen all day," his second-in-command pressed, his voice tinged with worry.

Soshiro's footsteps quickened as he made his way to Y/N's room. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the dim hallway. He pushed it open gently, his eyes searching the room.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the floor. She looked fragile, her shoulders slumped and her expression distant. The room felt suffocating with unspoken tension.

"Y/N," Soshiro began tentatively, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his briefly before flickering away. "What do you want, Soshiro?" Her voice was hollow, devoid of its usual warmth.

"I've been worried," he admitted softly, stepping closer. "You haven't been yourself lately."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, tinged with self-derision. "My apologies for inconveniencing you," she replied, her tone laced with bitterness.

Soshiro frowned, kneeling in front of her. "Y/N, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head, strands of hair falling around her face. "It doesn't matter," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm just… not good enough, am I?"

He reached out to touch her hand, but she flinched away. "That's not true," he insisted, his voice firm. "You are more than enough."

Y/N laughed again, a bitter sound that echoed in the quiet room. "Do you know what it's like, Soshiro? To feel invisible in your own life? To try so hard, only to realize it's never going to be enough?"

He hesitated, at a loss for words. Guilt gnawed at him—the guilt of neglect, of failing to see the pain she carried beneath a facade of duty.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't realize…"

"You didn't realize," she echoed, tears welling in her eyes. "You didn't even notice."

Silence enveloped them once more, broken only by the faint sound of her stifled sobs. Y/N wiped away her tears with shaking hands, her resolve hardening with each passing moment.

"I'll make it easy for you, Soshiro," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I'll be the perfect obedient wife. I'll fulfill my duty and nothing more."

"No," he protested, reaching for her hand again, but she pulled away.

"It's better this way," she insisted, her tone final. "You won't have to worry about me anymore."

With that, she rose from the bed, leaving him sitting there, his heart heavy with regret and a sense of loss he couldn't fully comprehend. She walked past him, her steps measured and purposeful, as if steeling herself against the pain.

Soshiro watched her go, a knot tightening in his chest. He wanted to chase after her, to hold her and tell her that she was wrong—that she was loved and cherished. But he remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by his own inadequacies and the weight of their fractured relationship.

--

Alone in her room once more, Y/N sank to the floor, her back against the cold wall. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked now, the weight of her despair crushing her spirit.

"I tried," she whispered to the empty room, her voice breaking. "I tried so hard."

Her hand rested on her belly, feeling the gentle kicks of their unborn child. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

In the darkness of her room, surrounded by the echoes of shattered dreams and unspoken words, Y/N allowed herself to grieve. She grieved for the love she had lost, for the hope that had faded, and for the woman she had once been.

But amidst the darkness, a tiny spark of determination flickered—a resolve to survive, for her sake and for the child growing within her. She didn't know what the future held, but she vowed to find a way forward, even if it meant burying her own desires and dreams beneath a facade of duty and obedience.

[evalevaeva]

only us | ryu shioh/ryu sio

HOW THE FUCK DO I SPELL HIS NAME

You waited on the steps outside your apartment as you pressed on the unread message from sio on your phone.

"Are you ready? I'm reaching soon," Sio's message read as you tapped on your keyboard, sending a response back.

"I'm outside my apartment, waiting," You sent back.

A grey bubble appeared as sio typed quickly, "I told you to not stay outside alone. Many people are after me, I don't want you getting pulled into this mess".

You smiled softly at the evident worry in his message as you heard the sound of a car pulling up in front of your apartment. You lifted your head as you saw the familiar car that sio used to get around. The door on the opposite side of where you were seated at opened as you stood up, dusting your bottom as you saw sio, in his signature black suit as he smiled.

"Did you wait long?" Sio asked as he opened the door on the side closer to you, motioning you to get in as you took a seat in the car, giving sio's assistant a smile as sio entered the car, sitting next to you.

