#dab street art

[dukeabarnstable]

NYC Still LIFER

#nyc street art #dukeabarnstable #dab street art #street art

[fixedgearbacon]

#tags #graffiti #art #los angeles #california #photography #google pixel #tybg #fyp #photos #my photos #street art #art on trucks #pictures of la #dabs myla

[haunting-venus]

green with desire ↳ rafael barba x fem!reader

content warnings | smut ( minors dni ), canonical svu violence, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy/anxiety ( so, light angst ), dirty talk, fem!dom if you squint really hard, some begging

word count: 6241

Of all of the terrible ideas you’d had in your life, debating punching a police officer in a crowded bar was definitely top three on the list. Your rational mind knew that it would end with split knuckles and an assault charge, while the emotional side of your brain told you to throw rationale to the wind and throw your knuckles across that brown-haired bitch’s temple.

You tried to focus your gaze on anything but the woman inciting your rage, your nails biting into your thigh. Soft light flickered off of the vintage art prints hanging on the wall, reflecting the black-and-white images of famous figures in the history of New York. Pop music sounded against the walls, just loud enough that you could feel the bump in the music at the bottom of your chest. The venue was moderately sized but felt claustrophobic with the amount of casually dressed NYPD officers that teemed at all corners, sipping a variety of beers and leaning against the polished mahogany countertop of the bar.

Leaning against that mahogany bar was a tall, slender woman with tumbling brown hair and doe eyes squinted in delight at the man in front of her. A manicured, unpolished finger circled the rim of her mojito while her other hand rested closer and closer to the man’s rested elbow. Below her fitted purple top rested a gleaming gold badge, saddled on a shapely hip. Her teeth glinted just as brightly as her badge when she giggled, lightly swatting the man’s arm. None of this would necessarily be a problem, if the man the officer was inching towards was not your boyfriend.

Instead of letting your fist connect where it was itching to, your grip tightened on your margarita glass and took a heavy gulp of the sour drink. You were a guest at an unofficial NYPD get-together, surrounded by acquaintances celebrating the recent closing of a corruption case in tandem with an officer’s birthday. Somewhere in the crowd, Detective Sonny Carisi strolled with a beer in his hand and a ‘Happy Birthday Big Boy’ pin gleaming on his breast. Tensions had run so high within the precinct the last few weeks that the need to let loose was nearly oozing off of every civil servant in the bar. The last thing anyone here needed was a librarian they barely knew from Queens assaulting a police officer and disrupting a perfectly civil get-together.

You’d met Rafael Barba while waiting in a ridiculously long line for the new coffee shop that opened down the street from the library you worked at. Caught in your own world listening to a podcast, eyes downcast to adjust a seam on your cable-knit sweater, you had collided head on with the rushing attorney resulting in black coffee tipping onto each of you. The pale blue shirt under his pin-checked brown vest and jacket had suffered the most, thoroughly drenched in hot coffee with a mottled brown stain right across his chest. You’d made a horrified, choked noise and tried to apologize as you rushed across the room in search of napkins, mumbling apologies as you dabbed at his wet suit in vain.

His annoyed gaze had softened slightly as he watched you flit around the shop with pink cheeks and wild eyes, completely ignoring the mess on your own shirt in favor of making amends to a complete stranger. He had eventually chuckled, pushing your hand away from his chest and declaring the suit a lost cause. You’d finally been able to get a good luck at him as you lowered your hands, trying to reassemble some sense of pride as the patrons of the shop gazed after your neurotic display. He was hispanic, not too tall but with broad shoulders outlined pristinely by his tailored jacket, brown hair coiffed and barely out of place even with all of your fretting. His green eyes shone with a hint of amusement even behind his mostly serious expression.

You had insisted on paying for the dry-cleaning of his suit, to which he brushed off the offer with a chuckle, promising that no grudges would be held in exchange for a new cup of coffee. He had been intrigued with your kindhearted (if strange) behavior and the way your cheeks flushed cutely when he smiled at you, prompting him to ask if you’d have time to meet for a real sit-down coffee the following week. You’d been delighted and tense at once, not one to go out on a limb with strangers, especially such handsome and well-spoken ones.

When you had met Rafael for coffee the following Thursday, the two of you had thankfully been able to avoid spilling your drinks on one another, to which Rafael had given a quick joke about in order to break the ice. You’d found yourself easily falling into conversation with Rafael, who you had learned was a prosecutor that worked nearby for the District Attorney’s office. Your nerves were quickly comforted by his easy ability to joke and his unhidden interest in getting to know you, his soft green eyes never leaving your smiling face. It didn’t take long to discover that you shared a love for historical fiction literature and high-end coffee, and you had ended the lunch with entwined fingers as he walked you to the large double doors of the library you worked at.

A few lunches quickly turned into dinners on the rare nights when Rafael was able to escape his office, where he showered you with compliments and wine expensive enough that it made you nervous to drink it. You’d quickly become accustomed to the strong feel of his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you in the entrance of his oak-furnished apartment entryway, heat rushing through your veins at the heated whispers he hissed into your neck. You treasured the quiet mornings in his kitchen almost more than the extravagant dinners. Scrambled eggs and espresso in his brightly-lit kitchen overlooking the city, his hair soft and unstyled as he swayed with you on the tile floor, that peek into this more relaxed version of your usually nothing-less-than-proper partner felt more precious than gold.

You’d never been the type of person that flaunted their relationship, especially since Rafael was such a prominent figure in the New York legal system. There was a prickling fear in the early days of your relationship that you were too plain to publicly be seen with a man associated with such prestige and power, that you would look like nothing more than a sweater-clad bookworm feigning at being worthy of a man much above her standing. When Rafael had discovered this, he’d been quick to quiet your concerns with his fingers in your hair and his head between your legs until you could think of nothing else.

After his many reassurances that he would love to show you off at any time possible, including to his coworkers, you’d become more self-confident. You’d begun to surprise Rafael at work with bagel sandwiches from an artisan bakery in between your workplaces, toting coffee and paper bags through the looming hallways of Hogan Place and barely paying attention to those who spared you a second glance for planting a kiss on the primly dressed ADA. Soon afterward, you had joined the squad of the Special Victims Unit and Rafael for the celebration of the conviction of a serial rapist. You were proud of the progress you had made with Rafael’s coworkers, forming timid friendships with the detectives that he worked so closely with on a daily basis. You were glad that you’d gained enough confidence to hold your own without using Rafael as a fallback in social situations with his coworkers, but it all felt bittersweet now that he’d been approached by another woman as soon as you had gone to chat with Detective Rollins with celebratory tequila shots.

You had gathered vaguely from Amanda that the brunette ogling your boyfriend at the bar was a recent witness in a major police corruption case that Rafael had been handling, Detective Sandra Allen from the Narcotics division. She was a hero and a villain at the same time in the eyes of her fellow cops; a snitch who ratted on her fellow officers who were spending their county-paid salary hours manipulating prostitutes into sexual favors in exchange for staying out of prison. The case made you sick, and the fact that you could feel nothing but disdain for this woman who bravely stood up and testified on behalf of those sex workers made shame burn deep in your stomach.

You didn’t need to be a police officer to notice Amanda’s sly looks between you and the scene going on at the bar, or that she was trying to hold back her laughter from the growing redness in your face that you tried to blame on the alcohol. You had hardly been listening to Fin’s rambling story about how his grandson had been inexplicably angry at the balloons he’s seen in the park because they would not stop floating, no matter how much he asked. On any other day, you would have loved to look at Fin half-drunkenly showing off his adorable lump of a grandson with a grinning smile. Right now, though, you could only hear the deep cadence of Rafael’s laugh as he finished off his scotch, and only see Detective Allen’s beautiful and flirtatious smile directed toward the man you had spent the last several months building a life with.

You were worried that the glass in your hand would shatter under your grip as you set it forcefully on the table. You knew there was no reason for you to be acting this way, feeling so scorned and bubbling with jealousy over the easy way that Allen fawned over your partner. You knew more than anyone the easy charm that Rafael brought to conversations, even when he was being a sarcastic bastard. You knew you weren’t the only woman who admired his passion and his good-looks, but having it shoved in your face like this felt much worse than just knowing it in the back of your mind.

Amanda’s mischievous expression quickly morphed to shielded concern when she noticed just how much you were bothered by the scene in front of you. Her demeanor took on the protective edge that came so easily to all the detectives you had met at the SVU, poised to talk someone down or to throw an elbow into someone’s teeth. “Hey, you want me to go do some crowd control over at the bar? I’m sure the Counselor is just waiting for the best opportunity to get out of there.”

You knew that you should just go over there and put a stop to it. You wanted so badly to have the conviction to strut over to Rafael, straddle his lap and make him moan in front of that woman, to show her just how he crumbled under your touch, how you were the one to bring him to his knees, to receive his hardships and his worship, not her. That display of power, of claim over a man that so many people wanted, would no doubt make her back off. But that wasn’t who you were. You were not the sultry-smiled woman who captured the eyes of every room she walked into, the one who could bite at a woman to back off of what was hers. So, instead, you threw back the rest of your drink, taking a moment to relish in the burn of tequila and the acidity of the lime that buzzed through your veins, and sent a tight-lipped smile to Amanda and Fin.

“I think I’m actually gonna turn in for the night. Too much tequila makes me stupid, you know.” You gave an unconvincing chuckle as you set some bills on the table to cover your drinks and a tip. Amanda opened her mouth to protest, hoping to keep you from leaving, but you were already pulling your peacoat onto your shoulders.

You had only gotten halfway down the street, heaving heavy breaths to lighten your heart rate and the burn behind your eyes, when Rafael called out your name from the direction of the bar. The street was relatively quiet for a Wednesday night, with only a few stragglers walking between the handful of establishments on the block. You steadied your expression before turning on your heel towards him with a shaky smile.

He stepped toward you with a soft look so often reserved only for you, his brows furrowed in slight worry. His black trenchcoat fell beautifully against his broad chest, green eyes accented by the specks of emerald in his patterned tie. Even after months, you still felt yourself melt a little at the kindness behind his eyes. “You ran out so quickly with no goodbye, is everything alright?”

“I’m just tired, and you seemed like you were having a good time talking to Detective Allan. Didn’t want to take you away from the fun.”

His eyebrows rose in question at the unexpected bite in your tone. You had tried to hide your rising feelings with the shit poor excuse, but Rafael hadn’t become a successful ADA by not being able to read people. It was one of the things you loved and hated about him, how he could peel back the layers of what you were feeling to gaze at the very core of you. It made you feel cared for and probed at the same time.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I was only being cordial with a witness who put a lot on the line to testify in our case.” He stepped into your space, running a thumb across your cold and flushed cheeks. His voice was steady, his eyes honest but confused. You scoffed lightly, still feeling your anger simmering but being calmed by his steadying touch. His hand dropped from your cheek at your exclamation, steadying a solid look at you. “Look, you know I am not exactly the DA’s office favorite person, much less the police department. She was worried about how her colleagues were going to see her, she wanted advice on how to deal with interoffice conflict.”

“Oh, don’t pull that. The only thing she was worried about was how quickly she could get your hands up her skirt.” The words burned your throat, emerging into the air before you could stop yourself. You knew Rafael wasn’t a stupid man, and you didn’t want him to treat you like you were either.

“Excuse me?” Rafael’s eyes hardened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as you took a step back from him. Your outburst had gained the attention of a passerby who gave the two of you a quick once over, and it only stoked your anger and shame. Rafael guided you with the motion of his hand towards the side of the sidewalk. “Look, I didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sorry. I was only being polite to a woman who is going through what might be the worst time of her life. She needed someone to reassure her, to ask about her options-”

“So she had to wait until your girlfriend left to ask you about all of that? I’m not naive, you know. I see how women look at you, the looks they have when they realize you’re with me, like you’re settling for something that’s so beneath you. That they could give you something hotter, younger-”

“Stop! Just stop!” He ran a hand across his face, his expression softening as he saw the hurt on your face, the insecurity he thought the two of you had quelled long ago. “We’ve talked about this, I thought we had dealt with this. You are the only one I want to be with. The only one that I want to see in my bed in the mornings or bringing me coffee for lunch or watching tv in my old t-shirts. It’s only you.”

Shame and anxiety still burned deep in your blood as you felt burning behind your eyes. The anger had fizzled like a campfire under rain, replaced with humiliation settling deep into your stomach. A few tears wet the side of your face, and you avoided what you hoped wasn’t pity on Rafael’s face. “I’m sorry, I know that. I just- I just lost my temper and-”

“Look, I only want you. I want you to know that I only want you.” He brushed away the wetness from your cheekbone with a reassuring smile. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the side of your head as he pulled you into his chest, stroking a heavy hand between your shoulder blades. His woody cologne mingled with the salt of your tears, wrapping around you in comfort.“Let’s take a cab, forget about this bar. If you’re still doubting the way I feel about you, I clearly didn’t get my point across last time.”

You pulled back with a surprised laugh, tightening your grip on the sides of Rafael’s neck. A new heat flushed to your face with the intrigue in Rafael’s eyes, your ego stoked that he still found you desirable in the messy state that you were in. You leaned up, capturing his lips in an impassioned kiss, letting the feel of his stubble and the grip of his fingers wash over you like a wave. A shiver ran through your limbs to your fingertips, goosebumps rising as you felt the edge of his teeth against your lips. A heated gasp went through you as your back hit the nearby wall, feeling the solid line of Rafael’s body slot between your legs and against your chest. 

“Let me bring you home, show you exactly how much I want you. Please, hermosa, let me.” His voice was thick and had an edge of desperation that shot heat through your entire body, igniting every edge of your nerves with the brush of his lips to your neck.The lick of power that ran through you at having this man, so powerful and beautiful and respected, begging for the opportunity to bed you sent you reeling. With a nod, you pulled Rafael to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, his hand gripping your waist.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You’d spent the majority of the cab ride from the bar stroking your thumb on the inside of Rafael’s knee, taking long moments to let your eyes linger on the clenching of his strong hands, the swell of his powerful chest beneath his vest, the slow darkening of his eyes with arousal as you raked your eyes over him. In the elevator ride up to your loft, his fingers trailed teasingly along the bottom of your sweater, sneaking underneath to rub at the skin of your hip with fleeting touches that ran heat up your spine and between your legs. You felt yourself wanting to push him back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, to go down to your knees and to hear your name echoing from his lips as you sucked him, but kept your face falsely neutral. This was part of the game, of him letting you know how much he wanted you, how he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You felt your face flush with the intimacy of the touches, his eyes glinting at your suppressed smile.

By the time you’d reached the entrance of your studio apartment, the buzz of your earlier tequila drinks had worn off in favor of the thrill of Rafael’s touch skating up under your shirt, fingers trailing beneath your clothed breast. As quickly as your jacket slid to the floor, your back was pressed solidly against the entryway wall, your hair pushed to the side to let your boyfriend suck slow kisses into the column of your throat. The nick of his teeth against the cord of your throat let a soft sound rise from your chest, your head falling back to knock against the wall.

Stepping away to remove his trenchcoat, Rafael took a brief moment to admire your panting frame, your cheeks flushed high with want and warmth. His tone was breathy, but serious as he hung up his jacket and vest.“You’re sure that you’re in the mood? I can always bring out some wine, put on that Bermuda Triangle documentary you’ve been wanting to watch.”

His words were sweet, but you could still see the heat burning in his eyes, even as he stood carefully away from you as he awaited your answer. You smiled as you stepped forward, fingers stroking the bulge in his black trousers, a rush of confidence coming from the deep groan he let into the air. “As lovely as that sounds, I think I’ll save that for after I ride you until the neighbors complain about the noise.”

“Your noises or mine, cariño?” He taunted as he pulled your sweater over your head, his hands finding your breasts with a delicate squeeze as you pulled him by the tie towards your bed in the further corner of your studio. His thumbs rubbed against the ridge of your nipple through the thin bra, your bitten lip barely containing your groan. His lips found yours again quickly, swallowing up the breathy noises you made.

“Why don’t we see who makes them come knocking first?” You grinned as pulled firmly at the back of his hair, letting a groan rumble against the seam of your lips. A swell of pride rose in your chest as you pushed Rafael back against the mattress, making quick work of his buttons as you let your ass fall firmly onto the bulge in his pants. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, his fingers indenting your pants with their firm hold. He brought his left hand between your thighs, letting his thumb rub idly against you through your pants as your movements on his buttons stuttered. 

You steadied yourself against Rafael with a hand on his shoulder, rushing to remove your bra with the other hand to feel your skin against him. Your fingers stuttered over the clasp repeatedly, your head falling back at the pleasure that pooled between your legs. An easy smirk graced his handsome features at the stuttered breath you let in at the work of his fingers, sitting up at the waist to pull your breasts against his chest and rub between your legs more firmly. “Getting distracted over there, hermosa?”

The pet name brought a groan from your throat, wetness pooling in your cunt from his deep voice laced with arousal. Rafael’s pressed white button-up hung loosely off his shoulders, and you pushed the rest off with a renewed need to get your hands on his bare chest. His tan skin stretched over a strong chest and corded shoulders that held you firmly, dark chest hair brushed across your skin. You ran your hands down his pecs to run your nails across his stomach near the buckle of his belt, relishing in the shiver that ran through him.

Your tongue licked into his mouth with a moan, bringing one hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers through his salt and peppered hair while your hips moved against his covered cock. The hand over your pants faltered as he pulled away from your kiss, letting you get a look at his wide-blown pupils before he took his teeth to your neck with a moan.“Who’s distracted now, huh?”

You rolled to the side to shimmy out of your cotton pants, taking care to stretch your back to give Rafael a view of the curve of your ass as you turned. He pulled himself to the head of the bed, one hand stroking firmly against his hard cock over his trousers while he held the other near his kiss-swollen mouth. You felt a pang of wetness between your thighs at his lidded gaze, his eyes following each curve of your body like it was a melody he yearned to play. You leaned forward toward Rafael, your hair tumbling over the swell of your breasts as you climbed on top of him. His hands quickly moved back to slide along your body, one pinching your nipple while the other slid underneath the purple lace between your legs, dipping his fingers into the wetness there.

Rafael groaned as you ground your cunt against his hand, letting you seek your pleasure from his steady hand. The hand at your breast lowered to unbutton his trousers, his cock peeking from the edges of his dark briefs. “God, cariño, you're always so wet for me. You like my fingers on you?”

