#your art doesn’t have to be good to be worth something

[delugyu]

hi!! i was wondering if i could request a one shot based on the GGUM mv where yeonjun is a cocky and bratty k pop idol that belittles everyone and basically the reader is like his mananger who’s had enough of his behavior and decides to teach him a lesson and he’s super submissive.

btw i LOVE your writing. cold, curse city was amazing <3

jumped for joy when i saw submissive yeonjun YAYYYYYYY (also thank you!!! hehe)

(wc: 2k / warnings: mean dom!reader, sub!yeonjun, reader’s kind of a bitch but yeonjun is too so it’s okay, degradation, humiliation, oral kinda idk eating pussy thru the panties, unprotected sex, edging..?)

you’re pretty sure that the biggest source of your headaches on any given day is the man you’re watching right now—on a tuesday at eight in the morning—who’s trying to convince you that the interviewer deserved it earlier when he called her an idiot.

“yeah, no. that’s never happening again,” you say plainly, cutting off his long-winded explanation. if only he could catch on when you’re trying to leave no room for argument, but unfortunately he has the most major case of lacking respect and decorum that you’ve ever seen.

“so you think it was okay for her to say that being bratty is my whole brand?” he asks.

“well, if you keep acting the way you do, then you can’t be surprised if that’s what people focus on.” you won’t lie: his brash personality is definitely good for gaining attention. his PR team never has to work too hard, since they know yeonjun’s going to do something stupid to get him on the news anyway. you’re jealous, cause you’re over here busting your ass to make sure he doesn’t go too far and ruin his career.

“i’d be selling a fake image if i was out there kissing babies and shaking hands,” yeonjun says.

“so the better alternative is running your mouth until half the country wants you beaten up?” you don’t want him to act like someone he’s not, but you also don’t want him to be such a dick to everyone.

“stop acting like you know me or the things i want,” he says. it lights a fire inside of you, rage burning at his insinuation. “i don’t want a nice, clean image. i fucking hate it when you try to force that onto me.”

he walks away into his dressing room, probably done with you and this conversation, but you’ve had it. you’re pissed, and he needs to learn that he doesn’t sit on top of the world. you mutter out quick apologies to the staff you push past in your haste to follow yeonjun.

before you can step into the room, yeonjun slams the door in front of your face. “yeonjun, are you fucking kidding me?!” you bang your fist against the door when turning the knob doesn’t work.

“go away,” he says from behind the door. you let out something like a growl in your frustration, feeling like you might just rip all your hair out. it’s too early to already be doing this.

“why do you throw fits every time i try to tell you to have some respect? you can never just bite your tongue for a second.”

you’re met with silence. you hate when he starts tuning you out. you’ll have to pop a few tylenols after this to keep your headache from killing you.

you start up once more, “you think anyone’s gonna look at your art before they look at you as a person? what’s the point in making good music if the person behind it is such a jackass?”

again, no reply. you sigh, running your hands down your face as you try to collect yourself. this isn’t worth it. he’s never going to change.

“i’m thinking i should just quit and let you deal with whatever asshole comes in after me,” you say, just trying to stir him into giving you a response now. you usually keep yourself from going back and forth with him like this, but he’s been on your nerves way too much recently. you were bound to explode with how much he’s been testing you.

the door finally opens. you don’t waste a second when you push it wider and enter the room, shutting it behind you. he’s crossing his arms, eyebrow raised like he’s waiting for you to scold him some more.

“you actually gonna quit, or was that all talk?” he asks.

you scowl and push on his shoulders until he’s sitting on one of the chairs. his eyes widen for a second like he’s surprised you actually put your hands on him. he should be grateful you don’t do worse.

“listen, i’m not going to take your shit anymore. i’m not giving you a choice. you need to have some respect.” you look down at him with ice cold eyes. he squirms a little in his seat; you almost find it funny.

“i don’t know how you expect me to do that. this is just how i am,” he counters.

“shutting your mouth would be a good start.” you put your hand over his lips when he opens them to start talking again. “see, you’re already trying to bark. just listen.”

you keep your hand there, and you’re kind of surprised that he doesn’t even try to move you away. your other hand grips the back of his chair so that you’re leaning over him, and you finally feel like you’re more powerful than him. you feel like he might listen to you for once.

“if you don’t want to be seen as a brat, then don’t be a brat,” you say. “you can have a tough image without annoying everyone. people see you more as a toddler than as some cool guy.”

his eyes dart down, and you realize that, with you leaning over him, he has a great view of your cleavage. he’s staring at your tits. scandalized, you grab his jaw to tilt his head all the way up, so he can either stare at the ceiling or look at your face. he chooses the ceiling.

“are you trying to make me hate my job? do you want me to quit?” you ask.

his eyes find yours at that, and you’re a little surprised to not find any fight in them. he shakes his head and keeps his mouth shut.

“you can answer now,” you say, letting go of his jaw.

“don’t quit, i like you as my manager,” he answers quickly. you huff out a laugh.

“well you sure as hell don’t act like it.”

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes—and sounds completely sincere, too.

you stand up straight, assessing him silently. you let your eyes rake down his body, noticing how he doesn’t move an inch. looks like you’ve finally put him in his place. it’s such a shame that it practically takes you bullying him to get to this point.

“so you’re gonna cool the tough guy act?” you ask.

“i dunno, maybe you should test how obedient i can be,” he prompts with a growing smile. wow, and you were doing so well.

“get off that chair.” immediately he does, standing up and waiting for his next instruction. you laugh at how pathetic his switch up is. you’d love for the nation to see yeonjun now, so eager to follow your orders. how far will he go?

you decide to test it out. “kneel.”

he’s just as quick to follow through with that, too. a power rush is already surging inside you, pumping adrenaline through your body. he looks up at you from his position on his knees. there’s still some space between you, though.

“come a little closer. crawl to me.” your pleased smile stays on your face as you watch him obey, keeping eye contact as he inches toward you.

“this is so funny,” you say as you look down at him. for the first time in your life, you see him look embarrassed. his eyes dart off to the side, unable to take the torment. “eyes on me. don’t you dare try looking away again.”

his cheeks glow with a subtle red tint, you notice as you take in his face. “would you be so kind as to apologize to me again?” you ask.

“i’m sorry,” he answers promptly.

“hm. better than that.”

he looks confused, but you know he’s desperate to follow because he’s quick to oblige. “i’m sorry i was such a brat to you and everyone else.”

“you were a brat. what do you think brats like you deserve?”

you feel him shiver. “punishment,” he answers meekly.

“that’s right.” you place your foot on his crotch, not paying any mind to how hard he is already. “what a shame you were so bad. you could’ve came today.” you take your foot off him and spread your legs apart. “get me nice and wet for your cock.”

“w-what?” he stammers, looking up at you all scandalized.

“i’m not in the mood to repeat myself.” with all the eagerness he’s ever had, yeonjun grips onto your thighs and dips his head beneath your skirt. he starts licking your cunt over your panties, tongue working adamantly against you like he’s scared to do it wrong or poorly.

you sigh, relaxing into the feeling. this is better stress relief than any amount of medicine could give you. maybe you’ll be resorting to this more often.

he wraps his lips around your clothed clit and sucks, then swipes his tongue across the swollen bud. he’s deeply focused on pleasuring you, repeating any little action that makes your legs twitch. you hate to admit it, but he’s getting you wet so fast.

“guess this is the only way to shut you up, huh?” you ask, and you feel him nod in response. “should i do this more then?”

“yes,” he pulls away to say, replacing his mouth with his fingers rubbing quickly against you. “do it as much as you want.”

“is the promise of pussy the only way you’ll—fuck, just like that—respect me?” his fingers run wildly over your clit, desperation oozing off of him.

“only yours. i’ll do anything for it.” he presses into your core, grinding his hand against you. “you’re so wet. please sit on my cock.”

you hum, wanting to say no and torture him more, but you can’t deny how bad you want to feel him inside you.

“sit on the chair and undo your pants,” you instruct. you slide off your panties as he does that.

you sit on his lap and give his dick a few quick jerks before aligning it with your entrance. he makes more noise than you do as you sink onto him, which would make you snicker if you weren’t so busy adjusting to his size.

“you moan like a bitch,” you hiss out as you finally take all of him in. you stay bottomed out for a minute, letting yourself get used to the stretch, grinding your hips every now and then to hear him whine.

“please move, i need more,” he says after a minute.

“don’t tell me what to do.” you start moving anyway—not because he begged you to, but because you’re getting needier for your orgasm. “this isn’t about you, brat.”

he keeps whining as you bounce on his dick, throwing his head back and dropping his mouth open. he sounds so much better when he’s moaning like a whore instead of bitching at everyone on earth.

you gasp when you feel his fingers on your clit, playing with the bud with endless need. even when he bites his lip, little noises keep spilling out of him, and a part of you is almost afraid that someone’s going to hear him.

“i’m close,” you say as you lean back a little, letting his dick hit a new spot inside of you. his eyes shine when he sees your body start twitching.

“i want you to cum so bad, please please give it to me!” his begging throws you ever the edge, biting your lip so you don’t make any sound. breathy little noises escape you instead, which yeonjun seems to like just as much.

you swat his hand away when it becomes too much, catching your breath while you ignore yeonjun’s twitching dick inside of you. yeonjun’s losing his patience, grabbing your hips needily.

“i need to cum too,” he says, brows upturned and almost looking pitiful. you enjoy the feeling of him inside you for a couple more seconds before getting up.

“isn’t that too bad,” you say. his jaw drops, and he goes speechless yet again. “don’t look so surprised. didn’t i tell you that you won’t be cumming today?”

the betrayal on his face suddenly makes this job worth every penny.

[anjalikestodraw]

Sun drenched sofa days (2025)

inspired by and set directly after Love is a Witch - Chapter 6 by @beauttifullife

And as usual here is a tiny ficlet going along with the art. Enjoy :)

“So what do we want?” Rio mused aimlessly scrolling through the food delivery app.

They were lying on the couch Rio’s head resting comfortably on Agatha’s chest their legs entangled, Agatha’s hand absentmindedly running through Rio’s hair while watching a documentary.