"I promised you we'd go out on a date when I returned to Korea, so everything today is up to you. You can choose for us to go skydiving and we'll do it, if you want to pick worms, we'll do it," Sio said as he slipped his hand into yours, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

You thought about it as you chose two activities you'd like to do with him.

"Maybe not skydiving. Instead, how about we get canvases and paint? then we can go for dinner or I can cook," You suggested as Sio nodded, turning to his assistant as he said, "Drive us to the nearest art store, then drive us home".

The man simply nodded. You turned to Sio excitedly as you asked, "So what have you been up to so far? I'm sorry I didn't get to see you at the airport when you returned... my boss made me cover for another worker out of the blue. "

Sio hummed as he thought about his adventures since he came back to Korea.

"Well, I joined a heritage club, and I'm doing normal boring office stuff, that's about it. How about you love?" Sio switched the topic quickly as you thought about it.

"I got called in for a job recently, for CEO Hwang Geum Joo! Isn't that exciting?" You told him as your face was plastered with a big smile.

Sio's smile faltered slightly, his eyes switching to the mirror at the front, making eye contact with his assistant as he nodded, "That's good. Are you nervous?".

"Hmm.. well... not really! I think I have a pretty good chance at this job! and there's a lot of benefits, so I'll have more rest days," You admitted as the car turned into the front of the art store.

It had been a while since you had gone to one and Sio... well he had no time for things like that.

"I told you, you don't have to work. Let me pay for everything," Sio said as you shook your head. "I need to be independent too. What if I wanted to buy a house or something," You asked him as he turned to you, bending down slightly as he whispered, "Then I'll get it for you".

He knew his affect on you, and it didn't take long for a red flush to creep up your neck.

"Let's just... go in," You changed the topic as you led sio into the store, your hands still connected as the worker in the store greeted, "Welcome!".

You walked around with sio as you got to the aisle with different canvases. There were big ones, medium sized ones and small ones. You hummed as you look through the different canvases, trying to think of a project you could do together.

"What if we get a big one and we paint on it together? Then we can hang it up in your apartment," Sio suggested as you turned to him.

"Then you won't have one..." You sighed as you tried to think of something. A lightbulb lit in your head as you grab two medium-sized canvases and put them together, side by side.

"If we paint on them like this, it'll be one complete painting, then we each take one!" You said happily as you stared at the two canvases.

Sio was busy staring at you, smiling as he watched your eyes crinkle and your cheekbones rising when you were happy with your decision. Sio rested his chin on the top of you head as he said softly, "You're so smart. My girlfriend is so smart, I'm lucky."

You laughed as you responded, "You're just as smart. Don't boost my ego too high."

Sio took the two canvases from your hands as you walked to the paint section. Different varieties from water colour to acrylic paint were available there. Your indecisiveness began kicking in as you were torn on what colours to get.

"You can't decide on the colours, right?" Sio could practically read your mind. He bent down as he took a look at the small cans, looking at the colours that could compliment each other.

"Let's get this set, it looks like there's a lot of varieties so we won't have to decide," Sio said as he picked up a set of 8 colours.

Sio wasn't even looking at the price tag as he simply grabbed what he thought you'd need to paint while you were kind of worried if his wallet would survive. Who were you kidding? He's a ceo.

You grabbed a set of brushes as you ushered him to the cashier, not wanting him to look at anything else.

The cashier was stumped as she gulped, amazed at sio's height. She grabbed the items, scanning them and placing them into a plastic bag as she pressed a few keys on the cashier.

"That'll be 24,000 won," the cashier stated as sio took out his wallet before taking out his black card to pay. He tapped his card on the payment machine before taking the receipt and the bag.

"Let's go?" He said as he linked your arms, walking out the store as his assistant took the items from him, placing them in the back as the both of you made your way back home.

Sio played some music from the playlist the both of you had put together when he came back and sat down next to you as you taped the two canvases together. You wore a plain black shirt that Sio had lent you to prevent your outfit from getting dirty, while sio had on his normal black t-shirt and black jeans.

