#custom hand made carpets

[carpetcrafts-blog]

Crafted Luxury: Handmade Carpets and Handmade Rugs for Hotels

In the competitive world of hospitality design, every element contributes to the overall ambiance and guest experience. Among these, the choice of floor coverings holds particular significance. #Handmade carpets & rugs stand out as symbols of luxury and craftsmanship, offering hotels a unique opportunity to elevate their spaces and create memorable guest experiences.

#Handmade carpets, known for their plushness and softness underfoot, are crafted using a specialized tufting technique. Skilled artisans meticulously punch strands of wool or other fibers into a canvas backing, creating intricate patterns and designs that add depth and texture to hotel interiors. The result is a luxurious floor covering that exudes elegance and comfort, perfect for high-traffic areas like hotel lobbies and corridors.

Similarly, #handmade rugs bring a sense of authenticity and artistry to hotel spaces. Crafted using traditional weaving techniques passed down through generations, these rugs showcase the skill and expertise of their makers. Each rug tells a story, with unique patterns and motifs that reflect the cultural heritage of its origin. Whether adorning the floors of guest rooms or serving as statement pieces in common areas, handmade rugs add warmth and character to hotel interiors, creating inviting spaces that guests will remember long after their stay.

When it comes to #carpets for hotels, durability and functionality are paramount. Hotel carpets endure heavy foot traffic on a daily basis and must withstand spills, stains, and general wear and tear. Additionally, they play a crucial role in setting the tone for the overall aesthetic of the hotel. As such, carpets for hotels are specially designed to meet the unique needs of hospitality environments. They are engineered for durability, with features such as stain resistance and easy maintenance, ensuring they look pristine even after years of use.

In conclusion, #handmade rugs and carpets offer hotels a unique opportunity to elevate their spaces and create memorable guest experiences. Their luxurious textures, intricate designs, and cultural significance add depth and character to hotel interiors, setting the stage for unforgettable stays.

For more information, contact  Email: atul@carpetcrafts.ae Mob: +91–9711945422 (India) +97–1567963185 (UAE)

[itadoring]

Toji remains seated on the carpet with his children's small toy table in front of him, too small to allow him to even place both of his hands on it.

“What would you like to order sir?” asks Megumi holding a crayon and notepad full of drawings, and looks at his father with a serious expression, or at least tries to.

Toji parts his thin lips for a brief moment and looks at the paper with coloured lines that should, in theory, represent the menu of the well-known restaurant “Fushigurosʼ Restaurant”.

“Is it possible to have the special of the day?” he asks as he carefully searches for the right words and smiles, highlighting the scar on his right side.

With a quick nod of his head, Megumi walks over to his three-year-old sister and informs her of their customer's request. In response, the little girl turns to him, looks at him from head to toe with her big green eyes and shakes her head slightly, causing her black hair to move as well.

After this dramatic reaction, her brother goes to the table and reports the cook's reply. “Well, the dish of the day is made of,” he pauses briefly and pretends to read the note scribbled a moment before, “biscuits and water.” he finishes by flashing a smile.

“Biscuits and water?” repeats Toji and nods slowly. “Alright thank you.” he finally says and, again, Megumi walks over to his little sister.

The latter starts mumbling and with every word spoken her brother nods and agrees. Toji does not know exactly what the two are saying to each other but he can't help but smile.

“Oh, there's a tea party?” your voice catches the attention of the three raven-haired who turn towards you; your two children happily run over and hug you as if they haven't seen you in years while your husband remains seated next to the toy table.

“Mummy, Daddy has so many demands!” the little one complains and her lips form a pout as she looks towards her confused father.

[tteokdoroki]

met gala is today, so imagine: stepping onto the red carpet at the met gala in with your husband bakugou. cameras flash brightly, lighting a sparkle in your eyes as paparazzi attempt to capture your custom dress made to fit the theme and in every picture, katsuki is right behind you trying to fix your skirts or touch up your hair — he even helps you with your shoes as you make the long trek up those iconic stairs.

when you’re stopped for interviews to talk about your outfit, preparations for the gala, your latest movie, song or pro hero stunts katsuki is hovering behind you with so much love in his deep red eyes because you’re the only person at the gala that he really cares about.

photographs of the blonde number two hero kissing your hand or holding up your train on the carpet set the internet ablaze. it doesn’t help that you’re both insanely beautiful, and katsuki emphasised he wanted his outfit to match/compliment yours — for once styling his hair up (thus exposing his forehead) all because you asked him to <3

[bookshelf-dust]

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.” 

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant. 

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag. 

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. ��You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter. 

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him. 

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in. 

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is. 

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…” 

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall. 

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem. 

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie. 

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you. 

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson. 

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob. 

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help. 

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy. 

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside. 

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks. 

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor. 

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass. 

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines. 

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him. 

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger. 

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning. 

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance. 

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him. 

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now. 

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms. 

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow. 

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin. 

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer. 

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible. 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door. 

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter. 

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time. 

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work. 

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine. 

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace. 

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be. 

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door. 

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself. 

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks. 

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera. 

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling. 

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like? 

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around. 

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle. 

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders. 

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears. 

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms. 

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s. 

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie. 

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even. 

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for. 

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes? 

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive. 

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality. 

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first. 

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer. 

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month. 

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door. 

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep. 

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front. 

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.” 

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say. 

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh. 

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom. 

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today. 

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. 

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality. 

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies. 

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go. 

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it. 

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose. 

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly. 

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open. 

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him. 

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors. 

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him. 

Eddie says your name. 

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face. 

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering. 

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?” 

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion. 

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it. 

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright. 

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you. 

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word. 

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness. 

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet. 

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest. 

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink. 

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm. 

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him. 

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing. 

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps. 

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring. 

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished. 

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him. 

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?” 

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in. 

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it. 

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers. 

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on. 

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him. 

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say. 

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[adalindofcabinsix]

that kind of love never dies (I)

summary: the one where barbara thinks about an act of rebellion.

pairing: jake x mc

word count: 1.3K

warnings: tkolnd takes place after the events of episode 10; cover images found on pinterest; english is not my first language.

author’s note: even though she lives in the usa, my main character, barbara, is brazilian. i added terms and expressions that we use in our country, as well as cultural elements, to this fanfic. the words that appear in portuguese are highlighted and you can contact me if you have any questions.

masterlist

Barbara was sprawled out on the dorm carpet, reading a Lucy Maud Montgomery novel she found by chance in the university library, when her cell phone began vibrating on the nightstand. Without wasting time, she closed the book and got up, waiting to hear from her roommate, Meera, but, when Barbara swiped her finger across the lock screen, she found some text messages from an unknown number.

i would like to invite you again to eat something at that chinese restaurant

if you want to meet me, just show up there tomorrow

i'll be waiting for you :)

Her head started to throb just at the possibility of it being who she was imagining, but she quickly pushed the thought away.

Jake wouldn't put himself in danger like that.

After everything that happened in Grimrock, Duskwood's chief of police, Alan Bloomgate, personally went after her to conduct the interrogation, and, more than once, made it very clear that it was best for her to stay away from her new friends for a while. He didn't go into detail when he told her about what happened at the Ironsplinter Mine, but he confirmed that Richy was alive — despite having some serious injuries — and that Jake had fled from the FBI agents during the confusion caused by the explosion.

All the messages she sent and received during that time became evidence. Barbara had what it took to close Hannah Donfort's case literally in the palm of her hand, including the kidnapper's confession.

Consequently, she also had the means that could lead the people who were after Jake straight to him.

She was interrogated by the FBI countless times for months, until Alan decided to intervene and convinced her to hand over her cell phone to them in exchange for her old life. Since then, Barbara has not been part of the joint investigation. Or at least that's what they say — she's too smart to really believe that.

For a few seconds, she considered the chance that it was someone trying to play a trick on her. The video Lilly Donfort posted accusing her of kidnapping had gone viral across the Columbia University campus. Even her grandmother, who lived in the interior of Brazil, found out about her involvement with a hacker wanted by the North American government. However, no one else knew about the brief conversation they had about the chinese restaurant.

Except, of course, the FBI.

Without a doubt, it was a trap. Barbara felt her face turn red. It seemed that solving an old international murder case, giving up her privacy, being forced to abandon her group of friends and possibly cheating on the guy she was in love with was not enough. She also needed to act as bait when it was convenient.

Barbara huffed, irritated. Little did they know that Jake had no contact. Their partnership in crime had ended almost a year ago.

Still, there was no reason to decline the invitation. She could very well take advantage of the opportunity to tell some truths to those nosy agents, and as a bonus she would have an excuse to go to Germany without Alan being able to question her too openly.

Her lips lifted into a smile as the plan emerged in her mind.

After going through customs at Zurich Airport, picking up luggage and going to an exchange office to exchange some notes, only an hour and fifteen minutes by car separated Barbara from Duskwood. Luckily, there were several yellow taxis forming a line next to the sidewalk, because it would be a nightmare to have to deal with someone trying to compete for the same vehicle as her.

She walked out of the lounge, pulling her hot pink rolling suitcase, and turned on her smartphone to announce on the family's group chat that she had arrived safely. But before she could check her contact list to see if her parents were online, she collided with a young man's broad chest.

She jumped away from him, apologizing — or at least trying to — in german. He laughed softly, grabbing her arm to stop her from tripping over herself, and for a moment, Barbara forgot to even breathe. The young man seemed to be a few years older than her, he was tall, had dark hair and prominent round eyes that resembled the curve of a teardrop, he was wearing a white sweatshirt with a hood and black jeans.

“I'm sorry, I didn't see you.” He spoke in english, with a slight accent.

“No problem, it was my fault.” Barbara quickly straightened up, realizing that she had somehow stared too long.

The young man analyzed her from head to toe with amusement before bending down and picking up the cell phone that had flown out of her hand during the impact.

“I believe this is yours.” He joked, handing the device to her.

“Thank you.”

He nodded curtly and turned, making his way through the travelers entering and exiting the airport, as silent as a wraith.

She was inexplicably disappointed to see him leave, however she had more important things to deal with. Then, she handed the luggage to the driver to put in the trunk and got into the taxi, giving the address of the Gates Hotel, on the outskirts of Duskwood.

Barbara ran across the room, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet. She was considerably late, but as far as she remembered, she had never arrived on time to participate in the interrogations, so whoever was waiting for her at the restaurant wouldn't mind too much. She put on a black strapless dress, put on her highest heels and curled her wet hair with her fingers, leaving a small trail of water on the floor.

Through an opening in the peach curtains, she noticed that the rain had picked up outside, beating violently against the window pane. She cursed under her breath, hoping someone at the front desk could lend her an umbrella, and before Barbara could procrastinate her meeting with the FBI Special Agent any further, she took one last look at the floor mirror near the entrance hall, realizing that she was dressed for revenge.

“Someone would definitely approve of that.”

Smiling to herself, she went down a small flight of stairs to the ground floor, where the girl at the reception was reading a magazine with Nicholas Galitzine's photo on the cover.

“How can I help you?” She asked in english, without taking her eyes off the celebrity gossip.

“Hey, how you doin'? Could you lend me an umbrella, please?”

“Of course.” She said, reaching for the object under the counter and handing it to her. “A fee of two euros will be added to your room bill.” Barbara sighed, surprised, as she mentally converted the currency. “What?” The receptionist looked up, frowning. “Did you think it would be free?”

“No, obviously not.” Barbara lied, smiling politely.

“Return it by midnight or I will have to charge the full value of the item.” The girl announced, turning her attention to the magazine. Then she added: “Nice dress.”

“Okay, I'll pay when I check out.” She assured, walking towards the glass doors while opening her rented umbrella. “And thank you.”

“Have fun, Cinderella!”

Barbara regretted walking out the door as soon as she set foot on the sidewalk. Not just because of the rain, but because of the wind blowing your hair back. In any case, she had come too far to give up, and despite the storm, she could see the lights of the chinese restaurant through the blue haze a few meters ahead, on the other side of the street.

Before she could take another step, someone grabbed her arm and turned her around.

“What?” She blinked in amazement at the handsome young man she had met at the airport.

“Come with me.” He said, pulling her away from the hotel entrance.

“You are crazy? I do not know you!” Barbara shouted, dropping the umbrella near her feet. The rain completely drenched them both in moments. “Me solta!”

“Barbara, please.” He asked, breathing short.

The sadness in his voice stopped her struggling.

“How do you…?” She gasped, eyes wide. “Jake?”

taglist: @daniiiworlds; @labemquarts; @deinily

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (1)

Summary: You managed to convince Astarion not to go through with the rite of profane ascension. He remains a vampire spawn, and you now offer your blood from time to time to help with his sanguine hunger until a solution is found. Even though you had both decided to stay as friends back in Moonrise Towers, lines begin to blur once more as other cravings come to the surface… and things with Astarion are seldom uncomplicated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+. Endgame spoilers. Blood drinking. Mutual pining. Biting. S*xual tension. Mentions of past trauma.

Series masterlist . AO3

"He's upstairs."

You nodded curtly, but before you could turn in your heels and head to the wooden staircase, you felt a hand grip at your arm.

"He hasn't been paying his due," Bork, the Blushing Mermaid tavern's publican, said with a rise of his brows.

"Noble room again?"

"Yes."

As expected. Astarion would sooner be caught dead again than having to stay at a merchant or peasant room.

He adored all things lavish and that extended to his accommodations, naturally.

"I'll cover for it," you said, snatching your arm away. "How much?"

He bared his yellow teeth. "Thirty gold pieces."

You felt Shadowheart's burning gaze on you. She didn't approve of you cleaning after him. Especially since her protective instinct dragged her along with you every single time.

"Very well," you said through gritted teeth, rummaging through your pouch, and handing him the expected amount. 

"Good," the older man said with a twirl of his kitchen knife. "If your pale friend does it again, he's done for."

Threats like this would usually warrant you to bare your dagger or cast a less friendly spell, but you couldn't afford to cause a scene.

Not in front of so many onlookers. 

You felt Shadowheart briefly tense up by your side. "Do hurry up. I shall wait for you."

Nodding, you gave her an assuring nod before heading up the staircase. 

The first floor was reserved for the highest paying customers, and it was heavily decorated and with candles spreading along the narrow corridor.

You paced quickly along the wooden floor, already knowing where to find him.

Room 7.

At this point, you were already over common pleasantries, so you skipped knocking at the door and just barged inside.

You heard a sleepy groan from the crimson bed placed at the centre of the luxurious room.

Astarion wasn't alone.

He was laying on top of the silk sheets, flipping through a book, seemingly undisturbed by your sudden appearance. Curiously enough, he was fully clothed, wearing a frill shirt and his regular trousers. 

However, the woman next to him was very much fully naked, with only a blanket draping over her bare torso.

The sight made your stomach twist and turn.

"Hello, darling," he said casually as if you had just walked in on him picking flowers. 

She peeked over her shoulder with a horrified look spreading across her pleasant face.

Of course she was extremely attractive.

She let out a shriek. "Do you mind?"

"No," you said dryly.

She immediately rolled out of bed, shooting a murderous glance your way, while scrambling to collect her belongings from the carpeted floor.

The door snapped shut behind her, and you were already pacing toward his bedside table once you spotted his coinpurse.

"Happy, are you? You scared her off, poor thing," he shook his head, feigning disapproval.

"You owe me."

You reached out to grab the thick pouch, but caught sight of the glint of a blade and the cool touch of metal being pressed gently against the back of your hand. 

Typical.

"Ah-ah-ah..." he tutted with a click of his tongue. "Where are your manners?"

He seemed very serious all of a sudden, but you knew better. "I'll hex you."