“You choose.” Agatha responded not taking her eyes off the TV.

“No, I can’t decide.” Rio replied yawning.

She held her phone higher slightly blocking Agatha’s view of the TV screen.

“Help.” Rio demanded as Agatha tried to continue watching the programme past the other woman’s hand. “I am tired from my late night flight and I have no idea what I want.”

Finally peeling her eyes away from the programme, Agatha glanced at the phone and quickly scrolled to one of their usual delivery places jabbing her finger at the screen.

“This one’s always good. And you always say how much you love their dim sum stuff.” She explained her attention already back on the TV.

With a slow “Mhhh.” Rio brought the phone back down to her eye level and skimmed the menu.

“Or we can get tacos,” Agatha added clearly sensing Rio’s indecision. “I just thought you’d have had some good ones back home. Also the Chinese doesn’t deliver to yours, so…”

“Chinese it is.” Rio concluded after a moment.

She quickly picked her usual order from the menu adding some new dumplings she wanted to try and then scrolled to Agatha’s favourites.

“Your usual?” Rio asked slightly stretching her neck to try and look up at Agatha.

“Yeah,” Agatha replied her eyes still on the TV. Then with a sudden movement she looked down at Rio and added “Don’t order too much.”

“Never.” Rio replied smirking and sticking her tongue out before adding more items to the basket and checking for the estimated delivery time.

Agatha huffed knowing that they somehow always ended up with food for four. She returned her attention to the TV her hand automatically finding its way into Rio’s hair again.

Leaning into Agatha’s touch Rio thought how much she loved days like these. Weekends without plans, without pressing appointments or errands to run. Days filled with sunlight filtering through the big apartment windows but no need to be outside in the noise and hubbub of New York. Days spent tangled up with Agatha and them just being them. And she never had thought that this was what she would ever want but now that she had it she couldn’t imagine a life without it. Without her. Feeling Agatha’s fingers lightly scrape over her scalp Rio closed her eyes sighing gently.

She thought back to the stress of the day before, the frantic search for an earlier flight, the rush to the airport when she had finally managed to change her booking, and the half-hearted apologies to her extended family. The only person she had been sad to leave so early was her abuelita. But something in the old woman’s smile as she kissed Rio’s hand wishing her save travels told Rio that she knew how much Agatha meant to her, how different this situation was to any of her previous flings or short lived girlfriends. Her abuelita understood. And yes, coming back after a mere three days apart had seemed pathetic. But having this extra time with Agatha had absolutely been worth all the stress and extra money she had spent.

Letting out a contended sigh Rio inched closer into Agatha’s side, draping her leg over Agatha’s and lifting her head up just enough so she could fully see her lover’s face. Looking at the woman’s profile her gaze swept from her beautiful messy hair flowing in waves around her face, over her perfect nose and lips to her sharp blue eyes so intently watching the programme they had put on. And of course the sweater; her old worn out Texas Longhorn hoodie, which Agatha was still wearing.

“Riooo?” Agatha asked drawing out her name, while her eyes remained trained on the TV a faint smile playing around her lips.

“Nothing.” Rio replied still quite obviously staring at Agatha.

Agatha raised her eyebrows and stole a glance at her before looking back at the TV.

“I was just thinking…” Rio added smiling softly. “…how much I love this.”

“I love Chinese food, too.” Agatha replied a little too quickly still staring straight ahead.

But Rio knew better. She knew all too well that Agatha was only feigning ignorance and had fully understood Rio’s meaning. She knew this was simply how Agatha was, always masking her feelings with humour, deflecting, struggling to put into words what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. And Rio had gotten used to it, she even had started to love this little quirk of hers. She didn’t just love Agatha despite of who and how she was, she loved her because of it, with all her little bumps and edges. And even if she hadn’t been fully fluent in 'Agatha', the broad smile on her lover’s face was a dead giveaway. Biting her lip and shaking her head slightly Rio let out a low chuckle.

“Food will be here in forty.” She said tossing her phone onto the couch before resting her head back onto Agatha’s chest.

“Good.” Agatha replied pulling Rio closer to herself and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

Smiling at the gentle gesture Rio reached for Agatha’s hand entwining their fingers and shuffling into the other woman’s body. Having found a comfortable position she finally returned her attention back to the TV.

“I love this, too.” Agatha whispered after a while, her thumb tracing circles on Rio’s hand.

Feeling a familiar warmth spread in her chest Rio raised Agatha’s hand to her mouth kissing the back of it.

“I know.” Rio replied quietly and she could feel Agatha’s hand squeezing hers lightly.

“You know what I would love even more though?” Rio mused a sudden thought entering her mind. “When the delivery guy comes I think you should get the door - seeing as you are wearing your new favourite sweater.”

Lifting her head up again to see Agatha’s reaction Rio put on her signature smirk.

“Your favourite sweater.” Agatha corrected her, turning to face Rio her eyes narrowed.

“You are the one wearing it.” Rio pointed out with a shrug feigning innocence.

Taking in her lover’s frown Rio’s grin widened thinking of another tease. But before she could add anything else Agatha’s hand grabbed one of the sofa cushions and shoved it into Rio’s face.

“Hey!” Rio protested her voice muffled by the pillow as she fell backwards into the couch.

Propping herself back up she put one hand on either side of Agatha’s face locking her in.

“Not cool.” Rio said trying to look angry but her features betrayed her as she was smiling down at Agatha.

“I might still burn it.” Agatha teased with a wink.

“Oh... you wouldn’t dare.” Rio replied sticking her tongue in her cheek.

Agatha only raised an eyebrow in response a mischievous look on her face. With one smooth movement she grabbed Rio’s waist and tossed her to the side planting one knee on either side of Rio’s hips reversing their positions. Triumphantly she looked down at Rio with a cocky smile.

“You’re impossible.” Rio huffed but she couldn’t stifle a laugh.

Reaching up Rio grabbed the front of the orange hoodie gently pulling Agatha down.

“I still think you should get the door later.” Rio whispered one hand wandering into Agatha’s hair while her gaze flitted down to her lover’s lips.

“Over my dead body.” Agatha growled without any real bite to her voice before closing the distance between them. Her hands snaked behind Rio’s neck pulling her closer into a long passionate kiss forgetting all about the documentary still running on the TV, their food order, or for a fact, the world around them.

[21stc3nturyd1gitalb0y]

evolution of my misfits patches

[niko-jpeg]

You ever just. Feel like you don’t quite fit anywhere in particular

[pastel-rights]

And then I finally end it off with some doodles of them… they make me feel things.

[tojbnuy]

by popular demand and since i hit 1k! here’s a part 2 💞 find part one here! art by @ _3aem on twt!!

bestfriend!satoru who always takes you on late night drives if you’re feeling upset. he’ll buy you something sweet and when he drops you back home he’ll always leave you with a little kiss. he doesn’t want his favourite girl being sad.

bestfriend!satoru who absolutely adores the way you smell. everytime he’s near you in class he places his hands out for some of your hand cream and he sits there sniffing his hands afterwards.

bestfriend!satoru who will always suggest a horror movie when it’s movie night with your friends. he knows it’s only a matter of time before you’re freaking out and you’ll climb into his lap. ‘sshhh you’re okay baby i’ve got you’ and while you’re distracted his hands will find their way under your top and start stroking your back and tummy.

bestfriend!satoru who insists on massaging your back when you come round. ‘take your top off baby it’s just me’. he’s working on getting you to take off the bra too, all in good time.

bestfriend!satoru who is so used to you wearing long sleeved and baggy hoodies that the random times you wear something that clings to your figure he all but passes out. suddenly his hands are all over you and to everyone else in the room you probably look like a couple. (just how he intended)

bestfriend!satoru who insists kissing your best friend on the lips is normal. it’s cute. ‘come on baby another one. i’m your best friend’. is using tongue normal? he doesn’t care.

bestfriend!satoru who wears compression shirts around you all the time because he overheard you talking about how much you like guys with big biceps. he doesn’t want to sound big headed but he’s caught you staring a few times now.

bestfriend!satoru who goes through your underwear drawer when you’re not present. he wanted to know your cup size but the pink and the lace got him distracted.

bestfriend!satoru who really is such a perv when it comes to you. he can’t help it you’re like a drug. sometimes he knocks his pen off the table because he knows your sweet self will quicky bend over to retrieve it for him. he’s left with the adorable sight of your panty clad ass, white ones today just how he likes. ‘thank you baby.’ ‘you’re welcome toru.’ god you’re just so cute.

bestfriend!satoru who helps you dye your hair. he doesn’t care that he’s leaving with splotches of black on his arms and hands. it’s worth it when you give him those big hugs with your arms wrapped around his neck.

bestfriend!satoru who is in love with your handwriting. ‘course a pretty girl has pretty handwriting’ it’s all cursive and slanted, he even makes jokes about you writing something for him to get tatted.

bestfriend!satoru who knows you love to cuddle. he was never much of a cuddler himself but he would have to be sick to pass up on the chance to hold you. ‘no of course i dont mind pretty.’ your head lays on his chest and one of your thighs covers his stomach. he could die like this and he would die happy. (preferably he would die in between your thighs but)

bestfriend!satoru who gets upset when you’re laughing a bit too loud when talking to suguru. he knew for a fact suguru was not that fucking funny.

bestfriend!satoru who absolutely abuses pet names when it comes to you. His baby His pretty girl His dolly

bestfriend!satoru who’s always patting your bum. for what reason who knows.

part 3 !! part 4 !!

taglist : @haruhatake @moncher-ire @startwithrecords @ranatherealestsigma @chjinua @whozeurdaddy @sukuxna0 @purp1eha1o

[luv-lock]

Jason Todd is a smoker .⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭

Jason who keeps a pack of cigarettes in the inside pocket of his jacket, right next to a picture of you he swiped from your desk. Not that you’d ever know, because he’s carefully folded it so only he can see your smile.

Jason who refuses to share his lighter with anyone else. It’s not just because it’s his—it’s because your initials are carved into the side, along with a heart he scratched there himself. He says it’s “dumb” and “just a thing he did while bored,” but you know he’d gut anyone who tried to touch it.