"What were you planning on painting, dear?" sio asked as you showed him a photo on your phone.

"The photo I took for you overseas?" Sio asked, unsure, as you nodded. "I was having a hard time at that point because you were so far away, but that picture was so beautiful, it's even my lockscreen," You said as you showed him your screen.

He smiled as he sat next to you, getting a paintbrush as he took some paint, "should we start?".

The both of you painted in silence with the occasional 'is this right?' or 'how do i paint this?'.

The painting was about 90% finished when sio suddenly placed his paintbrush down, placing his elbows on the table as he watched you silently. He felt as if he fell in love once again as he watched you like a little high school boy meeting his first love. He had spent too long away from you and he couldn't deny it.

"Why did you stop painting?" You asked as you looked at him. "I was busy admiring my painting," He said as he reached out to caress your hair.

"I think... it's finished!" You happily said as you removed the tape connecting the two canvases together, seeing the two separate paintings come together. "We did a good job, love. Where should I hang this?" Sio asked as he took his side of the painting, looking around his apartment as you pointed to his room.

"How about there? Then I'll put mine up in my room too, so when we wake up, we'll see our painting every day," you suggested as sio went to the kitchen, opening the bottom drawer to get a hammer and a nail as he knocked one nail into the wall, hanging the painting as the both of you looked at it.

Sio placed an arm over your shoulder as he pulled you close, placing a kiss on your head as he said, "It reminds me of you."

You chuckled as you responded, "It's supposed to remind us of each other".

The both of you never got to eat dinner as you fell asleep on the couch, head on sio's lap as he brushed your hair out of your face, leaning back as he also fell asleep.

---

wow finally a fic that doesnt follow original storyline eva ur amazing thank u guys

[noemilivv]

HIYA HIYA!!! this is the super energetic bro that u matched with velvette, qnd I was curioussss to requesttttt smthhh (also maybe if u want to easier identify me I could be ✨️anon??)

Ok! SO! ~Imagine~ maybeee that angel has a person he is romantically interested in (reader)

And so reader is ~severely introverted~ and thus, not much is know about them. But! Charlie is leading a art group one day, for like, rehab bc art therapy is super big, and reader is really good at it, and basically drops lore that they where in college to be an art therapist‼️

And so‼️

Maybe angel, seeing this opportunity to get closer, and was like- "ayo want me to model 4 u??👀👀" and reader is like " pls wear clothes this isn't gunna be nude modeling bc I will get super embarrassed" and so basically soft fluff of reader painting angel and getting to know each other and confession

Mayybbee a oneshot?? If ur willing! Nor pressure

Also make sure to take time to urself and rest and eat water and drink food!!!

Lots of love from a silly Lil fan!! :))

hello dear!! ofc you can be ✨ anon, you’re already on my list haha, as i’ve stated in the past, im not amazing at oneshots, but here’s my take on this !

Warnings: Mentions of Nudity, Lazily written (sorryyyy), Pretty short

“Smooth Talker”

Angel Dust x Artist!Reader

After one of Charlie’s…interesting exercises, Vaggie suggests that the group should do therapy art, since y’know, it calms the soul. And Charlie couldn’t be more eager to do so!

The lobby was set up with canvases, paints, brushes, everything you could need!

Unlike most of Charlie’s previous activities, almost everyone was willing to participate, although Husk and Alastor kinda stood off to the side and watched.

Charlie was painting a cartoon version of Razzle and Dazzle, Vaggie was painting a sunset based off of the lesbian flag, Pentious was painting him in his war machine taking over Hell, and Niffty? Eh.. You don’t wanna know..

You on the other hand? Stood in front of your canvas, clueless, “Y’know, I could model for you..” Angel says into your ear.

Your head turned to face him “Sure.” You say nonchalantly before turning back to your canvas.

“Wait really?-”

“Just please keep your clothes on.”