You stuttered out a breath as Rafael’s fingers dipped inside you, the palm of his hand rubbing gently against your clit as he stroked inside of you. The rolling pleasure from both areas of contact had sweat building on your chest, a moan coming high in your throat when you tried to answer. “F-fuck, yes, Raf, just like that. God…so good.”

Your breathy words spurred him on, adding another finger to your pussy. You gathered some composure, gripping your nails into Rafael’s shoulder with pleasure while your other hand went to stroke his thick cock. His rewarding moan was well worth the effort it took to keep a clear head as his fingers massaged inside you, bringing you rapidly to a crest of rising pleasure. Your legs shook even as you brought your hand up in a stroke, tightening your grip around the head in the way you knew made his eyes roll back. Precum dripped from the tip of his cock, slicking the way for your fingers to work faster, to make him feel as good as he was making you feel.

“Fuck, if you keep doing that, I’ll be gone before I even get to fuck you.”

He groaned out your name as he flipped you onto your back, moving your hand from his cock as he moved his thumb to rub firm circles against your clit.You threw your head back in pleasure from his show of strength, his forearms and biceps flexing enticingly each time he drove his fingers into you. The fingers of Rafael’s other hand gripped your ass, bringing your hips up to his hand as he kissed his way down your neck and breasts. He murmured praises of ‘beautiful’ and ‘mine’ that made your blood soar, pleasure cresting low in your stomach as your breath quickened. Your moans pitched, your nails digging into Rafael’s shoulder letting him know you were close. He breathed out a few words of Spanish, letting his teeth sink hard into the junction of your neck as you reached your high. His name slipped loudly from your lips before you bit down on your lip, shaking in his arms as he continued to stroke you through your orgasm.

Your gaze was blurry with pleasurable tears when you faced Rafael, bringing his lips to yours in a messy kiss before sneaking off to the washroom for a glass of water. When you re-emerged from the bathroom with a half-drunk glass of water, Rafael was on his back with a hand wrapped lazily around himself, his cock jumping when he caught sight of your flushed face and the growing bruise on your neck. You crawled atop your boyfriend, letting the wetness of your release drag teasingly over the length of his cock. Rafael’s hair was tousled, strands hanging enticingly in front of his eyes as he gazed hungrily at your body. He looked delectable, sweat edging along the edges of his brow and his cock glistening when it peaked above his fingers. He looked at you like a parched man drinking in the sight of an oasis, like you were anything and everything he needed at that moment. You wanted to see just how far he would go to have you.

Testing your luck, you edged your fingers along the edges of Rafael’s arms, guiding them above his head. His eyes were curious as he followed your lead, raising his muscled arms above his head for you to wrap a hand around his wrists. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he readjusted himself as he raised a teasing eyebrow at you “Want to have me at your mercy, hermosa?”

What had started as a fleeting idea now struck a new wave of arousal over you as you gazed down at the powerful man underneath you, his eyes soft and filled with hot desire. God, he was everything you’d ever wanted presented beautifully between your legs, gazing at you like he wanted to devour you. An idea picked at the corner of your mind, sending a coy smile across your face as you draped your body over Rafael’s chest.

“Tell me.” Rafael looked at you with confusion now, readjusting his hands above his head. His tongue came out to wet his lips. He was usually the one making demands in bed, bending you to his will for both your pleasure. You felt it might be time to turn the tables.  “Keep your hands there, and tell me you want to fuck me, only me.”

Your words were shakier than you’d wanted them to be, revealing your anxieties about taking control in this way for the first time. However, Rafael quickly relaxed under your touch, a new degree of interest entering his gaze at this undiscovered side of you. He looked you in the eyes as he groaned what you had asked. “God, I want to fuck you, more than anything.” 

“I think you can do better than that.” You teased, licking a long stripe along the side of his neck up to his ear. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you were encouraged by the twitch of his cock against you as he gasped lightly. He looked up at you with a playful glimmer in his eye, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you asking me to beg?”

The words sent a blazing heat to your cunt, swallowing heavily at his words. Rafael’s eyes lit up in a similar way as when he was cross-examining someone in court, when they gave him the inch of leverage that he could stretch a mile. The proud look he got when he had someone exactly where he wanted them.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you cariño. Me, begging for your pussy like it’s the only thing I’ve ever needed in my life.” it was a statement more than a question, and fuck, the confidence he exuded even when he was under you like this had your head spinning with heady arousal. His words rumbled in your chest, urging another movement of your hips against his cock.

“Only if you want your cock inside me at any point tonight.” The words sounded hollow in your throat, undermined by the breathiness of your voice, you pressed against him again to quell off any embarrassment you felt. He grinned like he knew exactly what his words were doing to you, but let himself play the role you’d assigned him for now. If part of you wanted to try something, all of him wanted to comply, to fulfill your every desire.

“God, you look so beautiful like this. Please, please let me inside you. Let me get you off how I know you like hermosa. Please.” Even though you had a feeling he intentionally raised the whininess in his voice, the breathy tones still sent pangs of pleasure to your cunt. You gasped as the words left his mouth, pressing a desperate kiss to Rafael’s lips as you lined up his cock.

Your eyes slipped shut as you eased onto Rafael’s cock, the ridges of the head stroking the sweetest places inside of you that caused stuttered moans to fall from your lips. You ran the flat of your palm up Rafael’s chest, cupping the side of his cheek as you drove his cock into you. Rafael cursed as you seated yourself on his lap, your head thrown back in ecstasy at being filled, at being fucked. His hands shook above his head with the desire to touch you. He keened as you shifted his full length inside you, circling your hips to adjust to him.

You looked down at him between your thighs, flushed high on his cheeks with nothing capturing his attention but your body moving above him on his cock. Each swivel of your hips pushed his cock firmly into that spot that made you see stars and pushed deep, moaning praises from his throat. You reveled in the fact that no one else could see him like this, could make him moan and beg under them like this.

“God, everyone wants you like this and it’s just me that can have you. Just me that makes you feel this good, right baby? They all wish they could have your cock stretching them like this.” You babbled as your thoughts were overwhelmed with pleasure. You knew you sounded half mad, but you were too far gone to notice, relishing in the pleasure deep in your cunt.

“Fuck!” Rafael, moaned your name, finally moving his hands from above his head to bruisingly grab your hips. He raised his knees behind your back to gain leverage to roll his hips into you deep and steady, moans stuttering from your throat with every thrust that sent his cock deep inside you.

“So sexy, keep making those pretty noises for me, please.” Rafael’s words were near ravenous and you were glad you weren’t the only one overwhelmed with pleasure, desperately voicing every dirty thought that came to your mind when you looked at the man in front of you. Rafae’s grip along the curve of your waist allowed him to get the leverage to pull you down hard onto his cock 

“Aah, fuck, please, Rafael, I-I’m gonna—d-don’t stop.” You didn’t know if you meant him pulling you down hard onto his cock or the filthy words that sent heat reeling through your body.

“God,” one of Rafael’s hands slid up to grasp your breast tightly, your nipple brushing the calloused skin of his fingers and had fire licking up your spine. His eyes were wild as he drank in the sight of you crying out on his cock, your fingers reaching to circle your clit as he pulled you against him. His tone was pinched and loud, ragged with his heavy breathing.“I want you to come, on my cock, right now. Please, cariño, give it to me.”

“Raf, God, you’re making me-fuck, yes” You felt tears brim the edge of your eyes as your pleasure climbed to something primal, each rub of your clit, every brush of Rafael’s hands against you setting you aflame until you felt yourself collapsing around him with a cry of his name. He slowed, but never stopped, his movements as he rocked you against him through your orgasm, soothing the shivers of your body with his warm hands. You panted as he came down from your second high of the night, your legs shook with the effort to remain upright. 

“God, you’re killing me. Please, let me come inside you, fill you, I need-” you cracked your eyes to capture Rafael’s expression, lips parted around a moan when you moved your hands to grip at his hair. Hardly trusting your words, you nodded in your agreement with a whispered plea to ‘do it, please, come for me’. Rafael’s body went taut for a heartbeat, driving himself hard into a last few times as he came. His eyes clenched shut, his hands gripping your hips as he mumbled out praise.

Catching your breath, you rolled off of the bed to grab a towel, taking a moment to wipe yourself off before jumping back onto the moderately clean sheets, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend in his post-sex haze. This could be one of your favorite versions of Rafael, limbless and content, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as you regained your breath together. You pressed a kiss to his chest as you wrapped your arm around him, whatever insecurities you had been feeling before was long extinguished by the solidness of Rafael underneath you, his ragged breathing and the ache between your legs as proof of your mutual want.

You lay in silence for a few moments, his fingers carding through your hair before he spoke. He pulled his head back to look you in the eyes, stroking a soft hand across the back of your head. “Will you promise me that, next time you are feeling the way you did at the bar, you’ll let me know instead of storming off. That way, we can talk it through and maybe have a repeat of this, instead of you feeling awful because your mind likes to tell you lies.”

You gave a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth with your smiling lips. “Sounds like we’ve reached a deal, Counselor.”

He let out a rueful groan, pulling you tighter into his chest as you giggled. “Call me that again and I’ll be rescinding my offer.”

“Understood…Counselor.” you whispered, avoiding his playfully stern gaze by heading to the kitchen to get that wine he had promised you.

#law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #raul esparza #venus writes

[short-honey-badger]

Life Imitates Art

Heyy. So after a lil brainstorming and talking with @writingmysanity, this has been born. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Warnings! None yet!

You examine yourself in the mirror, your makeup looks good, but there is just something missing from the ensemble. You brighten when it hits you and you dip the brush into the red face paint. You lean in closer and then carefully begin to dab it on the very tip of your nose. When you are finished, you drop the brush and grin widely at your reflection. 

Red has been artfully smeared across your mouth giving you a permanent smile while blue has been swiped vertically across both eyes. Crossed bones have been painstakingly painted on your forehead and your new red nose completes it. You braid your hair and then tie on the red and white striped bandana. All in all, you look like the man you admire, the man who saved your life so long ago, even if he didn't know it.

The Buggy Pirates and a group of Marines battled it out in the middle of a small town on an island in the East Blue. It was rumored that the island held riches, and that had been all that Buggy needed to hear before he and his crew had swooped in on the unsuspecting town. You, young and impressionable at the time, had watched in fascination as the pirates plundered the town. 

The captain and his crew picked and marched their way through the poor district of the town, leaving the haggard weary townspeople be. You followed after them, quick on your feet after years of running from the men in the blue coats and black sticks. You followed them until they came to the Top City, where the horrible people spit at you and your hand-me-down clothes whenever you came near. You watched with rising awe as a lion of all things toppled the large doors that separated the two districts.

The raiding truly began now that the pirates were inside and chaos quickly began to consume the streets. They broke into the impressive housing and overpriced stores, stealing anything that caught their eyes. You followed the man with the bright red nose and the massive hat with blue hair? down the street until he arrived at the bank. He cackled as he demanded the owner pack their own cash and treasure up or else things would get Choppy. 

Well, someone must have called the Navy because soon shots were being fired from all directions. Buggy laughed even louder and engaged in the fight, something he usually would not do, but you would come to find that out later. Turned out that not even Buggy the Clown would turn away from a fight when it would prove too advantageous to him. 

The fighting didn't last long. While prosperous, the military presence on the island was small and soon the Buggy Pirates stood victorious in the streets. There were a few losses and so it was proposed that they would stay here for a while to heal and recoup. Things changed for you and everyone else on that tiny island in the month and a half that the pirates stayed. While a significant difference still remained between the two directs, the poor were not so poor anymore. Not when the pirates preferred to spend their money at the bars and shops in the harbor.

It was after Buggy left that you started to dress like him. People left you alone that way, thinking that you were a crew member left behind. You liked it, it gave you the freedom you needed, that you wanted so you could be yourself. So, you learned how to steal, how to pickpocket, and how to sail a ship. You interfered on his behalf when you could. Changing news articles and threatening reporters with your little lie about being part of the Clown's crew. You spewed lies and whispered in the right ears to throw the navy off of his trail. Buggy had set you free, and you needed to repay that debt, no matter how long it would take.  

You huff. Years it would take. The longer you trailed after the Captain like some loyal puppy, the more you found out about him. Buggy the Clown was a paranoid bastard with self-esteem issues the size of the sun. He questioned anything and everyone unless they were part of his crew, and you learned that he could be cruel. 

But you also see how can be kind. He frowns harshly at the state of a decaying village while the highborn nobles laugh in their high towers. How, like some fairytale antihero, Buggy gave back to the struggling outer cities all across the sea. You came to admire, maybe even love, you weren't really sure yet, the Bombastic Clown, and you would give anything to thank him. If only the paranoid pirate wasn't always one step ahead of you. 

You had overheard that Buggy had left just that morning, and you cursed again for being literal hours behind him. You check your appearance one last time and then head out of the hotel room after shrugging on your long coat, ready to fish for rumors once more. 

Unknown to you, this would be your lucky day, because Buggy had yet to leave. The Captain had heard about his little shadow, and boy was he eager to meet you.      

#fanfic #reader insert #one piece #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #op buggy #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #one piece live action #fluff #smut

[trulybetty]

oct x 11 - pumpkin spice

Prompt: pumpkin spice Pairing: marcus pike x f!Reader Word Count: 3,366 Warnings: this is somewhat au? I don't know how to describe it - but honestly, outside the mentions of food, just introductions to our characters 💕 Summary: maplewood, a small town nestled in northern bc where people flock to see the changing blossom trees and celebrate the fall season. after losing your job you find yourself a part of the community which includes the towns baker who left a less than stellar impression on you. AO3: Linked

A/N: this is a departure for me, this is going to be all sickly sweet and sticky sweetness - made a teeny tiny dash of angst? This will be told in three parts through the month, no promise on when the next part will be posted - but keep an eye out. Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it!

x. masterlist

Something Sweet, This Way Comes Part I | Pumpkin Spice

Maplewood was a small town nestled deep in the heart of British Columbia Canada, the crisp autumn air brought a sense of enchantment. The maple leaves painted the streets with vibrant shades of red and orange, and the town buzzed with anticipation for Halloween.

At the hub of it all was Maple Delights, a mainstay of the small town that had changed owners only three years ago. Before that Marcus Pike had left the FBI’s art division on the heels of lost love and disillusions for the career he once loved. Everyone always assumed he was a dab hand with creative pursuits when he would tell them he worked in the bureaus art department. And while he had studied art at college, it had been in art history. Truth was he couldn’t paint anything worth posting further than the front of the fridge, but baking on the other hand, was a hidden talent he’d always exceeded in.

So when a late night social media scroll after handing in his notice brought him to an article on the small town of Maplewood being a hidden gem in the Northern Canadian mountains. Over the following days he’d drifted back to the article several times before a Google search brought him to the small town’s website.

Then it wasn’t too much of a stretch to click on the link for the modest page of properties both for sale and rent, curiosity baiting him, only to find the town’s historic bakery up for sale.

Dashing any thoughts out of his head he’d closed his laptop with a shake of his head, it was an absurd idea. He was an early retiree of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, he had no business entertaining the idea of purchasing a bakery, let alone one in seemingly the middle of nowhere Canada.

But between the calls from friends and family checking in on him with the news of his departure from the job he once dearly loved and the end of the whirlwind romance that he’d thought was the one, he found himself late each night scrolling mindlessly, glass of wine in one hand, phone in the other, back looking at the town of Maplewood.

He did have a sizable nest egg, he owned his apartment which was now in what was considered a trendy part of town and worth a lot more than when he first purchased it.

He wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him two nights later to email the town's realtor, but within the month he was the proud owner of Maple Delights and all its contents and was packing up the contents of his modest apartment and heading north.

The previous owner had passed, with adult grandchildren who lived far away in various places across the country, and who had no interest in a historic bakery in the middle of nowhere; it had been left with no choice to go up for sale by the estate.

It had taken some modernization, not so easy a feat in the far north of BC where the local hardware store was a mom and pops situation and the nearest Home Depot was three hours away, but Marcus had made it work with help from a local contractor who’d enjoyed the challenge.

The facade had undergone a drastic change too, much to the chagrin of some locals. But when it was revealed to be a homage to its original exterior, when it was first opened, there had been actual tears at the results.

The front of the store was made up of a large window and wooden framing. In cursive the bakeries name was painted across the glass. At the front were planters at the wooden windowsill, filled with roses of various shades of pinks and whites. The climbing ivy had been stripped away to allow the brick underneath to stand out, making the white frames pop all the more.

It truly was a delight to see.

Surprisingly it didn’t take long after that for Marcus to win over the town. With his natural ability for baking and his charm, he won over any naysayers to the outsider in their town quite quickly and was soon a beloved member of the community.

Your journey to Maplewood however, was nearly not as charming.

It was a gloomy Tuesday morning when you received the email that would change the course of your life. As you sipped your coffee and stared at the screen, disbelief washed over you. The subject line was blunt and to the point: ‘Termination of Employment.’

You opened the email and read the cold, corporate language that informed you of the company's decision to downsize. Your position had been eliminated, effective immediately. There was no room for negotiation, no farewell party, just a stark message informing you that your services were no longer required.

You had worked at the job for who knows how long, because it felt like forever.

In the days that followed, you wrestled with the uncertainty of your future. You tried reaching out to your network, searching for new job opportunities in Toronto, but the job market was tough, and the competition was fierce. The bills kept piling up, and you felt the weight of financial insecurity pressing down on you.

It was one of those nights where you were texting with your friend Libby, a long time resident of Maplewood after she gave up the rat race to open a bookstore in the small town years ago. That she extended an offer that was too sweet to refuse. End your rental agreement and come up north and spend some time in the great outdoors and figure out what you want to do next.

With no other choices coming your way, you did just that.

That was three months ago.

As the days passed, you found yourself slowly adjusting to the laid-back lifestyle of Maplewood. Gone were the stresses of city life and the constant pressure to perform at your job. Instead, you spent your mornings sipping coffee in Libby's apartment above the bookstore and spent the rest of your day either helping out in the store or taking a stroll around town to take in all the unique sights that Maplewood had to offer.

Black Cat Books was wall to ceiling bookshelves and every manageable space was filled with books. It was a labyrinth, but Libby could stride through it like she was born into its midst. But ask Libby where any particular title resided? You'd find that she knew exactly how many steps it took to get there.  

Libby placed another book on the shelf behind her, “He’s really not all that bad.”

You sneered, “I don’t know why this whole town is obsessed with him.”