"Faster than me piercing through your skin?" he asked, tapping the flat side of the blade playfully on your skin.

You really did consider hexing him for a split second just out of spite. "You overestimate your abilities."

"And you could have cursed me already, but are too lost in my dashing good looks."

Your jaw dropped in utter disbelief.

"That lovely mouth of yours could never compete with my agile fingers."

The insinuation wasn't even subtle, and it was enough to make your blood boil.

You scowled deeply at him, shoving his dagger out of the way. "Thirty gold pieces."

He slipped the blade under his pillow again with a devious grin.

"Bork was rather eager to have at you, so I just paid him. Maybe next time I won't intervene."

"And what would he do? Kill me again?"

Point taken.

A dangerous smile danced across his lips. "And here I thought you intended to start charging me for our arrangement."

You glared at him intensely, feeling momentarily outraged. "You're the one profiting off of it. Entirely."

"Hmm, debatable."

You narrowed your eyes. "If anything, you should be paying me, no?"

He snatched the coinpurse from your grasp, tugging it open before handing you a few gold pieces. 

"Here you go, darling. Sixty gold pieces," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Buy yourself a new attire, while you're at it."

You glanced down the length of your body, arching a brow and straightening your shirt and trousers. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Astarion scoffed. "I don't even know where to begin, but do not fret. You could be wearing nothing but a rotting sack of potatoes, and I would still not be deterred from your neck."

You pressed your lips tightly together, and glanced at the gold pieces in your hand. "Your sweet-talking skills have been slightly below par as of late."

He chuckled, crossing his hands behind his head and against the meticulously wooden-carved headboard. "Yet here you are."

Not that you had much of a choice, really.

Halving the sum of money he had given you, you shoved the rest in your pocket while placing the other half on the table.

"Keep it."

"Don't be ridiculous," you groaned.

"Working on your flattery, I see?"

He was enjoying this far too much, and the more you talked back, the more you instigated him to continue.

"Why don't you just pay him when he asks for it?"

"Oh, darling…"

Here we go…

He was casually checking his hands, putting on his condescending demeanour. "Patience is a virtue he clearly lacks. If I'm to live eternally, I might as well teach these commoners some manners."

"Or you just adore getting on people's nerves," you said with a sly smile.

He grinned so wide, you caught a glimpse of his razor-sharp fangs peeking through. "You know me too well."

You used to think so.

Now, you weren't so sure.

Clearing your throat, you looked around the dimly lit room until your eyes settled on the large majestic bed. "She was really pretty."

"You sound surprised."

"Not at all. She does fit your type."

He laughed dramatically, further grinding your nerves. "I have a type?"

You gave him a look.

"You mean outrageously beautiful and undeniably entertaining?" he asked innocently. "Like you?"

Your heart jolted.

His method of seduction was deemed nigh pristine, and a few weeks ago, you would have maybe fallen hard for this level of charm.

But not anymore.

Well, for the most part…

"She was not outrageously beautiful."

He placed on hand at his chest, feigning hurt. "First you rob me, and now you question my taste in beauty. I'm not entirely sure my dead heart can take much more of this."

You huffed, crossing your arms before glancing out the window. The full moon lit up the street below, as the night began to draw out those who preferred to keep to the shadows.

And those who had no choice but to do so.

Like Astarion.

"I didn't do it."

His voice startled you and you stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He paused briefly. "I didn't do anything with her, if that's what you're thinking. There is an odd comfort in being surrounded by beauty, even if only to glare at, and nothing else."

Your heart clenched at how vulnerable he sounded all of a sudden. His pleasing face held an expression that you'd seen many times before…

Guilt.

The ripple effects of centuries of torture and abuse still slipped through the cracks of his usual pompous demeanour.

"Your personal matters are your own, Astarion. No need to justify yourself."

He stared at you in silence for a moment, and the urge to reach out to embrace him nearly took over.

Until his features began to twist into a light frown. "Don't look at me like that. I can't stand it."

"Like what?"

"That look. Pity. Spare me," he groaned with a roll of his eyes.

You weren't surprised in the slightest that he went into his defensive mode so rapidly.

He would fluctuate so often around you these days, that it gave you whiplash. Some days, he would let his guard down and allow you in, while others were plagued with him having a brick wall up around him if you happened to breathe in the wrong direction.

You had learned how to navigate through his tough exterior when the two of you traveled together, and as he opened more and more to you.

It all culminated when you offered your help against Cazador, and having him make the decision not to go through with the ritual that would doom so many souls – including his own — in the process.

He had thanked you for saving him from himself.

But nowadays, talking to him was like walking on eggshells while simultaneously dancing around his weathervane mood.

It was as if your relationship had somewhat soured over the past few weeks, and all the remnants of a solid friendship were now beginning to crack.

"You know, you don't have to be here," you said softly, trying to disperse the tension. "You are more than welcome to stay with us."

Astarion snickered darkly. "And having to endure that dullard? Please. I'd rather stake myself, darling."

You rolled your eyes and heaved a sigh at the targeted provocation.

"Gale is not a dullard. He is quite inter-"

But he began to part his mouth into a forced yawn. "Boring already! See, this is what happens when you choose to surround yourself with such unstimulating company – it spreads, and you used to be so much fun," he finished with a dramatic pout.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you sent him a death glare. "He's not the only one there."

There was a hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Oh, yes! How could I forget Shadowheart and her magnificent ability to bore me." He swung his feet off the bed, standing gracefully. "Or perhaps you mean Lae'zel? She's clearly in debt to whichever god bestows a sense of humour."

An added layer of defense: sarcasm.

No one wielded it quite like Astarion, which also proved to be a major inconvenience when trying to win an argument. 

I'm also there, you wanted to say, but chose to remain silent.

Deep down, you detested how you still longed for his company. Even after so many weeks had gone by. Even when he seemed so averse to it outside of this… arrangement.

Your relationship had been reduced to nothing more than a transaction.

Once again.

Your blood for his hunger to be quenched even if only momentarily.

"Or are you referring to yourself?" he mused, pacing towards you while adjusting his shirt.

It was extremely infuriating that he could see through you so easily.

"Let's get this over with, then," you said, words stinging in your throat.

He offered a faint smile, as he came to stand before you. "I must say, our weekly encounters are nothing short of exciting," he brought his fingers to your jaw, tilting your head gently as his eyes roamed across your neck. "And I am positively famished."

You felt a gentle tug at the collar or your shirt, and glanced down to see him undoing the buttons with just one hand. 

All those years of honing his dexterity were bound to come in handy at the most convenient of times,  and Astarion would never shy away from displaying his expertise.

Your senses were suddenly hit with the faint scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy.

His scent.

The same that once brought you comfort through the toughest of times.

But now…

"Which side will it be this time?"

You swallowed hard, shuddering. "You decide."

He caressed your neck tenderly, tipping your head to the opposite side, half-hooded eyes roaming across your exposed skin.

"Ever so generous."

You huffed in annoyance. "Astarion."

He didn't need to be warned twice, and you soon felt his soft lips brush across your skin, as he searched for your steady pulse. The contact made you jolt slightly and he took your hands in his, placing them at his waist.

"Hold on, darling," he whispered, as his breath fanned your flushed skin, before darting out his agile tongue and enclosing his lips around the selected area.

You had let him feed on you many times before, but the flutter was ever present. It wasn't out of fear or concern that he might take it too far. He never did. But the knowledge that you were, once again, involved in something so intimate truly gnawed at your nerves.

As soon as you felt the initial sting, you balled your fists, gripping the fabric of his shirt tight, as you hissed in pain. 

He held your jaw in between his fingers whilst his other hand was firmly pressed to the back of your head, making sure you were anchored in place.

Astarion moaned first – a muffled and deep sound that reverberated across his lips with each mouthful of blood he downed.

Your eyes dropped close all of a sudden and he  pressed his body against yours, acting purely on the instinct driven by his bloodlust. 

And just like all those times before, you began to feel it.

With each passing second, the all too familiar and ever-growing pressure in your lower abdomen became harder and harder to ignore.

He had once revealed how your blood worked like an aphrodisiac whenever he drank from you; how he couldn't keep his body from reacting to it, and, ultimately, to you. After all, you had been the first thinking creature he had ever fed on. 

As such, you had grown accustomed to his erection being pressed firmly against you – a constant reminder of how easy it was for him to make you yearn for more.

Whatever pain you had left from the initial bite, had morphed into a very subtle wave of pleasure that spread from between your legs.

You cursed inwardly, tugging harder at his shirt.

You didn't wish for your body to be so… primal. 

Even with blood being drained from you, and the act itself being considered so profane, it was still a much welcome moment of intimacy that you had come to embrace. 

A soft roll of his hips lulled you into him like a moth to a flame. Your body struggled with fading from the blood loss as well with the increasing throb between your thighs.

At this point, you couldn't help but moan softly as he eased his grip on you until he had fully withdrawn his teeth from you. 

Your eyes fluttered open and you had to blink twice to disperse the haziness blurring your vision.

Crimson red tainted his lips, and droplets of the warm liquid threatened to spill over. The sight of him revelling in your blood used to make your stomach turn, but now it had morphed into a habit.

But what truly caught your attention was how he looked faintly… displeased?

He lowered his head, crimson eyes locking in with yours. 

"That was quick," you whispered, struggling to ease your throbbing clit, as his erection was still very much pressed against you.

But now he was frowning. 

Suddenly, you felt experienced fingertips trailed across your lower abdomen, casually teasing the hem of your waistband.

You sucked in a breath, chills sprawling all over your body, as he began to trace down your thigh, just where your dagger was resting.

"What are you–"

He pressed a long finger to his blood-stained lips and you swallowed, his eyes darkening. "We have company."

Before you could process his words, you felt your dagger being yanked swiftly from its sheath. With a languid shift of his feet, you watched as he threw the sharp blade across the room.

Just as it cut through the air, the large wooden door began to swing open and Shadowheart came into view.

The dagger landed dangerously close to her head, the tip carving into the wood and wobbling faintly.

She frowned slightly. "You missed."

He darted out his tongue to collect droplets of blood. "Did I?"

She looked positively unimpressed by such a display of skill, even one that could have easily maimed her.

But he had deliberately missed.

Of course he had.

You caught a glimpse of Astarion's reddened ears – the ultimate proof that he had recently fed, and one that, somehow, sent a shiver down your spine.

The bloodless effect was also beginning to take a hold of your body, as dizziness spread more and more.

Snapping out of your transfixed gaze, you hurriedly brought the handkerchief in your pocket to apply some pressure to your bleeding wound.

"Stealth was never your forte, darling," Astarion mused, visibly annoyed. "You're about as subtle as a pack of gnolls."

A teasing smile parted her lips. "You have such a way with words."

He grinned deviously. "It's called being eloquent, dear Shadowheart. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"I was taught to converse with others without constantly resorting to sarcasm," she mused, hurling your dagger back at him. "Not that you'd know anything about that."

As expected, he caught it in between his fingers with little to no effort, twirling it easily with the expertise that only centuries of practice could provide.

He clicked his tongue. "No wonder you're so tedious. But… eavesdropping? My, my… how unbecoming of you, darling."

A flash of surprise crossed her face. "I - I was doing no such thing! I merely decided to make sure everything was all right." Her face softened as she turned to you, her usual caring nature surfacing. "Do you need any healing?"

You smiled warmly at her, patting the pouch at your hip. "No need, thank you. Brought the scroll of Lesser Restoration you gave me."

Astarion scoffed.

Shadowheart ignored him. "I ought to go. Gale needs my assistance with some letters he's received from Waterdeep," she said, straightening up to her default stoic pose. "I trust you're quite done here."

You nodded, clearing your throat.

"What, you're not joining us for a nibble?" Astarion pouted dramatically.

"Over my dead body."

He looked as amused as ever. "That can certainly  be arranged. Though I prefer fresh blood… right from the source."

Her features hardened once more and you decided to intervene. "Will you stop it? You're like a cat with its claws out."

Astarion snapped his head at you. "Excuse me? Claws?"

"Would it kill you - well, again - not to be so damn abrasive all the time?" 

He groaned sheepishly. "She interrupted my feeding. It can be quite hard to resist the urge to behead her."

Shadowheart's gaze dropped to his lower half with the slightest uptick of one corner of her mouth. "By the looks of it, Astarion, you have other hardships to concern yourself with."

A rush of heat spread across your face as you followed her line of sight and were met by the very prominent outline of his erection strained against his trousers.

He turned around, mumbling curses under his breath to adjust himself, and Shadowheart looked at you with a triumphant smile.

It wasn't an easy feat to silence Astarion, yet she had achieved it so gracefully.

"I'll see you later, I suppose," she mused and you nodded. "It was rather entertaining seeing you again, Astarion."

He threw her an infuriating glance over his shoulder.

By the time she had closed the door behind her, you were already taking the scroll into your hands and whispering the incantation, as the paper scroll began to disintegrate itself.

A wave of warmth spread through your hands, before engulfing your body in it. Strength and heightened senses gradually returned to you as the lasting effects of him feeding on you dispersed. 

From the corner of your eye, you spotted him glaring at you with a visible sulk. 

"I'll come back next week."

"Leaving already?" He asked, fake heartbreak twisting his features and voice. "Was wondering if you could, perhaps, give me a hand."

He handed you your dagger, which you promptly slid back inside its sheath.

Your eyes then widened at his not so subtle suggestion.

Uncertainty boiled deep within you, and you had to muster your will to keep yourself from immediately leaving.

Astarion's healing path had been one he had decided to tread alone. The relationship he had with sex had been the reason you two had decided to be as friends and nothing more. You had fallen hard for him – or his deceit – but you figured what he truly needed was a friend and not a lover.

And so you left your infatuation for him behind.

It was better off this way.

But now… watching him fall back to his usual charming advances made you somewhat wary. Was he back to forcing himself to seek intimacy with his body, because he still couldn't do it effectively in any other way? Was he simply feeling more at ease?

You met his sultry gaze and cleared your throat. "Well, I'm sure you can ask that outrageously beautiful woman to help you out, if that is what you truly seek."

That seemed to have caught him by surprise, and he cocked his head. "What?"

"She seemed positively distraught for having to leave your company so early," you said, dragging the handkerchief down your neck to wipe off the trail of blood.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy, darling?"

"Delusion does not suit you, darling."

He took a few steps towards you until you could see the crimson of his eyes flicker as they studied your face.

Your stomach turned.

The proximity made you feel vulnerable and you immediately felt naked under his burning gaze. 

Astarion had over two centuries of practice when it came to reading others. It wasn't an easy feat to deceive him, and you were no exception.

"We traveled together for so long and I can safely say I never took you for a liar – perhaps too soft-hearted for my liking, but not a liar."

"I did not lie," you shot back, lifting your chin in defiance. "I can offer you my friendship and even my blood, but I'm not so sure about anything else."

He heaved a deep sigh.

"I just fed on you and the bloodlust can be quite… overwhelming," he confessed. "I usually take care of it myself, but you did taste absolutely exquisite tonight, what can I say?"

That caught you off guard.

"What do you mean? Take care of…" your voice trailed off as realization hit you.

Oh.

Oh.

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Don't act so surprised. You can feel it whenever I'm feeding, can't you?" He took another step back and only came to a halt once your back was pressed against the carved-wood wall. "There is only so much I can withstand with your delicious blood coursing through my body, darling."

You swallowed hard. 

He was being particularly firm on his advances tonight. You were used to his occasional flirtatious remarks whenever he fed on you ever since the arrangement took place. However, this was bringing things to a whole new level.

One that you hadn't expected you'd reach ever again with him.

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "Maybe you should stop feeding on me, then?"

A weightless taunt, obviously.

Crimson eyes darted all over your face as if studying you. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, before the corner of his mouth curled into an intriguing smile.