Jason who keeps a special pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, only for you to see. Each one has a faint, lingering trace of your perfume. He doesn’t even smoke them half the time; he just holds them between his fingers and breathes them in when he misses you too much.

Jason who pulls out a cigarette and pauses, twirling it between his fingers, staring at it with a crooked grin before muttering, “Doll wouldn’t like me smoking this.” He lights it anyway, because he knows you’ll scold him later, and he loves the way your hands curl into fists when you pretend to be mad.

Jason who has a habit of resting the cigarette between his lips while he leans against his bike, waiting for you to finish work, but doesn’t light it until you’re there to steal it from his mouth for yourself. He doesn’t even complain when you do; he just watches, smirking as your lipstick stains the filter. “You’re ruining my tough guy image, doll,” he’ll tease, but his grin says he loves it.

Jason who asks you to hand him a cigarette, just so he can watch your fingers curl around the box. He doesn’t even need one half the time. “C’mon, princess, humor me,” he drawls, leaning back like the cocky bastard he is.

Jason who presses the cigarette to his lips, then stops halfway. “Wait—kiss me first,” he says. “You know it doesn’t taste right if I don’t get one from you.”

Jason who only smokes half a cigarette before flicking it away, mumbling something about how it’s not worth finishing if it doesn’t taste like you.

Jason who hoards all the lipstick stains left behind on the filters, collecting them in a small tin in his room like a damn psychopath. When you find it, he just shrugs. “Don’t judge me. It’s art.”

Jason who lights up only after brushing his lips over yours first, muttering, “You’re the only good thing I wanna taste tonight.”

Jason who keeps your perfume on the nightstand and spritzes it on the collar of his jacket before stepping outside for a smoke. He breathes it in between drags, imagining you’re standing there, rolling your eyes at his bad habits but still staying close.

Jason who buys the most obnoxiously expensive cigars whenever he’s on a mission far from Gotham, not because he likes them, but because he knows they’ll get your attention. “Go on, princess, try it. I know you’re curious,” he’ll say, holding the cigar to your lips like it’s a dare.

Jason who never lets the ash hit the ground when you’re nearby. He stubs it out before you can complain about the smell or give him that look. God, that look—you’re worse than Alfred, but he can’t help loving it.

Jason who swears he doesn’t have an oral fixation, even though he constantly brushes his thumb over his lower lip while watching you. He murmurs, “You’re more addictive than nicotine, you know that?” right before he presses the cigarette back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Jason who grins every time you scold him for the habit, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m addicted to something much worse than nicotine.” And he doesn’t have to say it, because the way his eyes lock on you, like you’re the only thing that matters, tells you exactly what he means.

Jason who will smoke less if it makes you happy, even though it drives him insane when you ask him to. Says something like, “I’m already a dead man walking, doll. What’s the harm?” But he’ll throw the pack away when you glare at him because he knows you’re right, even if he won’t admit it.

Jason who once tried to quit because you asked him to, and lasted three days before he came back to you, shaking and desperate. "I’ll quit, baby, I swear. Just... just give me time, yeah?" You held him, kissed his temple, and told him you didn’t care as long as he was okay. He’s never loved you more than he did in that moment.

Jason who tastes like smoke and leather when he kisses you—rough and familiar, like coming home after a long day. Who always holds your face a little too long after, like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into his mind.

Jason who, in a rare moment of vulnerability, tells you he only started smoking again after he came back from the dead. "It reminds me I’m alive," he says, exhaling smoke into the moonlight. You lean in, press a kiss to his jaw, and tell him he doesn’t need the cigarettes to prove that.

Jason who tells himself he’ll quit someday. For you. But tonight isn’t that day. So he lights another cigarette and mutters your name like a prayer, the smoke curling around him like a ghost.

Jason who keeps one cigarette in his bedside drawer, untouched and pristine, because it’s the first one you ever kissed for him. He doesn’t smoke it. He never will. It’s a reminder that you’re his, just like every other damn thing in his life.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[obsessedwhyyes]

The Fool

Summary: As you lie, nestled into Astarion’s chest, he considers his feelings - his damned, complicated feelings.

Alternatively, Astarion experiences all 5 stages of grief in 10 minutes.

Rating: T Word Count: 816 Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Content: First person Astarion POV, fluff and angst, rather a lot of angst actually, feelings denial, Astarion needs a hug, cuddling, Astarion's simple plan beginning to fall apart.

Want to hear this fic read aloud with absolutely pristine acting by the incredibly talented CurlyChops on AO3? Have a listen here!

A/N: You know when you’re lying in bed, unable to sleep until you write down that idea that’s managed to worm its way into your brain at unspeakable hours of the night? Here we have a slightly angsty drabble that decided to do just that! After the reception to the Gale first person POV, I wanted to try my hand at an Astarion POV. Hopefully you enjoy!

A fool lies in this tent.

Look at you, nestled into my side, sleeping peacefully against my chest as if a vampire’s embrace is the safest place in all the realms. Utterly ridiculous. So trusting, so… pliant. All according to plan, really. I set the trap - a few choice words here, a few lingering touches there - and you walked right into it. Just like I knew you would.

Just like all the others do.

Well, not quite like all the others. You actually believe there's something redeemable in me, don't you? How deliciously naïve.

Do you even realise what you've fallen for? What I am? A monster, a liar, a parasite. Oh, my dear, the fool you are.

Though I suppose your particular brand of foolishness has its… uses. Your blind faith in my redemption is almost charming.

No. Not charming. It’s pathetic. Pathetically predictable. It can’t be charming. Because, if it is, I’m no better than the fool I mock.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and I resist the urge to recoil. This charade - this playing at romance, at desire - it shouldn’t affect me so. I’m above this. I’ve spent centuries perfecting the art of manipulation, of taking what I need. It was supposed to be easy: charm you, bed you, and secure my safety. A means to an end. But as I lay here, with your warmth pressed against me, my chest begins to tighten. Not in fear or hunger, but in something… complicated.

Anger begins to burn at the back of my throat. Good. Anger is familiar. It’s safer, easier to control.

This is your fault, you know. No, worse - it’s mine. My fault that I have been reduced to this - a creature desperate enough to sell the only scraps of autonomy I have left. You think this closeness is love, don’t you? But it’s not. It’s survival. It has always been survival.

But then again… 

You’re not like the others at all, are you? Those who took without asking, without care. Your touch is… gentle. Always so damnably gentle. You’ve never grabbed, never demanded, never treated me like a thing to be used. With you, it hasn’t all been… bad. No, that’s not right - it’s been tolerable. Almost pleasant at times, really. Your touch doesn’t make my skin crawl; your voice doesn’t grate on my nerves. I tell myself it’s because you’re useful. That’s all this is. 

That’s all it can ever be.

If I were to tell you the truth, what would you do? If I were to push you away, would you stay? If I were to let you in, would you hurt me? These questions gnaw at me, demanding answers I don't have. 

Answers I don't want.

Even now, as you sleep, your fingers rest light as feathers on my chest. It’s maddening. Infuriating. How dare you? How dare you make this difficult? This was supposed to be simple. You were supposed to be simple. 

I could kill you right now, you know. One quick movement, and all these feelings would disappear with you. Never again would you look at me like I'm something precious, something worth saving, like I’m–

“... Astarion,” you mumble drearily in your sleep.

Hells.

I should leave. I should push you away, remind you that I am not something to hold on to.

But I don’t move. 

Instead, I stay. Because the truth, the awful, unbearable truth, is that I don’t want to lose this. The selfish man I am.

A sigh escapes me. 

It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted. 

Gods, what an absolute mess you’ve made of my carefully laid plans. I find myself watching you sleep, counting your breaths, fighting the urge to brush that strand of hair from your face.

When did this happen? When did I start to care whether you lived or died beyond your usefulness to me?

I hate this. I hate that you’ve made me feel anything at all, but more than that, I hate myself for not hating it more. The way you defend me, the way you’ve never once looked at me with disgust or fear… it’s terrifying.

You’re terrifying.

Yet I can't bear to give it away.

Your fingers curl into my shirt in your sleep, and I find myself pulling you closer despite every screaming instinct to push you away. Protecting you, as if I have any right to do so. As if I deserve the way you lean into my touch, trust in my words, believe in my capacity for - dare I say it - goodness. As if I deserve any of this.

The moonlight filtering through the tent catches on your sleeping face, and something inside me breaks. Or perhaps it's finally mending. I'm not sure I know the difference anymore.

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, so soft I’m certain it won’t wake you. How poetic. How utterly absurd.

You, the fool, who dared to fall for me. 

And I, the greater fool for letting you.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat, @davenswitcher, @silverfangmarks, @sparrowbard, @chonkercatto, @stokzr , @trafalgarussy , @asterordinary , @bite-me-tonight , @transparentkittenheart , @bg3-fanfic-reblogs

[amysteryspot]

A Woman's Worth - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Anthony tries to salvage what's left of his marriage and discovers what his wife is truly worth. (Part one)

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV Show)

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, cheating and lots of angst. English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread.

Word Count: 4648

A/N: After so long, this piece is finally here. Thanks for patiently waiting and thanks @cevansgoodgirl for the help.

There is a mix of a scene with Laurie and Amy in Little Women and another one with Benedict and Tessa (the model/painter in 02x05), just so you know.

He remembers the first time he saw her—really saw her.

The (Y/L/N)s were guests in Aubrey House, and (Y/N) was in the balcony with Benedict while both their mothers and most of their siblings were in the lawn.

Anthony is not even sure what drew his attention when he was passing by, he did not have a habit of eavesdropping, but he got himself held back when his brother commented on (Y/N)’s painting.

"I declare that's rather good." Benedict said making (Y/N) huff.

“We both know that good is not enough, Ben.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Anthony could understand what his brother was talking about. The painting was a rendition of the scene unfolding before them—their siblings playing around while their mothers watched over them. It was rather good, indeed.

"It doesn’t matter, there's no place for me to do art."