“Says the woman who is watching him from across the street and has been for the last hour.” Libby remarked, punctuated by a disbelieving look over the top of her glasses.

“I can’t help if the bakery is straight across the street,” she raised an equally disbelieving eyebrow at you, she didn't believe a word you were saying “and it’s his bakery, of course he’d be there.” you finished, crossing your arms across your chest refusing to make eye contact.

“Sure,” she dragged out her response, “whatever you say.”

You had been in Maplewood for a week when you'd run into Marcus, quite literally run into him. Crossing the main square, you may not have been paying attention, focusing on refreshing your email for leads on work as he had been stepping up onto the sidewalk, his arms full of bakery boxes obscuring his view.

“Watch where you're going much?!” You'd exclaimed, hands on your hips and glaring at him.

He'd looked up from the ground, his hands filled with ruined boxes, eyes narrowed. “Me? How could you miss me?”

“Well if you had been watching where you were going.” You countered.

He was about to launch into another tirade when he glanced at his watch. Stifling a curse he ran a hand through his hair before speaking, his voice low and gruff. “I haven't got time for this.”

With that he quickly gathered the last of the boxes and stomped off in the direction of the bakery. Your first encounter with the town's beloved baker had left nothing but a sour taste in your mouth.

Since then, you'd avoided any and all interactions with the man and fought rolling your eyes when people would speak so highly of the American who had made Maplewood his home. After all, he was the one responsible for bringing more business to Maplewood through word-of-mouth of his creations.

“Look,” Libby pointed at the sandwich board propped outside the shop, “today’s special is pumpkin spice scones, how about you go get us some and a couple of coffees?” she suggested as she pulled some money from her purse she kept under the counter.

You rolled your eyes but still took the money, guy was questionable, but his scones were to die for. Not that you would admit it to anyone.

A quick look both ways you dashed across the street. It was the start of October, a busy month for the town. Tourists would flock in to see the changing colours of the cherry blossom trees that lined both sides of the main street that led up to the town's main square outside city hall.

The weather was getting colder, and even though it was literally steps from Black Cat Books, you'd wished you'd grabbed your toque and scarf. But before you could think more about it you were outside the bakery.

The window took up most of the front of the store, vintage lettering spelling out the bakery's name Maple Delights painted across the pane. The roses that usually filled the planter boxes outside were filled with an abundance of pumpkins of various colours and sizes. Halloween decorations filled the spaces between cake stands and trays of seasonal goods punctuated by decadent cakes decorated with tiny ghosts and ghouls.

The shop bell rang as you opened the door, the bakery was cozy and inviting with its high ceilings and hardwood floors. The smell of freshly baked bread and sugar, mingled with the spiciness of cinnamon and pumpkin spice – classic scents of fall that permeated the air making your mouth water.

A bright eyed Sarah, with a book open in front of her behind the counter called out your name, “Hey there! What can I get for you today?”

You smiled and made your way to the counter eyeing the vintage blackboard that took up most of the wall behind it. The chalk sketch confirmed that today's special was pumpkin scones, “I'll take two pumpkin spice scones and two lattes, extra hot please.”

Sarah nodded as she began preparing the order. She had been working at the bakery after school and the weekends since she turned sixteen at the start of the summer. You knew this because she got paid every Friday and would dart straight across to Black Cat Books to pick a new book bringing with her treats from the bakery.

“You should try the apple cider doughnuts!” she exclaimed as she boxed up two large scones.

“That so?” You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her recommendation.

“Uh huh,” Sarah replied with a grin, “Marcus dipped them in a cinnamon maple glaze this time,” she added with a little groan of appreciation, “they're so good, and there's only just a few left.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously as if she were tempting you.

You couldn't help but smile at her infectious enthusiasm. “Well, with that kind of endorsement, why not. Throw a couple in too.”

As you waited for your order and made small talk with Sarah, you took a moment to look around the store. It was late afternoon, and the warm, soft glow of the autumn sun streamed through the window, casting a gentle light on the displays. The shelves, while not as full as they might be in the morning, still held an array of intricate desserts. More decorations of fake cobwebs, pumpkins, and ghosts adorned the shelves and countertops, adding to the bakery's seasonal charm.

In the background, the back of the bakery was open to the kitchen out back. The stainless steel counters gleamed in the soft light, and the usual cacophony of mixers that lined the back wall was silent for the moment. It was a rare sight, given the bakery's reputation for bustling activity, especially in the weeks leading up to Halloween.

Just then, a door swung open at the back, and Marcus emerged, his presence commanding attention. He was dressed in a deep orange flannel shirt, which seemed to accentuate the rich colors of the fall season. His tousled curled hair always gave the impression that he had just woken up from a nap, yet it added an effortlessly charming quality to his appearance. His patchy facial hair, seemingly ever-present, only added to his rugged charm.

You couldn't help but curse silently under your breath. Despite having no time for the man, there was no denying he was just as attractive as the sweet treats he created. It seemed as though every time you crossed paths, he had a knack for appearing more alluring.

“Hey Sarah,” he greeted the teen, “I can finish this up for you, I don't want you to miss the committee meeting for the trick or treat parade.” he said, referencing the penultimate celebration of the town's October celebrations.

Sarah's face lit up as she started to untie her apron, “Thanks, Marcus. You're a lifesaver.”

As Marcus took over your order, Sarah excused herself, heading towards the exit. Her parting words were aimed at both you and Marcus. “See you later!”

With Sarah's departure, an awkward silence settled between you and Marcus. The air seemed to crackle with the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks.

“Looks like you're stuck with me for a while,” Marcus remarked, breaking the silence with a wry smile. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, an undercurrent of amusement at the situation.

You nodded in reluctant agreement, realizing that there was no escape from this moment. “Seems that way,” you replied.

Marcus busied himself with finishing up your order, his hands deftly manoeuvring around cups and saucers. He poured the lattes into to-go cups before adding the last dollop of whipped cream to a pumpkin spice latte. The warm, spicy scent filled the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods.

As he reached out to pass you the tray of drinks and the bag filled with baked treats, your hands brushed against each other. Time seemed to slow, the atmosphere tingling with a spark that neither of you had felt before. It was a fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine, making you suddenly aware of the space between you.

Marcus cleared his throat. “I, uh, put a cranberry muffin in there. For Libby. I know they're her favourite.”

You blinked, a little thrown off by the unexpected kindness. “That's very thoughtful of you.” You reached for your purse, ready to pay for the order, “How much is it?” you asked, but Marcus waved you off.

Marcus shook his head, grinning slightly. “It's on the house. Consider it a thank-you to Libby for watching the store the other week.”

“Thank you,” you finally said, struggling to find the right words. “That's... that's very kind of you.”

Marcus shrugged, his gaze meeting yours for just a second longer than necessary. “It's what neighbours do, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I suppose it is.”

The bell above the door jingled, breaking the moment as more customers entered the bakery, kids trailing behind their parents, all excited for Halloween goodies. You picked up the tray and bag, suddenly aware that you had to leave, but not quite ready to break the newfound connection.

“I'll see you around?” Marcus asked, with maybe a note of hopeful uncertainty in his voice, you weren’t sure.

You smiled despite yourself, “Maybe,” you replied as you raised your now full hands in an attempt at a wave.

Marcus was about to answer when the bakery's new patrons diverted his attention and you took the opportunity to leave, your head suddenly full of conflicting feelings for the man.

Exiting out onto the street, you couldn't help but inhale deeply, letting the crisp, early October air fill your lungs in hope it would clear your head. The town's signature cherry blossom trees that lined each side of the street had traded their springtime pinks for shades of orange and yellow, a change of costume in tune with the season.

Libby looked up from the book she was reading when you stepped back into the store, “You were longer than I expected.”

You felt an unexpected heat spread up your chest to your cheeks, “Sarah was working,” you quickly threw out, “she was telling me about the book she got last week.”

Libby accepted the coffees and paper bag so you could shrug off your coat, “Ooo, cranberry muffin! My favourite!”

“Yeah, Marcus threw it in there for you.”

“So you spoke to Marcus?” she asked, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, an unmissable smirk on her face.

You narrowed your eyes in response, “Briefly.”

Libby took a bite of her scone, the noises she made boarded on the line of scandalous, “God, this is good.”

“Should I leave you and your scone alone?”

Libby grinned, crumbs of scone still clinging to the corners of her mouth. “If you leave me now, I'll name my first-born after this scone. It'll have a weird life, but at least it'll be delicious.”

You chuckled at her melodrama as you took your coffee out of its tray.

Libby grinned, “I swear to god, if I was remotely interested in men I'd be climbing him like a tree. Heck, I might just do it for the baked goods.”

You rolled your eyes, “Easy there tiger.”

“I really don't know how he's single, three years in this town and it's not like the women haven't been throwing themselves at him.”

“Well, maybe he is really too good to be true.” You countered, taking up your apparently one woman stance of your dislike of the man again as you took a sip of your coffee - biting your lip at your own groan at how a simple latte could taste so good.

Libby chuckled, “Or maybe you're too stubborn to see what's right in front of you.”

You sighed, unwilling to admit, even to Libby, that your stance on Marcus might be softening just a touch. “Let's agree to disagree, shall we?”

“Fine, fine,” Libby conceded, taking another heavenly bite of her scone. “But one day you'll see. Good things, and good people, might just come in unexpected packages.”

Your phone buzzed with a notification about a new job posting in Toronto. You glanced at it, suddenly feeling less of that earlier urgency to return to the hustle and bustle of city life. The idea of stepping back into the rat race seemed so detached from where you were now—surrounded by the rustic charm of Maplewood and its genuine, warm-hearted inhabitants.

You took another sip of your latte and stole one last look through the bookstore's window, back towards the bakery. Marcus was crouching down to hand a sugar cookie shaped like a pumpkin to one of the small kids in the bakery. The child's face lit up with joy, a mirror of the light that seemed to emanate from Marcus himself.

Maybe Libby had a point. Maybe good things did come in unexpected packages.

You put your phone down, screen facing the table, and looked back at Libby, who was now back engrossed in her book. But your thoughts weren't on job postings or the life you had in Toronto. They were here, on this little corner of Maplewood.

For the first time, in a long time, you weren’t thinking of ways to run back to your old life.

#october x 500 #autumnal offerings #something sweet this way comes #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader

[auteurdelabre]

Losing our Minds Together Part 1 [Joel x f!reader][Bill x Frank][Ellie x Riley]

Summary: As an artist by trade it's only natural that you'd agree to give your young neighbor Ellie drawing lessons. You just weren't counting on her stoic father Joel Miller getting under your skin.

Rating: 18+ (for future chapters)

Word Count:

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions) , Bill x Frank, Ellie x Riley, Tommy x Maria

Warnings: This is saccharine slice of life with smut and a Soft!Joel. You have been warned. There is smut, but when it gets to those chapters you will have plenty of warning. (That is if there is interest in my story!)

A/N: Hey ya'll I loved writing "Something to Fight For" so much, building a world for these characters to live a kinder, softer life. I couldn't stay away from the idea of another AU story for Joel x Reader, this one with less angst , our fav girl Ellie's first crush, and our fav guys Frank and Bill falling in love. Nothing like my other work, not associated with it at all, just similar in that I'm the one writin' it heh heh. But PLEASE let me know what ya'll think in the comments.

---------------------------------------

Losing our Minds Together: Chapter 1

I don't paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.

- Frida Kahlo

-----------------------------

It needs more blue.

No, no. That's wrong. It needs white, just a little dab.... There.

Perfect.

You step back from the canvas, satisfied.

The music is blasting, something moody by The Smiths. A bit before your time, but you've always had a proclivity for older things. Old houses, like the one you live in. Old furniture artfully arranged in the rooms, beautifully carved and one of a kind. Old music, like the stuff that blasts from your CD player now.

You think it's because you grew up with your grandfather. The kindest, most patient man you'd ever met. The kind of man that saved you after your parents died in the car accident. Not just in sheltering and feeding you, but in building you up again. Reminding you what was so wonderful about being alive.

He's the reason your an artist. He's the reason you're alive at all, really.

You brush the hair that's fallen into your face, feeling the dried paint there and breathing deeply as you step back and survey your work.

This one is the ocean, a trite and overdone concept, but working only with the palette knife gives it fat swathes of colorful texture. The kind that makes each wave seem possible to touch, to dive into.

Your next gallery showing is coming up, and you have a few more pieces to create. It's a multimedia exhibition, and your latest batch of ceramics needs to be fired. You sigh, thinking of the kiln you had to sell last month to pay the rent. Money is a bit tight these days, your art's not selling like it used to.

Over the music you hear the sound of beeping, high pitched. You turn, looking through the large bay windows of your studio/office.

There's a moving truck, and alongside it a silver blue truck gliding into the driveway next to yours.

New neighbors. You'd forgotten the couple across the street had mentioned that the place was bought. The place next to yours had gone unsold for so long that you just assumed it would stay abandoned forever. You'd enjoyed that, feeling more free in your backyard without the old biddy who used to live there shooting you daggers.

You take a sip of your coffee, watching as the moving vehicle backs into the driveway next to the truck.

A young girl scrambles from the front of the truck, dressed in jeans and a faded black t-shirt layered over a striped long sleeved shirt.

She walks quickly towards the house, her dark eyes blown wide.

"This place is fucking huge."

You giggle silently to yourself at the young teens observation. She can't be more than fourteen with her dark hair in a knotted ponytail. It swishes back and forth as she takes in the entire house.

You watch as a tall man with broad shoulders and tousled brown curls steps down from the truck. He's wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that pulls against his thick biceps.

"Watch it," he says without malice. "Swearing isn't exactly becoming of a young lady."

You hear a twang in his husky voice, one that doesn't match his daughter's. Texas maybe?  You've never been great at placing accents.

You watch with mild interest as he begins to unhook the ties holding the boxes in the flatbed.

"Yeah well when I see one I'll tell her," the girl replies.

You feel yourself bubbling over with laughter. She's quick. You smile around your coffee cup, watching them.

You find yourself rather fascinated with the duo, listening to them banter back and forth from your window. They carry boxes inside the house , talking the entire time. You can't hear everything, but you think you hear the words "baby" and "school".

"This place is amazing, Joel," Ellie says.

Joel. Not dad. And yet when you watch them interact it's certainly as if they are family. You suppose that he's perhaps the step dad, that the mother will be joining soon.

You consider going over, being neighborly and offering some help. But a quick beep of your watch reminds you that you're already behind on your own tasks for the day. 

///

You grunt carrying the large box of dried ceramics up the steps of the gallery. The site conditioning hits you and you send a silent prayer to whatever god is in control of temperature.  Through the double doors at the back is Frank's personal studio. He owns the gallery, recently moved here but still loves to create his own art. He's really big into textiles and ceramics.

He's the one who first taught you to throw on a wheel.

Frank was friends with your grandpa as long as Frank had lived in Wyoming. He's known you since your were a heartbroken twelve year old moving to a new city with a grandfather you barely knew.

You were coming from New York. Big city, big apple, big dreams. Moving to Wyoming had felt like a punishment. Leaving your friends and life behind.

But Wyoming is where you found your love. Art. Paint, ceramics, drawing, anything you can get your hands on.

"Honey!" Frank calls out when he sees you burst through the doors, rushing over to help you carry the items to a nearby table. He grunts, hefting them onto it along with you. 

Frank is tall, lean and impossibly handsome. When he smiles it lights up his face. He's always dressed well, chic like any gallery curator.

"You really need all these fired today?"

"Yeah," you nod panting. "Exhibition is coming up in soon. I gotta be ready. And I wanted to test some of the glazes first "

"We have those test tiles," Frank reasons. Frank always thinks he knows better about most things (which makes it extra annoying when he is).

"Yeah but you know it's not the same," you argue. "My pieces are totally different than-"

The two of you begin to debate the merits of test tiles as you unload the items and Frank places them into the kiln.

"These are great," Frank says, but you hear the catch in his tone. Great, but not like the stuff you used to make.*

"You wanna grab a bite?"

"Not this time," you say wincing. You don't want to have to say the words out loud: you're on a budget. A shitty one that means store bought coffee and no more non essential clothes shopping.

Then Frank says the two words that cause any broke artist to rejoice.

"My treat."

///

It's busy in the cafe down the street. The one Frank comes to at least once a day. You settle into the bar along the window while Frank brings over his drink and your huckleberry pie. 

You chat a while longer, mentioning your new amusing neighbors and how you're going to miss having the quiet to work.

"Is the dad cute?" Frank asks with a brow raise. Frank loves hearing about your romantic life, you assume because his is so littered with bad dates and worse boyfriends.

"I didn't get a great look at the front," you admit. "But he wasn't bad from the back."

Frank laughs around his espresso cup before you suddenly feel him tense beside you. You watch your friend's eyes go owlish behind his glasses and follow his gaze out the window.

Coming up to the cafe with a scowl is Bill. Everyone in town knows him. Bill. The quiet, intense mechanic that owns the place around the corner. The one who comes in for coffee at roughly the same time every day. You roll your eyes at your friend, taking another bite of pie.

"Frank."

"Shhhh," Frank says, pressing into you with his shoulder as Bill walks in, the bell tinkling above him. You both watch as he strides heavily to the counter.

"Black coffee."

The usually friendly barista doesn't even say good afternoon. Bill doesn't do pleasantries. He slides the two wrinkled bills towards her.

"Still that guy, Frank? Really?"

Frank is smiling shyly. He gives a short shrug of his lean shoulder, before his eyes are back on Bill. As if he feels the gaze Bill glances over, catching Frank who  pretends to be laughing at something you say.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"He saw me staring," Frank says gripping your arm and shaking it gently. "Pretend you're telling a joke. Pretend you're funny."

"I am funny."

"Really?" Frank asks, his face amused. "I've never seen proof of that."

You give his shoulder a playful push. "When are you just gonna ask him out?"

"I don't even think he bats for my team," Frank murmurs back. "How humiliating would that be? I confess a year long crush just for him to tell me he's straight? No thanks. I did enough of that in college."

You smirk at that, nudging him with your elbow. "Wimp."

Frank says nothing, simply watches from behind you as Bill takes his coffee, heading outside back to his shop.

"Thanks for the pie," you say earnestly. "It's been forever since I had anything other than something I can heat in the microwave."

"Finances still tight?"

You shrug.

"Told your grandfather not to remortgage," Frank says under his breath.

"It's not all that bad," you insist. "If my next show goes well I'll be able to pay off the majority."