He had seen immediately right through it.

"If that is what you wish, then so be it," he said in a rather dismissive tone, but still towering over you.

You arched a brow. "That's it?"

"Darling, as immortal as I am, I do not beg," he continued, now tracing around the fresh bite marks on your skin with uncharacteristic tenderness. "I will surely find other exquisite necks to sink my teeth into."

His words carried a hint of a threat, which unsettled you. 

"That was not the arrangement, Astarion," you said with a scowl. "It's either wild animals or my blood."

His fingertips paused at your pulse point, and you were certain he could feel the throbbing increasing rapidly. "How possessive of you, my dear," he mused playfully. "Although, I am quite sure you are aware that many do carry fantasies with vampires."

You pressed your lips together in a silent reply.

A man as attractive as Astarion was bound to allure all sorts of attention. When passing through Moonrise Towers, the drow Araj had tried to have him bite her in exchange for a rather powerful potion, but you had assured him that you did not demand anything against his will.

The memory still left a sour taste in your mouth.

But he did have a point.

Vampires could be regarded as a taste of the forbidden, and he could certainly deliver it.

"That was not the arrangement," you repeated through gritted teeth, deciding to ignore his previous remark.

His eyes narrowed dangerously in an instant.

"'The arrangement'," he mocked, inching near and pinning you frozen against the wall with the weight of his burning stare. "Does dear Wyll know that I haven't been exclusively feeding on wild animals? Because that was the arrangement, darling," his face drew closer and his cool breath fanned your skin.

Upon becoming Duke of Baldur's Gate, Wyll had agreed to allow Astarion to reside within its walls, but not without assuring he posed no danger to others.

But then you decided to volunteer in aiding him until a solution to his vampiric condition could be found. Hopefully, it wouldn't take too long to find something useful. 

Your research had led to a couple of enchanted items, but those were rare to come by. A wish spell seemed to be the easiest way, but even as a sorcerer and with Gale's help, it would be extremely challenging.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "He does. He knows blood from thinking creatures sates you more effectively, so he allows it for the time being."

He scoffed, dropping his hand from your neck. "How very thoughtful of him, indeed."

"This is what friends do."

He sneered at you. "Friends do not hand out ultimatums. Care to revive my memory?" His lips almost brushed against yours and you didn't dare take a breath. "I am to wag my tail like an obedient pup as I wait for a solution to this minor inconvenience, all the while enclosed in a golden cage."

Impatience gripped your nerves ferociously. "These things take time, Astarion."

"Oh, my darling… I have all the time in the world, but you only have a limited supply of blood," he whispered softly and you could almost taste his taunting words.

He drew back slightly, his glare so intense you felt yours waver and drop, catching a glimpse of his sharp canines. "We are actively looking for a solution. Gale is also making some progress-"

He pressed a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking I am faulting you," he said, his face suddenly softening, as he caressed your lower lip. "If anything, you are the only reason I was ever able to kill Cazador."

He was being sincere, and that was what made your heart drop to your stomach. 

"You have my eternal gratitude."

You shuddered under his touch, feeling your breath quicke, as his other hand trailed down your neck until it was resting just above your left breasts and beating heart.

He was too good at this…

Unfairly so.

"Wyll ought to allocate more of his resources into aiding me, don't you think? After all, you are the one at risk here," he continued. "I know he cares not for me, but I could have ascended and bent Baldur's Gate to my will… if not for your intervention."

"I'm not at risk," you said with a roll of your eyes. "And if you drink more than what you need, then you know the consequences."

His eyes dropped to your cleavage as he began to caress the flushed skin. With each deep breath you took, you pushed more of your breasts into him, further igniting the heat between your legs.

"Promises, promises… unfortunately for you, darling, your words don't match your body."

Fuck you. "You're impossible."

He slowly dipped his head until his lips grazed yours. "You would stake me?"

Never. 

"I would."

He chuckled. "You would stake me as I sink my teeth into your darling neck and feast on your divine blood?" 

No. "Yes."

But his smile only widened as amusement settled on his face. "I can't think of a better way to part this world for good."

Your mouth parted slightly in surprise, and he rolled his hips into you, earning a soft gasp.

You half-expected him to finally take your lips, but he tilted his head instead to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

And your body nearly imploded as old sensations resurfaced.

Fuck.

"You're so sweet…" he whispered with a sigh, as he began to graze along your jaw, taking your hands in his and planting them on his waist. "So warm… the gods above could never do you justice." He continued in between light kisses with his hips matching the pace.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you lost track of how eagerly your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing impatiently against the waistband of his trousers.

Astarion groaned softly, helping you with the inconvenient lacing at the front. "And here I thought I was the starving one."

He always talked way too much and had a natural talent for doing so at the least opportune time. 

"Can you shut up for once?"

"Gladly," he said as he quickly took your lips in his, muffling your groan of protest.

Reason told you to halt everything once. That you were taking things too fast, and that there was no need to indulge in such depravities.

But you had missed this.

You missed having him so close that he completely overtook your senses. 

The kiss turned rougher and his tongue soon found yours. Instinct guided you as you succumbed to the vicious grip of desire, and you pressed yourself further into him.

It was almost embarrassing how wet you already were and how intensely your swollen clit was pulsing. Your body was already readying itself for him to be buried inside you, and you shuddered at the prospect of it.

Your tongue darted into his mouth and your eagerness had it glide across one of his sharp fangs, and you felt a sting of pain as you accidentally drew blood.

"Fuck," you grumbled, breaking the kiss at once.

The familiar taste of metal began to pool in your mouth, and you felt gentle fingers grip your jaw tight, as he titled your head back.

"I would apologise, but it was your own doing," he said with a smile, hunger in his eyes. "So let's not allow it to go to waste, hm?"

And then he pressed his lips against yours, immediately parting them with his experienced tongue, in search of the warm liquid he so badly craved.

The cut wasn't deep or wide enough to cause much to spill, but it was certainly enough for him to let out a beautiful moan of delight, as he lapped at your blood.

Your hands gripped the front of his trousers, the lacing now undone and offering you the opportunity to feel him, and he was kissing you so ardently, that your mind was completely clouded by all of him.

Testing the waters, you caressed his cock through the fabric.

He immediately parted from you to let out a delicious hiss, as he rolled his hips into the palm of your hand.

Astarion was incredibly hard, but just as you were about to slide it inside to grip him, he caught your wrist and held it firmly in place.

And everything halted all at once.

Your eyes found his, and he seemed… distant.

Concern washed over you. "Astarion?"

He was frozen, eyes fixed on the floor.

As he eased his grip on you, it became apparent that he wasn't listening to you.

Fuck.

You brought one hand to grip his shoulder. "Astarion…"

He shook his head lightly. "Give me a moment, darling."

The way the last word drawled out of his lips, made your heart clench violently. It was so instinctive for him, that you doubted he even realised he had uttered it.

You stood still, unsure of what to do to help.

The two of you remained silent for a few moments. You kept your hold on his shoulder, gently caressing it in an attempt to bring him some comfort.

Then you felt rage swirl in you.

Cazador had warped him in such a way and for so long, that the ramifications of his abuse on Astarion seeped so deep and gripped him so tight, causing you to feel nothing but anger.

You took a deep breath, and carefully placed your hands on either side of his face, slowly guiding him to meet your eyes.

He looked broken.

"I apologise."

You caressed his cool skin with your thumbs, shaking your head. "There is nothing to apologise for. Ever. Do you hear me?"

He tilted his head until his forehead touched yours. "I really wanted this."

Even though the two of you had grown apart over the past few weeks as he had distanced himself, you couldn't think of anyone else who had such a hold on you.

With one hand drifting along his soft curls, you pulled him further into a hug, which he promptly embraced, lacing his hands behind your back.

This was your Astarion.

The one who made it so easy to love and care for him.

"Sometimes what we want is not what we need."

His cheek was pressed to the side of your head and you heard a faint chuckle. "So poetic. I reckon Volo has competition."

"Your mind goes to Volo when holding me? Is there something you wish to tell me, Astarion?" you teased lightly.

He patted your back twice before letting go.

"Guilty as charged," he mused, slipping back into his usual antics.

He crossed the room, tying the laces of his trousers before plopping himself on the bed with a stretch of his arms.

"I'm sure you're exhausted. Maybe you should go back to that dullard friend of yours," he said with a sly grin.

His words hit you hard and your face dropped. "I can stay a little longer…"

He picked up the book next to him, examining the cover. "Whatever for? I'm perfectly fine, darling."

Now, this was not your Astarion.

Cold. Distant. Impenetrable.

The one who pushed you away whenever you attempted to bridge the gap that had come in between you two. 

He focused his attention on the book in his hands and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Very well."

You composed yourself, and headed to the door, not even bothering to exchange another look.

"Thank you for the meal, and for… well, you know."

You nodded, feeling the overwhelming urge to just leave. "See you next week, then."

He didn't reply.

You rushed out of the room, feeling the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes, and you tried to convince yourself it was better off this way.

That he needed time and space.

That he didn't need you.

By the time you crossed the crowded lounge of the tavern, you crossed paths with that woman again.

She locked eyes with you, a faint smile curving her lips, as she rose to her feet from her chair, probably heading back to him.

She truly was a sight to behold, no doubt.

But what tore your heart was realising that, even after everything you'd been through with Astarion, he still favoured her company over yours. 

Next chapter

Masterlist . Series masterlist. AO3

[pickingupmymercedes]

Of thorns and blooms - Lewis Hamilton

request: "Can I request a Journalist reader, who lewis has his eye on and she interviews him and smexy antics ensue after the gathering. She wears a light up floral crown which lewis finds so cute and when they they celebrate an anniversary, he gives her an actual crown." - @omgsuperstarg

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fashion Journalist! Reader!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: It took me sooo long to get the tone to this one right, but I hope it was worth the wait.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Y/n adjusted her dress for the hundredth time as she waited for the next person she would interview, the humidity in the air boiling them all in the enclosed paradise the famous steps of the MET. The buzz of the Gala was like a living entity. And tonight, she wasn't just a fashion journalist, she was a guest, courtesy of a hand-delivered invitation from Anna Wintour herself.

A small proud smile played on her lips. It had been a long road, from the early days working in college fashion blogs to the owner of her own digital media platform. She had conquered every step on the ladder the had envisaged for her career, and the MET Gala was the cherry on top.

Her gaze swept the red carpet, catching a flash of black that snagged on her breath. Lewis.

They'd met a few times before, most notably for his iconic Vanity Fair cover in 2022. Shot in pink, in none other than Valentino, it had been a bold choice, and she had made it justice in the interview. I was a peek into the soul of a man who rarely had let himself be seen that way. It was raw, honest, and had garnered her more praise than any piece she'd ever written.

On the human level there had also been something else, a connection beyond the professional aura, but it had remained just that – a spark.

Over the years, they'd stayed in loose contact. She would congratulate him on a good race, he would message whenever he read one of her articles, a selfie once, holding her printed fashion annual he'd found at an airport in Dubai.

It felt like a secret language, a shared appreciation in their vastly different worlds.

And that night, he looked…untouchable.

A vision in a custom Burberry creation. Although not far from the usual black, his overcoat was anything but ordinary, adorned with hand-embroidered floral motifs that shimmered under the camera flashes, the thorns in his necklace a powerful statement. Heritage and resilience.

As Lewis neared her corner of the press pen, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on her, a flicker shone within them. He diverted his path slightly, heading straight for her.

"Y/n!" he boomed, his voice surprisingly warm for someone who always tried to maintain his stoicism.

"Sir Lewis Hamilton" she replied, offering a professional smile. "Looking sharp."

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "You clean up nice yourself, Voltaire."

"Voltaire?" she raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Your floral crown. You quoted Voltaire on gardens being the only art that imitated nature in your preview of the met" He gestured towards her head, where a crown of intricately woven white flowers sat, each petal tipped with tiny LED lights that cast a soft glow. "It looks incredible by the way."

Her smile widened. "Maria Grazia Chiuri and I had a blast designing this piece. We wanted to honor the history of the floral crown, worn for centuries, but with a modern twist."

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You always manage to find the hidden meaning, don't you?"

She met his gaze, the intensity surely not lost to her. "Fashion is all about meaning, Lewis. It's a language, a way to express ourselves." His gaze holding on to hers as she continued “Your statement in this Burberry. It's a powerful one”

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, but just as he was about to answer back a microphone was thrust in front of them. A reporter, eager to get a quote looking impatient.

"Mr. Hamilton," the reporter began, "your outfit is quite…unexpected. Can you tell us the inspiration behind it?"

Lewis straightened his shoulders, slipping back into his professional persona. He launched into a detailed explanation of the Burberry design, his voice smooth and practiced. Y/n listened, captivated by his words and by the way his gaze flickered back to her every few seconds, a silent promise of something.

When the interview ended, the reporter scurried away. Lewis turned back to her; his smile warm. "They only gave me a few minutes," he said with mock disappointment.

"Well," she teased, "perhaps you could tell me the "real" story later," she finished, mirroring his playful tone.

A slow grin spread across Lewis's face. "Perhaps" he replied winking, a gesture that would have sent a lesser woman reeling. "I’ll find you later." He gestured towards the throng of celebrities and socialites milling about.

As Y/n wandered into the museum, she navigated the wave of guests with small talks and greetings alike. Her platform had gained traction over the past months, and her presence was becoming increasingly sought-after. But tonight, the glamor felt secondary as the show stoppers stood behind glasses of exhibitions.

As she stood and admired one of Balmain’s first collections, a familiar figure caught her eye. Lewis, leaning casually against a pillar, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was alone, just observing her, a smile breaking across his face as he saw she had noticed him, he made his way towards her, his movements graceful.

"There you are," a low rumble in his chest. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Hardly," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

"So," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "tell me about this secret language of fashion."

"Where do I even begin?" she laughed, a genuine, carefree sound. "Every stitch, every embellishment, every cut – it all tells a story. A story of who you are, where you come from and how you want to be perceived."

The conversation flowed easily, a back-and-forth about the art of fashion, their contrasting worlds, and the subtle messages woven into every outfit. Lewis, she discovered, was surprisingly well-versed in fashion history, his knowledge going beyond the surface. He spoke of iconic designers, groundbreaking trends, and the evolution of style through the ages, his voice filled with genuine passion as he recounted how he had learned so much from her own words.

"You know," Lewis said, his voice softer now, "you're not like anyone else I've ever met."

" This one is not gonna cut it" she asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"Right…" he said, his gaze locking on hers. "But I meant it though. You look at the story behind people. That’s rare."

His words hit her like a sucker punch, laying bare a truth she hadn't dared to public admit. She had always craved for connection with people, and fashion, she had discovered, was her way to reach for those who held their stories and dreams in their eyes and heart.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, breaking the intense eye contact. "Perhaps you see the same," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He leaned closer; his breath warm on her ear. "Tell me about your dreams, Y/n. What stories are you trying to tell?"

And then, when she couldn’t avoid his gaze on her anymore, when the silence of his question had almost drowned her, a booming voice cut through the air. "Lewis! There you are. We have to get going."

Lewis sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "Right" he said, a touch of regret in his voice before he turned abruptly to Y/n, as if he had just decided to take a jump "I have a proposition for you."

Intrigued, Y/n raised an eyebrow. "A proposition? Do elaborate, Hamilton."

He leaned in again, close enough for his lips to brush against her ear. “Are you, by any chance, willing to pass on those other after parties and come to mine?”

Y/n seemed to be taken aback, but just like before, when she was about to answer him, he shot her a look “I’ll text you the details. I’d love to know your stories.”  And with a final lingering look at her, Lewis offered a charming smile. "Until later."