Eventually you had moved your stuff over to the other side of the lobby so Angel could pose on the couch.

He had a soft smirk, as he layed on the couch, his arm propping up his face. Although, he began to get fidgety, messing with his fluff.

“Stop moving.” You said with a soft smile.

Angel kept messing his fluff. “Ange!”

“Gee, sorry!” He said, chuckling, moving his arm back to its original position.

“So uh, how’d you get into all this?” Angel asked as the sketching of your pencil went to a stop and you began actually painting it. “College, back when I was alive I wanted to be an art therapist.” You explained.

“Fitting.” He murmured. For the most part, it was silent, a comforting silence though, the presence of each other was oddly soothing.

“Okay.” You muttered, squiggling your signature down at the bottom of the canvas quickly, “I’m done.” You announce to him, turning the canvas around to show him.

Angel perks up immediately, amazed by your skill, he slowly gets up off the couch to get a closer look. “Damn…” He said, his voice above a whisper, “Can I… Can I keep it?” He asked, hopeful that you might say yes, “Duh.” You giggled.

“For once the smooth talker is shocked, that’s new.” You say with a smirk. “And for once the introvert is talking back, that’s new.” Angel replies, but the usual attitude in his voice isn’t there, his voice is barely above a whisper as his eyes are still entranced with the painting.

You take the painting off the stand and hand it to Angel. You look over to a nearby window notice the sun is setting, despite the red sky still being as clear as day, “It’s getting late, I’m gonna head up to my room.” You say. “Yeah… Me too.”

As you and Angel are both walking to your rooms, you don’t say much, until a voice pipes up, “Y’know, I really owe ya for the painting.” Angel says, still looking at it, “Owe me what?” You ask, as you both arrive at your door.

“A date, maybe.” Angel says, pecking your forehead, “Stop by my room at eight tomorrow, if your interested~”

[ruins-posts]

── “Nuisance” [Ryomen Sukuna]

synopsis — Suku basically being one big tsundere.

Requested by anon — Can you do something where Sukuna being a BIG Tsundere gets all mushy and grumpy when he sees a peek of you sketch him? You're the best! thankssss!!!

Sukuna will die a thousand times over, but he will never say 'I love you'. He's no weakling. That's just an overused expression, often with no meaning behind it from the ones who say it. He likes it when you say it, though. Those pretty doe eyes of yours filled with admiration as you look up to him, thumbs softly stroking the deformed part of his face, but he simply mutters a 'pathetic' or a 'hmph' as one of his hands caress the top of your head.

You even go as far as do silly things for him. Sometimes you put flowers in his hair, sometimes you coddle him like he's some spoiled brat (he obviously likes it, but don't tell him that), sometimes you cook for him, eagerly awaiting his feedback— all of it was amusing, but today, you went as far as to put your artistic skill into use for making a sketch of him.

When you didn't open your door to give him his goodnight kiss, (hey! not like he wanted it or something—), he decides to open the door to your chambers, pale moonlight illuminating the canvases with intricate paintings etched upon them, bringing their plain-ness to life, his lips curve into a slight smile. But it's quick to fade when he sees you asleep on your wooden desk.

The exposed side of your cheek has a small black smudge, compared to the fingers that seem relatively more smudged with the black of your artistic tools. A few sheets are scattered in your front, the one that catches his eye being a portrait of his very own self.

Your artistic production of him is simply magnificent. Half-way shaded, yet so filled with detail. As if that wasn't enough to warm his heart, which he doubted ever existed, it clicked to him that you slept over your desk making this masterpiece of him. What a silly woman, truly.

Sukuna stood there for a moment, staring at you with an expression that was a strange mix of irritation and fondness. He couldn't believe you had fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable position. With a heavy sigh, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Gently, he scooped you up in his strong arms, being careful not to jostle you too much. You stirred slightly in your sleep but settled back into a peaceful slumber as he carried you to your bed.