If you show goes well. If not, it might be time to think about selling. The thought of selling your grandfather's place with all its memories is upsetting.

"You should think about teaching art classes again," Frank suggests gently breaking into your thoughts. "You used to love doing that."

"Yeah well," it's your turn to shrug. "Things change."

"Only thing constant is this life is death and taxes," Frank agrees. "But what I'm hearing is you have taxes you can't pay."

You go quiet.

"Just think about it," Frank urges you.

"Okay," you nod at your friend before scraping the last bit of huckleberry onto your fork. "I'll think about it."

///

Your car rambles into the driveway hours later, the sun setting behind you. You're tired, spent from dropping buying specialized art supplies in Colter Bay.

The last of your money for this month, but if it's as good as the woman in the shop promised then your pieces are going to look amazing. And you need them to look amazing. You need to make sales.

You give a groan, pulling the bags from the seat next to you. You stretch to a stand, your mind whirring with all you need to do in the coming weeks.

"Got any garbage bags?"

"Christ!" you scream at the unexpected male voice behind you, dropping the bag you're holding in fright.

The man, Joel, your neighbor stands looking aghast. His hair is sweaty at the temples, his t-shirt damp along the collar. He's been lugging boxes all day, the moving truck is gone and his truck's flatbed is bare. He has a beard, closely trimmed and the same shade as his hair. Up close you can see it's threaded with bits of grey.

You look down to your feet, your worst fears confirmed. The expensive brushes you bought have snapped under the heavy gloss varnish bottle which has cracked and leaked all over the bag and now dribbles onto the driveway.

"No," you drop to your knees, trying your best to scoop the vanish back into the bag even though you know it's pointless.

Joel drops to one knee as well, even though he can tell it's fruitless. He looks at your crumpled face as you stare at the waste, shaking your head.

All you can see now is dollars and cents being quickly soaked up by the ground.  You drop your head into your hands.

"Fuck. No. This can't be happening."

You twitch when you feel a heavy hand at your shoulder. A tentative gesture of apology from the man knelt across from you. 

"I'm so sorry," Joel says, his face twisted into genuine concern. "I'll replace 'em. Just tell me where and I-"

You're so angry. Angry about the fact that you have no money. Angry about your art not selling as well. Angry about the pitying look in Frank's eyes when you talked about the mortgage. And now deep thundering fury at the man who gapes at you with wide brown eyes.

You glare before you angrily push his wide hand off your shoulder.

"Stay away from me you fucking hillbilly."

Joel's eyes blow wide at your sudden vitriol. You jerk to a stand, bringing the ruined supplies with you. Joel is still kneeling there, staring at the remnants of the varnish. 

Without another look you rush to your house, holding back furious tears as you force the key into the lock.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller #dad joel miller #fanfiction #pedro pascal #fanfic #bill and frank #ellie x riley #romance #soft!joel #soft!joel miller #ellie the last of us #lgbtq community #lgbtq #love #pining #art #artist #a03 #a03 writer #a03 fanfic #a03 fic #read on a03 #fanfic writing #slice of life #please comment

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

☆▪︎¤{Cry. A. River}¤▪︎☆ Yandere Bruce Wayne/Batman x Reader

You weren't one that would got out frequently. You stayed beside yourself, alone. Your family would watch you wither away until all your years of grief would hopefully fade away, but possibly with you.

The eldest of your family, asked you to make a appearance at a event for them. They were far to busy to do it, even the second eldest couldn't take spot for them. So you would.

"Pearl..." You say weakly, sitting in the blue cushioned seat. Your right hand, a young woman with cold, dull features stares at you.

"Yes, my lady..?" She asked softly.

"May I kindly ask, what is this event we are off too? I'm sorry to say I can't recall." You smiled tiredly at her, your head barely raising from staring at your lap.

"We are heading to the grand art exhibit of Gotham. A new painting has been crafted and will be finally shown to the public." She said, looking over the small tablet in her hand.

"I see.." 

"My lady, do be careful.." Your right hand looks down at the floor of the car. Water starting to flood the bottom of the car as she felt her the soles of her shoes become damp.

"Oh excuse me," you say, dabbing away the tears with your handkerchief as the river of tears you made sloshes on the floor.

The car stops as Pearl opens the door. The water falling out of the car and onto the street as you step out onto the red carpet. The shutters of cameras and flurry of questions are ignored by you. Your head held highs as your eyes remain down.

One inside, you see Pearl stand behind you from the corner of your eye. 

Slowly gliding through the room, guests stare at you quietly as they conversed with one another.

"Pearl, could bring me a glass of water." You asked her.

"Of course, my lady." She said quietly, sliding through groups of people with ease as you had.

You look to the front of the room, where the main attraction would be shown for all to see. But was covered in a blue blanket, hidden from the eyes of the guests. The only one who even knew what it looked like was the painter themself.

"Excuse me," a man said, "would you mind if I take this seat."

Snapping out of it, you blink at the man that had sat where you stood. 

You assess him for a moment. Nicely styled hair, handsome, blue eyes and finely tailored suit. He looked awfully familiar, but so did everyone else at this soiree. High and mighty Gothamites alike as they and the man next to you, drank rich drinks with ice cubes cut perfectly.

"My lady, I have found you your drink." Pearl speaks up beside you, frightening the man next to you. Almost spilling his drink at Pearl's appearance. The man catches himself, setting down his glass gently as he sees you sip your drink while Pearl lingers beside you.

The multi-billionare watches as you solemnly stare at nothing. He honestly thought the bags under your eyes were makeup. Thinking you were starting a new trend for the fashionable elites at the party.

But he was perceptive, even acting as millionaire playboy.

"I see you aren't fond of liquor." The man relays, striding up beside your free side.

"You are right." 

You say, clutching your glass tightly. 

"Are you here for the realse of Mrs. Caspian newest painting?"

"I am."

"I hear that it's her gradest work yet," the man urges the conversation to keep flowing. Undeterred from your uninterested answers.

"Bruce, Bruce Wayne." The man introduced himself as you glance at him, Pearl doing the same. He holds out his hand as you reach to grab it. Seeing this, Mr. Wayne tries to grasp your hand.

Yet stops once the announcer and artist come up on stage. Gathering everyone's attention. 

After a few words of praise and thankfulness. The painting was finally showed as people gasp in amazement.

Including yourself, you hold a hand to your heart as your (e/c) eyes widen.

".." 

"My lady, your eyes." Pearl states, looking down at the overflowed cup.

Bruce, hearing your assistance soft voice, turns his attention to you. Suprised by the sight he was seeing.

Tears fell down your face like a faucet as you keep your eyes solely on the painting.

"Miss are you-"

The artists speaks up once more. "This portrait was inspired by a young woman I had the honor of meeting during my travels. I do hope, wherever she is now, she knows that she has inspired me!"

Sucking in deep breath, you whisper softly.

 "I miss you."

Your tears flowing by the minute as it creates a puddle.

"Madame- please tell me. Are you alright?" Bruce begged, soon finding himself slumping on the floor as tears started to gather in his own eyes.

'What..?' He thought to himself as small sobs broke free from your lips as more silent tears fell from his eyes.

He watches as your assistant also had tears flowing down their face, Bruce looked around. Albeit hard with tears falling each second from his eyes.

Even guests were crying, even the painter.

When the playboy tries to turn back to you, you were gone.

He had to find you. He must.

[Part 2]

[I will hopefully write a part two or something in the future. If it's well liked enough and asks. Hearts and comments appreciated!]

#yandere batboys #yandere batfam x reader #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfamily #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam imagine #yandere batman #yandere batfam x y/n #yandere bruce wayne #bruce batfam x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman x fem!reader #batman x you #batman x villian reader #batman x reader #batman #batman x batmom #batmom #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #batmom x bruce wayne #batmom x batfam #batfam #dc x you #yandere dc x reader #dc x reader #dc x y/n

[wyyvernn]

A/n: Decided to continue the whole Vampire!Haytham thing from last year.

Art by me.

✧･ﾟ: Masterlist :･ﾟ✧

"Come along, dear girl. Quickly now."

He urged you down the darkness of the alleyway, hidden away from the empty, open streets of Boston. The stark brightness of the moon illuminated your bodies in a soft glow of white, and then disappeared the further you stalked down the path.

Despite the sternness of his words, his smooth voice radiated a kindness that he would find himself never adressing the other Templars with, a kindness so tender and earnest that he only reserved for you, his spy.

He stopped suddenly, by the end of the alley, and his palm came up to lay flat on the middle of your back, guiding you to see what he saw.

There was a flash of movement, a shadow that you noticed. Or that you thought you noticed. The event was only confirmed once Haytham cleared his throat.

"Did you see it? By the general store over there."

Haytham was much more composed than you and he dealt with his nerves easier, and maybe part of that was due to the fact that he was unliving and lacked a heartbeat. But you like to think that he was just as unbothered by the worst of situations when he was human, when his heart pumped fresh, hot blood all throughout his body.

Still, it didn't mean his eyes and ears weren't as alert as ever - quite the contrary. You saw, out of the corner of your eye, his other hand inching for his sword, more out of caution than fear.

He sensed your rising heartbeat in your chest and moved his hand on your back lower.

"Calm yourself, I have a job for you to do in a moment," he whispered, accent as clear and elegant as ever.

You nodded, your fingers a bit shaky. He barely took you out at this time, when the air was as crisp and freezing as ever. But when he did, you cherished every second of it.

"Yes, sir," you mutter, quietly, and whether you notice it or not, Haytham tugs you closer to his side and lowers his voice by your ear.

"Good. I need you to stay here and keep a lookout while I investigate up ahead. Do you understand?"

You lock eyes, watching the greys of his irises soften slightly. For a moment they flash silver, or maybe it's the way the moon brings out the shine in them. Your gaze lowers to his fangs peeking from behind his lips and they glint with the same light.

You nod again and he pats you on the shoulder.

"Good. I won't be a moment."

Your Grand Master, with many years of experience and guile, slinks away to the otherside of the street, his form devoured by the shadows once more.

For several minutes you're left alone, the alleyway keeping you hidden while your mind flits through thoughts of possible explanations. Another vampire? A human on a midnight walk? Unlikely.

Although, your attention is brought back to the reappearance of Haytham, and your eyes widen at the sight from fear, to realisation and then finally, a meagre amount of pity and annoyance.

"Christ, sir..." you pinch the bridge of your nose as you take in his outfit bathed in blood. The white of his cravat is absolutely doused in it, and if you didn't know what he was, you would be bolting to the other end of the alleyway by now.

He licks the blood from his fangs and reaches into his coat, procuring a handkerchief and gently dabbing away the deep red liquid from his lips and chin in a graceful manner.

"An Assassin," he mutters, ignoring your distaste. He uses the cloth to wipe down his sword before sliding it back into its sheathe and neatly folding his handkerchief. "A foolish one at that."

"The servants will be pissed."

You make a gesture referring to the state of his clothes and the corner of Haytham's mouth curves up slightly in amusement but you barely see it in the dark.

"They know better than to whinge like a petulant child, which is apparently more than I can say for you."

You roll your eyes, playfully and scoff. He adjusts his hat and motions for you to follow him once more. You watch him from behind as he clasp his hands behind his back in a sophisticated fashion, all prim and proper and so very Haytham.

You do your best to keep up with his long strides.

"Did you at least get your fill, sir? Of blood, I mean."

Haytham clicks his tongue in minor irritation, but not at you - at the lingering filth on his tastebuds.

"I did not, unfortunately. His blood was not to my liking."

'His', of course referring to the Assassin whom Haytham hunted earlier. The both of you continue your midnight stroll, occasionally casting glances to each other or the buildings, admiring how everything felt more tranquil than the bustling noise of the day, not like he would ever experience it again. These sweet hours of peace spent with him would not last much longer and soon you would need to make preparations for your next mission when the sun arose.

As you walk, this time a little closer to him, you decide to speak up.

"Well, if you're not sated, sir...I wouldn't mind, well...you know."

He actually halts in his step and you nearly slam into his back, quickly preventing yourself from doing just that and rearing back a bit.

Haytham turns his head to the side, watching you from the far corner of his eye and you swear that they darken a little at your suggestion. He doesn't fully angle around just yet, keeping himself tall and proper with his posture.

"Go on..." he urges you to finish, but he already knows of what you're offering and it's no small matter.

The words play on repeat in your head yet you find it hard to expel them from your throat, even as the air shifts around you and he silently demands you to say them. You take a deep breath.

"Blood, sir. Mine specifically. If you want it then I wouldn't be opposed to giving it."

He faces you again finally, eyes of steel narrowed with cold austerity, and a hint of something else. Desire.

He sighs.

"I may lose control and take a lot more than just your blood. You know this, do you not?"

"I know you won't," you reply, quickly. He frowns at that.

It was true that the Grand Master maintained a lot of self-control when it came to blood, certainly a lot more than the likes of Hickey or Charles. Yet, he still didn't want to take that risk, especially with you.

"I won't feed from my loyal spy, not when I have servants for that. Make certain that you don't mention this to me again," he says, bluntly with a rigidness that tells you to let it go. But you dare to grab his wrist to stop him from turning away.

"I insist, sir."

When he gazes upon you again, he detects the sheer determination in your eyes and he admires it. He listens to your gentle heartbeat thumping away in your chest and your soft breathing like a whisper in his ear. He feels himself drifting towards it.

Another sigh loosens from his lips. Haytham kindly draws you closer to him, his hand on your upper arm and his eyes soft.

"You're certain? Once I start, I may not stop..."

His finger slides up your shoulder, shifting your neckline to the side so he can trace over your collarbone and up to the crook of your neck. His touch, laced with longing, sends shivers down your spine and he nearly smiles as he hears your breath hitch. Your heart has begun to pump faster now. He savours the sound.

You shakily nod your head, and reply, "I'm sure, sir."

His left hand came up to grip the other side of your neck gently, his palm pressing against your pulse as he takes away his other and replaces it with his mouth instead. His lips are cool when they brush over your jugular. You slightly jump at the sensation and gasp as his cold tongue pokes your skin and then licks a flat streak up until he's nibbling on your ear. His voice, now a low purr, whispers to you, hums to you.

"I won't lie. It will hurt at first. But I promise that you'll barely feel anything after the pain subsides."

Before you can reply, his lips are back on your neck and his fangs press insistently, eager to break the skin and feel your hot blood drown his tongue like sweet nectar. And he does just that.

You cry out in pain, a quiet whine that stills in your throat when his left arm comes to wrap around your waist and beckon your body closer until your nose is buried against his chest and you're gripping fistfuls of his cape in your hands.

You're divine. Absolutely divine and you taste like heaven in his mouth. He's not sure if he can stop himself after all, and as the pain numbs away into pleasure, you moan and gods, he can't stop, you're the best he's had. You can feel him drinking from your neck with more insistence, more animalism, and you fear that your Grand Master has given in to his more predatory instincts.

But something snaps him back into place, shouting at him to stop once he sees your grip on him grow lax and notices how your body slumps against him. Your heartbeat is considerably slower than it was when it raged earlier, and your moans simmer into tiny whimpers.

You're losing too much blood, he realises, and he pulls his fangs away and whisks you up in his arms.

"Oh, dear girl...I didn't mean to go this far," he coos, his tone soft and concerned as he cradles you against his chest. Your blood drips down his chin and he licks it away, staring down upon you.

You're so dizzy and cold, but he's oddly warm. Perhaps it's due to your blood filling his body.

You murmur incoherent sounds, small noises that don't mean much. You can't even think.

"Mmh...sir...m'tired..."

"I know, I know..." he mutters, soothingly, more like a lover than your Grand Master. "Sleep now."

He makes sure that you're well-rested by the morning and that his servants deliver you the most nutritious foods to help you regain your energy back.

#haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway #vampire haytham kenway #assassin's creed iii #assassin's creed 3

[k-evans-reads]

In Living Color

Chapter 16

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 5,466

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

December 17th, 2021

Chris shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked down the concrete sidewalk, full after dinner across the table from Scott. He kept laughing as they walked, listening to Scott’s ridiculous story he had started telling when they were leaving dinner and kept on telling the entire time they looked for a spot to parallel park on the LA street. He was fully invested in the story that was starting to wrap up but found his attention being pulled away when he spotted the a-frame sign sitting out on the sidewalk with a familiar name listed and a picture of his Nattie on it. 

Tonight was the opening of her art show and although he’d gone back to Massachusetts after coming to LA for some reshoots when he was fresh off of Disney World, he had flown back out for the weekend specifically for Nat’s art show because there was no way he was going to miss this. He remembered back in August one night when they had been snuggled on the couch watching a movie in her small apartment and she’d received a call from the gallery curator, inviting Nat to be their featured artist for this December show and a smile appeared on his face when he pictured the excitement on her face and the way she had squealed with joy after hanging up the phone. She’d been working in the little bit of spare time she had the past few months creating some new pieces for the show and in all of that time watching her create, he had been in awe, never being able to fully wrap his brain around just how incredibly talented and hardworking she was, watching with amazement each time she put a stroke of her brush on her paper. 

But now it was different. Now he was pulling open the glass door of the gallery, letting Scott walk in first before he followed right after as they walked into the bustling gallery full of people to see her art. He could picture her in his home, standing near the windows with that crazy curly hair pulled up haphazardly as one of his old tee shirts hung on her frame as she painted. Chris remembered how he had teased her about stealing his clothes and then getting them covered in paint and how she just laughed and shrugged, telling him there wasn’t much of hers that didn’t get covered in paint before she went back to her artwork. She hadn’t known it then but he had just sat on the couch with his laptop open but hadn’t looked at it. Instead, he’d just sat there and watched her dab her brush in the messy palette before swiping deliberate strokes across her canvas, furiously working for a long time before she’d let out a small mutter as she thought, taking a step back to study her work, tilting her head so cutely before stepping back closer and kept painting. And now, that piece of art was hanging up on these grandiose walls while a group of people stood around praising it. 

Scott nudged his arm, breaking him out of his deep thought to get Chris to move out of the doorway and hunker a little closer to the walls. Chris didn’t know what tonight would hold and if anyone would recognize him. As he looked around the room at the high brow group, he thought that there was a good chance none of them would be able to pinpoint him but somehow he just didn’t care even if they did. Tonight was Nattie’s night and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from being here. They slowly walked over to the table where someone was putting down fresh appetizers, each grabbing one and a glass of champagne before surveying the room from the edges. 