The afterparty held a low-key energy, a contrast to the frenzy of the Met. Y/n found herself at Lewis's expansive New York City apartment, surprised by the choice of venue. It wasn't the club she'd thought of, but a tastefully decorated space that felt more like a home than a celebrity crash pad.

Lewis had introduced her to a motley crew of people. Some of his friends, but mostly, a mix of young, up-and-coming designers, photographers Y/n knew by reputation, and even a couple of journalists she had came across an article or two. The air buzzed with conversations, a refreshing change from the interactions of the Met.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned. Y/n found herself gravitating towards a corner where Lewis stood, deep in conversation with someone she remembered to have seen at some shooting before.

"That's Kelly," Lewis said, noticing Y/n's approach. "A design prodigy. Just landed a gig with Channel"

Kelly's smile widened as Lewis introduced them. "It's an honor to meet you, Y/n," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "I've been a huge fan for a while now."

They chatted for a while, the struggles and triumphs of breaking into the fashion world. Looking at the young woman's vibrant energy, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the platform she'd created.

But as Kelly was whisked away by another group, a comfortable silence settled between Y/n and Lewis.

He gestured towards an empty stool beside him. "Mind if I steal you for a bit?"

Y/n accepted the invitation, a playful glint in her eyes. "Only if you answer a question for me first."

"Shoot," he said, taking a swig from his drink.

"This isn't exactly the afterparty I expected," she said, gesturing to the relaxed setting. "Why here?"

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that made her feel inadequately naïve "Maybe this is the real me," he said. "The part that doesn't crave the constant spotlight."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conversational whisper. "I thought you'd like this kind of party. I like to distance myself from the buzz when I can"

Y/n nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "A safe space."

"Something like that," he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long.

"So," Lewis began, breaking the building tension "I’m still waiting to hear about your dreams"

And so, for some ungodly pull, at a rather uncomfortable stool, she opened up to a man she had never really expected to create any kind of connection. Maybe, exactly because she never so that coming, it felt so easy to tell him her most guarded hopes.

She spoke of her platform as a way to democratize fashion, to give a voice to those who felt unseen, unheard. She spoke of empowering individuals to express themselves through who they really were, regardless of social status or bank balance.

As Y/n talked, she noticed Lewis's eyes gleaming with genuine interest. He wasn't just listening politely, he interest genuine, his questions insightful and thought-provoking. And she wondered if it was really that unexpected to find this depth hidden beneath him.

"That's incredible" Lewis said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re giving people the tools for them to tell their stories."

"Exactly" Y/n said, a sense of understanding as he smiled with her. "It's about self-expression, about telling the world who you are."

A thoughtful frown etched itself onto Lewis's face as she leaned into the counter. "You know," he said, pausing mid-sentence, "you're quite a puzzle, Y/n."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Me? A puzzle?”

"There's this incredible fire in you" he continued, his voice low and husky, "a passion for giving others a voice. But then there's this… " he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"What?" she scoffed playfully. "I always thought I such was an open book."

Lewis chuckled; a dark, sexy sound that surely didn’t go unnoticed. "You talk about empowering others, yet I get the feeling there's a whole story you haven't shared of where that desire comes from"

Their connection had been simmering throughout the night, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Now, with Lewis's gaze holding hers captive, it threatened to tip over.

The conversation around them seemed to fade away, swallowed by the growing awareness between them. Y/n felt his unspoken questions echoing in her mind, a challenge she couldn't ignore.

As the night wore on, the guests gradually dwindled. One by one, they bid farewell to Lewis, leaving him and Y/n alone amidst the empty bottles and scattered laughter.

Y/n found her gaze drawn to him again. He stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, his profile sharp and captivating. The urge to break the silence, to bridge the growing gap between them, became overwhelming.

She rose from the stool, her movements deliberate, and walked towards him. He turned, his surprise evident in his eyes.

"Everyone's gone, I should go" she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don’t. Please" he replied, his gaze still locked on hers. "I’d love if you could stay and"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Y/n cut him off, stopping just inches away from him. The air crackled with electricity, the unspoken desire a tangible force between them.

She glanced at the faint outline of his abdomen in the fabric of his Dior shirt, her fingers tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric. Then, in a bold move, she let her nails lightly scratch across his chest, sending a jolt of heat through him.

Lewis's breath hitched. He pulled her closer by her waist, his eyes burning into hers.

Their lips met in a heated kiss, a clash of urgency and teeth. Lewis's hands roamed freely over her back, his touch numbing her to the surroundings. He was hungry for all of her.

Y/n found herself caught in the current, her own desire rising to meet his. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

A dark part of her, a voice fueled by the intoxicating aura of him, entertained the idea of becoming just another name on his long list of conquests.

But then, as his hand reached for her thigh, a wave of clarity put an end to the haze. This wasn't a one-night stand she craved. This connection, potent and undeniable, deserved more.

Y/n broke the kiss, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Lewis," she whispered, her voice husky.

He stared at her, confusion, concern and desire evident in his eyes.

"Dinner first," she said, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Then maybe we can explore this mystery you see in me."

A slow smile spread across Lewis's face, the heat in his eyes softening to amusement. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice raspy. "But consider this a warning. I don't give up easily."

Sunlight danced across the Aegean Sea, glowing through the large round window of the yacht's cabin. Y/n stood before the vanity, applying a final touch of lipstick, her reflection a picture of contentment.

Five years. Five years since that MET and Lewis's afterparty, a whirlwind that had swept them off their feet and turned their world upside down.

A soft knock at the door startled her. "Come in," she called out, her voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

The door creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside. He was a vision in his crisp white linens, his hair free from the braids.

But it was the velvety box in his hand that held her attention.

"There you are," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he walked towards her.

Y/n watched him through the mirror, her heart still skipping a beat whenever he was around. He stopped behind her, his warmth radiating through her back.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"A little something for my favorite fashion journalist" he replied, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned close.

He opened the box, inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, lay a breathtaking piece of jewelry – a floral crown crafted from delicate diamonds. Each petal was meticulously designed, some adorned with tiny thorns, others bursting into bloom.

It was both graceful and powerful. And it wasn’t quite a necklace, nor quite a tiara. It was a piece of art.

"Lewis," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "It's…incredible."

He took the crown from the box, his touch gentle as he held it up to the light. "Anne Wintour helped me design it," he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. "She said it reminded her of your outfit at the Met Gala, all those years ago."

Y/n held her breath as she looked at the jewelry. The floral crown, a memory of their initial spark, now reimagined with diamonds. The strength and beauty of their love that had blossomed despite adversity.

"The thorns," he said, her voice barely a whisper, "they represent the challenges we've faced, the distance, the different worlds..."

"And the flowers," he finished after clasping it to her neck, his voice husky with emotion, "represent our love, always blooming, even in the face of those challenges."

He adjust it to her skin, his touch gentle. "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread" he said, his gaze holding hers.

He cupped her hand in his, his eyes brimming with love. "Someone who wears her heart on her sleeve," he continued, his voice low and husky.

She turned and their lips met slowly, a lingering kiss that spoke volumes of their love and shared journey.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," he whispered, pulling away but not letting go, his eyes shining brighter than any star.

"Happy anniversary, Lewis" she replied, the diamond floral piece catching the sunlight and reflecting a thousand tiny rainbows in their eyes.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf @priopp123

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[holylulusworld]

Lumberjack Tales - The Hairy Bear

Summary: He doesn’t want to have company.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Ari Levinson x fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, spanking, orgasm denial, possessive Ari, a hint of dark/grey Ari?

Rating: Explicit

Square filled for @julybreakbingo: Square filled: "Park"

Square filled for @eclipsingbingo: Held down

This story is part of my Lumberjack Tales masterlist

Solitude. No people. No stress. No noises. That’s how he likes it, and he wouldn’t want to change it for anything.

He chose this life. After selling his company for more money than he could ever spend, Ari bought a forest to build a huge, luxurious cabin for himself alone. He’s got everything he needs. And what he doesn’t get, he can make with his strong hands.

Some people may call him crazy. A former CEO and successful businessman turning into a lumberjack building his furniture on free terms. Ari doesn’t care. He gives a shit on other people’s opinion.

Today is one of the rare days he must drive to the only town near his private forest. Ari hates leaving his solitude and meeting people. After a bad divorce, he’s not the most social person.

But – a man gotta eat even if he’s got a beautiful garden behind his cabin and a lake filled with fish. He needs more to fill his pantry. Beer, toilet paper, and batteries do not grow on trees.

“Mr. Levinson,” Susie, the clerk from the grocery store chirps when Ari walks toward the checkout. “Is that all?” She glances at the two shopping carts filled with everything he’ll need over the next weeks. Maybe even a month, or two. “Plastic or paper?”

“Paper,” he grumbles under his breath. “Plastic is bad for the environment.” Ari shakes his head at his words. Years ago, he would’ve given a shit on the environment or nature. He was obsessed with making money, a pretty woman, and fast cars.

“Sure,” she gives him a tight smile but says nothing. “Just a minute.” She snaps her fingers at the new bag boy. “Sean, get over here. We have a customer.”

Ari would like to roll his eyes as the boy groans loudly. He was on his phone, undoubtedly making a TikTok video to share with his two followers instead of doing his job.

“SEAN!” She grunts when he doesn’t move an inch. “If you don’t come here in a second, you are fired.”

“Man, if I made my first million with my video, I’ll quit,” Sean grumbles while reluctantly starting to pack Ari’s groceries into paper bags. “You will see. I’ll get out of this shitty town in no time.”

Ari holds back a comment. He learned that it’s better to shut your mouth and not get involved with the town’s folk. Unlike the cheery clerk at the grocery store, most people in this sleepy little town do not like him.

Especially because he stopped them from clearing the forest he bought. “Cash or card?”

“Card,” Ari swipes his card over the device. “Have a good day.”

Before Sean can grab the bags to carry them outside, Ari wraps his arms around the paper bags to carry them out of the store.

“Idiot!” Susie mutters. “You had to piss him off. Now he won’t come back anytime soon.”

Sean harrumphs. “This is the only store in town. Your love interest will be back. This doesn’t mean he wants to take you out…”

Back in his cabin Ari busies himself putting the groceries and toiletries away. Only to make a list for more. Soon it will be winter, and he needs more supplies. Ari hates driving to town during winter. He tries to leave his cabin less during the cold times.

His dog lies on the carpet in front of the fireplace in the living room, yawning loudly as his owner tells him they’ll need more wood.

“Come, buddy. We go for one last round for tonight,” Ari clicks his tongue, causing his dog to jump up and follow him toward the door. The Estrela Mountain Dog walks next to Ari as he steps out of the cabin.

Ari closes his eyes and inhales the air deeply. He can already smell the approaching thunderstorm. “We need to hurry, buddy. I know how much you hate getting your fur wet.”

He flashes his dog a smile before buttoning up his red-black checkered plaid. “Let’s go, Bear. We don’t wanna miss dinner.”

“HEY! STOP! This is private property!”

You are already out of breath when the man and his dog chase after you. All you wanted was to go for a swim in the lake. How should you have known that the forest is private property? You camped in forests all your life without getting into trouble.

Now this big guy is chasing after you like a madman. “STOP! You cannot come to my property and steal…”

“Bear. Get them!” The man calls for his dog. The giant beast speeds up to outrun you. It jumps at you. Pushing against your back so you land on the ground, face first in the mud. Rain is pouring down on you, soaking your shorts and shirt. “Good job!”

The dog sits down on your back, making you groan loudly. “Get off me you beast.”

“Hold them down,” the man approaches you and the dog. He crouches down next to you to rip your baseball cap off your head. “What are you doing on my property?"

“I wanted to go for a swim, dude! I camp not far away from the lake. I didn’t know this was private property! Who buys a fucking forest!! That’s just wrong.”

“Dude?” He laughs. “Bear, we caught an angry wood nymph, not an intruder.” The man clicks his tongue, and the beast finally gets off your back. “There are warning signs, lady.”

“I told you,” You struggle to get on your knees, groaning as your back hurts from the dog’s attack, “I didn’t see a sign. I camp wherever I want to.”

“Not on my property,” he snaps at you as he gets back up. “Come on, the thunderstorm will only get worse.” He holds out his hand as you struggle to get back on your feet. The dog got you good. “I’ll show you the way back to the road.”

“Fucker,” you slap his hand away and get back up on your feet without his help. “You can’t let your dog attack people.”

“You are an intruder, and he tried to defend my property.”

“Dude, do I look like a danger to you, your dog, or your property?” You size the man up. He quirks a brow. “That’s what I thought.” While you try to rub the dirt from your knees and shin, the man huffs.

“You walk around my property with your little backpack and believe you get away with it? Lady, this is not a park. You can’t just come here and waltz around my property like you own it.”

“I got it, okay. This is your forest, and you hate people,” you wrinkle your nose as the rain runs down your face. “If you’d excuse me now. I’ll find my way out of your forest and into the next to put up my tent somewhere else.”

“In the middle of a thunderstorm?” He asks. “You’re not only a criminal but crazy too. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Well, good thing that I’m not your problem, Mr. Property,” you turn around to walk opposite the way you came from. “Have a nice life.”

“Lady, that’s crazy,” despite his former behavior, he follows you. “The rain is going to get worse. You’re going to catch a cold or worse.”

“Anything is better than being around you,” you side-eye the man. If he gets too close, you’ll get your pepper spray out and show him what happens when he messes with you.

“Wait…wait up,” he grabs your arm to stop you from running off.

“Don’t touch me,” you try to wiggle out of his grasp. “I’m warning you! I got the black belt!”

He releases you but blocks your path. “I won’t hurt you, lady. My name is Ari, this is Bear.” Ari points at his dog. “He didn’t want to hurt you. If Bear wanted to hurt you, you’d be dog food.”

“You have a way with words, huh?” You look him up and down. “So…where is this street?”

“We can’t walk through the forest now,” he sighs and points toward something in the distance. “If you don’t want to walk through a forest in the middle of one of the worst thunderstorms this area ever experienced, you should come with me to my cabin.”

“Right,” you curl your upper lip. “I’ll go with you to your cabin so you can make a filet out of my ass. I won’t go anywhere with you.”

Ari snorts. He starts laughing as you watch him. “I don’t want to eat you, lady,” he grins. “I mean, I love to eat a lady out.” His eyes drop to your soaked shorts, “but only if she begs me.”

You look down at your soaked clothes. Your backpack gets heavier per minute and Ari is right, the rain is mercilessly pouring down on you. “I’ll take a picture and send it to my friend with our position and your name.”

“Be my guest,” Ari poses for you. He grins into the camera when you snap a few pictures to send them to your friend. “What about Bear?”

“Fine,” you snap a few pictures of the dog to send them to your friend too. “If you kill me now, you’ll get hunted down by my friends.”

“I won’t take the risk,” Ari winks at you. “Come on. I want to get out of my wet clothes and have some coffee.”

You begrudgingly follow Ari, hoping he’s not a psycho killer or looking for a basement wife…

“See, I’m not a killer,” Ari hands you another cup of tea. “After the storm calmed, I’ll drive you to town. You shouldn’t camp in the only other forest around here.”

“Why?” you take a sip before looking at him. You cannot deny that he’s not as bad as you believed he was. Ari offered sweatpants and one of his plaids to you. He shared his dinner with you and brewed tea for you.

“Let’s say the men around here a rather…hmm…how do I put it…”

“Assholes?”

“I think that sums it up,” Ari sits on the other side of the couch to give you space. After the first minutes he knew, you’re not a bad person and now he tries to make you see, that he’s not a bad guy either.

“Hmm…crap,” you sigh deeply. “I wanted to do something reckless for once and now, my friend will laugh about me.”

“You never camped before, right?” He watches you drop your gaze. “Why did you lie?”