Benedict frowned. "That's quite the statement to make at twenty. If you don't think you're good enough you have plenty of time to try some more, do better." He pauses, poking her. "You say that to me all the time."

"Then perhaps inform the academy.” She says, sarcasm dripping in every word. “Although two of the founding members are women, we are still not allowed to enter the classroom. It doesn't matter how much money we do or do not have."

"At least not while clothed." He comments, making (Y/N) throw the rag she was holding at him, which Benedict swiftly catches, changing the subject. "Well, now that you’ve given up all your artistic hopes, what are you going to do with your life?”

“Polish up my other talents and be an ornament to society.”

It was as if Anthony was seeing his sister speak.

“You sound like Eloise.” Benedict took the words out of Anthony’s mouth.

“Maybe she has been rubbing up on me.” (Y/N) smiled.

“You are searching for a husband, then?” Benedict asks, helping her pack her things.

“Yes.” She replies sheepishly.

“That's where Mr Scott comes in, I suppose.”

Anthony had noticed how Mr Scott had taken an interest in (Y/N), he never thought she felt the same.

Benedict continued. “You’ll accept him if he comes down properly on one knee?”

“Most likely, yes.” She said, pausing to look ahead for a moment. “He’s rich, respectable.”

When Benedict stifles a laugh, she lightly slaps his arm and Anthony has to fight back a smile. “Don’t make fun.” (Y/N) reprimands him.

"I’m not, I’m not, I promise.” He pauses. “It does sound odd coming from you.”

"I've always known that I would marry rich. Why should I be ashamed of that?"

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you love him." Benedict answers in a more serious tone.

Once upon a time Anthony would have easily seen himself at his brother's place, talking about love, but not anymore.

"Well, I believe we have some power over who we love, it isn't something that just happens to a person." (Y/N) says, closing the trunk with her paints, pencils and brushes inside.

"I think the poets might disagree." Benedict offers softly.

"Well, I'm not a poet, I'm just a woman.” She reminds him. “And as a woman I have no way to make money, not enough to earn a living and support my family. Even if I had my own money, which I don't, it would belong to my husband the minute we were married. If we had children they would belong to him not me. They would be his property. So don't stand there and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me."

For the first time since he stopped to hear the conversation, hiding himself between the curtains, Anthony felt like he had overstepped a boundary, so he made quick work of fleeing the scene, her words echoing inside his head.

Anthony remembers Benedict joking about how him and (Y/N) would make a good match. He listens as his brother tells him about the conversation he had with her and Anthony feigns ignorance to the subject, despite having heard the entire interaction. Benedict’s voice turns into white noise in the background as Anthony is transported back to a conversation he had with Daphne last season.

At the time he didn’t understand his sister’s words—perhaps, he never would. Daphne and (Y/N) shared the same struggles, but his sister had been set in marrying for love, (Y/N), on the other hand, had already resigned herself about having to marry for convenience.

It was then that Anthony recognized that the both of them were, indeed, a good match. (Y/N) was beautiful, well mannered, educated and very good at charming people. She came from a not very rich but respectable family. Anthony knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors of the season, despite his fame as a rake. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice to marry (Y/N), which made making the decision so much easier.

Anthony visited her the next day, explaining his proposal to her.

“You listened to us?” She blinked a couple of times, trying to digest the information.

“Yes,” he confessed, “and I’m terribly sorry for it, but we have to recognize that this might have been for the best.”

He observed as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, a little frown on her face. She was beautiful this way. Even more than when she was charming half of the ton in the many social events he had seen her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, my lord, why marry now?”

Anthony sighed. “My mom has been forcing my hand since Daphne married. Even before that, if I’m being honest. It’s time to find a good wife, settle down, and fulfill my duties.”

“Don’t take my question as an offense, but why me?”

She seemed unable to quite grasp his words. Anthony wondered if she still hoped, deep down, to marry for love and that her conversation with his brother had been only a fickle attempt to protect herself.

“You’re intelligent, (Y/N),” He kneeled in front of her. “You are beautiful and your family is respectable. If you are serious about your words to my brother, we both want the same thing from such a union.” He paused. “Would it be so bad to be married to me?”

(Y/N) bit her lip and Anthony caught himself observing the action with a little more intent than he should.

“No, my lord, I believe it wouldn’t,” she said.

“Then why not make the best we can from a predicament we can’t escape?”

She averted his gaze, looking out to the balcony where her maid was sitting and reading a book, while watching over them.

Anthony took the opportunity to look at her—hair carefully brushed and pinned up, the way the light contrasted with her silhouette, making it easier to see her nose, her lips, the  curve of her neck…

“If I were to accept your proposition, would you be committed to this relationship?”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I know that for our society standards maybe that’s too much to ask, but if I can’t be loved I’d wish to at least be respected.” She looked straight into his eyes and then Anthony understood what she was asking of him.

“You have my word that once we are engaged the only woman in my life will be you.”

Anthony asked her father for permission to court her in the same day, then he got properly down on one knee a second time to ask for her hand in marriage, the two of them married within months. Benedict had been shocked by the whole ordeal, but all he cared about was seeing his brother and his friend at least a little bit happy.

The process of knowing each other had been smooth, a lot easier than what Anthony first anticipated. (Y/N) took her duties as the lady of the house seriously, making a point of listening to Violet quite often. His siblings seemed to adore her even more than they liked him, and although inexperienced, as he knew she was, (Y/N) had proved herself to be a good lover. For all of those reasons, Anthony thought that keeping his promise wouldn’t be such an impossible task.

Then he discovered that Sienna had never left town and Anthony, who always prided himself in being a man of his word, proved himself to be as bad as the rest of the men he was surrounded by.

He fell back into the sheets with Sienna, and not long after that his relationship with (Y/N) became purely a show. At first, Anthony thought his wife was oblivious to his escapades, but he had clearly underestimated (Y/N)’s intelligence.

They never shared a bedroom, but there was no disguising how his visits to her chambers happened less and less, as there was no denying the gossip of the house staff that could only lead her to his broken promises.

Anthony expected a fight, things being thrown at him, screams and hits, but they never came, and that was somewhat worse.

One night when he got home after meeting Sienna, (Y/N) was sitting in the dressing room between their chambers, knitting. She lifted her eyes from her work to bid him good night. It didn’t go unnoticed to him how her smile fell from her face as she took in his disheveled state. Anthony felt ashamed for the first time in years.

(Y/N) didn’t give him time to explain himself for being so late—maybe it was for the best because he honestly didn’t know if he could find a suitable excuse for that—she just got up, leaving her unfinished work resting in the loveseat, and marched to her room.

Anthony sighed, throwing his coat away carelessly. The force knocked out (Y/N)’s knitting to the ground and Anthony groaned before bending down to take it. He furrowed his brow when he recognized the pattern—an onesie.

Maybe Daphne was pregnant again? She would’ve told him, right? Simon would, for sure. Then it hit him. Holding the unfinished piece between his fingers, Anthony realized that that was the reason why (Y/N) had stayed awake waiting for him until that hour—she was pregnant and wanted to tell him the news. Instead of the happiness she must have expected, she only received the sight of an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage.

(Y/N) never mentioned it to him and Anthony pretended as if he didn’t know, waiting for her to make the first move, tell him at her own time. (Y/N) never said it though, but he couldn’t ignore the knowledge, and the more time he passed observing her, the more evident it became to him that his wife was, in fact, expecting their first child.

In no time she distanced herself from him and all came to the point of no return in the night where she had gone through the loss of their child alone while he was rolling in the sheets with Sienna.

Anthony tried to reach out to her, succeeding only one time, a week after that fateful night, but in the following weeks, there hadn’t been much talking between them. (Y/N) would barely answer his greetings or the occasional question he threw her way trying to start a conversation. They had a few events to attend and these were the only occasions where she would grant him more than a couple of words. Anthony knew that that was all pretend for the sake of their reputation.

She refused every attempt he made to apologize or explain himself—not that there was much to explain. He couldn’t blame her, even if he wanted her forgiveness. It was her right to hate him and not want him around after he broke his promise to her.

They had never talked about it. Not until today.

(Y/N) was holding Augie, smiling down at the baby that smiled back at her, barely blinking with a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

“This one seems really enchanted by you,” Daphne comments, caressing her son’s little fingers.

“He’s just getting used to me,” (Y/N) answered,  smiling at his sister.

“Well, it’s good training, since I guess you and Anthony will probably have one of your own soon.”

Is as if Anthony’s blood turns to ice. He looks at his wife whose expression turns into shock and then sadness in the blink of an eye. He recognizes the tears pooling in her eyes as she gives the baby back to Daphne and excuses herself, leaving the drawing room too quick not to draw attention.

He hurries back after her. Simon gives him an apologetic look to which Anthony answers with an equally sad smile. It doesn’t take him long to find her, bend down in the windowsill of one of the windows of the library, one hand covering her mouth to muffle her sobbing while the other rested on her belly.

(Y/N) doesn’t hear his approach, but when he touches her as if she was expecting him too. She jumps as far away from him as she can get as if his touch burned her.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t…” she doesn’t finish the sentence but Anthony could hear it loud and clear in his head.

Don’t touch me with the same hands you’ve touched her just a week ago.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Anthony reassures her, raising his hands so she can see them. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me too, but I want to help you.”

“Nobody can help me,” she sobs, hands clutching tightly at her dress.

The sight breaks his heart. Anthony wants nothing more than to take her pain away and make it his, even though he is mourning the loss of their child with her. He knew her pain was fairly worse than his, she did not only lose a child but she had been losing her husband too.

“Why, Anthony? Why us? There are so many couples that don’t love each other and still have children, why can’t we?”

Anthony takes a step forward, then two, and then he’s bringing her into his arms, wrapping her tightly against his chest, his chin resting at the top of her head. She struggles against his touch a little, but she’s so worn out that it doesn’t take much for her to relax into him.

(Y/N) fists the lapels of his waistcoat, resting her forehead against his chest, letting herself cry.

“I wanted them so bad, Anthony,” she whispers between sobs, “so bad.”

Me too, he wants to answer. Me too.