As Chris scanned the crowd, he recognized a few people, some of Nat’s co-workers, a few of her friends that he’d met briefly here and there, but that wasn’t who he was looking for. He wanted to spy that head of curly hair that he had run his hands through late last night when he’d arrived in LA and went straight to her apartment, crawling into bed with her and holding her close. His blue eyes kept scanning the crowd of elegant black and white perfectly dressed people before his eyes finally landed on her. 

There she was, standing in that mustard yellow suit that she had been so excited about, finding it online when they had been laying in her tiny childhood bed at her dad’s house the week of Thanksgiving. He remembered teasing her that it was the color of dijon mustard but she had just told him that she wasn’t going to take style tips from a guy who’s closet consisted of tee shirts and baseball hats. Chris chuckled at the memory but remembered how she had quickly exited out of the page not long after, making him feel bad about his teasing and apologize for it but Nat had just waved it off, telling him instead that it was much too expensive and promptly forgot about it as she turned her phone off and fell asleep. 

But he hadn’t forgotten and had ordered it while in line for Space Mountain with his family at Disney World and had it sent to her apartment which had resulted in her calling him in tears only minutes after it was delivered. He was happy he had ordered it for her, knowing she looked like a million bucks in it, but more so because he knew it made her happy and anything that brought a smile to her face was worth any price to him. Chris was excited to go over to her, but in this moment he just took a minute to watch the way she animatedly spoke to the small group around her, hands moving wildly and curls shaking as her comically expressive face showed every happy emotion flowing through her. 

He was so in love with her that it almost hurt. 

Chris felt tears in his eyes as he looked around at all she had accomplished seeing each piece on the wall. Sure he knew she was talented, she was one of the lead designers at fucking Pixar which said more than enough for her talent, but there was something about seeing her dedicate so much time to a personal project, seeing her own original art come to life in a different way than on a screen and have every bit of this be hers without influence or help from anyone else. 

As the group stepped aside to look around some more and get some more champagne, Nat’s eyes looked hopefully around the room, her hands moving restlessly at her sides. He watched as she stared at the door, biting her lip as no one she recognized walked in, but as she scanned the room once more, she looked past Scott and Chris quickly before her eyes suddenly jumped back to them, her face lighting up as she finally found him. 

Chris abandoned his glass of champagne and plate on the high-top table and quickly made his way over to Nat’s display, unable to help the smile on his face as she met him halfway and wrapped her arms around him excitedly, the heels on her feet making her too tall for him to rest his chin on her head. His arms embraced her tightly as he squeezed her, feeling nothing but pride as he glanced at the pieces hanging on the wall in front of him. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she told him, her voice muffled as she tucked her face down against his shoulder. 

“I am too,” he murmured, eyes still moving over the various pieces before he glanced at her, smiling as she lifted her face and met his eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Nattie. So fucking proud.” 

He saw the emotions swirling through her eyes before her hand rested a hand on his stubbled cheek, his beard not having fully grown back in after he had shaved it for reshoots as Lloyd, before Nat pressed her lips against his that he happily reciprocated. Their kiss didn’t linger being in such a busy public place but he stole one last quick peck before she pulled back, hoping to fully communicate just how deep his pride in her ran. 

Scott had come over during the tender moment and shared his own hug with Nat before she took each of their hands and toured them around the space. Chris felt like an excited puppy, wanting to bounce around with excitement as he got to see each piece of hers here on display and listen to the eloquent and emotional way that she explained each one. He wanted to just stay there and listen to her all night but when a couple had come over wanting to speak with the artist, Chris and Scott took it as their moment to bow out and let Nat work the room in the authentic and charismatic way that was so uniquely her. 

They were back at a table, talking quietly as they looked at other artists’ work from a distance when a familiar group of people approached them, a smile on each of their faces. “Hey, I didn’t realize you guys were already here,” Chris smiled, hugging Lauren in greeting before he shook Mark and Jamie’s hands. 

“We just finished walking through all the other artwork,” Jamie explained, gesturing behind them before he took a sip from his champagne glass. “Have you guys been here long?” 

Chris shook his head as he ate one of the appetizers, his lips flipping into a sheepish smirk as the guys laughed at him eating, then explained to them, “No we just got here a few minutes ago.” 

They all nodded, then Lauren asked Scott, “Where’s Steve? Is he here?” 

Scott sighed and shook his head with a frown on his lips. Chris knew how much they’d all wanted Steve to be able to come tonight, but the plans couldn’t change. “He had to work late so we’re going to come back on Sunday with Chris and Nat so that she can give him the tour of the show then,” he explained to the group. 

Chris jutted his chin over to the other man, asking Mark, “What about you, Mark? Where’s the boyfriend?” 

Their group – of Scott, Steve, Chris, Nat, Jamie, Lauren, Mark, and his partner, Nick – had all become close over the past several months through standing weekly game nights. The guest list changed depending on who was in town, who was busy, and how Lightyear production was doing, with Chris coming in and out as he worked or spent time elsewhere and Nat, Mark, and Jamie occasionally skipping out if their work weeks had been especially high-stress. But overall, they got together at least twice a month at someone’s home, with jokes, drinks, and take out always on the menu. 

Mark frowned, shrugging as he informed Chris, “Things kind of fizzled around Thanksgiving.” 

“Oh I think Nat told me that when we were in Disney World. I’m sorry to hear that,” Chris apologized, shaking his head as he suddenly remembered that nugget of information. It’d slipped his mind after the crazy weeks he had in Washington and Florida, then flying straight to Los Angeles to get back into reshoots before heading home to Massachusetts… all before coming back here. 

“It’s okay, I didn’t really see it going anywhere so I’m not that upset about it,” Mark laughed, shrugging as he sipped his champagne. 

“Well in case you are, I’ll make sure to have plenty of beer stocked tomorrow when you all come over,” Chris offered, laughing when not only Mark, but every person in their group, including Scott, agreed wholeheartedly with his offer. 

They quieted down a bit before Jamie quietly told them all, “Nat really did an incredible job with this show, didn’t she?” 

“She really did,” Lauren agreed as she plucked a piece of lint off of her dress. “And everyone seems to think so from what I’ve heard people saying.” 

“I certainly do,” Chris replied, his voice low as his eyes found Nat from across the room, watching as she explained some of her pieces to a group of guests. “I’m just so fucking amazed at her. I just can’t believe that she did all of this.” 

Jamie knocked Chris’ hip with his elbow as he raised an eyebrow at him, telling Chris, “You’ve got one talented girl there, Evans.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Chris laughed, a smirk on his lips as he continued observing Nat. 

Soon enough, the group launched into catching up with each other. Chris had been so busy earlier in the month when he was out here that he hadn’t seen most of them, so they talked about what they did for Thanksgiving, about how Jamie and Lauren’s kids were, and about how work was going for everyone. It was nice to be back with them, but it was also nice to have a circle of non-industry friends, for once, out here, ones with more normal lives than he and some of his other friends had, where they went home every night to their kids and pets, and most of all weren’t scared to give him some shit but not judge him for what his life had since become, even if it sometimes threw their best friend for a loop sometimes. 

“Are you going to be in California a while, Chris?” Lauren asked as she sipped at a glass of seltzer, a single eyebrow raised as she looked at him. 

“Just for the weekend. I just flew in for Nat’s show and to spend a few days with her but Scott and I are headed back to Boston on Monday for a few weeks for Christmas,” Chris explained, knowing he and Nat were eating up any last visits they could get before the start of his busy season coming in a few weeks. “I’m already looking forward to New Year’s though.” 

“We are too,” Mark assured Chris, an excited look on his face as his hands began gesturing wildly. “That’s pretty much all we’ve been talking about during lunch at work ever since Nat invited us a couple weeks ago.” 

Scott laughed and Chris couldn’t help but tell the group, “We always used to go skiing on New Year’s in Vermont when we were younger and have been doing it for a few years again now so we thought it’d be fun to continue the tradition in Washington.” 

“I honestly thought that when Nat invited us, she’d be inviting us to the East Coast. I kind of figured you’d be spending Christmas together,” Jamie divulged, his voice low and quiet as the rest of the group murmured in agreement. 

“We talked about it but with me not being with my family on Thanksgiving and Nat having her new nephew and everything we thought it just made sense for us each to have Christmas with our families,” Chris explained, knowing they’d both instantly wanted to spend Christmas with their own families. He had been relieved that Nat was so willing to split Christmas after spending Thanksgiving together, but there was something else he was looking forward to as he told everyone, “There will be plenty of Christmases in the future that we’ll spend together.” 

“With the way Nat talks, I’m sure that’s true,” Mark laughed with a knowing look on his face. 

Lauren raised a single brow as she looked at Chris from across the high-top table, pointing out, “It seems like things are getting kind of serious between you two.” 

“Yeah, Nat told us what a hit you were at Thanksgiving,” Jamie agreed, a smirk on his lips as the rest of the group nodded and Scott laughed. Chris shook his head, looking down at the white tablecloth as a group of people passed them without a second glance. “It sounds like you officially were accepted into the Marton family.” 

Mark scowled, a twinkle in his eyes as he shrugged and spoke, “I don’t know about that, I mean, the Marton’s like you so…” 

“I’m also not Nat’s boyfriend,” Jamie laughed as he shook his head, then his expression turned sincere as he met Chris’ eyes. “I honestly thought after Shane that they’d be really giving the side eye to any guy she brought home so you obviously won them over.” 

“I genuinely like them all. They’re a great family and I’m so glad I get to be around them,” Chris told the group without a hint of hesitation. He truly enjoyed getting to spend time with Nat’s family, especially in the place that she’d grown up. They’d welcomed him with open arms and he’d never take that for granted, especially after – as Jamie said – the ringer that Shane put them all through. But having spent time back in Washington with them, watching football games throughout the week, taking the kids on walks around the neighborhood with Nat, running to the grocery store with Ryan and Zach… it all just had felt so right that he couldn’t imagine spending his life with anyone else but her. 

“God, you’re in so deep,” Scott muttered as he rolled his eyes, but the hint of a smile on his face betrayed him. “Poor Nattie.” 

Lauren laughed, a smirk on her lips as she interjected, “I don’t think that Nat seems to mind that he is.” 

Chris heard the round of laughter that went through the group before the subject changed to some of the latest funny stories from the office but not for the first time that night, Chris felt his mind wandering. His eyes flickered back over to where Nat was, laughing loudly and expressively chatting and those words Scott had just said, echoed in his mind. You’re in so deep. And boy was that true. 

There wasn’t hardly anything that he didn’t imagine in the future without thinking about if Nat would be able to be there or what she would think of it when he told her. He wondered if Nat would be able to come out to Boston for more extended time next fall once he was done with Lightyear and The Gray Man press, or if he would be out here in California. Although he wasn’t planning on proposing yet, the thought of them getting married wasn’t far from his mind because he already knew that she was the one for him in every way, shape and form. 

The whole group lingered around longer, taking in all the art and getting to talk with Nattie in spurts throughout the night but as it was growing later, each of their friends started filtering out while Chris stayed until the last glass of champagne was empty and the gallery was closing its doors. He finally got to have his arm slung around Nat’s shoulders as they walked down the street to her car, climbing in and heading back to his home in the Hollywood Hills. 

They were both quiet for a bit as she drove, enjoying the silence of the car after a long few hours of non-stop chatting. But before long, Chris glanced to the side, watching Nat as she drove with a faint smile on his lips, whispering, “Now I finally get to have the famous artist all to myself.” 

“I think the word famous is pretty exaggerated,” she laughed, but a smile made its way onto her face as she shifted into the turn lane, rolling to a stop at an intersection. 

“Well certainly the most talented,” Chris murmured, meaning every word of it. He was practically bursting with pride the whole night, knowing how much work she’d poured into this night, the countless hours of painting, then followed by stress over the layout of the pieces, all culminating in a few hectic days. “Your art is the only stuff that anyone wanted to see.” 

But Nat shook her head and shrugged off his praise by explaining, “Only because I was the featured artist and the other stuff had been there since the beginning of December.”

“I’m trying to brag about my girl here and all you’re doing is shooting me down!” He laughed, sitting up a bit straighter as she turned onto his dark street. 

“Your ego is already so big enough for the both of us,” she retorted with a chuckle, laughing at the mock-insulted look on Chris’ face as she reached for the garage door opener on her visor.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sarcasm now that you’re famous,” Chris replied as she pulled into the garage, next to his Tesla. He let out a yawn as she turned off her car, the pair each unbuckling and climbing out of the car to head inside. 

They’d barely stepped into his home when Nat slipped off her heels with a relieved sigh, but the smile she gave him when they caught each other’s eyes made his entire night. He stepped closer to her, slipping his arms around her waist just as hers looped around his neck, gazing up at him with a tired but happy smile. 

Chris leaned down, pressing his lips to hers and finally giving her the long kiss that he’d been wanting to all night. He felt her relax even more against him, a tiny sigh escaping her before she smiled into the kiss and caused him to do the same. His hands pressed into the small of her back as they pulled apart, and Chris shook his head faintly to himself as he looked down at his girl. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” he couldn’t help but tell her again. “I just kept looking over at you thinking, ‘that’s my Nattie’ and I just was so amazed at you tonight.” 

“I’m just so happy that people actually showed up,” she laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. Her hand slowly made its way up and rested on the nape on his neck, her nails gently scratching his skin absentmindedly. “I honestly was nervous that nobody would come, but then I also was nervous that people would come and then hate it.” 

“Nobody did. I saw the looks on people’s faces and they loved it, Nat. Your work is beautiful and emotional and I guess I’d say even sensitive, but honestly it’s just fun,” he rambled, knowing just how much everyone had to enjoy her work. She had a tiny grin on her face, but her hand suddenly stopped its path up and down his neck as she leaned up, pressing another long, soft kiss to his lips. When they pulled apart, he pressed his lips to her forehead and told her quietly, “And it’s just like you. That’s exactly who you are and I just love you Nattie, and I’m so proud.” 

“That means so much to me,” she truthfully replied, her eyes tired but full of pride. “And I love you too, but I think you already knew that.” 

He shrugged, smirking as he mused, “I may have heard a rumor about something like that.” 

Nat pecked his lips again before she pulled her arms back to her sides and sighed, informing Chris, “I think after such a big night I deserve something to celebrate.” 

“I’ve got some champagne in the kitchen,” Chris suggested, raising a brow at her as he let go of her.

But there was a mischievous look on her face as she amended, “I was thinking more like ice cream.” 

“There’s my Nattie,” Chris laughed, slapping her ass lightly as he nodded towards the hall to his room. “Let’s go change and then I’ll grab that good chocolate stuff out of the freezer.” 

And that’s exactly where they ended up once they both had changed into sweatpants, Nat having wiped her face free of makeup and hair wrangled up before they plopped on the couch. Chris had sat with his feet up on the coffee table while Nat curled up next to him with her knees up, Chris reaching out to pull her legs across his lap before opening the carton of ice cream as they both dug in with their spoons. 

“I sent a bunch of pictures of your show to my family and they told me to tell you how great it looked,” he murmured, his voice low as they mindlessly half-watched an episode of The Office. He felt Nat’s head turn against his shoulder to look at him, adding, “Ma said she’s sad that she couldn’t see it in person but I told her that she’ll get to see the feature piece next time she comes out.” 

“My three main pieces? Actually she won’t see those, they all sold,” she informed him, but soon enough her brow furrowed and she frowned, whispering, “Chris… you didn’t…” 

He felt a blush spread across his cheeks and he gave her a timid smile before he explained, “I actually tried, but I could only get the big one. I got beat out by other people.” And it was the truth – he was so blown away by her art, by the culmination of almost four months of her hard work coming to life that he had wanted every piece. He was tired of everything he had here except for the family pictures anyways, and what better way to have his home refreshed than by his favorite artist? But when he’d gone to officially purchase them, there was only one piece left, and while it was certainly his favorite of them all and he could envision it hanging in either his dining room here or above the piano. 

“Really?” She asked, her brows raised as her eyes softened. 

“Yeah, that couple you were talking to for a while bought a lot of your pieces,” he told her, a sideways grin on his face as he remembered them introducing themselves to Nat, knowing that she had to have made quite the impression to have them purchase so much of her work after only an evening. “When I found out I couldn’t get the three main ones, I was going to buy one of the others but they were all sold too.” 

“I can’t even believe that,” she whispered, her hand sliding up from his lap to rest on his chest. She was quiet as she dipped her spoon into the ice cream, eating it for a moment before she added, “And I can’t believe you bought one.” 

“Well you painted it in my house, it seems only right that it stay here,” he shrugged, leaning his head back against the fluffy couch cushion. He abandoned his spoon, letting Nat finish the carton as he yawned and murmured, “Although I was really hoping for those other two for my place in Boston.” 

She chuckled as she ate the last spoonful of ice cream, leaning forward to put the empty pint and their spoons on the coffee table. “Luckily for you, you’ve got an in with the artist so I bet she’d paint you something,” she suggested to him, smirking as Chris laughed. 

“You think she would? She’s kind of a big deal now so I’m not sure that she’ll have time,” he told her, sighing with a grin. 

She cuddled back up against him, a comfortable sigh escaping them both as his arm wrapped around her, his hand holding her hip. “I have a feeling she’d make time for you,” she assured Chris. 

A smile crossed his lips at her words, feeling so touched that he got to be that special person in her life. He had known so many wonderful people in his life and he truly felt so privileged by that, but Nat seemed to be in her own category. Chris was just so in awe of her in every way. Sure he loved her creativity, but there was so much more to her than that. She was the most sensitive and authentic person he’d just about ever met. She knew how to say what she was feeling and speak so much truth while also simultaneously being the biggest cheerleader of everyone in her life. He loved everything about her but tonight he got to see that beautiful creative soul on display and shining so brightly. 

“Nattie, I just loved getting to see your show tonight but what I really loved was seeing the whole process,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper but at her hum, he couldn’t help but feel encouraged and want to tell her what he’d been thinking for the last several hours. He was just so in awe of Nat and her talent, and he knew she’d never be satisfied with herself, but she defied expectations and blew past any misconceptions, proving her talent to not only every person in that gallery tonight, but also to herself. “It felt really special to see you sketching out the ideas for the theme on that receipt when we were out to dinner that night back in September to get to watch you actually bring it to life and now see it hanging in that gallery.” 

“It was so much more rewarding than I even realized,” she agreed with him, shrugging with a tiny smile on her lips. “I loved having the show and all of that, but I almost forgot just how good it feels to be creating again.” 