“My friends bragged about their adventure trips, and I only ever soaked in the sun or visited museums during holidays. I bought a tent and…you know the rest.”

Ari snorts. “You’re the worst camper I ever met.”

“Fair,” you shrug and giggle as his eyes drop to your legs. He subconsciously licks his lips and shifts in his seat. “So…” you scoot a little closer to Ari, “how long are you living here…alone?”

“Hmm…?” He lifts his eyes from your legs to meet your eyes. “A few years.” Ari murmurs. “I left my old life behind to live here, on my own.”

“Must’ve been a good life,” you scoot even closer to look Ari in the eyes. “This is not a normal cabin. It’s rather…luxurious.”

Ari drops his eyes to your lips, licking his own. “I was a businessman before becoming a lumberjack.”

“Lumberjack,” you purr the word. “You mean the big guys wearing plaids and cutting wood.” This time, you lick your lips. “You must be very strong if you cut wood all day.”

“Not all day, sweetness,” Ari scoots a little closer, his thigh brushing yours. “Only if I need wood for my fireplace.”

“Hmm…” you get bold and move your hand to his bicep, squeezing hard. “Very strong.”

“Strong enough to throw you around if you come to my property and try to swim in my lake,” he moves his hand to your thigh, toying with the sweatpants you’re wearing. “I can spank you too, to make sure you’ll never break into anyone’s property again.”

Your eyelashes flutter, and your lips part. “You think I’d let you spank me for breaking into your property?”

His cheeks dimple. Ari dips his head as his hand creeps higher until he can press it flat against your mound. “I think you’d let me do anything I want to do to you.”

“Look at you,” he purrs in your ear. “Such a good girl, kneeling for me. I bet,” Ari circles you to watch you kneel in front of his couch. He pushes against your shoulders, forcing you to bend your upper half over the couch. “Hmm…what a nice ass you have.”

Ari cups the back of your neck to hold you down on the couch. He’s not too rough but makes sure you can feel his strength.

“I’d love to just fuck you, but you’d only cum all over my cock. I need you to feel the consequences of your actions in your bones.” Ari runs his free hand over your ass, humming as you start to whimper. He grips one cheek roughly, testing your reaction. “I’ll use this body to my liking, and you won’t deny me.”

You choke out a moan when the first smack hits your ass. “Yes…”

“Count, little tramp,” his features harden, and he smacks your cheek a little harder this time.

“One.”

“Again,” he slaps your other cheek, making it sting. “Again!”

“Two.”

“How many can you take?” It’s not a question. Ari told you he’ll give you ten, and you’ll take ten with pleasure if you get his glorious cock in return. You’re already soaking wet and cannot deny that the next smack pushes you closer to the edge.

“All you have to give, sir,” you whimper. “Three…”

“Good girl,” he soothingly runs his hand over your stinging cheeks. “Seven more and you’ll get something nice.”

The next smacks come faster and harder. “Four, five, six, seven,” at eight you’re out of breath and cry out in pleasured pain.

“Eight, nine,” he slaps your ass with both hands. “And lastly,” he slams his hand between your legs, hitting your clit. Your legs tremble and you soak his hand with your cum.

“Oh God…” You can’t come down from your unexpected high. Ari grabs you by the back of your neck to push you onto the couch.

You end up underneath him, whimpering as he moves one hand to your crotch to lift your butt to help him sink into you. He pokes your entrance, impatiently pushing the first inches into your weeping hole.

“Fuck, that’s a wet cunt,” he groans in your ear while conquering your cunt with one hard thrust. “Yeah, you’re a good girl.”

Pressed into the furniture by his hard body you can’t do anything but lie there and let him slowly fuck into you. Your juices soak his cock, and his balls with every deep thrust.

Ari is by all means not gentle. He fucks you for punishment, to make sure your body knows you did a bad thing. “Oh, baby. I lied,” he whispers in your ear after a particularly deep thrust. “I’m going to keep you here for my pleasure.” He thrusts three, or four more times, always avoiding hitting your G-spot.

Ari purrs your name and fills your cunt seconds later. “Aw, don’t whine, baby,” he sinks his teeth in your neck to leave another mark on your body. “This was punishment. You’ll cum when I allow you to cum.”

He groans against your neck, teeth grazing over one of the marks he left. Ari is a man possessed. After he filled you for the first time, he took his time to rub cream into your ass. He toyed with you, fingers and tongue bringing you to the edge, only to not let you cum again.

With your hands restrained to the bedpost, you can only watch him move on top of you. Your hands itch to touch him, but you haven’t earned it yet. You’ve been a bad girl, and he won’t allow you to get more than he’s willing to give.

Ari slowly thrusts into you, thick cock rubbing against your walls. “I want you to cum for me. Come on, little tramp, soak my cock. I want to fill this slutty hole up.”

“Please—” you eagerly meet his thrusts. “I need…please…Sir…A-R-I…” You shudder through your high. Your whole body sizes up and for a moment, you fear you died and ended up in heaven. This is the most intense orgasm you ever experienced, and it takes your breath away.

“Good…” Ari thrusts one last time and stills his hips. His warmth fills you again, and you wonder how many times he already fucked you before he let you come. “Good girl. So, fucking good for me.”

He collapses on top of you, exhausted and satisfied. “Fuck…” you breathe out. “Fuck…fuck…that was…”

“Damn, this cunt feels so good. I’m glad you’re a criminal wanting to break into my property. I didn’t have such a good fuck in years…”

“Well…I got two more weeks off so…” you wiggle your hips, making Ari groan. “I could just invade your property for a little longer and you can punish me again.”

Ari lifts his head to look at you underneath him. He smirks, liking your idea. While you look up at him, mirroring his smirk Ari plans to keep you forever…

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[heyjudeb]

It Couple - Jude Bellingham

Summary: Jude and Y/N share a cute and affectionate moment on the red carpet Word Count: >1k Warnings: fluff, romantic moment The red carpet was a dazzling cascade of lights as celebrities and influencers made their grand entrances. Among them, Jude Bellingham and Y/N Y/L/N, the stunning Victoria's Secret model, stood out like a royal couple. Jude, dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that accentuated his athletic frame, exuded an aura of confidence and charm. Y/N, radiant in a custom-made Versace gown that hugged her curves perfectly, looked every bit the goddess she was often portrayed as on the runway. The gown, a deep emerald green, brought out the striking color of her eyes and contrasted beautifully with her cascading waves of chestnut hair. "You look stunning, baby." Jude said in her ear while keeping his hand on her waist constantly, tugging on it from time to time. "You're my best accessory, that's for sure." Y/N said giving him a kiss on the cheek. As they posed for photos, Jude kept his arm firmly around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer every now and then. Each time their eyes met, their smiles grew, the connection between them clear to everyone watching. Jude’s subtle tugs at her waist were more than just for the cameras; they were a silent reassurance, a display of his affection. They moved down the carpet, Jude spotting a familiar face in the crowd. “Hey, mate!” he called out, giving his friend a quick hug and handshake.

Y/N continued down the carpet, her graceful walk turning heads. An interviewer approached her with a microphone. “Y/N, you look amazing tonight. Who are you wearing?”

“Thank you so much,” Y/N replied, her smile radiant. “I’m wearing Versace. They did an incredible job with this gown.” The interviewer nodded. “And how’s the event going for you so far?”

“It’s been fantastic. It’s great to see so many talented people here,” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling." So, I'm enjoying it very much?" "Where is your mister, Y/N?" the interviewer asked Y/N, smiling. Just then, Y/N felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist from behind. Jude gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, causing her to blush. Jude has no problem showing affection in front of the cameras, which is the opposite of Y/N. She's more reserved and shy, that's why Jude likes to put her in the spot and finds it very cute. "There he is" Y/N said resting her hands on his arms. “Ah, here’s Jude!” the interviewer exclaimed, turning her attention to him. “You two make such a beautiful couple. Can you tell us a bit about your relationship?”

Jude grinned and pulled away from Y/N, holding her hand. “Well, I have to say, it’s been a challenge. You know, trying to keep up with a supermodel,” he said, winking at Y/N. “But seriously, she’s amazing. I think we just balance each other out.” Y/N nodded at his words, looking in his eyes, admiring him. The interviewer smiled, then hesitated for a moment before asking, "There have been some rumors recently about you two possibly taking a break. Can you address those?"

Y/N's expression dropped slightly. She saw those rumors going around on social media and the comments of him being better off without her still affect her. But before she could respond, Jude squeezed her hand reassuringly and stepped in. “Oh, those rumors,” he said lightly, a charming smile on his face. “We hear them too, and we just laugh. I'm not going to let this beauty slip away from me that easily, so rest assured, everyone!” Y/N felt so happy and at ease once she heard these words coming from him. Obviously, she was sure about his feelings for her, but hearing him say those things openly with no regrets made her feel even more special.

"That's great to hear! May I ask shortly, how did you meet? I don't think you've shared that story in an interview before." The interview asked again, eager to get as much from them as possible. "Well, I don't think we shared, did we?" Y/N turned to Jude to ask him. "Nah, I don't think so," Jude replied, smiling. "We met at a charity event a couple of years ago. I saw her across the room and knew I had to talk to her. Best decision I ever made."

Y/N laughed softly, her eyes glowing with affection. "He was so nervous. It was adorable."

The interviewer beamed. “That’s a lovely story. What do you enjoy most about your relationship?”

Jude looked thoughtful. “I think it’s the way we support each other. We both have busy careers, but we always make time for each other.” Y/N nodded. “We also love having fun together. He makes me laugh every day.” The interviewer smiled warmly. “You two are truly inspiring. Thank you for sharing. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As they walked away, Jude leaned down and whispered in Y/N’s ear, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Y/N blushed, her cheeks warming. “And you’re my favorite person,” she whispered back, her eyes full of love. They finally reached the end of the carpet, where a sleek black car waited to take them to the after-party. Inside, the atmosphere was cozy and private. Jude held Y/N’s hand, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “I’m so glad you’re here with me tonight,” he said sincerely.

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” she replied softly.

[theamberfist]

Hell's Second Greatest Dad | Vox + Reader + Alastor

Familial! Alastor is reader's dad, Vox is the dad that stepped up

Description: With your dad, the Radio Demon, having been missing for seven years, you've come to see Vox as father figure instead. But when Alastor shows back up one day, he's furious to find his old friend trying to take his child away from him.

(Notes: CW Alastor, angst) (gender neutral reader) (Reader is Alastor's kid from life) (Could be biological or adopted) (Teen Reader)

❀ This one will have a song! It's a rewrite of Hell's Greatest Dad, but with Alastor in Lucifer's place and Vox in Alastor's place (Alastor gets a taste of his own medicine) ❀

Words: 4,049

"Tomorrow's forecast calling for acid rain with tornadoes picking up around noon in the Doomsday Distract," The familiar voice of hell's iconic tech demon explained, "And now for our Reader's Segment!" He smiled, placing the papers he'd been reading off of on the table in front of him and looking back up at the camera. 

Once he announced your name, the TV screen promptly changed to show you curled up on a plush couch with a fuzzy blanket and a book on your lap. "Take it away, kid." Vox's voice said through the earpiece you always wore while on-air in case he needed to communicate with you. 

"Thanks, sir." You smiled at the camera before turning your gaze down to the book in your lap, "Tonight we'll be reading something a little slower paced. It's fun, cozy, and perfect for a night like this, so let's begin." With that, you announced the title of your current favorite book and then flipped it open, reading aloud. 

The set around you was decorated to resemble a cozy living room; with a crackling fireplace behind your couch, a fake window to your left that was supposed to make it seem as if it overlooked a snowy field, and the softest carpet you'd ever walked on. The log walls were decorated with photos of cute animals since you had no family photos to adorn them, and both the couch, blanket, and carpet were soothing shades of light pink and purple that greatly contrasted the harsh the blues and red of your boss while still remaining within the same domain. 

You read in your most soothing tone, which many viewers liked to claim had the ability to lull them to sleep almost instantly, even if you had no such power that you knew of. Though, you supposed anything calming and cozy like this would have been a great relief in a place like hell, which had been your goal from the beginning. 

Vox was hesitant about your segment when you first pitched it, considering it was so different from the rest of the shows he ran, but eventually he gave it a chance, and it had only ever paid off since. As far as sinners went, you were adorable, and it wasn't just because you were young compared to most of the adults in hell. That, coupled with the cozy vibe of your set and the books you read, was enough to keep viewers coming back, meaning there were more people to see Vox's commercials and, therefore, become his customers. 

Not to mention the fact that it made him look good in the public eye. A teenage sinner who liked to read their little books for the public, and whose soul he didn't even bother to own? He looked more kindhearted than half of hell's overlords combined, no matter his intentions. 

The only person that didn't approve of your reading segment currently stood on a sidewalk somewhere in Pentagram City, watching through the window of a shop. Despite his apparent smile, his eyes were narrowed in disapproval at the screen.

To those who didn't know him, he would have simply looked like a regular sinner; interested in listening to you read the story you seemed to excited about. Had they been paying attention, they might have noticed the way his hands tightened around the microphone he held or how his red deer-like ears tugged back slightly. 

And as for those that did have the sense to recognize him, they wouldn't have even had the time to notice those details, because they would have already turned and walked the other way upon seeing the Radio Demon back after his seven year absence. 

About an hour later, you finished your segment, feeling a little sleepy yourself from the calming sounds of the fire and a good book. Even your cameraman seemed to barely be able to keep his eyes open at this point.

"I think we'll stop there for tonight," you said with a yawn, gently placing your Vox Tech bookmark between the pages and closing your book, "Tune in tomorrow, where we'll continue the story from where we left off." You were talking even more quietly than you had at the beginning, not wanting to disturb any of the viewers at home that may have fallen asleep. Though, it was a futile effort, considering a blaring commercial would likely run the second you were off-air again. "This has been the Reader's Segment; thank you and goodnight!" 

With that, your cameraman signaled that you were now off-air and you yawned again, wrapping the fuzzy purple blanket around yourself despite the warmth of the nearby ambient fire. 

A moment later, the door to your recording set opened and in stepped Vox himself with a familiar frown on his face. He looked around, though, and the second his eyes landed on you, the expression was replaced by a  picturesque smile. "There they are!" He exclaimed happily, walking over to you as you blinked sleepily at him. 

"Hi." You smiled through your hazy tiredness, making the tech demon soften just a bit. 

"Well done, kid." He said, ruffling your hair, "As always." Vox gently placed a hand on your back, leading you towards the studio door and leaving the rest of his workers to clean the set up behind you. "I have to say, I never expected a 'cute' segment like yours to do so well," he went on, ever the businessman, as you half-listened. "Turns out comfort was exactly what pathetic sinners wanted all along!" He glanced your way, his smile becoming more genuine now, before adding, "I'm proud of you, kid." That got your full attention now. 

You'd only heard the words a few times in your whole life, despite the huge positive effect they always had on you. Even the man that had raised you; the one that should have been the most proud in the end, had never actually told you so. Vox may not have been related to you by blood, or even legally, but hearing that phrase from him still made you grin.

"Thanks." You replied, unsure of how to convey how much his pride meant to you. Luckily, it seemed you didn't need to, because he just nodded and then brought you over to the nearby elevator. 

"It's the truth, kid," he replied, pressing the button that would take you up to his designated floor. Each of the V's had one, with Vox's being the highest, that was technically supposed to be solely their living space. However, after you began working for him, Vox ended up converting one of the rooms on his floor to make it yours. Now, your bedroom was the first door on the right after entering Vox's floor. 

"Though, it looked to me like that bookshelf of yours is starting to get a little empty..." He was referring to the shelf found on your set. It housed each of the books you planned on reading next in no particular order. This way, when you finished one for the show, you could immediately pick a new pre-approved one from the back shelf. The one you were done with would then be moved up to your room for you to keep, which was beginning to look more like a library with how many titles there were inside. 