"Tch, what a stupid girl you are..." he chuckles, tucking the blanket over you, watching your silly face nuzzle into its warmth. He felt stupid for doing it— growing grumpy over finding you so damn adorable. How could a weak little nuisance such as you manage to poke a hole through his stone heart? What a nuisance you where. But you were his nuisance.

With a sigh, he adjusts himself next to you, and you immediately cuddle upto this newly found source of warmth in your bed.

As you nestled closer to him, Sukuna carefully draped his arm around you, drawing you into a gentle embrace. It was an unexpected and uncharacteristic display of tenderness from the King of Curses, but in the stillness of the night, he couldn't help but acknowledge the powerful connection that had formed between you.

With a soft, almost inaudible whisper, he mumbled to himself, "You foolish girl, I should've never let you into my life." But despite his words, his actions spoke louder. Ryomen Sukuna would die a thousand deaths rather than ever say a, 'I love you', he knew that uttering those three words was beyond his capabilities, and it wasn't something he would ever admit to, even to himself.

And so decided to stay with you a little longer, guarding over your peaceful slumber. He knew that he was in too deep, that you had become an inseparable part of his life, even if he would never say those words. And yet, in the stillness of the night, his actions spoke louder than any such pathetic confessions.

[soobinskii]

p.sunghoon nsfw drabble

warnings : switch!sunghoon, biting, marking.

sunghoon loves biting you as he fucks you. he'll bite anywhere he can get, your thighs, stomach, shoulders, neck, anywhere. he loves seeing the little fang indents in your skin, he feels like a vampire. except he doesn't bite hard enough to draw blood, just enough to mark you up.

more on the marking; he loves small, subtle hickies. just in places that are mostly hidden. if you have longer hair, he'll suck on your neck and create a light, small bruise. he really enjoys creating hickies on your chest. he adores hickies on his chest aswell. he feels as if your bodies are canvases that allow decoration, he's the davinci to your leonardo.

sunghoon is big on praise. he's complimenting you inside and outside of the bedroom. he's not just big on praise however, he wants to worship you. he wants to show his devotion and appreciation to you. he'll kiss every part of your body, kneel at your feet and take in your appearance; appreciate the fact that you're allowing him to do the things he does.

when there's a mirror nearby, he'll fuck you and face the mirror. especially if the two of you are in doggystyle and he can make you look at him and you. he wants you to truly know how pretty you are, how gorgeous you are through his eyes.

however, how sunghoon worships you? he would really appreciate if you did nearly the same as he did. maybe get on your knees and suck his cock, compliment him as you kiss and lick at the tip. praise, worship, either works in his book. when he's subbing he needs to know how good he is for you, how good he makes you feel. he wants to be called pretty, handsome, cute, anything you can think of.

when he subs, he gets whiny. begging for you to touch him, kiss him, bite him. he just wants you and he wants you fully. he wants you to know his body like the back of your hand, and he'll do the same to you. he will get to know each and every sweet spot in your body and memorize it. he will have these things stored in his head like files, or his favorite song lyrics.

since he's a dancer and figure skater, he's good with his hips- with his body in general. it takes a lot of work & effort to be good at these things, so he has full control of his body. he'll rock his hips in the perfect way, filling you up, making you shake and quiver. he adores seeing the reactions you make, listening to your every noise. he'll follow the hitch of your breath, the quiet whimpers, the pornographic moans as a sign that he's doing well and that he should keep going.

sunghoon listens very well, but he is also good with words. he knows exactly what to say to keep you cumming and begging for more. he'll get real close to your ear- whether that means his nose touching the back of your neck, so you can feel every word, or whispering as he kisses down your body. he wants you to hear each word clearly and he will make it a mantra.

"i love you, you're doing so well. you look so pretty, and you're all mine."

sunghoon doesn't really fuck, he mostly makes love. he wants you to feel his every emotion when the two of you have sex. he'll kiss you so much that the feeling of his lips against yours are all you can think about once you've came so many times that you can't think anymore.