His lips flicked up into a grin, assuring Nat, “I’m pretty sure you create every day.” 

“Yeah, but doing it for work is different. This was painting and bringing something to life that I decided. It was a piece of myself that I put into those pieces and when I was creating them it just felt… centering almost,” she explained to him, struggling to be able to fully put it into words but he understood where she was coming from, knowing how it felt with his own creative appetite in acting and bringing characters to life.

“I can understand that,” Chris began, nodding as he mulled over her words, a slight frown on his lips. He shrugged, knowing how much of an outlet that the art show had given her over the last several months, but it didn’t mean she needed to keep putting her life aside for her work. “I know you love creating for Pixar but it’s still a job.” 

“Exactly. A job I love but still a job,” Nat nodded before motioning with her hands before she finished her thought, “So it’s completely different just creating purely for the sake of creating and it just felt good,” 

“I think you should do more things like this in the future,” Chris began, and at the slight frown on Nat’s lips he rushed to explain, “Not even doing shows necessarily but just creating more or even selling them if you want to.” 

“I’d like to, it’s just hard to have a lot of time for it when we’re closer to finishing on a movie at work because usually by the time I get home, I’m so exhausted or on the weekends usually we’re together,” Nat acknowledged while reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, Chris being able to see her sudden deflation as she thought about the future for her. 

“It seems like something you should prioritize though, Nattie,” he encouraged, wanting nothing more than for Nat to finally do something outside of Pixar that made her creatively fulfilled. “It makes you so happy.” 

She was quiet for a moment, thinking over his words before smiling softly as she reached out to play with his fingers, staring at his hand and telling him, “I think you’re right. I love animation and digital art but it just feels good to paint.” 

Chris smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead as he squeezed her against him. “And if you ever need a place to store your finished paintings, the walls of my house would be a really good place for them,” he reminded her, smirking as Nat burst into laughter. 

And although Nat had just used the phrase moments earlier to describe painting, Chris thought her phrase of something just feeling good was the best way to describe how he felt when he was with her. While Chris wasn’t sure exactly what the future would look like in the day to day, the one thing he was completely sure of was that no matter what happened in their lives, he wanted their days to end like this - with them together. 

A/N: We hope you enjoyed this part of their story! We loved getting to share some of Nat's talents and loved writing it from Chris' perspective. Just as a quick disclaimer - we know that at this time in the US (and specifically CA), COVID was rampant. For the purposes of the story and plot, we are focusing more on the big picture vs the restrictions at the time. We don't want to be insensitive, but we also think that after the last 3 years, we all deserve a little bit of a break from that!

#in living color #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #original female character #chris e #chris evans ff #chris evans story #chris evans writing #writing #real life chris evans #real person fiction #real person fanfiction #rpf #ofc #chris evans x original character #chris evans x original female character #original character #original content #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #cevans #christopher robert evans #chris evans x smut #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #pixar au

[kueble]

Sweet on the Vine (Like Strawberry Wine)

Here is something that is only (slightly!) late for last year’s @witchersummercamp. Oops. My original artist backed out, and I managed to convince the amazing @mysticcoyoteart to work with me.  They created Jaskier’s look, which I fell in love with.  Please make sure to check out the art here.

Teen. Warnings: None. 2,000 words

Geralt/Jaskier

---

Retirement has turned out to be a little too relaxing, so Geralt hardly puts up a fight when Jaskier suggests they head into Beauclair for the Strawberry Festival.  Normally he’d do anything in his power to avoid a town full of drunken partygoers, but it turns out looking after a winery is a bit boring, especially since Barnabas-Basil does all the heavy lifting anyway.

Now, though?   Now he wonders what the fuck he was thinking.  The streets are packed with bodies, and the hot summer sun isn’t doing anyone any favors.   Geralt lets Jaskier lead him through the crowd, their fingers threaded together in an easy way that still makes his heart flutter, and leans in to inhale the sweet citrus scent of his lover’s perfume.  It calms something deep inside of him, and suddenly the crowd doesn’t seem so boisterous.

Jaskier - as always - is dressed to impress, not to blend in with the crowd.  Geralt remembers watching him flit about the tailor’s shop months ago, already looking for an outfit that would help him stand out.  He walked up to Geralt with a bolt of pink and strawberry printed fabric, his eyes bright and a pout already firmly in place, and Geralt knew they’d pay whatever the man asked for it.

Now he looks stunning, the petal pink fabric hanging off his curves in a dress that somehow manages to be both fitted and loose all at the same time. It’s hard not to get lost in the sharpness of Jaskier’s chest compared to the flowy fabric as it swishes around his heels.  Though they have nowhere pressing to be, so Geralt indulges himself and lets his eyes linger on his lover as he leads him through the growing crowds.

The city is one big colorful bustle, festival goers crammed into every nook and cranny.  They spend the morning darting between the vendor booths, Geralt tagging along after Jaskier like a lost puppy.  It’s hard to rein in the bard, and even more so when so many crafters have their best wares on display.  Jaskier flits between the stalls, his elegant fingers picking up one piece of jewelry after the other before bemoaning the fact that he can’t buy them all.

Geralt manages to distract him with a booth full of writing journals and doubles back to one of the jewelers.  The woman seems to expect his return and smiles before holding out the ring Jaskier had been fawning over.  Geralt manages to talk her down in price a bit, but his coin purse is still left much lighter.  But as he pictures the delicate silver band and its large opal resting on one of Jaskier’s fingers, he knows the purchase was worth it.

He sidles up next to Jaskier without missing a beat, and Jaskier appears to have been lost in the journals the entire time.  He holds up a couple of options - both eerily similar - so Geralt just points at the one on the right.  It seems to placate him, and Jaskier grants him a warm smile before turning to pay the vendor.

Once the noonday sun rises, the sound of Jaskier’s belly growling calls them both to lunch.  His cheeks are flushed pink - sheepish looks good on him - and Geralt just rolls his eyes before herding him towards the food tents.  They split a couple of chicken and venison meat pies, and even Geralt has to admit that the savory crust is the best he’s had in years.

—

“Oh, you have just got to try this, love,” Jaskier mumbles around a mouthful of berries.  The red juice trails down his chin, and there is a dab of clotted cream in the corner of his mouth, and Geralt can’t help leaning in to teasingly lick it away.  Jaskier jumps, squealing against Geralt, but he’s grinning when they pull apart,

“Tastes delightful,” Geralt says with a smirk.  Jaskier just snorts before dipping another strawberry into the cream and holding it up in front of him.  Geralt leans in and closes his mouth around the treat, eyes closing on their own as the sweetness bursts across his tongue.  He chews slowly, savoring the decadent taste of berry mixed with the sugary cream.

Never say Toussaint doesn’t know how to throw a festival.

“Want another?” Jaskier asks, but they don't have a lot of extra funds and Geralt would rather watch him enjoy the strawberries than eat them himself.

“Not really one for sweets,” he mumbles, and Jaskier shoots him a knowing look before popping the last berry in his mouth.

“Thank you, dear,” he says with his mouth full of fruit, and Geralt snorts before leading him towards the mead tent.  Certainly they have enough coin left to slay his thirst.

—

As soon as Geralt hears the band, he knows he’s about to be dragged into a dance.  Decades ago, he might have refused, probably would have stomped his foot and held his ground and missed out on seeing the joy on Jaskier’s face.  Thankfully, spending years with Jaskier has taught him how to give in and let go.   Retirement is good for them both, and Geralt plans to spend the rest of his days keeping a smile on his lover’s face.

“Dance with me?” Jaskier asks, almost shyly as he holds out a hand.  Geralt covers it with his own and leans in close to whisper into his ear.

“They’re not as good as you,” he says, and Jaskier laughs bright and openly as they move into the crowd of dancers.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, darling,” Jaskier tells him with a wink, and then they’re moving together with the grace built by years of practice.

Geralt feels every year of his age right now, but Jaskier’s youthful energy makes them fit right in with the villagers around them.  The song is bouncy and light, and they hold each other up as they spin to the beat. Jaskier feels perfect in his arms, like they were built for each other, and Geralt can’t help squeezing him tighter as they dance.

Leaning in, Jaskier presses a quick kiss to Geralt’s cheek, his lute-calloused fingers laced with Geralt’s and their warm palms touching as they spin with the rest of the crowd.  Geralt nearly trips over his own feet, and Jaskier just leans back, giggling at him but still smiling brighter than the hot afternoon sun.  He looks absolutely gorgeous like this, his eyes alight and his cheeks flushed with exertion.

“Where is that famed witcher grace and agility?” Jaskier asks with a smirk.  “Gone soft in your retirement?”

“Wasn’t aware this was a competition,” Geralt says slowly before grinning at him and adding, “you want to see some skills?  How’s this work for you?”

Without any further warning, Geralt lowers his hands to Jaskier’s waist and tosses him up in the air.  Jaskier lets out a squeal, his lithe arms flailing before Geralt catches him quickly.  His dress swirls around them, the printed fabric swishing as they move.  He supports Jaskier by holding his slim waist and encouraging Jaskier to tuck his legs against his hip.  He does so, throwing his head back and laughing as Geralt keeps dancing.

Someone near them whistles appreciatively, but Geralt keeps his focus on Jaskier.  The corners of his eyes are crinkled, his whole face lit up as he looks down at Geralt.  They move in slow circles as the band winds down, and Jaskier leans in to kiss him as the last few notes of the song trail off.  His mouth is soft against Geralt’s, his hands even softer as he threads his fingers through Geralt’s hair.  He lets his feet drop, the petal pink heels clicking on the cobblestones beneath them, and grabs a fist of Geralt’s shirt, pulling him even closer.  They stand there kissing long after the next song starts, the dances moving around them without missing a beat.

—

By the time the sun sets, Geralt is more than ready to head back home.   But of course Jaskier won’t leave before the fireworks go off.  One well-timed pout had been enough to get Geralt to start searching for the perfect viewing spot.  They end up on a stone bench in the middle of one of the public gardens.  The Duchess’ palace stands tall above them, but neither of them felt the need to push past the festival crowds to fight for a seat inside.  No, this little alcove they found is much better.

They had a late dinner in one of the town squares, splitting a platter of meats and cheese and more of the sweet sun-ripened strawberries it seems every dish at the festival features.   His belly is pleasantly full, and the taste of sugary strawberry wine lingers on his tongue.  Geralt sighs and leans into Jaskier, humming happily before wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  Jaskier sighs softly and nuzzles their cheeks together, his tanned skin still warm even as the night cools down around them.

Suddenly Geralt remembers his earlier purchase and slides a hand inside his pocket, his fingers easily finding the cool metal of the ring.  Jaskier is lost in his own head, his fingers tapping a lively beat against Geralt’s thigh, and Geralt realizes he’s most likely composing something.  He waits for the tapping to stop before clearing his throat and getting the bard’s attention.

“Yes, dear?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head as he turns to look at Geralt.  There’s something about the softness in his eyes that makes Geralt’s chest pull tight, and he ends up fumbling over his words.

“I, er, for you,” he mutters before shoving the ring at Jaskier.  He almost drops it, but Jaskier’s nimble fingers manage to hang on, and he lets out a gasp before holding the ring up in front of him.

“You went back for it!” he exclaims, eyes watering as he looks between the silver ring and Geralt’s face.

“You deserve pretty things,” Geralt mumbles, which just makes Jaskier move even closer to him.

He slides the ring onto his hand before holding it up to examine it properly.  The fiery opal looks elegant on his long finger, like it’s always belonged there.  Geralt tries to pretend he’s not pleased by the way Jaskier is preening over the jewelry, but he loves being able to provide little extravagances for him.  He didn’t lie when he said Jaskier deserves this and so much more.  Thankfully they have years ahead of them, and Geralt vows to keep spoiling him until his last day on this earth.

“The prettiest thing I ever got was you,” Jaskier tells him sweetly, and Geralt can feel his face flushing.  He tries to look away, but Jaskier cups his cheek in one hand and smiles dopily at him.  Geralt knows without a doubt that there’s a matching look on his own face, and he just doesn't care anymore.  Let the festival goers judge however they want.

His love ought to be celebrated, ought to be seen.

“Charmer,” Geralt manages to blurt out, and Jaskier just offers a shrug and another smile.

“Says the man who keeps charming me, over and over, each and every single day.  You’re a romantic, witcher mine, and there’s no use denying it,” Jaskier points out, much to Geralt’s dismay.  He takes a breath, like he’s about to argue more, but then a flash of light explodes above them, the boom echoing off the stone walls of the buildings surrounding them.  Jaskier gasps and turns his face towards the sky to watch the fireworks.

The Duchess puts on a stunning display, and they spend the next half hour watching the fireworks bloom in the night sky.  Well, Jaskier watches the fireworks.  Geralt watches Jaskier, as he is wont to do.  The bright colors flash around them, highlighting Jaskier’s cheekbones and the curve of his mouth, and Geralt thinks it’s one of the most gorgeous sights he’s ever seen.  His favorite views aren't fit for polite company, so he focuses on this moment instead of reminiscing.   Besides, he’ll have plenty of time to take his bard apart on their bedsheets once they return home for the night.  For now he is more than content to hold Jaskier in his arms while the fireworks flash and rain down around them.

#my fic #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #everyone should retire in corvo bianco #jaskier wears a dress like a pro #they both deserve pretty things

[anchovies-4-dinner]

Tough Love | Yan! Diluc

What if: Diluc doesn’t appreciate your self-destructive tendencies. Luckily for you he doesn't plan on staying idle.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: my own incorrect interpretation of Fontaine, long post, unintentional self harm

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were no family portraits in the Dawn Winery.

Diluc never had a special interest in art, hanging only the collections his father had passed down after his untimely death. It was a shame that was one of the only things his son hadn’t inherited. It was even more a shame he couldn’t appreciate his spouse’s hobby either.

Yes, your pieces really were magnificent displayed in his home but more often than not he’d give them a single passing glance. He never told you this, preferring to see your dazzling smile when you gifted him your work. 

Despite this indifference he would take offence to any insult to your work as if it were directed towards himself; his signature unimpressed look was enough to silence them. He always had faith in your brilliance ever since you drew your first crude picture, so it came as no surprise when you were invited to an exhibition in Fontaine.

In your enthusiasm Diluc had been feeling apprehensive of you leaving so far from Mondstadt. As bright as you were your strengths absolutely did not include self defence nor did you carry any weapons, at least when you were with him. It both flattered and irked him that you laid so much faith in his abilities but as proven before he alone isn’t enough to guarantee your absolute safety. 

As shameful as it was he felt relief when news surfaced of Fontaine’s heavy corruption, thinking you would reject the offer, but it soon turned into perplex when you still insisted on going.

‘Too big of an opportunity’ you had said, which was how Diluc found himself on a carriage destined for said corrupted country. He couldn’t help but rub his face when you excitedly peered out to to view the foreign walls and massive structures. On the way to your hotel you received many stares due to your foreign attire; although he’d long grown accustomed to being ogled at he couldn’t help growing hot underneath his collar and you much the same (without the ogled part).

Diluc clutched the suitcases tighter as he shoved through the crowded streets (why did the hotel have to be smack dab in the heart of the city?), occasionally glancing back to make sure you didn’t get whisked away. Every time your shoulder looked to be yanked or your knees on the verge of buckling he grew tense, nevertheless you thankfully arrived at the glamorous doors without a hiccup.

Even the richest man in Mondstadt couldn’t help but admire the interior, though he did question the safety of the uncovered gears peppering its walls and ceiling. Hopefully they were just decoration.

“Welcome to Joyau Doré, how may I help you?”

When you bounded up to the receptionist Diluc set down the bags and surveyed the area for any other health hazards - a shocking lack of fire extinguishers, a hidden escape door sign behind the toilets, he wouldn’t be surprised if your bed was just two singles pushed together. Unless he saw the rooms for himself he wouldn’t voice his complaints... yet.

...

“Haa, this bed is so much more comfortable than the ones at ours, am I still sinking? Cause it feels like it.”

Diluc rolled his eyes at your teasing, “If you have any complaints I’ve more than enough money to burn, I could lend you those ‘solid’ beds and buy myself some softer ones.”

He ignored your squawk in favour of scouting out the room, examining corners of the bathroom and behind the desks. It was a habit he developed during his massacre in Snezhnaya which saved his life multiple times, but unfortunately you didn’t share his sentiment. 

“Cmon we just arrived and you’re already tearing the place apart? You haven’t even seen the knife in the drawer yet!”

In an instant Diluc was up and making a beeline towards you who was holding the knife so wrong and hazardously. He reached for the tool but you hid it behind your back, instead offering a card that came with it. Diluc squinted:

‘Many blessings on your visit. Please take this precaution lest you encounter hostiles.’

‘Enjoy your stay!’

Diluc almost burned the card; he knew it was too dangerous coming here, why don’t you ever listen to him?

To his aggravation you merely slotted the knife in the leg holster they provided and started unpacking; you had around a month and a half to procure three magnificent paintings in this new, extraordinary city. You needed to start as quick as possible!

...

Before the exhibition you would stay strictly for business. Afterwards you would take your time admiring the city’s wonders. 

No doubt other artists would use popular landmarks as the subjects of their paintings, so you wanted to go for something different in order to stand out. Due to this you referred to the list your friend from Fontaine had given you once - ‘These underrated spots are a must when visiting!’. She didn’t disappoint, because when you ducked under the low hanging branches to a secluded lake your jaw met the ground.

It was a more natural view with less clutter, yet it embraced modernity seamlessly. You smiled triumphantly at Diluc, who emerged from behind with a less skeptical look than before. Once meeting your eyes he merely offered a brief smile though he was still unconvinced. The rest of the day followed in similar fashion: you visited numerous hidden destinations and scribbled vigorously into your sketchbook while Diluc just hung around, content with observing little thumbnails of your ideas. To him it was a bit like peeking into your mind.

Over the span of a week you already managed to draft multitudes, now came the difficult part: picking which to use.

Diluc pinched his chin as his brain went into overdrive; his eyes were admittedly more honed for battle and not artistry so to him each draft held significant value. You however didn’t think so.

“These are kinda weak but at the same time I really like the composition. The stronger ones I feel would be easier since their shapes are so defined-”

Everything went into one ear and out the other. You practically treated him like a plastic duck to sort your thoughts aloud. With the combination of your analysis and your partner’s occasional inputs, by midnight three drafts made it through the selection process.