They stay in the library, in silence, for a while. When (Y/N) finally stops crying, exhausted, Anthony takes her home without even saying goodbye to his family, sending a maid to let them know his wife was not feeling well.

Their relationship shifts after that day. (Y/N) appears so exhausted by the recent events that slowly, she starts to let her guard down again. Anthony is careful when dealing with her, his wife is fragile and the sadness in her runs so deep that he is always afraid to say or do something that will put her through more pain.

“You don’t have to worry so much, you know.” She says, making him look up from his papers to see her already staring back at him.

“I always worry.”

“I won’t break if we talk about it,” she guarantees. “We have to talk about it.”

Anthony is not sure if she’s talking about their baby or Sienna. Either way it wasn’t exactly a conversation he was eager to have.

“How are you?” He asks before he can contain himself. Anthony wanted to ask that for a while but never found the opportunity.

“Healing,” she answers, “or trying to.”

He nods, nervously picking at his nails.

“When did you discover?” She asks.

“The onesie.” He looks up at her.

“The onesie,” she scoffs.

“You were… waiting for me?” His question is almost inaudible, full of regret and shame, but Anthony knows that she heard him.

“Yes,” she answers, “I was.” There’s a pause, and then the blow to his face. “Obviously you were occupied with more important matters, my lord.”

“(Y/N)—”

“I know about her,” she confesses. “I’ve always known, just didn’t want to acknowledge it and have to face the fact that my husband, the one that promised to respect me, at least, had so quickly forgotten his own word.”

“It’s not your fault.” He tries to explain but it seems like (Y/N) has had enough of silence.

“Oh, I know, my lord. This is entirely your fault.” She paused. “And hers. Not that it will matter for anyone, I’ll be the one to blame, after all.”

Her words cut through him the same way they did the week after her miscarriage: it’s always the woman’s fault. Hers or Sienna’s, it didn’t matter. Anthony would never understand the full extent of the pain it was to be a woman in their society, he would never fully understand how much he put her through and yet, would never be blamed for it.

There’s no answer to her words, no explanation for his behavior or broken promises. All he can do is watch her swallow the tears that were threatening to fall and take a deep breath. Anthony opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

“That night,” she says, “the night I… lost our child. You were with her.”

It wasn’t a question, but Anthony felt the need to answer it anyway, his voice low with shame.

“Yes.”

“I see,” she hums.

“If I could go back—”

“The outcome would have been the same.” She says.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I should have been there for you.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Anthony always knew that, since the moment he put foot inside their house and heard her screams, but hearing her say it had another weight.

“Are you still seeing her?” She asks, looking at him.

“No, it won’t happen again.”

(Y/N) scoffs. “Forgive me if I have trouble believing in it, my lord.”

“I know I haven’t been a good husband. God, I have been barely a good man since we married, but I promise you, I’ll learn from my mistakes and I’ll do better by you. I’ll be a better man, a better husband, one that you deserve and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get close to deserve you.”

The following days, they start to talk more during meals, and the silence that falls between them when they’re both at the drawing room—Anthony working and (Y/N) reading—is not uncomfortable anymore. Each day that passes makes Anthony believe that they can fall back into the friendship they had right after they married.

He doesn’t see Sienna again. Anthony sends her a letter telling her that they should stop seeing each other because he doesn’t want to hurt his wife anymore. Which is the truth. Every time he thinks about the last time he met Sienna, his wife’s cries of pain and sorrow plague his mind and he just can’t see himself hurting her even more than he already had without even realizing it.

Anthony watches her playing with Gregory and Hyacinth in the garden. His younger siblings are fighting for her attention but she doesn’t seem to mind, going back and forth in between the two of them with ease. Then she looks at him, a huge smile on her face that made him smile too. Her attention was quickly snatched from him to his siblings again and Anthony felt a pang of jealousy in his chest—he didn’t want to share her attention.

In the past few weeks, Anthony discovered that his wife was more than the character of the perfect wife that she played for the ton. She was very much real and very much a woman with desires and ambitions. Everything that happened between then made her more bold, she didn’t take his poor excuses anymore, she talked openly about all sorts of things and Anthony caught himself wanting to listen.

“Hum, did you finally realize that you got a diamond in your hands, then?”

Anthony turned his head to look at Benedict, who had a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

His relationship with Benedict was stranded since his brother discovered about Sienna. Anthony didn’t blame Benedict, he was friend’s with his wife since they were kids. He only had himself to blame for being so foolish.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anthony answered, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t observing their siblings with (Y/N).

“Keep lying to yourself then,” Benedict smirked, turning away to leave.

Anthony called after him. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Benedict sighed. “I’m not the one who has to forgive you. I just expected more from my brother.”

“I know,” he agrees. Benedict makes a move to go out the door, and then comes back, pulling Anthony into a hug.

“Look, I could say a thousand things to you, but nothing will undo what’s done.” Benedict says when they part, a hand resting on Anthony’s shoulder. “Just… learn from your mistakes and do better. You’re my brother and I love you, but trust me when I say that you don't deserve (Y/N). Can you imagine what mother would have done to our father if they ever found themselves in the same situation?”

“They loved each other,” Anthony protested to prevent his mind from wandering.

“You are truly oblivious, brother of mine.” Benedict scoffed.

His brother’s word haunted him for the rest of the day and all the way back to their home. Always perceptive, his change in behavior didn’t go unnoticed by (Y/N).

“What happened,” she asked when they were alone in the dressing room.

Anthony hummed, turning around to look at her and trying not to get distracted by her beauty as she braided her own hair after taking off the jewelry.

“Nothing.”

Her reflection raises a brow at him.

“Do better,” she warns, getting up and walking up to him, face softening as she stands in front of him. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

He nods, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his face. Anthony’s eyes close.

“Is it about her?”

The question gets him off guard. His eyes open instantly to look at her and he drops (Y/N)’ hand instantly.

“No,” he answers, “no,” he adds firmly, cradling her face in between his hands. “There is no one else in my life but you. There won’t be no one else in my life but you.”

“Anthony…” She breaths, closing her eyes as her delicate hands take hold of his wrists.

He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but refrains. It’s not the time for that. They’re both healing and he doesn’t want to taint whatever it is they’re creating by getting ahead of himself. Instead, Anthony presses his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Stay with me tonight,” he pleads, not sure where the urge to stay close to her came from. Anthony expects her to put up a fight, but (Y/N) only nods, murmuring an okay, before guiding him to her room.

It’s the first time since that fateful night that the both of them sleep through it, getting up later than usual the other day.

Their first kiss after everything that threatened to push them apart for good, happens so suddenly that none of them expects it.

(Y/N) had received the news that one of her younger sisters was going to marry the man she loves, her happiness made her throw herself at him and before either of them could realize, they were kissing each other.

It was just a chaste peck on the lips at the beginning. When they realized what had just happened they parted, his wife didn’t bother to step away from him to escape his embrace. They just stared at each other, eyes flicking between their eyes and their lips and then she placed a hand at the back of his neck, bringing him close to seal their lips again.

Anthony responded in kind, his hands on her waist, traveling up her back as he tasted her. It was like he was kissing her for the first time. They were discovering each other again, learning what each other felt like.

Desperately, Anthony wanted to discover what the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach was. Since before they married (Y/N) made him feel different, something he couldn’t put a finger on. He pushed it down to the depths of his mind—the last thing he needed was feeling something other than respect and partnership for his wife.

He protested when (Y/N) parted her lips from his and it took him a second to notice Benedict standing at the door, a smirk on his lips.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that our mother is waiting for (Y/N) downstairs. Something about the charity?”

“Oh,” his wife exclaimed, “I had forgotten about it,” she said, wriggling herself away from his arms, making Anthony growl in frustration.

If she noticed, (Y/N) made a good job at ignoring it. The same couldn’t be said about his brother.

“I figured,” Benedict smirked.

“Not a word,” (Y/N) warned as she passed him by, slapping his arm playfully.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Anthony watched as she turned around, stealing one last glance at him before disappearing and taking his breath away with her.

“Huh,” Benedict hummed, “I see.”

Rolling his eyes, Anthony asked, “And what do you see, dear brother?”

“You love her.”

“Nonsense,” he protested, “we’re just good partners.”

“Good partners don’t kiss like that.”

The ride home was silent, but Anthony’s heart fluttered in his chest when (Y/N) searched for his hand. Could Benedict be right? Did he really fall in love with his wife? He frowned while looking out of the window of the carriage and (Y/N) might have noticed it, because she made a move to take her hand away from him. Anthony didn’t let her.

“What’s going on in your mind?”

“Something Benedict said to me.”

“If it is about the kiss, don’t mind him. It won’t happen again.”

Anthony looked at her exasperated.

“I surely hope you’re not serious about that.”

“Anthony…”

“How can I live without your kisses again is unknown to me.”

“You lived quite well without them all your life,” she smiles, shyly.

“But now that I know them, I can’t anymore.”

Painfully slowly, she moves closer, giving him the chance to meet her halfway and bring their lips together again.

It’s like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day and Anthony can’t seem to get enough of her. They get so distracted that they don’t even realise the carriage has stopped in front of the house until the door is open.

Recomposing themselves, he observes as (Y/N) giggles at the situation and feels his heart flutter at the image.

As they prepare to retire for the night, Anthony stops for a minute before following her into her room—he has been doing that for quite a few nights.

When she notices that he hasn’t entered the bedroom, (Y/N) looks back at him with a frown.

“Anything’s wrong?”

Anthony smiles, “No, nothing’s wrong,” he answers, as she extends her hand for him to take, and they retire for the night.

[pamwritessometimes]

Loving Soldier Boy…

Soldier Boy x reader (drabble)

Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.

Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence

Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.

Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.

You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.

But you?

You thought you had him figured out.

He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.

“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.

“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.

Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”

Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.

And Butcher — he just tsked.

“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”

But all that didn’t matter.

Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

He’s a walking contradiction.

He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.

And you love it.

You love that you make him hesitate.

That you make him stay.

"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”

Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.

You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.

But he’s fluent in actions.

Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.

Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?

Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.

He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.

And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—

You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.

Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.

It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.