"Did it?" You asked, feeling a little embarrassed, "I can grab a few more to add to it tomorrow." Vox shook his head, though, as the elevator finally reached your shared floor. 

"No need," he replied, "How about we buy some more tomorrow; call it a shopping day?" With how many unread books you already had making a mess in your room, there was really no need to buy any more. But after the first year of having you around, he realized making you happy tended to lift some of the stress and burden he felt off his shoulders, so he did so whenever possible. 

"Really?!" You asked, stars practically shining in your eyes as you stepped out of the elevator. Vox nodded, a warm smile on his face. 

"Of course; can't have my best segment lacking stories, now can I?" You grinned, hugging him without even thinking. At some point during your time working for him, it had become a natural gesture.

Vox rested a hand on your head with a grin, patting your hair. He'd never expected to get so attached to a kid, much less you, of all people, and yet here he was, enjoying the hug as if he were your close family member. 

Once the excitement of the news seemed to die down for you, that fuzzy, tired feeling from before came back. "Thanks, dad..." You mumbled into the tech demon's coat. His eyes widened for just a moment before a smile reappeared on his face. You probably hadn't even realized what you'd just said, and yet, it felt so right for him to hear it. 

"No problem, kid." He replied. Finally, he pulled away, patting your shoulder. "Now, you'd better get to bed if you're going to have enough energy for book shopping tomorrow." You grinned again, wrapping your soft blanket a little tighter around your body. 

"Right." You said, gently rubbing your now-very-tired eyes. "Goodnight!" You called as you turned and opened the door to your bedroom. 

"Goodnight." Vox replied softly before you closed the door behind you and disappeared. He could hear a muffled 'flop' sound somewhere inside, realizing you'd likely collapsed onto your bed immediately after entering. 

He chuckled softly before turning to head to his own room. Vox tended to stay up much later than you most nights; handling various paperwork and business. Today was no exception, but as he made his way to his office, which was attached to the bedroom, he spared a glance at the framed photo that sat propped on his bedside table. In it, you were depicted, holding up the camera to take a selfie. Vox was there too, an arm around your shoulders as he posed for the camera. Both of you looked so happy; smiling brightly as if you had not a care in the world.

It was his favorite photo; thus why it always remained on his nightstand. He turned away now, heading for his office with a renewed determination to get things done. After falling out with his closest friend seven years ago, the tech demon had assumed nothing else would ever be able to bring him joy again.

And he had been right, until you came along. 

..........

You were up bright and early the next day; too early for Vox's standards. He'd barely gotten any sleep, as per usual, but had smelled the breakfast you were making in the kitchen once he came out of his extra office. 

As soon as he entered, you'd smiled and sat him down at the table, handing him a plate of your personal favorite breakfast food. Of course that had been what you chose to wake up and make this early in the morning.

Regardless, the tech demon humored you, knowing you were just excited to get to go book shopping later that day. 

Once you'd both eaten, you hurriedly shoved him into his room, insisting he get dressed and ready for the day while you did the same. Apparently, you wanted to be at the bookstore the second it opened, but who was Vox to deny you, when it seemed to make you so happy?

Once you both were ready, the two of you took the elevator down to the V Tower lobby, with Vox ignoring several calls from his assistant along the way. He could wait until later, the tech demon decided. Instead, he listened to you go on and on about the books you planned to get and how excited you were. It seemed you had a fully prepared list, and Vox was ready to get every single one on it if it brought you joy. Finally, you reached the ground floor and the elevator dinged as the doors opened.

And almost immediately, you were met with the sounds of shouting and windows breaking. Clearly, there was already a commotion, even though it was even ten in the morning yet. Sighing, Vox stepped out first, followed promptly by you, who would never miss out on a scoop if you could help it; especially if it was happening in your own 'basement.'

What you saw was even more surprising than expected. The employees that usually worked on this floor were running around like chickens with their heads cut off; many of them screaming in fear. The secretary that usually worked the front desk was dangling in the air; held by an eerie black tentacle that you recognized all too well. Following it with your gaze, you could see that it was attached to none other than a red deer-like demon, whose body had morphed so that he was almost too tall to fit in the room.

A green 'X' mark sat on his forehead, further confirming that he was currently in his demonic form as he held the secretary up to his eye level.

"Where are they?!" He demanded, his radio static voice somehow even more haunting than usual. 

"I'm not authorized to tell you that!" The secretary screeched, covering his eyes as the tentacle's grip tightened around him and began bringing him towards the demon's open mouth.

Vox's assistant stood off to the side, frantically typing something on his phone amidst the panic. So, that was why he'd been calling so much this morning.

With a sigh, the tech demon activated his mind control powers, taking a step forward into the chaos. "Stop!" He shouted, his voice distorted. Suddenly, everything came to a stop, except the giant demon still holding his secretary, who slowly turned his head in your direction.

Still smiling, his eyes narrowed for a moment before he suddenly noticed you standing there, instantly reverting back to his normal form as if nothing had happened. The black tentacles that had been holding the secretary disappeared, causing them to fall to the floor with a thud. Meanwhile, the Radio Demon adjusted his coat jacket and stepped forward.

"Finally," he called, holding his microphone-cane behind him, "The man in charge, so to speak." Both you and Vox tensed, and you looked to the tech demon, unsure what to do. 

When neither of you said anything, Alastor spoke again. "And it seems you've found my little one!" He exclaimed with an even wider smile, "Good, then I'll have no need to search this entire building for them." Vox's eyes narrowed at the idea, and he was about to take a step to the side, so as to block you, when you finally spoke.

"Papa...?" Your voice was quiet; hurt. The tech demon hated it but you took a step forward, nonetheless. This was, as much as he hated to admit it, technically your father; the man you hadn't seen or even heard from once in the last seven years. That would have shocked anyone. 

"There you are, my dear!" Alastor said, opening his arms to you as if expecting a hug. "Come along, now. We have quite a bit to catch up on!" You didn't move. 

Vox took a step forward, sensing your uncertainty. "You've been missing for seven years," he replied, "They don't have to go with you." Alastor's eyes narrowed. 

"They're my child," he said, "So I'd suggest you get out of the way before things get ugly, old pal." You bit your lip. As much as you'd longed to see your father again all this time, now that you were faced with that reality, you weren't so sure. You'd only just come to accept the fact that he would never be returning for you, and now here he was, acting as if nothing had even happened. 

You used to be close with him, but now it felt like he wasn't even the same person anymore. Vox, of all people, had had to take you in after your dad left without warning, and since then, he'd become the only father figure you had in your life. 

Alastor glanced between the two of you with what would have been a scowl, if not for the permanent smile on his face. Everyone else had all but cleared the room now; leaving only the three of you there in your standoff. 

You were frozen; unsure what to do, and you knew Alastor could see it. It was like having to choose between your two parents in a divorce, except in this situation, it was the once-loving-father that had abandoned you and the man that had stepped up ever since. 

Unfortunately, Alastor didn't seem to read the situation the same way you did, because with his flare for the dramatics, he went on.

"Darling," he sighed before bringing out his mic and beginning a song. Now you knew there was no going back. "Looks like you could use some help," he began, "from hell's Radio Demon himself!" 

Alastor swung his cane, summoning two familiar sinners to the room to back him up now. "Never trust the one who's acting so heartfelt!" He pointed in Vox's direction, and Nifty immediately scurried over, jumping on Vox's shoulder. 

"Traitor!" She exclaimed adamantly before the tech demon ripped her off of him. Husk, however, was less enthusiastic. 

"Heartless," he said, ignoring how Vox glared and began to stalk towards him, only for Nifty to jump and latch onto his back now. 

"A total snake!" She exclaimed and he tried to shake her off again. Meanwhile, the two of them provided enough distraction now for Alastor to gently grab you by the arm and pull you away. 

"Oh, with enough motivation, dear," he went on, "He'll betray you, standing right here!"  Before he could get you out of the lobby door, though, Vox had pressed a button to activate the security measures, locking it from the outside. "Usually, you'd learn it on your own, I fear," he went on, "But for you I'd do anything!"

Nifty ran over to the two of you wearing one of your hats she'd gotten off a nearby coat rack now, hugging one of Alastor's legs as if she were pretending to be you. Or at least, a happier version of you. "Thanks, dad!" 

Alastor turned, pointing to Vox, "Who needs a knock-off now that I have returned?" Nifty nodded eagerly, jumping to rest on your father's head. 

"Whoa!" She sang, having way too much fun with this. 

"Come back to radio; have all you could want!" Alastor went on, trying his best to win your favor once more. "I've all the fatherly affection you've earned!" He spun you around once before gently gripping your shoulders and pointing up as if he were showing you something in the sky. "Clothing, safety, souls of the hasty, this we would flaunt!"

Finally, Vox seemed to have had enough because he appeared between the two of you like a bolt of lightning, gently pushing you away from Alastor and towards the elevator. "Who's been here since he was gone?" He reminded you, "Even if you weren't my spawn? Who gave you the segment that makes them yawn?" He pointed to the crowd of sinners outside, who'd gathered by the windows to watch what was going on. Then he smiled and straightened his bowtie. 

"It's your very own producer!" He sang.

"That's true..." You admitted as he pressed the button for the elevator now, already using his demon powers to call the security staff to the lobby to handle Alastor. Any other day, Vox would have done so himself, but having you right there made the situation much more difficult. 

"I support you, day to day!" The tech demon went on, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, "Your books, show; whatever you can name!" The elevator doors opened, and Vox pushed you inside before you could even think of protesting. Once Alastor was out of sight again, he brought up a photo of the bookstore you'd planned to visit.

"Remember I'm taking you shopping today?" He asked just as a video chat with the bookstore's owner appeared.

"Buy our books?" She asked in the same singing-tone everyone seemed to have adopted now, "Thank you sir!" 

The elevator doors dinged now as you reached the third floor, where Vox's security team was stationed. However, the second they opened, all that could be seen was Alastor, along with an empty office and some black tentacles still disappearing from wherever they'd came. 

"I'm truly honored that we've built such a bond," Vox went on as he hurriedly pressed the 'close door' button in the elevator. They began to do so, only for another of Alastor's black tentacles to stop them just in time, ripping the doors open. "You're like the child that I wish that I had!" If Vox could sweat, he surely would have been doing so by now as Alastor's eyes narrowed again. This was the closest you'd ever seen him to not smiling. 

"Excuse me?" The Radio Demon spoke, his pupils already taking the shape of dials. Finally, Vox stood straighter, turning back to you and patting your head. 

"I care for you just like a child spawned!" He sang, knowing it was getting under Alastor's skin. "It's a little funny," he glanced back, a smirk on his features. Your father was seething. "You could almost call me 'dad'!" The second those words left Vox's mouth, Alastor moved to attack him, only for you both to disappear in crackles of electricity. 

The tech demon almost never transported others with him this way, which meant he was taking Alastor's presence in the V's tower seriously. You appeared on your shared floor, which also happened to have a panic room. It had been designed for waiting out exterminations but, considering the situation, Vox figured it would work just fine to keep you from your father now. 

He began pulling you towards it, only for Alastor to appear out of the shadows in front of him. 

"They say when you're looking for assistance," Vox sang, trying to move around him, only to be blocked by a black tentacle, "It's smart to pick the path of least resistance!" He was getting very tired of playing nice with the Radio Demon, especially when the tentacle previously blocking him grabbed onto his arm and pulled him away from you.  

"Others say that in your needy hour," Alastor said, beginning to pull you away from the tech demon, "The one that first raised you is simply never sour!" He spun you around to emphasize the proclamation, then stopped and placed both hands on your shoulders. "Who just happens to have known you in life!" He added a little more intensely.

A second later, though, you were pulled out of your father's grip by Vox, who began rushing you towards the panic room. "Sadly, there are times a child's needs are met with strife!" He exclaimed, pushing you through the door as gently but quickly as possible, "They say the family you choose is better." 

"Pathetic excuses!" Alastor chimed in, grabbing onto your arm just as gently-but-urgently as he attempted to pull you back. 

"Can you butt out of my song?" Vox snapped, pulling harder on your arm. You were halfway through the door now, awkwardly standing there and not knowing what else to do.

"Your song?" Alastor replied with a scoff, "I started it!"

"I'm singing it; I'll finish it!" Vox shouted back, pulling back on your other arm. The pressure was starting to hurt you now but you couldn't seem to get a word in about it as they fought one another. At this rate, you'd be torn in half before they could come to a custody agreement. 

"You're always such a piece of-" Before Alastor could finish his sentence, you finally cut in, pulling your arms out of both their grasps.

"That's it!" You screamed, finally catching their attention despite the entire song having been about you. "I can't do this right now!" You backed away form them both, feeling more than a little hurt and confused. Vox went to speak up but you weren't having it; raising a hand to stop him as you turned and stomped off to your room. "I need time!" And with that, you slammed the door behind you. 

[inkykeiji]

character: valentino warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, possessiveness, toxic relationship, daddy kink, gun play, slight oral fixation, fem!reader who has unspecified piercings notes: for @sovya, who is val’s precious lil princesa ♡ and who always listens to my insane ramblings about ideas i had at exactly 6:20am hehe c: words: 687

Valentino has an interesting little quirk, you’ve come to learn; he always has to have something of his inside of you. It’s a simple fact, really. No matter what it is or where you are, a piece of him must always be within you in some way, shape, or form. 

He, of course, prefers for it to be a part of his body—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—but unfortunately that isn’t always feasible. 

And, of course, there are other objects that work well, too. 

Sometimes it’s his gun, barrel rammed down your throat as far as it possibly can be, teeth scraping against the N of his bedazzled name as you desperately attempt to swallow more, knees sinking into the plush shag of the carpet beneath his work desk, your chin resting on his thigh as you sit at his feet. Your lips pucker tightly around the barrel as they suck, thick dribbles of saliva oozing from the corners of your mouth to drizzle off your jaw in shimmering cords, while a dutiful tongue curls around the heated metal in a protective, almost loving embrace, eager to siphon it further into your body. 

Sometimes it’s one of his shiny gold rings, pressed flat under your tongue as you suck it into your flesh during your daily outings, the metal clacking daintily against your teeth while you mindlessly toy with it, the tip of your tongue hooking through the band then circling the halo in a lazy, messy outline, encrusted salt melting against your tastebuds, staining your tongue with the zest of his sweat. 

Sometimes it’s his favourite bullet vibrator, soft pink silicon engraved with his full name and a smattering of cute little hearts buried deep in your cunt as you go about your day, never knowing when Val might turn it on, turn it up, but always knowing that he’s watching through the discreet cameras he had Vox plant all over your shared condo, always ready for that telltale video call that you better fucking answer right before you cum—and knowing that if you don’t, you’ll be suffering endless edging until Daddy gets home (and sometimes after that, too). 

He gets off on it just as much as you do, chuckling darkly when your knees knock together and your thighs tense, a sharp gasp spilling from your throat and nails chipping as your fingers curl around the edge of the kitchen counter, tauntingly asking if something is wrong, amorcito? as his face swims into view, sadism stretched sharply across his face, eyes glowing with the knowledge that he holds all of your pleasure, all of that power, in the silky palm of his hand, controlling it with the single flick of a notch. 

Sometimes it’s his custom-made heart-shaped studs and barbells, embellished with ostentatious V’s and filling all of your piercings, glinting in the late afternoon sun or heating under your clothes as he drags you from store to store, an arm tightly linked through your own—showing you off, his most cherished accessory, his prettiest prized possession, his best accomplishment.  