When you both turned in for the night Diluc could physically feel you vibrating under your covers in excitement, and he wished that was also the reason he couldn’t drift off; his nocturnal activities were so ingrained that throughout the night he couldn’t sleep until it was around 4am no matter how warm and snug your body was.

...

That was the last night you slept comfortably, as the rest of the days before the exhibition were dedicated solely to finishing your paintings. At the start they all seemed to be going in the gutter but Diluc had watched you enough to trust the process. And to know how self-destructive you were during it.

“Darling, please it’s two. You can continue later.” From behind Diluc gently tugged your wrist and pulled you away from the painting. 

It was difficult to break you out of this state, when you were fully set on finishing a painting, so much so that you began to neglect your other needs, “You stay up until four, how is this any different?”

Of course you had to bring up his night activities, you always did when this topic rose. Not only were you glued to the canvas but you were more aloof and less of the sweetheart he knew you as. Diluc sighed and dropped his hands, feeling disappointment when you immediately parted from his body.

Sometimes his hands really, really itched to meld your equipment together (sometimes even destroy the canvas) just so you would finally take care of yourself. As he settled on a chair, fully intent on supervising you lest you faint again, an unsavoury memory resurfaced.

Your body slumped against his sturdy frame in silence. The only sign of life was the faint rise and fall of your chest as Diluc shook your frame in panic. Ever the competent maid Adelinde took the initiative to call for a doctor before her Master could ground himself, though the latter didn’t notice, eyes fixed on your blanched skin and thin frame.

He’d only been absent for three days yet you managed to work yourself to death in such a short period. Multiple times he’d refer you to a respectable therapist and every time you denied there was anything wrong despite how obvious it was. 

Thankfully you had listened and retired for the night earlier than planned. However, Diluc soon woke up to a cold bed at 6am to see you already sluggishly painting again. He took a moment to internally groan before forcing himself up and opening the curtains.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Not long.” You hissed as the sun blinded you (and you called him the vampire), “Could you close them, I can’t see anything.”

“Seeing as you’ll spend the rest of your time here I don’t think I will.” Changing into appropriate wear Diluc slipped on his shoes, “I’m going to get breakfast, what do you want?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“The usual then.”

Seeing the horrendous time Diluc wasn’t surprised to see a lack of people in the breakfast hall. After gathering your food he quickly returned and, to his dismay, saw you in the same place as before. You glanced at the food deposited on the counter but looked away, mumbling ‘in a second’.

Diluc knew better than to trust you on that. After some fumbling he pulled a smile and offered you water. Unwittingly, you puckered your lips and paused as he carefully held your chin to help you drink, your eyes not once leaving the canvas.

Once finished (you’d surprisingly drank it all) Diluc set aside the cup and, from behind, gently brushed aside strands of your hair that fell on your face, nails scratching your scalp with the exact pressure you enjoyed. He didn’t miss the flutter of your eyes when he kissed the back of your head and whispered:

“I’ll be back.”

...

While you were slaving away Diluc decided to do at least one round of the city, and man did he see a lot.

He’d stopped a burglary, an assault, a carriage from almost running over a child, and even two policeman from harassing a women. That was before he even started his return. It seemed that for all the citizens liked to brag about their arrest rate they didn’t stop to consider why there were so many criminals in the first place.

Upon arriving, however, the man stopped dead in his tracks and momentarily questioned his eye sight, because what the hell was Albedo doing by your side? In Fontaine?

The alchemist seemed to have spotted the red head since he nodded in greeting, prompting you to turn and latch onto your husband’s arm. 

“Albedo.”

“Diluc, thought I’d see you here. I take it you’re both here for the exhibition too?”

“Too? I didn’t think you’d be interested in this type of stuff.” 

“You’re right, I’m not.” Diluc ignored your nails digging into his arm, “But seeing as I’ve no inspiration for any experiments I may as well take this chance.”

At that moment shouting could be heard from outside the hotel. Albedo quickly excused himself to reel back in his little sister lest their fines quadrupled.

“Albedo’s amazing.”

Diluc was about to respond with a teasing ‘should I be worried?’ when he looked down at you, realising that was the least of his concerns; your jaw was tense and your eyes stared blankly at the corner Albedo turned.

Even when Diluc ushered you to the lift (he didn't trust you on the stairs) you continued spouting nonsense, “Not only can he paint extraordinarily well, he exceeds in chemistry while also wearing a vision. No wonder people like him.”

“Because he’s a homunculus sweetheart, they tend to be smarter than the average.” Diluc stroked your jittery fist clutching him, but still you rambled to no one in particular.

He sighed, perhaps he should’ve stayed after all.

...

Before dinner, you began feeling sick.

You were painting normally with more harshness than before when a sudden wave of nausea hit you. Thinking it normal (as normal as fainting on the daily is) you brushed it off until it grew stronger. You set down the brush and felt your way to the chair to sit down for a bit, feeling heat radiating from the bathroom your lover was showering in. 

To think about it, your throat was feeling sore from your earlier blabber. Grabbing the used cup from the table you refilled it with water and took a sip. After a while you gagged at the strong taste and leaned over the sink, ready to spill your guts at any moment. You had no idea how much time passed, what with your brain banging around your skull, but soon hot hands soothed your back and tucked your hair behind your ears.

Your dry heaving complimented with tears carried on seemingly forever until your body finally gave up trying to eject whatever it was. Bile razed your throat yet nothing came out, it was both frustrating and relieving. Once Diluc was sure you were fine he shed light on the problem:

“This tap here is for alcohol. The water is the other tap.”

This damn city and its damn quirks.  

Shaking as you stepped away, you realised Diluc had stood there soaked the entire time. Your first instinct was to grab a bunch of his brilliant red hair, scented with rich people shampoo, and squeeze; cold water dripped onto your palm and you realised that the man was shivering in his towel. Despite this he’d rather make sure you were okay first and foremost. How touching.

You coughed and pat his shoulder, “I’m fine now, go change. Wouldn’t want you getting me sick before the exhibition would we?” 

Diluc stiffened for a second before leaving to change. Not long after your ‘recovery’ you dove straight back to work. You didn’t drink anything Fontaine until the next morning.

...

Against expectations, you finally went outside. It was only for a short while though as you had accidentally stepped on one of your paint tubes and it, well, exploded. What a headache. Literally.

As always Diluc escorted you on the way. You’ve grown very used to his presence, so much so that the others in Mondstadt noticed; every time you were brought up in a conversation you were always referred to as ‘the Master’s lover’ or even ‘what’s-their-face’. You get it, you weren’t the most memorable person ever but they should at least put some respect on your name. It wasn’t as if you were the one following him around, in fact it was the opposite.

Maybe that was why you felt so bitter when the shopkeeper kept talking to Diluc when you were the one actually buying stuff. When he did talk to you it was to make sure you knew what you were buying and over explaining things, as if half the bought paintings on his walls weren’t made by you. You pursed your lips when Diluc intersected with a scathing remark before dragging you out, palms dangerously close to burning through his gloves.

You were used to experiences like that, but it lingered at the back of your mind for the rest of the day, so much so that you didn’t notice the thief until your arm was yanked by your bag. Instinctively you pulled since it was your supplies at stake but weeks of neglect had mounted and crashed in the form of you getting dragged instead. 

Before the thief could raise his fist he was knocked into the alley wall and your partner’s hand grabbed his face. You turned away as the offender’s cries were muffled by the roar of flames. Usually it didn’t last for more than a minute, only to teach them a lesson, but it carried on to the point the thief had fainted from pain. Gritting your teeth you smacked Diluc’s shoulder and he finally stopped, dropping the man carelessly. You’d long grown accustomed to the fact Diluc has killed before but that didn’t mean he could do it in front of you. Thankfully he had left the man alive, though you didn’t know whether it was for the better or worse.

It took all your willpower to not vomit at the sight of his face. For all his gentlemanliness Diluc sure vented his frustrations in such violent ways.

...

A couple of weeks in and it was already 20 days until the exhibition. 

As the deadline approached your time for breaks and sleep grew thinner until it got to the point where Diluc had to sneak in sleeping pills for your sake.

By now you’d started the third painting; stress marred your youthful features with your eye bags becoming more noticeable. Not to mention the damned illness you contracted from skipping basic needs.

Your hands trembled and your vision doubled from standing for so long. It felt like a thousand suns were behind your eyes as you couldn’t help rubbing the fatigue away to no avail. Despite it being the middle of summer you felt cold and had layered clothing upon clothing, only to feel like a butterfly trapped in its own cocoon. 

It came as no surprise when Diluc one day took you, against your own will, to a doctor.

“It seems your immune system was been worn down due to sleep deprivation. As such you’ve become more vulnerable to disease, especially as this is your first time in Fontaine.” The doctor’s eyes glanced at Diluc, “It would be advisable for you to get the recommended amount of sleep and start eating more nutritious food, along with taking this medicine I'll prescribe to you...”

The walk back was silent. Diluc pulled you close to stop you falling, “Promise me you’ll listen this time. Even if you wanted to you can’t work in this state.”

You stayed quiet, and for a moment he thought you were ignoring him when you replied, “The medicine will be enough. I have plenty of time to rest after the exhibition, that is more important.”

It seemed you still hadn’t learned your lesson.

...

The medicine wasn’t working. It was 3 days until the exhibition and the godforsaken medicine wasn’t working.

Heart beating erratically, you panted from overexertion as your tool glided imperfectly across the canvas. Paint clung to you like moss and your knees ached red since you’d forgone standing. The only thing you could hear was the quiet ticking of the clock as yet another day came to an end.

A sharp pain throbbed in your skull, forcing you to retreat and cradle your head, never mind the paint. Your hands squeezed as if possibly caving your own head in would cause less pain.

Your ever dutiful lover was instantly by your side, popping the appropriate tablets in a glass of water for you. Blinking away the moisture in your eyes you gratefully downed it if only for your body to cool for second. Diluc’s usually warm hands were cold when he touched your forehead.

He pursed his lips, “Sleep.”

You shook your head, “I don’t- just please can you tell that doctor nothing he’s done has actually worked.”

“And what if I do? You’ll just drive yourself back down again, do you plan on meeting every doctor on this planet?”

You snapped, “Do you not understand how important this is for me?! Everything I’ve done was for this moment so don’t you dare try to make me feel as if it’s any less than that, who knows when this opportunity will come again?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous of course it will. They invited you for a reason-”

“You don’t know that! There’s always other people, better people they could invite instead, the competition won’t stop just because I’ve fallen ill! I can’t afford to be sick! Do you know how-”

You hung your flushed face in shame. This piqued Diluc’s interest and he touched your shoulder - only for you to flinch away. “... Do I know what? What’s wrong?”

You began trembling, “I-... they didn’t invite me.”

“Darling what-”

“I paid them! I cheated with my money, I was never meant to be invited in the first place. Instead I stole someone else’s opportunity.” Your lower lip trembled and you wanted to be anywhere but here. “What would they think if I turned in some shitty art to their exhibition? It’s humiliating!”

You interpreted your partner’s silence as disappointment and you cried harder; it was difficult to even pursue your only strength, and even harder to swallow that not only were others excelling more than you, but also had multiple talents to show for it. You weren’t unique. You weren’t memorable. You were simply boring. 

“I can’t even be good at my own career. They were right, everyone was right, I really am just a nobody-”

“Don’t say that.” Diluc finally broke out his stupor and softened, “You’re so much more than your productivity, so what if they can’t see past that? You shouldn’t let other people dictate your life.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You were born rich, everyone loves you! I was always on the side. Did you know that no one in Mondstadt knows my name? I’ve lived there my entire life, and not a single one of those people could even remember it!” You spat out. “Instead they call me your ‘side-job’. The one time they acknowledge me it’s for some gossip that’s not even centred on me!”

Diluc’s eyes widened and he fell silent again. All your envy, bitterness and anger bubbled until it spilled, wanting to just hurt something, “Did you know that? Did you laugh with them behind my back? Did you think me pathetic for believing I had a chance with someone so out of my league? Well guess what, I never. Ever. Loved you.”

His blanched face only served to encourage you. You laughed hysterically even though deep down you were writhing in agony, “That’s right, I was using you! How does it fucking feel to not be the centre of the universe for once?!”

In a way, Diluc was one of the most important people in your life; without him, you couldn’t possibly have been given offers from others hoping to gain favour from your husband. Even your parents confirmed that marrying that man had been your biggest accomplishment.

You hated that. You hated the stupid ring your parents looked at more than they looked at their own child. Fingers slipping, you finally rid yourself of the accessory and and threw it past Diluc, who was too shocked to even move. 

It was deathly silent save for the faint ear piercing thud of the ring. Diluc slipped his eyes closed, and in a moment of sobriety you realised that you may have made the biggest mistake of your life. Your head thumped from the rise in blood pressure and you swayed slightly from shouting your lungs out. You should feel guilty and beg for his forgiveness, but you just couldn’t muster the strength to do so. 

When he finally looked at you, his eyes were frigid as if he was back in Snezhnaya. 

“I see. Then if we’re confessing the truth I have something to tell you too.” His red eyes consumed you, voice shaking with rage. “The reason you’re sick was of my doing. Everything you ate I laced with poison, I even bribed the doctor to give you placebos. At first I only wanted to test you to see how far you’d go. Evidently I need to take more drastic measures.”

That was all he said before he wordlessly left, slamming the door behind him. 

...

You had no idea how much time had passed. For all your efforts you hadn’t worked on your art, not because of your breakdown but because you physically couldn’t get up. 

From your distress your body only worsened and passed out on the floor. Paint still stuck to your skin even through the bucket-full of sweat; your body shivered from the cold yet it felt too hot. Even through this your brush was tightly clenched in your hand as you shakily scrawled on the painting. Your throat ran dry as you held your breath while drawing a straight line.

It was wonky. You breathed and tried again, in another place this time. It was even worse. So you tried again. And again. Again. Again. Again-

Paint blotched your skin as you thumped wildly on the canvas. You hardly registered the livid scream as your own. Quickly the brush became disfigured and you discarded it for a much more efficient tool.

The knife the hotel had so generously given to you was finally drawn free for you to hack away at the canvas, splinters digging into your skin without care. Unwanted tears slipped down your cheek as your product was destroyed beyond recognition, blurring your view. 

White pain seared and you swore loudly as the crimson you so detested spluttered out your hand. You curled into an exhausted ball, crying until you passed out.

...

The pocketed vial burned his skin. 

Diluc hadn’t meant to take it with him initially. In the spur of the moment he swiped the vial sitting at the back of his mini vault when taking out the money. From then he decided he would give you one last chance; the more you dismissed your health the more of the substance he’d give you. 

What did you say it was? ‘Too big of an opportunity’, yes that’s how he saw it. Had you been reasonable he wouldn’t have to go to such lengths but you left him no choice. Either you hate him forever or drive yourself into an early grave, it was an easy decision. 

After your outburst he’d stormed out and slept elsewhere - slept as in brutally beat up criminals he came across. Not like he had to actually search for them. After blowing off some steam he had a moment of clarity; he’d been ignorant of your struggles, in fact he’d been too inattentive. If the poison was doing its job then he’d have all the time to make it up to you.

On his rush back he’d felt antsy after recalling the knife he left you with. The more he deliberated the more wild his imagination got and soon he was sprinting to your room. 

It was awfully quiet.

Assuming the worst he flung the door open to be greeted by your unmoving body. Panicking he immediately crouched down and shook you, paling at the sight of your blood, even considered slapping you if that was what it took. 

When you stirred he sighed in relief before a flash of white swiped his face; he flinched back at the last second, however he could feel a cut on his nose. Using the last of your energy you thrashed wildly hoping to cut more than just skin. Diluc however restrained you with ease. Your pink face was contorted in blind rage though your grip on the knife grew weaker.

The vial burned his skin.

...

“Smile dear, he can’t paint what he can’t see.”

Your flat expression didn’t change, eyes boring into the artist. Your husband’s hands laid heavy on your shoulder as if keeping you from escape, even though your autonomy had been greatly reduced already. 

After passing out in Fontaine you’d woken up in the cathedral of Mondstadt with Diluc by your side whispering of his forgiveness. Your illness was gone in exchange for the lack of control of your limbs; now you were weaker than ever and wholly reliant on your doting husband.

The finished portrait mocked your chair bound person. Your wedding ring lightly scratched the surface of the canvas as your fingers traced the scar you’d given Diluc. Your last and only victory over him.

Since word got out you had become the main gossip for the people of Mondstadt, but as all things did it died down until (Y/n) was no more. 

All you could do now was watch from the windows, forever chained to the manor and coddled to the extreme.

#yandere #yandere genshin #yandere diluc #gender neutral reader

[dukeabarnstable]

XXX

#nyc street art #dukeabarnstable #dab street art

[colormepurplex2]

Kaleidoscope | Orange

↳ Musician!Namjoon x Artist!Reader ⤜ Neighbors, Mutual Pining, Artist Muse ⤜ Rating: MA | fluff, eventual smut ⤜ WC: 793 ⚠️ Crass language, secret personal pining, intimate personal thoughts about a stranger

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It dangles from the zipper of his backpack. The vibrant, marmalade-colored duck looks like he got it from one of those kids' twenty-five-cent candy machines—the kind with the hollow plastic balls filled with cheap trinkets. It’s endearing to think he’s perhaps indulged in his own fanciful want of a little plastic duckling.

There is no distinguished color between the body and the bill. The fact the bauble isn’t the traditional flaxen canary color with orange accents makes you smile; you like oddities like that—they’re refreshing. It’s one solid lump of orange that contrasts so starkly against his bag's dark, coal color. You chalk that up to the reason you can’t look away. That and it’s just too cute, bobbing along behind such a formidable figure. You’re not following him—at least, not on purpose. The space you rent as an art studio just happens to be in this direction.

You weren’t expecting to see Apartment A when you opened your door this morning. But, there he was, walking toward the elevator—only seconds ahead of you leaving his own apartment, it seems. It’s odd to see him out at this time. It’s not part of the typical routine you’ve grown so used to.

The duck sways from side to side with each of his long strides. You’re too far away to hear the music from his headphones, but you can imagine it’s an upbeat tune based on the extra bop he puts in every other step as he moves down the near-empty sidewalk ahead of you.

It’s early; most people are still tucked in their beds or preparing for work in the privacy of their homes before bustling onto the street. You prefer the early mornings, avoiding the crowds, less noise and disruption. Except now, you’re distracted, and instead of turning left to head in the direction of your art space, you find yourself two streets further down, all because you’re concentrating on the bright pop of orange, following it like a beacon.