It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—

Well.

“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.

Ben’s not stupid.

But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.

You blink. “Because it was beeping?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”

“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”

“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.

Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.

Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.

He doesn’t do restraint.

Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.

Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.

“To be fair, he was being a dick.”

“He was giving you a parking ticket.”

Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”

Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.

There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.

His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.

And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

And he knows it.

No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”

You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”

Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”

You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”

And fuck.

Maybe you do.

Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.

When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.

You have no defense.

Because what are you even supposed to say?

He’s trying? (He’s not.)

He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)

He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)

And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.

Maybe you can’t fix him.

But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.

The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help

Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍

xx Pam

[signanothername]

Hi Anó! Do you have any advice for writing characters like killer? How do you achive that nuance? I love your comics and would love to learn about your artistic process a bit!

Hi Gal!! A delight to see you in my inbox! <3

Omg thank you sm hcchhcchch (have you seen your own comics???? *shakes you* /pos)

Ok but I say this genuinely, I think your ideas and comics are such a beautiful and refreshing take on these blorbos, you’re doing such an amazing job both writing and art wise (your 2 Killers idea is so fucking good eeeeee) <3333

Ok to the question xgzggxzg

Killer is definitely.. complicated to write, I struggle with him sometimes ngl shshhdh

I honestly went and reread his entire comics, lore and answered asks to get a deeper look into him to be able to write him

But when it comes to writing him, I generally try to keep 6 things in mind at all times

1-trauma: how does the resets, working for Chara, having his code get manipulated and killing over and over again till what was new became something old affect him? (the whole idea of Killer killing people started as an offer of trying something new, so he kept killing till he got bored and killing became something stagnant)

This can easily be portrayed in Killer’s canon inability to till what’s real or not, as well as his hallucinations and the guilt he’s ridden with, always running from his past yet never outrunning it, as it always catches up to him

2- conditioning: his conditioning started from the days of Chara, then continued into his days with Nightmare, how does his conditioning affect him in his daily life?

How was he conditioned specifically? And how does that contribute to Killer’s perception of self, autonomy, self worth, and life in general? How does it change his body and mind?

Does it make him believe he’s just a machine meant to please others even when it hurts him, does it make Killer perceive vulnerability as a death sentence

How does he feel about his masters? Does he hate them down to every bone, or does he not care?

3-personality: Killer’s personality always change depending on the stage, but what are the main traits that you know Killer will always have regardless of the stage? Being quiet is one thing, he keeps to himself (as much as the fandom loves to portray him as extremely hyperactive, he’s not at all the loud, talkative, hyperactive skelle the fandom makes him out to be)

He’s also extremely secretive, seems to have knowledge that others don’t, and seems to always be up for a social interaction regardless of who’s with him

He’s also actually extremely patient (another thing the fandom stripped away from Killer’s character), and is very docile (isn’t aggressive unless pushed and never is an attack on sight kinda person) yet holds a grudge big time

He seems to see himself as superior over others, he’s extremely fucking intelligent it’s actually scary

These traits are something I try to keep consistent within my writing for Killer

4- relationships: what are his relationships with other characters like, and why?

Taking the 3 points before into consideration, how does Killer’s trauma, conditioning, and personality make him perceive others and others perceive him?

Are his relationships healthy? Toxic? Are they one sided or mutual? Does he care about the person in his vicinity or are they just another nobody? If he cares why? If he doesn’t what would he do to them?

Would he take advantage of his relationship with someone or is it a relationship he wishes for it to vanish?

5-stages: I think this is truly what makes Killer extremely complicated, cause see all of the 4 points above? how does each stage differ from each other?

How does stage 1 deal with his guilt/truama and conditioning? How does stage 2, 3, and 4 deal with them?

Depending on each stage Killer’s outward perception, personality, attitude, thoughts, and actions change

But how do they change exactly?

This is something that you need to understand each stage for to be able to integrate into writing

Stage 1 is the stage where he’s most sans like, yet never sans enough, stage 2 is when he’s apathetic to everyone and everything and perceives killing as “fun” because he’s painfully understimulated , stage 3 is when he’d attack whoever is in front of him, and stage 4 is when killer is no longer present mentally

How does each stage deal with his environment, with the people around him, how does he deal with the dissociation and how does he perceive himself in each stage?

6-environments: how does the environment Killer lives in affect him?

Killer starts in an environment of time loops, how does that affect his perception of time and reality? He then becomes Nightmare’s subordinate, a dangerous environment with constant threats to his life from every angle, how does Killer feel about it? How does he deal with it?

Will he get to try his luck and escape, or has he given up on himself and the idea of freedom? Does he even believe he has a chance for a better life in a safer environment? Will he go for a safer environment or will he cling to the comfort of what he knows?

When he does finally go to a safer environment, how would that affect him? Both positively and negatively? Would he feel like something is missing? Would his mind constantly tell him that this safe environment isn’t really safe?

Then of course, beyond these main 6 things, there’s the in between, what are Killer’s likes? His dislikes? How does he feel about sleep, food?

Generally when writing characters, it’s important to keep in mind interpersonal factors, intrapersonal factors and environmental factors that ends up affecting the character’s behavior, or in this specific situation, Killer’s behavior (god I’m realizing how much my uni major affects my writing of characters rn chchc)

But I say the biggest life saving advice I have that helps with writing characters in general (and especially complicated ones like Killer) is having the question “why” as your closest friend

When you make a statement about a character, in this instance Killer, always attach the question “why” at the end till you can’t attach it anymore, until you reach a point where asking “why” becomes unnecessary and annoying

For example:

“Killer loves golden flower tea”

Why?

It reminds him of the bed of golden flowers he passed out on

Why does that matter?

Because it was the point of no return from a change that will always dictate who he is

Why is it a point of no return?

Because his soul had deformed beyond recognition and it can never be brought back to how it used to be

Why would it dictate who he is? Why can’t he just choose to be someone else?

Because he was conditioned to be this killer by a higher power out of his control

At this point, there are no more “why”s that would make something as simple as a golden flower tea statement more nuanced than it already is, so when you ask why again, you find that you’re unable to continue giving an answer, that’s the point of where you stop

In fact, allow me to test you by giving you a quick question about your own interpretation of the characters, why does your Nightmare admire Error? What is in Error that Nightmare admires specifically?

Of course, you don’t really need to answer me, but I’m just giving you an example of how asking “why” can help you make so many simple things more nuanced

Ok but what if you know there should be an answer to a “why” but you don’t know it yet? Then you keep it in mind for later, you won’t always have the answers to everything on the get go, sometimes, you need a bit of time to figure things out and write characters the way you feel satisfy you, until then, you can work on other things about the characters

*Cough* anyway, this is honestly everything I can think of off the top of my head? Hopefully I didn’t miss anything ydfhgchchchc

Do let me know if you’d like any more help or need clarification on anything, I’d be happy to help where I can <33333

Now have a sketch of your 2 Killers cause I love them dearly, they have a special place in my heart (genuinely adore how you write Killer already btw)

[akatsukinolola]

𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗕𝗦𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗗 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔𝗕𝗕𝗬'𝗦 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦 𝗛𝗖'𝗦┊𝗔. 𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡

ఌ︎. p. abby anderson x f!reader // g. fluff + smut

ఌ︎. cw. NSFW (MDNI. i will block you); Abby uses a strap on reader; choking; mentions of bruises; pussy eating, tribbing/scissoring; cute shit — let me know if i missed anything!

ఌ︎. wc. 0.9k

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

✉  i can just imagine being completely obsessed with abby’s hands. holding them, massaging her fingers, softly running the tips of your fingers over the calluses she’s developed from weight lifting, kissing the pads of her fingers, and cracking her knuckles.

✉  i can also see abby being the type to get matching nail art with you. i don’t care if you are an xxl acrylic wearer or you get simple gel manicures, abby would definitely get something to match.

✉  playing with the rings on abby’s fingers. whether, it’s because you're anxious or just need something to fidget with, she won’t mind because even the simplest touch from you is always welcomed. stealing abby’s rings even though her fingers may be bigger than yours so they don’t fit. “i bought you this,” she runs the pad of her thumb over the lab-grown pandora promise ring she got you for your birthday, “and you’re still stealing mine,” she shook her head with a light laugh.

✉  when you’re taking a nap while abby is studying or working and subconsciously reach out for her hand. yeah, typing with one hand is a little more difficult, but she totally thinks it’s worth it.

✉  abby sweetly caressing your face when you kiss. it doesn’t matter if it’s a short kiss before the two of you part or a hungry kiss full of pants and sexual tension, abby’s hands always find their way to your face. 

✉  having an oral fixation when it comes to this woman’s hands is a given, methinks. playfully biting her hands, nipping at her fingertips when she feeds you something. licking the pad of her finger when she wipes sauce from the corner of your mouth. it started off as a joke. she had wiped some pasta sauce from the corner of your mouth and pressed her thumb against your lips encouraging you to lick the red substance off her finger. things escalated rather quickly after that.

✉  abby pushing her thumb past the swell of your plump lips, making sure to press down on your tongue. sticking her fingers that are slick with your wetness down your throat until you gag and tears begin to well in your eyes.

✉  your back to her chest, her legs holding yours wide open. one of her veiny hands holding your lips open as the other one alternates between your sopping hole and rubbing your clit. making you cum over and over again as you maintain eye contact. once you’re thoroughly fucked, she’s taked her pruned middle and ring fingers and make you lick up the mess you made all over her hands.

✉  abby forcing your mouth open, pointer and middle finger on either side of your tongue; the mixture of her spit and your cum rolls off the tip of her tongue onto yours.

✉  i like to think abby, wears her strap + harness when the two of you go out to tease the hell out of you. she’d make you sit on her lap and grind her hips into your ass making you warm with arousal. she’d pull you away at a function because she can’t go another second without touching you. her calluses feel so good on your face when she covers your mouth and she strokes the silicone piece in and out of your tight, wet cunt. “can’t have everyone hearing how pretty my girl sounds, now can i?” she whispered in your ear as she bent you even further over the vanity in the bathroom she pulled you into.