If he has to pick a favourite, though, it’s his fingers, one of his four hands wedged between your soft thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt full and idly stroking the silky walls as he works—writing scripts or reviewing footage—and you play—mashing buttons on your pretty pink handheld or colouring a picture for him, book folded at the spine and balancing against your bent knees, little tongue playing with the point of your fang as you concentrate. 

And yet, despite the sensuality of it all, it isn’t even sexual half of the time, going far beyond the shallow pleasures of carnality. Because that secret, shared knowledge that there is a piece of him constantly inside of you—a private claim of ownership in the most intimate sense—provides a deep-seated comfort; a warm, dense calm that roots itself at the very core of your souls, that soothes anxieties and serves as a steadfast reminder: that you are owned, that he owns you, that you belong to one another, always. 

[carpetcrafts-blog]

Custom Hand Tufted Rugs and Carpets Tailored to Your Unique Preferences by Dubai’s Top Companies

In the bustling metropolis of Dubai, where luxury and sophistication reign supreme, the demand for #custom hand tufted carpets tailored to individual preferences has surged. These exquisite floor coverings serve as more than just functional pieces—they are works of art that elevate interior spaces to new levels of opulence and style.

The Consultation Process

The journey toward creating a custom hand crafted carpet begins with a personalized consultation. Here, clients have the opportunity to articulate their design preferences, inspirations, and lifestyle needs. This initial step lays the foundation for a collaborative partnership between the client and Dubai's top carpet companies.

Artistry and Craftsmanship

One of the defining characteristics of #custom made carpets is the unparalleled level of artistry and craftsmanship involved in their creation. Skilled artisans and designers work closely to translate the client's vision into a tangible design concept, ensuring that every detail is meticulously executed to perfection.

Versatility in Design

Dubai's top carpet companies offer a diverse range of design options to cater to varying tastes and preferences. Whether clients seek traditional motifs, contemporary patterns, or abstract compositions, there is no shortage of possibilities when it comes to custom hand crafted carpets.

Quality Materials

Quality is paramount when it comes to crafting custom carpets. #Carpet dealers in Dubai have source the finest materials from around the world, including sumptuous wool, luxurious silk, and eco-friendly options. This commitment to quality ensures that each carpet is not only visually stunning but also durable and long-lasting.

Functionality and Durability

In addition to aesthetics, functionality is a key consideration in the creation of custom hand knotted carpets. Dubai's top carpet companies prioritize durability, resilience, and ease of maintenance, ensuring that each carpet withstands the test of time while retaining its pristine appearance.

Artisanal Touch

Unlike machine-made carpets, custom #hand tufted rugs & carpets bear the mark of artisanal craftsmanship. Each tuft is placed with precision and care, resulting in a product that exudes authenticity, quality, and soul. This human touch sets custom hand tufted carpets apart, elevating them to the realm of true works of art.

Unveiling the Masterpiece

The culmination of the journey is the unveiling of a masterpiece—a custom tufted carpet that encapsulates the client's vision and exceeds their expectations. This moment represents the successful collaboration between client and artisan, resulting in a carpet that not only enhances the beauty of a space but also tells a unique story.

Conclusion

In conclusion, custom carpets offered by #carpet companies in Dubai represent the epitome of luxury, artistry, and sophistication. With their unparalleled design options, quality materials, and artisanal craftsmanship, these carpets have the power to transform any interior space into a haven of elegance and style.

[washeduphazbin]

Vox NSFW Headcannons

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

One would think he wouldn't know what aftercare was, considering he'd lived with Valentino for so long. However, sleeping with Vox was pleasantly surprising. He is very attentive after sex, and you wondered if it was something he carried over from his time alive. Water is always by the bedside, and it gets you snacks if needed or even a hot or cold compress. Sometimes, his screen can get really bright, and he has a custom-made sleeping mask just for you if you get overstimulated after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Vox: He likes his claws; he can be delicate with them, but they can get the work done when necessary.

You: Vox loves your skin; he likes how fragile you feel beneath his fingers.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Unlike many others in Hell, I think Vox is one of the rare men who doesn’t have a raging breeding kink. As long as you both get off, he doesn’t really care where he cums, inside or out. Although…on your face always paints a pretty picture.

His cum is thick and sticky and has a blue bioluminescence feature to it. Like you're (literally) turning on a computer. He cums a lot and has a shorter refractory period than most.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to tie you up in the cables in his ‘lair’. His wires snug around your body accentuating the right parts. Vox would have full control of you, your body, and your movement. The millions of cameras in his lair would be pointed on you and set to record so he never misses a moment of you being ravaged. The way your fucked out face would appear on the millions of screens in front of you both would leave him with enough material to jack off alone for an entire year.

He also absolutely has stolen several pairs of your underwear.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Vox absolutely knows what he’s doing, he’s been with Valentino of all people. As fucked up as Val’s kinks are he has taught Vox a significant amount of his skills.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl.

It’s no secret that this man gets turned on my power. Usually specifically his own, he likes being in control. **BUT** when you take control and top him he’s GONE. Insanely turned on at how you ride him into the ground.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Vox is absolutely not goofy in bed. He’s more serious, he can be a bit snarky with you both quipping back and forth but he takes it seriously. Especially after being with Valentino where sex meant so little, now he treats it like love making.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

So. He has a TV for a head. So, carpets will never match the drapes. I think he wouldn’t have a lot (or any) hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s learned to be more romantic as the two of you progressed your relationship. Again going from Valentino to you was whiplash. At first he assumed you’d like the same stuff his ex liked but that was not the case, especially for your first time sleeping with one another.

Now he’s very romantic. He leaves you flowers every time he enters your room in the tower. When he has to leave for work he always sets up a little breakfast for you. In bed he’s much more attentive than he was at the beginning.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Oh boy, does he. He usually does it when you're not available for an extended period. If you were there, he'd much rather bury himself in your dripping pussy.

That being said, Vox absolutely has a shrine of things he’s stolen from you, mainly your panties. He uses them to jerk off, either fisting his dick with your underwear wrapped around his hand or pressing the crotch to his screen, taking in the scent of you. Other things in the shrine include your perfume, your rings, and a picture of you covered in a blue substance. The only other time he masturbates is if you make him do it in front of you, and god was that hot.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Has a mommy kink and a praise kink. Tell him he's doing an excellent job while your pussy's dripping on his face, and it's a surefire way to crash his systems. Yet, at the same time, he loves to be degraded or have anything that has to do with you being in control of him. He's also into electric stimulation, obviously. Likes when you make him bluescreen. Some errors include. _ERROR_(Y/n)'s_Pussy_too_Good.exe _ERROR_Mommy's_Punishing_Me.exe

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere, anytime. If you're both horny, he'll drag you off somewhere to blow off steam. He gets a rush from fucking in public where the press could catch them, but in reality, that would be his worst nightmare.

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

You glaring at him, cussing him out, being a stubborn hothead... etc. Any one of those will have him sporting a hard-on desperately needing your attention. Also, kissing his neck right where his circuits meet human flesh. That has him begging.

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

He's done a lot of shit with Val, but some things absolutely cross that line. Piss, Shit, or any other bodily fluid that isn't cum is one of his big ones.

He also has to say no to shower sex, not willingly; he cannot get his head wet without risking a major power blowout.

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

With Vox's long tongue, he's good at oral, can reach the deepest places, and uses his claws to keep your hips in place. You wake up covered in bruises from gripping him too tight. He has to pull your legs apart and hold them because you can't close your legs around his TV head. He loves receiving it, too, especially with you under his desk while he watches the cameras around Pride and is hooked up to the wires. If you work well enough, you can cause a city-wide blackout with just your mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on how he's feeling at the moment. He's had too many fast rough, and nonintimate fucks with Val. He appreciates smooth and sensual lovemaking. But also loves spontaneous sex; if you turn him on, he won't care where he'd find a place to fuck you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He *LOVES* quickies. King of quickies, to be honest. Before work fuck, lunch fuck, afternoon fuck, before dinner fuck, after dinner fuck.

Most of the time, you don't know how you walk around the following days like nothing happened. If he did manage to fuck you stupid from a quickie, he would provide aftercare but still would leave to do his work at the end of the day.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He'll try anything once. If you say you like something, he'll give it a try; he wants to do electrical play and shibari more than anything.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

All day, every day, several times. It's almost like because he's a computer, it's nearly like he has total control of his refractory period and when he cums. He could have you cumming five times before he finishes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has toys, plenty of them. When you live with Valentino, you know for sure every Christmas or birthday, he's getting you sex toys. You and Vox don't think he's capable of getting any of you an actual gift. Although both of you make good use of all of them

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Oh, he likes to tease. Insanely so, but then again, so do you whenever he gives you the chance. When he tops this man will delay your orgasm as much as possible while calling you 'baby girl' and complaining about how you're pathetic and needy for him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This man likes to hear himself talk, so of *course* he's loud. Especially when you're sucking him off, lots of curses and mocking laughter as his claws pull and dig into your hair. When he's fucking into you, he growls and grunts saying how tight you are and how you're his perfect fuck toy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes to film you on his screen and saves it away for later use in a file with your name on it. Val once asked if he could have access to it to sell it because it would make the Vee's an insane amount of money. Vox almost killed him for insinuating that he'd ever expose you like that; you were for his eyes only.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) He's long and slender; it glows a soft blue when it's dimly lit. There are thick veins on the underside of the shaft. The color is a deep navy blue, and the tip is light blue.

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

As discussed before, he has an incredibly high sex drive. If you don't want it one day, he'll accept it, but he will be whining about it all day. It's like you killed him or broke up with him; that's what withholding sex is like for him. He would never force himself upon you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

First, he gives you aftercare or vice versa, and then he immediately passes out. Even if you get up and shower, he's sprawled out on the bed, snoring away. You always have to maneuver your way back into the bed, moving his sprawled-out limbs. Once you're back in bed, he clings to you like a koala does to a tree branch. Then you're stuck until morning.

[jjscrybaby]

prompt 19: ‘here’s my number.’

jj maybank x fem!reader | fluff | (reader has hair, no use of y/n, first meeting.)

not proofread and also not my best, i’m trying to get back into the hang of writing so i figured that maybe if i start posting my stuff it could give me the motivation again. hope you enjoy! :)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

JJ was sure he knew everyone that lived on the island. Whether they were a Pogue or a Kook, 9 times out of 10 he’d heard of them. Whether it was because there had been a scandal about Mr Anderson cheating on his wife with his secretary, or Mimsy hooking up with Topper Thornton at the most recent kegger, he’d heard of them.

So, when he checked over the itinerary for the delivery’s he was doing for Heyward he knew exactly who lived in the house he was heading to. An older couple, been on the island since they were kids, rich but not overly snobby. He walked up the driveway and knocked on the door, expecting the elder woman to open it since her husband’s recently broken his ankle. He had to do a double take when the wooden door was pulled open and the girl that stood there was anything but an old lady.

You were beautiful, hair tied up in a ponytail and pretty eyes that stared back at him. You looked a little tired, sporting a tee and baggy shorts that he assumed still costed more than his rent based on the logo.

“Hello?” Your sweet voice brought him out of his thoughts, mouth parted as he just stared at you.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Maybe I have the wrong house?” He looked around in confusion. The number was right, but last he checked there wasn’t a beautiful girl living in this house.

“Who are you looking for?” You questioned. He said your grandparents last name, making you nod. “You’ve got the right house.”

He just nodded slowly, handing you the two bags of groceries. They always ordered an absurd amount of bread. “Right. I didn’t realise they had a roommate.”

You giggled at his words, putting the plastic bags down — Kiara wouldn’t be happy — and grabbed your handbag from the side to get out your purse. “I’m their granddaughter.”

“Ohhh.” That made more sense. They didn’t seem the type to look on Craigslist for someone in need of a home. You held a twenty out to him. “Uh, it’s already paid for.”

“A tip,” you explained, nudging your hand closer to him. “Can’t be enjoyable walking around in this heat with all those heavy bags.”

“This is my last stop,” he shrugged, still not accepting the money. He wasn’t sure why, normally he’d be grabbing at it with greedy hands; maybe even trying to talk you into giving him more. Thats what he did with all of Heyward’s other customers.

“Just take the money,” you laughed.

“Twenty’s a bit much,” he argued, tapping his foot against the stone floor.

You hummed, giving him a look he couldn’t read. “Then how about you help me carry my last box upstairs. That mixed in with the delivery seems to add up to twenty.”

If any other Kook asked him to do such a thing he’d say no. He’d probably piss on their plants just for good measure. But you were something else, your little smile did something to him that he refused to acknowledge.

“Sure,” he agreed, stepping into the house. He rubbed his shoes against the mat, not wanting to trail dirt on the white carpet.

“Thanks. My back is killing me,” you complained, leading him further into the house where only a few boxes were left.

He read over them. Clothes. Blankets. Teddies. His face scrunched up in confusion. “Are you movin’ in?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Did you need anything? Some water or coffee or something?”

“Water, please.” He followed you into the kitchen, it was bigger than his entire shack. He leant against the counter, watching you reach up to the glass cupboard. “Where are you from?”

“Uh… all over really. My parents never enjoyed sticking to one place. I’ve been travelling for the last year. I was gonna go home, but after finding out my grandad’s getting more clumsy and my nan can’t take care of him herself I figured I could come help,” you explained, filling his glass with water and ice.

“That’s nice of you,” he murmured. He hadn’t seen either sets of his grandparents since he was a baby. His mom’s parents didn’t reach out whatsoever, not since she dipped, and his dads sent him a birthday card with a twenty each year. If they needed help, he’d probably pretend he didn’t see the message.

You just shrugged, taking your hair out of the pony just to re-do it. “They’re the reason I could afford, like, everything. Plus, I’m expecting some good karma.”

“Good karma?” He chuckled, accepting the cool glass from your hand. “Is that a real thing?”

“Who knows. But if it is, I want it,” you smirked. “So, you’re a delivery boy?”

He shook his head, putting the glass down on the marble counter. “Nah. I’m a busboy at the club, but my friend’s dad does the deliveries and I needed some extra cash.”

“Makes sense,” you murmured. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” he responded. He crossed his fingers that you were the same age, you looked young, but for all he knows you could be thirty and just really hot for your age.

“Me too,” you grinned. He smiled back toothily.

“Cool. So, uh, the boxes?” He asked.

For the next half an hour, he helped you carry up boxes. Your room was on the third floor, in the attic technically. It was bare, just a bed and a closet with a bathroom connected. He couldn’t blame you though, you had just moved in.

Once you were done, you walked him to your front door and held out the twenty again.

“Nah,” he murmured, waving you off.

Your face fell. “What?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You just helped me out for the money, so take the money,” you argued. “I should probably give you more than twenty.”

“How ‘bout this… you could thank me in another way,” he suggested.

“Like what?” Your eyebrows furrowed, head tilting as you looked up at him.

“Could let me take you to dinner sometimes,” he shrugged nonchalantly, although on the inside he felt like he was going to burst.

Your eyes widened in surprise, staring at him for a moment before a soft smile appeared on your lips. “Yeah. That seems fair.”

“Cool,” he grinned. “You got a pen?”

“Sure.” You walked a bit further inside the house, opening up a draw and handing a pen to him. He took it from you and pulled out an old receipt for gas from his pocket. He scribbled over it, a cheesy smile on his face as he handed it back to you.

“Here’s my number, I’m expectin’ a call,” he stated, giving you a wink.

You laughed, pocketing the receipt. “You’ll get one.”

“Cool. Uh, see you soon then,” he said, walking out the front door with a pleased look on his face.

You watched after him, waving as you closed the door. You definitely hadn’t moved to Outerbanks to find a man, but you definitely weren’t going to complain. You pulled out the receipt and giggled at what was sprawled on it. Below his phone number was a little note.