✉  OH. EM. GEE. abby wrapping your hair around her fist tightly as she pounds into you >>>>. maybe she hasn't been able to pull your hair the way you like because your scalp is sensitive from getting your hair done, so when the tension loosens she goes ham.

✉  abby’s hands around your throat. whether you’re in missionary holding the most sensual eye contact or she’s fucking your from behind like a whore, the blonde’s hands always find their way around your throat. “all you have to do is cum on my cock, princess and i’ll let you breathe.” 

✉  abby holding your hands. holding them above your head, both wrists trapped in the clutch of her strong hand. lacing your fingers together as she grinds her soaked cunt on yours.

✉  the tips of her fingers leaving bruises on your hips and thighs. even if they don’t visibly bruise, you can still feel the imprint under your skin buried in the muscle from where she held onto you tightly.

✉  abby’s hand finding the back of your head as she stands over you, pushing your face into her wetness. the metal of her rings digging into your scalp as she grinds her pussy onto your awaiting tongue. her sweet caresses as she swipes the cum from your face and licks it off, tasting herself. “you always look so pretty when you let me use your mouth,”

✉  when abby’s on top, grinding her pussy against yours and finally reaches her climax. she’d continue moving her hips, despite the overstimulation to make sure she doesn’t waste a drop, she’d take her fingers and fuck her release into you until you cum one last time.

✉  abby who will dive between your legs, licking at your mixed essence. she’ll take her index and middle fingers and pry your mouth open, resting the two fingers on either side of your tongue. her saliva mixed with your shared juices would land on your tongue and like the good girl you are, you swallow happily, making the corners of her pink lips lift into that smile you adore.

a/n: ... heeeey y'all 😅 i know i've been inactive, but blame school and work #NAWT me!! although i haven't been uploading, i have been jotting down all of my ideas so, just know i have some stuff in my drafts. kk luv y'all, SMOOCHIES!!

[yuansie]

the greatest gamble of all

pairing. aventurine x gn! nameless! reader

synopsis. aventurine knows that he is unworthy of love, unworthy of you. because he, aventurine, is a tainted person and kakavasha is but a person with no future for himself. in both of his names, he is unworthy of you.

genres/aus. actually idek what type of au this would fall under saurrr idk what to say ummm friends to something more (?!), romance, pining, angst with a happy ending, smidge of fluff at the end

warnings. slight (or maybe not so slight at all?) spoilers about aventurine's background, mentions of death and murder, very sad and insecure aventurine, crying, slight displays of affection (a neck kiss?!), ooc aventurine ?! (bc im still doing the penacony quest HAHSHAJ)

wc. 1.6k

a/n. me when i only write about aventurine because aventurine is love, aventurine is life. also, i just have some serious brainrot for that man he deserves everything and more i love him sm !!!! also. aventurine this wednesday im SOOOO excited i need him NOW. will be skipping my first class so i can do his trial LMFAO and this NAWT edited !! (when will i ever edit something?? idk. whenever i am not a busy uni kid) the aventurine art was made by @/20231102thu on x (twitter) !!

AVENTURINE IS FULLY AWARE THAT HE ISN'T SOMEONE DESERVING OF, well, anything. he’s just someone that aimlessly wanders this world, not having a set destination. he doesn’t have anything worth living for.  he doesn’t have a home to return to because home means returning to a place filled with warmth and love. 

he does not remember the last time he felt his heart warm up, he’s not even sure if he’s even felt warmth. it is but a distant memory filled with sadness, such sorrow that makes his heart weep without knowing it. though, nowadays, he doesn’t feel like that. there’s just an emptiness in him, but he doesn’t mind it anymore. after the events at penacony, he’s just been… lost.

he hears a door open and slide shut, followed by the sound of footsteps. then, he senses someone standing right next to him as he gazes out the windows of the astral express. you spent a long time convincing the conductor and himeko that aventurine should be a guest, and you finally wore them out with your pleading after a good amount of hours. 

“penny for your thoughts?”

aventurine glances at you. your wounds from the battle are still healing, he notes, given by the bandages that wrap around your forearm and head. sunday will have to meet his fury on another day. “just thinking that this is a nice place.”

you chuckle, “it is, isn’t it?”

all he does is hum in response, still staring out in the vast expanse of space. he likes how the stars look and as his eyes linger on penacony, he wonders if his home looked similar to that. he wouldn't know because he never saw how it looked when he left and never will. his thoughts don’t linger on that much when he instead focuses on the way your fingers brush against his hand. he flinches and stares wide-eyed at how you easily grab onto his hand, a dirty piece of flesh undeserving of the warmth that radiates from your skin and seeps into his own.

“aventurine—”

“kakavasha.”

“hm?” you tilt your head to the side, blinking at him in confusion.

he wants to look away from you, from your eyes. but he wills himself to keep looking and somehow, he ends up gripping onto your hand tightly. you don't complain and instead squeeze back, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“my name is… kakavasha.” aventurine feels his stomach twist and turn at your silence so he continues to speak, “i just thought… that you should know it before it’s completely gone.”

“and why do you say that?”

“it’s a name meant to be forgotten in the sand.”

your response is so quick that it almost gives him whiplash. “no it isn't.”

“excuse me?” he blurts out, surprised that you even said such a thing about him.

“it isn't a name meant to be forgotten in the sand,” you say, a certain calmness in your voice that has aventurine waiting with bated breath at what else you have to say. “it's too pretty to be forgotten and, well, it's your name.” 

and then he feels his face heat up; his ears, neck and cheeks feel like they’re burning up.

“kakavasha,” you hum, smiling, “kava, for short. it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

it does have a nice ring to it, but only because you're the one saying it. aventurine merely nods, not trusting his voice at the moment. he looks away and stares outside the window, not wanting to look at you anymore because he fears this warm feeling will take over his entire being.

a nice silence blankets over the two of you, one that you break after a while.

“what’s the story behind your name right now? aventurine… why are you called that now?”

“because kakavasha had no future,” he replies, “kakavasha didn’t have a future, he didn’t deserve to live either. who i am now, aventurine, does.”

“kakavasha deserves to live too.” aventurine turns his body to look at you, blinking in surprise. “i don’t know how you got that thought in your head, but kakavasha deserves to live just as much as the person you are now.”

“but aventurine is tainted. this name has too much blood on it, too many sins on it. the person i am now doesn’t deserve to live either. kakavasha should be a name buried in the sands of time while aventurine should be burnt to a crisp for the things i’ve done.”

yes, he is tainted. his body, his everything is tainted. it is marred by an ugly color, a stain of who he was and is, never to be cleaned. aventurine lets go of your hands, worried that you might also get stained by his sins. he should drive you away now before the aching in his small heart decides to cling to you and the warmth you give him. he will tell you his story, tell you about the mark on his neck, tell you how he killed the man that bought him, tell you about how he is a tainted person. he is a tainted person unworthy of you, unworthy of that love you hold.

he may have never experienced love. after all, all of his past relationships were purely physical. no one cared about going deeper beyond his facade, they all just wanted a fun night. so while he has never experienced it, he is no fool. he can recognize that the emotion in your pretty eyes when you look at him is love. you love aventurine, the him who has betrayed and used you and your companions in one way or another on penacony. he doesn’t understand why and maybe he never will because the mere fact that you feel something towards him is so bizarre.

so he should ruin whatever it is that you love about him and tell you the truth, taint your rose-colored view on him. aventurine needs to do it now before his heart tells him not to. he knows his heart is already lovesick, so needy of that bit of love it has received from you. his heart wants to hold on tightly to you and drown in you, drown in those feelings of yours. his tiny heart wants to love you too, it wants to love you just as much as you love him. he wants your everything to consume his entire being.

but after he tells you the truth, you will leave and you will be the first and last person he’s loved. you will be the first and last person to somehow climb over the tall walls he’s built around himself and crack open the facade he’s made.

but what if… what if you stay after everything? what will happen then?

it is that small hope that he ends up clinging to.

if he is blessed gaiathra, if he is lucky, then what if… what if this is his greatest gamble of all? a gamble of love: will he lose you or will you stay?

aventurine has made up his mind despite the rational part in him telling him to not even do it, yet he does. the words flow out of his mouth easily, though his heart weighs heavy in his chest. he expects to you leave, he really does because who would want someone as ugly as him? but the tears that leaves your eyes and roll down your cheeks catches him completely off guard.

“why are you crying?” he asks, his hands reaching out to hold your arms.

your lips quiver and a hand grabs onto one of his while the other reaches out, fingers stopping before they touch his neck. aventurine leans in without thinking and a shiver goes up his spine when your fingertips gently graze the marks on his neck. you rub over the marks, “you didn’t deserve any of that, kakavasha.”

“if i could, i would take this from you and any pain you’ve felt and will feel. i would take away all of the unpleasant memories that plague your mind. for you, i would do anything.” 

his knees buckle at your words and you both tumble down to the ground; he ends up being on top of you. your eyes widen when aventurine’s own tears begin to rain down, some falling onto your cheek.

“why would you say something so cruel to me?” he mutters. “don’t give me false hope. you should leave now before you do it in the future.”

“why should i leave the man that i love?” you purse your lips, your eyebrows furrowing.

aventurine shoves his head into the crook of your neck. “i am undeserving of you. i’m lesser than everyone in all of these galaxies.”

“you are not lesser than everyone,” you grumble, raking your hand through his blond hair. “everyone is the same because at the end of the day, we all want to love and to be loved.”

“i’m afraid i won’t be able to leave you now.” he hears you laugh softly, saying how his eyelashes are tickling you. he decides to get impossibly closer to you and bat his eyelashes more, smiling at the sound of your laughter growing in volume. “you’re stuck with me, so don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

aventurine’s breath gets stuck in his throat. he feels your lips brush against his neck. “i think the one who should be saying that is me… say, promise me you won’t leave?”

“shouldn’t i be saying that?”

“kava, promise me.”

“i promise. will you promise the same thing too?”