Call this number. You’ll have no regrets ;) - JJ

[jksarchives]

THE SIX STAGES OF A BREAK-UP │01

➪ PAIRING; jungkook x reader

➪ GENRE; lovers to strangers, angst

➪ WC; 2.2k

✎ series masterlist

1. SHOCK AND DENIAL

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

▍31 MAY 2022

Jungkook returned home from work an hour earlier than he usually does, and his heart was racing as he fumbled with his keys. As he stepped into the house, he felt a knot of tension in his stomach that tightened with each passing second. His hands were slightly shaking as he placed his briefcase on the dining table with a soft thud.

He nervously nibbled on his lips, a habit he thought he had outgrown from his early childhood. He tiredly removed his suit jacket and draped it carefully over the back of a chair, leaving him in his plain white long-sleeved shirt and red tie.

You were supposed to be home two hours ago, but the house was oddly quiet. “Y/n?” he called out for you, his voice wavering slightly. He took a few tentative steps towards the kitchen, his shoes clicking softly on the hardwood floor. But you weren’t there.

He then decided to check upstairs. “Y/n?” he called out once again. The creak of the wooden steps under his feet was the only noise that accompanied him, until he reached the top where he could hear the shower running.

“I’m in the bathroom!” he heard a faint reply from you.

Heaving out a sigh, Jungkook plopped down on the neatly made bed. He rested his elbows on his knees while he hung his head low. He felt a dull ache in his heart that he couldn’t shake, and his mind was clouded with thoughts that had him restless for months.

He didn’t know how he was going to do this, but he knew he had to.

┄┄┄┄┄

Fifteen minutes later, you stepped out of the bathroom. Your damp hair clung to your shoulders, and droplets of water traced gentle paths down your skin. Wrapped in a plush, white towel, you felt recharged and a sense of serenity.

It had been a long tiring day at work, and you hoped that a nice hot shower would help wash away the day’s stress. You couldn’t bother having dinner, all you needed now was to snuggle up with your man and fall asleep at the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“You’re home early today” you grinned as you entered the bedroom.

But your grin quickly faltered when you saw him sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers tugging on his once gelled locks as he hung his head low.

“Baby?” your voice was gentle, tinged with concern. You took a cautious step forward, your wet feet making faint impressions on the carpet.

Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between you for a moment, thick with unsaid words. You saw him rub his face with his hands before finally looking up at you. There was something written on his face. Something foreign that you couldn’t read.

“I need to talk to you” he said, “can you dress up and meet me downstairs?” he said. He tried to sound steady, yet the shakiness and tiredness in his voice betrayed him. And the way he looked at you with his dim hooded eyes, your heartbeat unknowingly began to pick up.

Having said that, Jungkook stood up and walked out of the room without sparing you another glance. You quietly watched him walk away, your brows slightly furrowed in confusion and curiosity.

You stood there thinking about what he might want to talk to you about.

For the past few months, you noticed subtle but unmistakable changes in Jungkook’s behavior. It started innocently enough — missed calls, delayed texts, and a general sense of distraction whenever you were together.

Most of the time, you could sense that he was forcing himself to smile. To do certain things that he used to do out of affection, like gifting you a bouquet of roses every Sunday evening when he comes home from work, which became a custom in your relationship.

And sometimes, what was once an unbroken routine began to slowly disrupt. Like making sure he booked every Friday off just to spend time with you, but now would spend time at his office.

Initially, you brushed it off, assuming it had to do with the pressures of Jungkook’s new role as CEO of his father’s company. After all, it was a significant responsibility, one that had been thrust upon him rather suddenly after his father decided to retire due to his health.

Jungkook had always been driven, he loved his job and what he was doing. But the promotion to CEO had brought about a new level of stress upon him. You knew he wasn’t ready just yet.

He was now responsible for the livelihoods of hundreds of employees, the strategic direction of the company, and maintaining the legacy his father had built over decades. However, his father promised him that he would do an amazing job, and that he’d make him proud no matter what.

You could see the weight of these demands and expectations in the lines of his face, and the exhaustion in his eyes. You understood that he was under immense pressure and tried to be as supportive as you could, giving him space to adjust to his new role.

However, as weeks turned into months, your initial understanding began to waver. Jungkook’s behavior became increasingly erratic. He started coming home late, often with no explanation. There were secretive phone calls that he would take in another room, and an air of detachment that seemed to grow by the day.

You found yourself in a state of constant worry as your mind raced with all the unanswered questions you had. And you made the effort to confront him, but he would often brush you away, saying he was just stressed. You knew it was more than that, but you didn’t press on the matter too much.

Jungkook was never the one to hide anything from you. He was always open to how he felt and all the things that were happening with and around him. The same went for you.

Now, the more you put your thoughts into this whole thing, the more anxious you felt.

┄┄┄┄┄

After drying your hair and changing into your favourite pink pyjamas, you went downstairs, feeling slightly uneasy.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you saw him. He was sitting on the couch with his hands clasped together and resting on his bouncing knees. His usual confident posture was replaced with one of tension and anxiousness.

You walked over to him, your presence breaking the silence that had settled in the room. He looked up, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. But what stood out to you the most was the loss of spark in his eyes.

The sight tugged at your heart.

You sat down beside him, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Hey, what's going on?” you asked softly, your voice carrying both concern and love.

He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to speak. “Y/n” he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I…I’ve been thinking about something lately. Something I’ve been feeling for a while, and it’s ” he continued, turning his gaze down to his fidgeting fingers.

You listened intently, your heart pounding in your chest at his tone. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as you braced yourself for whatever he was about to tell you.

You saw him pause, shutting his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, before opening them again.

“We need to break up”

His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, it’s blazing lightning striking you right in the heart.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. All the four walls around you felt like it was caving in, constraining you completely.

“What?” your voice was barely audible as your face dropped.

You were confused. So confused.

“Break up? What the hell are you talking about Jungkook?” you then questioned as your brows furrowed, defining the lines on your forehead.

Jungkook saw the way your lips trembled in panic, and it crushed him. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident.

“I can’t do this Y/n. It’s not fair to you. With everything going on at work, I've changed. You know that. I'm not the same person anymore, and it's not right to drag you through this with me. You deserve someone who can be there for you, completely” he said.

“No,” you shook your head, feeling your eyes water with tears which you fought to keep in.

“Where is all this really coming from Jungkook? I know it’s more than just work, and you know that too” your voice quivered.

Jungkook’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he continued staring at you with his weary and empty eyes. He looked at you as if he had been caught, and he had no choice but to be completely honest with you, like he always had been.

But at the same time, the storm of emotion that was brewing inside him was starting to wreck his sanity, sending him to the edge.

“You really want to know?” he snapped.

You flinched at the sudden change in his tone and his hardened expression. You could sense the irritation in him growing with the way his jaw clenched and unclenched.

Nevertheless, you remained silent, until he spoke up.

“I’ve fallen out of love with you Y/n”

Each word he uttered felt like a physical blow to each corner of your sensitive body. Your eyes widened in disbelief, and your mind struggled to process what you had just heard.

“W-What?” you weakly croaked, feeling lumps of fat tears rolling down your pale cheeks.

“What do you m-mean?” you asked.

Jungkook slowly felt his anger dissipate, and he hung his head down in shame.

“Me overworking and spending less time with you like how we used to, I’ve been feeling so disconnected lately. I just…I just don’t feel the spark between us anymore Y/n” he tried to explain but fumbled with his words.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“I never meant for this to happen, I really didn’t Y/n. And I feel so fucking awful that I couldn’t be honest with you about it from the start and led you on thinking everything was okay” his voice cracked.

It felt surreal, like a nightmare from which you couldn't wake up. Your mind immediately went blank, struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

After ten years of sharing dreams, laughter, and countless memories, the foundation of your world was suddenly crumbling. You blinked rapidly, hoping to dispel the illusion, but his serious expression only confirmed your worst fears.

For ten years, you had been each other's rocks, from the naive excitement of your college years to the more settled, mature love of your late twenties. You both dreamed of getting married and having your own little family, but all that was now left was the shattered fragments of your heart.

A choked sob escaped your mouth but you quickly smacked your hand to cover your cries. Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes, he lost the courage to.

“Y-You’re lying” you shook your head in denial.

Your mind raced as you tried grasping for any logical explanation, but all you found was a tangled mess of confusion and hurt. You replayed his words in your head, hoping to find some hidden meaning, a clue that this was all a misunderstanding.

Jungkook’s heart ached at your denial, and he hated himself for dragging you deep into the ocean, and now you had no way of reaching back to the surface.

“You know I would never lie to you about something like this Y/n” he quietly answered, finally looking up at you.

There was a long silence. An uncomfortable one. The more you replayed his words altogether, the clearer everything became: he was serious.

“B-But everything was fine” you said, gasping for air as you spoke.

“I thought too, but things can change Y/n, and I’m sorry it had to be this way” he tried to explain.

You jumped up to your feet and stood in front of him, your chest rapidly rising and falling as you felt your body go into a hyperventilating mode.

“How can you just fall out of love Jungkook? We’ve been together for ten fucking years!” you spoke through your sobs.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, nose red and cheeks damp from the continuous tears. Your whole body was trembling as your mind fought between denial and acceptance of the given situation.

Jungkook stood up and took your hands in his, looking at you desperately like he wanted you to understand him. But your mind was blank, and all you could think was that you couldn’t let him go. Not the man who promised a future with you.

“Even the longest and strongest ships sailing in the sea fall apart Y/n. I never thought this would happen between us, but it did, and I’m so fucking sorry” he said, lightly squeezing your hands.

All you could do was stare at him in silence as you broke down completely in his arms. No matter how many times Jungkook mumbled sincere apologies to you, you knew it wasn’t going to fix the gaping hole in your heart.

‘This can’t be happening. No, it can’t.’

NEXT ➜

[bwoobiez]

NSFW Alphabet w/ Sebby

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s very tender and romantic after sex. He’ll get you a cup of water or whatever beverage you’d like, wipe yourselves down, cuddle with his face nuzzled against you. He’s not super chatty during aftercare, and he doesn’t need to be - your bond is so strong it’s telepathic, so he just lets the physical intimacy and silence speak for him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your chest. He could lay on it, cum on it, suck on it, touch it. Listening to your heartbeat does something for him - you're a living being, you’re still here, you’re alive, and your heart pumps along with his during this time together.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s a huge cummer, like strings of cum just go pouring out of him. It shoots so high that if he’s sitting or laying down it’ll get all over his chest and almost up to his neck. He can cum straight across your back if you’re in doggystyle.

It’s not hard to make him finish. He can literally do it free handed and just by your words alone.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

…He gets off to the thought of you kicking him in the nuts. He’d never actually do it (well… never say never?), but since your job has you moving all the time you’re quite strong, so he fantasizes about you taking that strength out… on him… in that way… teehee.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Since you were his first time, he had no idea what he was doing. It was a cute little awkward thing between the two of you as you both learned each other's bodies.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Good ol’ missionary. He loves to make eye contact whilst you two join bodies. You could reach up to cup his face, pull his hair, choke him, and kiss him. He liked to watch you dominate him from the bottom with that smug, orgasmic look on your face as you degrade/praise him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s not goofy during sex so if you pop a joke he may or may not laugh. He’s too in the moment to think about funny stuff.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's usually pretty hairy and sometimes lets it grow long. He’ll trim it before it gets very crazy though.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If you’re going slow and sensual he could be quite the romantic. He’ll shower you in kisses and compliments, saying “I love you” fairly often and especially when he’s about to cum. Sometimes he’ll cry from the intimacy.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Since he has you he doesn’t jerk off as much as he used to, but he still does it whenever he misses you. Sometimes just thrusting into the air and thinking about you is enough to get off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Submission

He doesn’t mind dominating you every once in a while, but he does prefer you doing it. He’ll fuck your holes whilst following your every command - go slower, faster, pull out, etc.

Petplay

What started off as him just wearing a cat headband in the bedroom turned into him eating out of a custom-made food bowl with his name on it. He wears a collar (that looks like a regular choker to others) that he pretty much always wears whenever he leaves the house. His friends and family question it but of course he replies with it simply being his favorite choker.

You’d taunt him for being so needy for your body, for wanting to breed you, how he’s so pathetic for needing you to take care of his heat while he fucks you :(

You both shared the role of a pet, however. He didn’t mind leading you around on a leash ;)

Public play

Most of your public play sessions took place at the pub, and since he could cum free handed and just by your words alone, you didn't need to lay a finger on him. Your sweet talk would be hidden beneath the noise of the crowd yet still loud enough for him to hear, remaining cool while you watched him quietly whimper and squirm in his seat. His face would go absolutely red, and whenever he reached his climax he’d hide his face in his arms or nuzzle against your neck, where you could feel and hear pathetic panting against your ear.

Luckily, his pants would be too thick for the semen to show through, but if you were feeling extra mean you'd have him go the rest of the night with that mess in his draws. You’d  tease him afterwards about how gross it was of him to play pool with friends whilst having cream in his jeans. What a dirty, dirty man.

Other public sessions would consist of having sex by the lake near his parent’s house. One time, right beside the pub everyone was in… Sam caught him with your genitals in his mouth and it was never to be brought up.

Praise/body praise

Sebastian was a slut for your adoration and loved getting admired from head to toe. He fully trusted you with his body, allowing you to touch and praise him as you please. You took great care of this precious man…

Him laid across your lap while being spoken to in a soft tone, his cock and balls being gently massaged with one hand whilst the other played with his hair. He was just so damn cute with his arms resting on his stomach, eyes closed and brows raised. You let him know how proud you were of him and that he was adorable, and all he could do was shake his head in response as he was too busy moaning. If he were deep in kittyspace he’d be purring as well.

Light bondage

He's not into anything crazy, but he likes having his hands tied behind his back

(If you don't have a penis) Pegging Cigarette play :}

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom and the mountain. 

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

It takes a bit to get him riled up, but luckily for you you know just how to push his buttons. Affection and praise really gets this touch-starved boy going, along with text messages detailing what you’ll do to him.

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

Anything to do with scat, piss, or spit.

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

He prefers receiving as you give the messiest top ever. He’s become skilled at giving you head, too, and will stroke himself as he does so.

It drives him crazy to hear and feel you mumble “good boy” against his balls, or to hear you go “mhhmmm!” - a hum of approval towards his whimpers and submission  - while you throat him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

If you couldn’t tell, he definitely likes it rough, but some times call for a more gentle, passionate fuck. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He enjoys them and you both do it pretty often. If you think it counts, getting him off in public free-handed would be a quickie too.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s pretty open to new things as long as they don’t surpass his limits.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

At first, he could barely last an hour because of 1) smoking and 2) shitty dietary habits, which all led to low energy. But as time went on his stamina would increase due to reduction in smoking, having access to fresher food (you’d also remind him to eat - it was a habit of his to forget to do so), and he’s started working out a bit. Now he could go about 5 rounds cumming back-to back :)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns a fleshlight but doesn’t use it often. You both own a vibrator which you use on him in the bedroom and in public, and rope. He’s not too crazy about toys.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s not really a huge tease, but when he does he’ll send you cheeky pictures of him in a suggestive position, scantily clad or nude, whenever you're away from home.

Honestly, it’s about how much you tease him. He’s just a poor lil guy at the hands of your torment :<

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s the most saddest, sopping wet boy ever. He whimpers, whines, and if he feels really good, he'll cry. He can range from soft to loud.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s pretty insecure about his body :(

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s a tiny bit on the underweight side and has a slutty little waist

His nipples are blush pink and sensitive

He has a happy trail leading down to his cock. The word you often use to describe it is “pretty” - it's about 3 inches when flaccid and 6 when erect, with a pink tip and slight curve to it. His balls have a full shape with a pinkish gradient

He has the cutest bubble butt

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

Pretty fuckin high. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s quick to fall asleep. He needs his naps