“yes, i promise that i won’t leave you.”

kakavasha, a name forgotten in the sand, was dug up and remembered, held in the hands of someone that treats like the most precious thing. kakavasha, who had forgotten how it felt to love and be loved, remembered the feeling because of a single person.

and kakavasha, blessed by gaiathra, won his greatest gamble of all time. he won you and your love, something he will now protect and hold onto tightly.

[xazse]

KITTYSUKUNA X FEM!READER

Notes: Sukuna is a hybrid with ears and a tail that’s all! Sorry this is so short, I went based off your pfp since it was Sukuna! <33

Pairings: KittyHybridSukuna X Fem!Reader

Tags: Mating press, Blowjobs,Reader has boobs, just smut! NOT PROOFREAD!

- Kitty Sukuna really doesn’t listen, like at all it’s hard to get him to do anything without a damn attitude. Ask him to take the trash out he’s grumbling under his breath every step of the way, tell him to let you brush his tail because it’s getting rather matted, hes complaining the whole time but you can hear his soft purrs.

- Kitty Sukuna who can’t help but love your beautiful mounds, squeezing the sensitive things whenever he can, he makes sure when you’re riding him that your shirt is off, and no you can’t cover yourself that just won’t do.

-

- Kitty Sukuna who loves your thighs, getting and snatching every opportunity you sit down, laying his head and forcing you to rub his ears whilst whispering good things about him, things you love about him, he won’t have it any other way.

-

- Kitty Sukuna who loves to bully his cock into your tight cunt, yeah he’s fingered you for a good 20 minutes but that doesn’t seem to help when your whining while he pushes himself in. His cock more thick than it is long (he’s not lacking in that department either) to offer some comfort to you his tail wraps itself around your naked upper thigh.

- Kitty Sukuna who loves a good mating press, forcing your legs to bend as far as possible while he slams into you over and over, your pussy milking him for all it’s worth, the little puffs of air you let out every so often to breath drive him insane, every time he pulls out, he admires his work of art: your stuffy nose and dried tears, but you aren’t telling him to stop, even going as far to beg him to keep ruining you.

- Kitty Sukuna who makes you swallow his load everytime you go down on him, something so precious just shouldn’t be wasted.

- Kitty Sukuna who wont admit it but he loves having his tail played with for a bit: just to tease him in his sleep you’ll tug on the base of it, he stirs but doesn’t wake up: lifting up the cover you can see just a slight movement of his hips agaisnt the bed.

[sillystarwrites]

Artist’s Muse | MW Daisuke x Reader

A/N: first one shot gang, wish me luck because I am scared.

Summary: Daisuke hasn’t been heard from all day. Worried, reader goes to his quarters and finds out what he’s really up to.

Type: Anya’s intern reader, gender neutral, Fluff/platonic, idk man just read it blehhh

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was quiet. Too quiet. Something was up. Ever since you woke up, and gotten to work in the medbay, something was missing.

Daisuke.

He always poked his head in the room at some point, cracking a joke or giving you and Anya some doodles from his work with Swansea, which you both put up on the board. (Yimpy was your favorite, by the way!) You’d been working for hours, organizing and helping Anya, occasionally going around the ship to help Swansea, since the engineer’s intern was holed up in his quarters. 

As of right now, you were just in Utility, taking a break from your intern duties with Anya.

“So…have you heard from Daisuke at all? I haven’t seen him all day.” You started conversation awkwardly, figuring Swansea might know.

“Nope, haven’t seen the kid either. I tried yanking him from his room, but he was working on something. Didn’t even let me in.” Swansea groused, grabbing a wrench from his toolbox as he tightened the bolts on the cryopods, “Can’t help but admit I am a bit worried, the kid doesn’t pull stunts like this often, or at all to be honest.”

“I mean, I could check on him. I’m technically his best friend, right?” you suggested.

“Y’know…I suppose that could work. My next bet was waiting it out, but I’ll send ya down there. Thanks, kid” he spoke, the gratefulness evident.

“Anytime, Mr. Swansea!” you grinned, your feet swiftly carrying you from the utility room, down the metal halls and to the crew’s quarters. You approached his door, “Daisuke” written in dark pink lettering, with doodles of hibiscus flowers around his name. You raised your hand, your fist rapping against the door softly.

“Daisuke, are you in there? Can I come in?” you asked carefully, worried. Something was wrong. It had to be.

“Don’t- don’t come in! I’m busy.” he responded meekly, a hint of nervousness in his voice, “Besides uh- I’m- whatever, just go away.”

“I’m not gonna go away until you either let me in or tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying Swansea and I, as well as everyone else, I’m sure.” you insisted, the concern eating you alive, “You know these doors don’t lock, the only thing stopping me from coming in is the fact you’re responding.”

“Come on, (y/n), it’s really better if you just go, I’ll be done in a bit!” he fought back.

“Daisuke, please, you’re scaring me. I haven’t heard from you all day. I can tell something’s up.” you could hear shuffling from in the room, pens and pencils clicking against the wood of his desk. Your hand gripped the metal knob, turning it slowly.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Daisuke ran up to the door, closing it before you could open it as papers rustled.

It was a few moments before it flung open, the wind slightly pushing your hair back as you were greeted with him brightly smiling self. Before you could even speak, Daisuke spoke over you.

“Here! I’ve been working like, all day on this, so I hope you like it!” He smiled, handing you the paper.

You looked down and…it was a drawing of you. You knew he was good at art but…this was on a different level.

“This is so good!” You gushed, careful not to crumple the paper with excitement, “Swansea’s gonna be absolutely pissed but y’know, it seems worth it, right?” you chuckled, hugging him, still tenderly handling the masterpiece.

“Oh wow, I didn’t expect you to get this excited, but thanks, (y/n). Thanks a lot.” he hugged back, relishing the feeling of you in his arms. 

“Still, you should probably go to Swansea before he chews you out for 12 hours.” you pulled back, smiling still, a fuzzy feeling on your cheeks, “I’ll put this in my room immediately, though, it means a lot!”

“Fine, fine, see ya (y/n)!” He waved, jogging off to Utility. May he rest in peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: sorry if this was short, I don’t write one shots that often, but lemme cook!1!1!1!1!1! 😋

[twistedpink]

Mc Inserts x TWST characters pt.3 pt.2 pt.1

Al-Asim!Mc x Riddle Rosehearts @/kyokills

UGH the one of many kids x only child dynamic is to die for!!! You’re his light, the only person who could be so contradictory to him, while understanding his circumstances fully. He fixes your hair when you mess it up, and you give him the confidence for what his “letting loose” is. It is total balance. The two of you make small talk over tea and biscuits a little too often to just be friendly, but you guys haven’t crossed that line yet- It drives everyone you know insane.

“Why are you here? I swore you were aware of study hall this evening..”

“Ah! Do you have room for one more? I wanted to see you in action! Pew pew”

Pomefiore!Mc x Ace Trappola (Anon suggestion!)

The two of you are bad people in very different ways, so the only solution is to suck together! SDC is the perfect opportunity, too bad both of you are terrible roommates. You’re a judgy little whiner, and he’s a skeezy prick- AKA a match made in heaven <3 The crux of the problem is your assholeish behaviour only multiples when you hang out. Everyone else hates you, so you supplement the lacking connection by getting ever closer,, Soon enough you’ll get the message and hook up. Just not yet.

“Ace! What did I tell you about taking my serums from the fridge??”

“Do I look like I listened? Ow!”

Savanaclaw!Mc x Jade Leech (Anon suggestion!)

Ahhh,, Those enhanced senses, fluffy tail, and downright violent demeaner makes you the perfect lab rat. So many possibilities from taste testing to psychology! Too bad you hate Jade’s guts, he’ll wear you down eventually :) His little test subject was only defending their friend against the big-bad housewarden, and as the nurturing vice, how could he ever turn a blind eye to your struggle? He tries to be magnanimous with you- if only you’d taken his deal in the first place,,, With his stalking loving badgering, in a few short weeks you’re practically domesticated! Those days where you threatened to “swallow him whole” are water under the bridge! Now what is he to do with his new pet?

“My, aren’t your canines impressive?”

“Well you don’t have to say it like that,,”

Civilian!Mc x Silver Vanrouge (Anon suggestion!)

Your poor, neglected (unofficial!) delivery boy being stuck in the rain is not something you want to watch all weekend, no matter how good he looks soaked. Your parents go out around this time anyways, and over the years of cozy meetups he wears down your walls with sweet smiles and even sweeter kisses <3 Silver is the perfect boyfriend, and while getting whisked away to briar valley makes you nervous, he’s worth it. Of course all the sneaking around right now hurts your feelings a bit, but doesn’t distance make the heart grow fonder?

“Aren’t you just darling! Are you sure I can’t keep you til’ dinner?”

“You’ll just have to get by with my jacket, I’ll be back next weekend :)”

Ignihyde!Mc x Sebek Zigvolt @/fidenciocryptidcreechur

Sure, your dorm’s not known for its diplomacy, and maybe you’re a little stunted by it, but you’ll be damned if you fail art. Anything taught by Crewel is a nightmare for the introverts of ignihyde, and for your information it does suck to suck! Self proclaimed “EASIEST” elective your butt (that you fully suck at btw! You really need this freaking credit!) newsflash, nothing about art is easy! It’s all in the interpretation, and the practice, and the reference, and- holy moly is that a muscular extrovert on a HORSE? It’s time to put your big boy pants on, and pay a fifteen year old for their time. + biceps. #lockedin

“MC! I’M READY TO BE DRAWN!”

“alright! Hold that pose..”

Vice president!Mc x Rollo Flamme

Every mysterious hero needs their roguishly annoying best friend, just guess which one you are! You hover around your pampered wittle boss for a couple hours a day in exchange for the elusive office wifi. Rollo insists magicam is rotting your brain. You just respond by his spamming his ancient phone with couple’s challenges, despite being immediately rejected on a daily basis. The student body says you’re “odd” on the best of days, but your office crush hasn’t kicked you out yet- so you must be doing something right! Right?

“Woah, that guy is beautiful!”

“I’d like to assume you aren’t referring to Malleus Draconia, but it seems all your romantic conquests are an effort to “bug” me.”

“I live to serve, sir :)”