Apartment A stops at a crosswalk, angled to go in a direction that will take you even further from your art studio. With one last glance at the keychain, you pull in a slow breath, letting the early morning chill settle in your lungs before turning and retracing your steps.

However, instead of turning down the street and heading to your workspace, you continue on back toward your apartment. It’s an artistic thing, you’re sure, getting an itch that needs to be scratched like this. If you were to go and try to work on something else, you’d do nothing but think about the canvas waiting for you in your living room. The canvas that now depicts an abstract version of an apple being eaten.

In all its simplistic glory, the orange duckling has inspired another impromptu need to create. You tap your foot as you wait for the elevator to crawl up to the seventh floor. The constant vibration adds to the jittery feeling in your body. You love the adrenaline rush of inspiration—that baser primal desire to mold and bend the pigments to your will in order to take the swirling vortex of your mind and put it on canvas.

Your shoes once again hit the wall, leaving dirty scuffs in their wake—something for the you of tomorrow to worry about. Right now, you feel like if you don’t get your thoughts out and onto the white gessoed surface of the canvas, you might combust into your own macabre work of art.

Ochre, carmine, terracotta, and cadmium yellow join the myriad of colors sitting in heaps on your palette. The gouache paints melt together as you dab and swirl, aiming for the perfect tangerine tone.

Working in quick strokes, you hum quietly to yourself as you begin the base foundation. You take a step back, sticking the tip of the brush handle between your teeth out of habit. The orange contrasts perfectly with the red from last time. A spark of unfettered clarity compared to the hazardous irritation and lust.

There’s something to be said about the genuinely good feeling that accompanies spur-of-the-moment creation. Letting your imagination take over and dole out sporadic intricacies that somehow all come together in the end to make a coherent, if still subjective, display. This is the reason you paint, the reason you let yourself indulge in your fantasies of strangers.

It’s in this moment—as you’re staring at the spread of orange and red on the canvas, that brought out such a visceral response in you—that you, without a doubt, need to find out more about the man who is slowly becoming your secret muse: Apartment A. You smile to yourself. Perhaps learning his real name would be the best place to start.

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#kim namjoon #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagines #bts fanfic #bts namjoon #musician namjoon #bangtanwhq

[dreamboundedstar]

Flips Whitefudge Headcanons:

So um, since I decided it be really interesting to ship Flips with my BB oc, Willow I thought it would be fun to list some headcanons. The more I can develop his character, the better it is for hypothetical shipping art. So here we go! 1. Flips Whitefudge's is not his legal name, only his rapper name. His legal name is Philip J. (James) van Tripp

2. He's 29 going on 30 soon. Hip hop became his and his mother's whole thing when he was 11 1/2 years old. 3. His favorite snack is white chocolate covered pretzels (big shocker I know!)

4. Flips lives with his mother until his dancing and/or rapping career takes off. He's not a complete slacker though and does try to help around the house when he's not completely distracted with his hip hop aspirations (which is admittingly almost all the time).

5. He's desperate for dance battles during his mom's hip hop classes because any time he's tried to enter a dance battle on the streets, no one takes him seriously.

6. Whitefudge was originally an insult from his younger years that made fun of his cringy attempts at being street that Flips reworked to being part of his identity in a positive way.

7. Even though hip hop dancing is his main passion, he also dabbles in beatboxing, rap battles, and is a graffiti appreciator.

8. Shelly is a single parent and got her son and herself deeply invested in hip hop 18 1/2 years ago as a trauma response to Flips' father leaving them (can't decide if I want it to be abandonment or death though). That's right, I'm making the cringy humor of Shelly and Flips linked to angst. Why can't I let just things not be that deep?! 9. "Malibu's Most Wanted" is Flips' favorite so-bad-it's-good, guilty pleasure movie to watch every now and then. He will deny any resemblance to him and the main character though. (Any time I see Flips I think of that movie even though I haven't seen it in years. So I might as well connect it to him.) XD

10. Shelly and Flips love watching "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air" and "Living Single" together. (Full disclosure, I never seen "Living Single" I just picked 90s sitcoms that were centered around a hiphop/rap artists. I love Fresh Prince though.) In general, their tv majority of the time stays on the BET channel or MTV (though they still mourn the lack of music videos on the channel). 11. Shelly bans Flips from practicing any breakdancing moves that involves his head being upside down to avoid potential neck breaking. She will lift the ban when she sees her son be able to do other intense break dancing moves without literally breaking anything. 12. Flips often thinks about joining Jairo's capoeira classes to help improve his hip hop/break dancing skills but has yet to have fully commit and finally join.

13. Flips and Shelly are one of those people that unironically dab, unfortunately. 14. Flips tried to be a disc jockey a few times in his life but he never got passed doing more than small events like school dances. 15. Despite appearing confident and charming, Flips is not so great at the dating game. Most potential partners find him way too extroverted or too focused on hip hop that it's basically his only character trait, which makes him annoying. He tries not to let it get to him though because he likes himself and that's all that matters. Someday someone will be able to handle all of him, he hopes so anyway. Okay, that's all the headcanons I can think of for him so far. I hope you find them amusing or potentially useful. Maybe I'll edit this post later to add more headcanons. Only time will tell. Thank you to all who read my ramblings. lol

#Bob's Burgers #headcanon #flips white fudge #flips whitefudge

[rimouskis]

Hey! So there is a slight chance I could end up In Pittsburgh next year. As a resident, do you like living there? What are some of its selling points? (Some context: I’ve lived in or near every single big city on the northeast coast, from DC to Boston, so I’m used to cities. I’ve heard great things about living in Pittsburgh, so I’m curious about your perspective!)

oh hey! very cool, potential welcome to you, and I heartily recommend the city.

but: if you've lived in every big city in the east, pittsburgh is going to.... uh, not be like that! at all, haha. if you're looking for city living, I don't think you're going to find that in its purest form here.

my context is that I've actually not traveled the east very much; I've only been to DC and NYC. Neither feels remotely like PGH. actually-big cities like NYC, Chicago... probably Boston, though I've never been... they're cities, you know? they feel like it. they've got concrete jungle energy.

pittsburgh very much does not. pittsburgh, frankly, doesn't feel like a city to me, even though it has all the amenities of a city—we've got theaters and concerts and summers here are a total blast. pittsburgh feels like an oversized town in a lot of ways.

part of that is the geography and what it's done to the city as it has developed. the neighborhoods here are often really broken up by the topography. the hills and forested parts of the city still feel a little wild. some neighborhoods feel like they shouldn't be habitable at all because of how steep they are, lol (the very existence of rialto street feels Wrong to me). panther hollow being smack dab in the city speaks to that: we have a fucking ravine in the middle of this place!! I've seen so much wildlife here that I just haven't in other "urban" areas.

the other, bigger part of pittsburgh not feeling like a big city is the populace. you have a LOT of lifers here. did you know pittsburgh has the oldest population of any metro area in the USA? people are born here and they die here, haha. I know some of the local young people really don't like it (like, imagine all the people from your high school went to your college and then stayed in the same city after they graduated), but I find it to be really novel.

one of my old coworkers was born on the south side slopes and then moved to mt. washington as an adult. she's just never left the city, and that means I can literally play seven-degrees-of-[her name] with her because if I mention, like, anyone with roots in the city, it feels like there's an 80% chance she's going to know them or one of their relatives 😅 that's so fun to me! you can carve out individual pockets everywhere, and don't get me wrong, I don't have that kind of connectivity, but it's something that's possible here that doesn't feel possible in other cities and it gives it a very particular.... flavor.

that's part of the unique culture around pittsburgh that I'm very fond of. it was (is) a really good city to be a young person in, because it's big enough where there's stuff to do, buuuuut it's small enough that you won't feel eaten alive like you might in NYC. and while there are sooo many locals who are still local, there's a decent amount of transplants like myself too, so it's not like you'll be an outsider or anything.

I've also found really good people here. I like pittsburghers. they're pretty salt-of-the-earth (.... coal-of-the-earth? too soon?) and the culture is, like, very palatable to my midwestern sensibilities. if you're an east coaster you might find people a little too chatty or personable, but I'm used to it haha.

as for the living experience, I think it's pretty fabulous. winters get a bit grim (it's so GRAY here and people drive like MANIACS) but fall is very nice and summers in pittsburgh are just unparalleled. perfect weather—not too hot but not cold—and so so much to do. there's a ton of culture that happens, we love street festivals and art markets and night markets and each neighborhood does their own little twist on stuff. it's my favorite time of year, and there's also plenty of nature nearby. falling water is close by and I love it, and ohiopyle state park has good hiking. the cost of living can't be beat, too. I pay less in rent than both my siblings who live in another state, and I have a bigger living space. I was able to live really comfortably here when I made very little money. it's a great amount of flexibility, and you're not too far away from bigger cities if you want; the drive to DC is like 4 hours.

and, finally: if you're a pens fan, well. this IS the place to be! getting easier access to games has been such a blast. it's a fun life to live.

I will also say there are downsides. I'm from a blue state and I was honestly not ready for how red/conservative this area gets when you leave the bounds of pittsburgh proper. like, it goes pretty red pretty fast. that makes me uncomfortable, honestly, but that's the cost of living here. there was also a report put out a few years back that showed white residents in the city had "average or above-average standards of livability", but for black men it was "less livable" and for black women it was even LESS livable. there's some pretty serious segregation in terms of neighborhoods and the city is, on the whole, incredibly white. it isn't a very diverse place, which is of course a huge negative, and the city hasn't done the best job in making itself more livable for its black population. I think that's worth mentioning, especially if you're a person of color. pennslyvania is... well, this part of pennsylvania is very much part of the rust belt, and that shows in charming ways (old infrastructure and buildings) and horrible ways (systemic racism).

in sum: pittsburgh has been really, really great for me. I've met some wonderful people here, I've learned how to be an adult here, and I've really built a comfortable life here. that's involved a fair bit of privilege, though, so when I say I love pittsburgh, I'm aware that comes with asterisks.

if you have more questions, please reach out! you're actually not the first person who's considering a move to pittsburgh, and I really enjoy being an ambassador to the city :)

#ask #anonymous #be careful this is looooong

[nerdyafwriting]

Dickdami backing up this fic I posted as a thread on bird app thread just in case.

Also I made some art (one with wig, one without)

Rated E

Summary: Dick should have realized that purchasing a disguise for Damian was a bad idea before the kid put it on. Who can blame him for finding Damian's skirt as distracting as their targets?

CW: nsfw, underage Damian (age ambiguous), Dick realizes he's a perv for his little brother

It took Dick far too long to realize he had made a mistake. Maybe he had completely lost it. That was truly the only explanation for the fact that he had gone to a store to pick out the outfit that Damian was now wearing as he lounged in the leather office chair in the study.

Though Dick had been determined that dragging Damian to this party dressed like this would help them catch the group of creeps that was kidnapping Gotham's children, Dick wasn't sure he was qualified to catch pedophiles anymore.

Not with the way he was eyeing the skin that was exposed from Damian propping his legs up on the desk.

Fortunately, his thoughts were broken when Alfred rapped on the open door.

"Ready when you are, Master Richard," he announced, before turning to return to the limo.

"So, are we going or not?" Damian asked, crossing his arms and leaping to his feet. Even in heels, he landed elegantly on his feet and it struck Dick for not the first time that the kid was not at all unlike a cat.

"Hurry up. You said yourself that these perverts deserve to be in jail. We shouldn't waste any time."

Damian's heels clicked against the ground as he walked past him, following after Alfred as Dick buried the lower half of his face in his hand.

He knew Damian was only repeating words that Dick himself had said. But that was before his eyes lingered on Damian's legs as he walked out the door. Assuming they caught these guys, Dick deserved to go to jail with them.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Dick closed his eyes, hoping he could wipe the image from his eyes before he caught up with Damian.

Unfortunately for him, he caught him as he was sliding into the back seat of the car, his skirt catching on the door and flipping up to reveal the straps of a garter belt holding up thigh high lace stockings.

Dick cleared his throat as he climbed in after him, reaching over to smooth Damian's skirt down only to have his hand smacked away.

Damian tugged his skirt into place, covering his thighs and leaning an elbow against the door so he could rest his chin in his hand. Dick couldn't stop the smile that tugged up at the corners of his lips as his eyes dragged over the outfit shamelessly.

Dick's hand moved to Damian's cheek, brushing his thumb along the bone and pushing his hair back behind his ear. It was only a wig —Dick knew— styled in ringlet curls.

The blunt ends grazed Damian's jawline, softening the angles of his face and drawing out the baby fat that still sat on each of his cheeks as he turned to scowl at Dick, shaking his head so the curls fell back into place.

"Do you *want* to blow my cover?" Damian hissed, pulling out a compact and patting down flyaways.

Dick heaved a sigh, leaning into his own door and looking out the window.

As the countryside rolled into the edge of the city, Dick finally felt the need to get into character. He straightened his jacket, double checked that he still had a wad of cash tucked into his pocket.

He'd dabbed a bit of makeup on his face, disguising himself enough for this particular mission. If the rumors were true, his disguise didn't matter that much. Too many familiar names were on the list of suspects.

As long as they both played their roles, there would be little question about Dick's current character. Which was turning out to be much less of a character and much more of a demented personality flaw.

His eyes drifted over to Damian again, this time catching him unaware.

He looked more relaxed than usual, even as Dick could tell he was scanning each street they passed with a watchful eye. Even if he saw anything, there wasn't much they could do about it at the moment. At least not without blowing their cover.

It wasn't more than half an hour before they arrived at their destination, but the seconds dragged on like minutes. As incredible as Damian looked, at the end of this car ride, Dick was going to have to share him.

An inevitability that he was even less prepared for than he had been to see Damian dressed like this in the first place.

—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—

Damian crossed his legs at the knee, leaning back into the leather seat cushions with a sigh. His gaze was focused everywhere except the person he'd agreed to partner with on this mission.

The outfit made him feel confident, and he felt himself sitting up a little taller in his seat because of it, wriggling in anticipation as the car slowed to a stop. Despite his confidence, he was playing a part.

The part of someone whose reason for wearing a frilly skirt and gloves had less to do with power and more to do with the absence of it. He told himself that was the only reason he accepted the hand Dick was offering as he crawled across the back seat of the car.

Dick never pulled his hand away, so Damian saw no reason not to keep their fingers loosely woven together as they talked toward the modestly-sized mansion. At least, modest in comparison to Wayne Manor.

Dick's hand lingered on Damian's lower back as he climbed the stairs to the front door, and for a few moments he imagined that he really was as delicate as his ensemble made him feel.

As they made their way into the smoke-filled parlor where a handful of men at least a decade older than his father sat puffing cigars, Dick's hand slid to his hip to pull him closer, squeezing hard enough that Damian wondered if he would give himself away.

Dick led Damian around the room with one hand as the other shook hands with men who's eyes trailed up and down Damian's figure. He knew he looked good, but it didn't make him any less eager to arrest these men.

From the hand that gave him a squeeze before reluctantly letting him go so the men could get a good look at him, Dick was equally eager to make it to the climax of their evening.

But to get there, they needed to gather evidence. The most difficult part of Damian's role proved holding the contents of his stomach down as each of the men looked him over. His cheeks warmed as he imagined Dick eyeing him just as hungrily where he stood behind him.

When voice directed him to turn around, he met Dick's eyes to see for himself. What he saw instead was his fierce gaze watching carefully for any signs of a threat. Damian raised a brow when he caught his eyes.

For the first time since they'd walked in the door, Damian felt like they were the only two in the room. Dick looked good like this —in a new suit he'd never seen him in before that gripped his hips in a way Damian had only imagined doing.

As pleasant as the moment was, all the blood drained from Damian's face as he felt a hot hand hovering near his ass. Almost as quickly as it caught his attention, Dick's silhouette came as a blur, pushing in front of him.

Wobbling more than he cared to admit on his heels, Damian stepped back and caught himself on his feet as the sound of skin hitting skin filled the hazy room.

Whatever character Damian had built since entering the building was gone in seconds. Dick threw the first punch, but there was no keeping in character after that. "I was doing perfectly, there was no reason to interfere, "Damian shouted as his fist collided with one of the men's faces, taking out the anger he felt toward Dick on the face at the end of his fist. "I would have evaded him on my own."

By the time they were finished throwing punches, they found a folder full of photos and names that were incriminating enough on their own. The police could deal with these assholes. Damian had more important things to deal with.

He only wished that they had driven themselves, so he could beat Dick to the driver's seat and speed off, leaving him behind to find his own way.

It wouldn't change the fact that he'd gotten all dressed up for nothing more than they could have gotten in his uniform, but at least Dick would feel a fraction of his frustration.

Instead, Damian threw the door open, sliding across the seat to the opposite side and resting his chin in his hand as he watched the city fade to countryside.

Damian's rage simmered until he felt Dick's hand as it slid across the leather. The moment Dick's knuckles brushed his, Damian's well-contained rage boiled over.

Turning fast enough that his curls smacked the window as he shot a death glare at Dick, he seethed at him for a long second before pulling his hand out of his grasp.

"If you merely wanted to see me in this attire," Damian growled as the limo rolled to a stop. "We never should have left the manor." The door clicked as Damian tugged it open, stepping out onto the driveway and slamming the door behind him.

—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—

Dick's mouth hung open, a response dying on his tongue as he watched Damian storm up the front steps.

"It sounds like that went better than expected," Alfred said, raising a brow as he met Dick's eyes in the rearview mirror.

Dick let out a defeated sigh in response, opening his own door and following Damian inside.

He made his way toward Damian's room, prepared to knock on his door, but on the way there he passed his own door, which hung ominously open.

Knowing exactly who it was, he wasn't cautious enough as he slipped in. The door slammed closed behind him Damian crashing down on top of him and pushing him to the floor, his knees hitting the wood on either side of Dick's hips.

"You're a coward, Grayson," Damian hissed, cutting Dick off from the speechless stammer that would have otherwise spilled from his lips if they hadn't been subsumed by Damian's.

Dick's hands grasped for purchase on the nearest thing they could find —which just happened to be Damian's thighs. The pads of Dick's thumbs pressed into the snaps of Damian's garter straps, toying with them under his thumb as Damian flicked his tongue against Dick's.

Their bodies sought each other out instinctively. The part of Dick's brain that should have told him to stop turned off before he'd opened the door, even if what happened after came as a surprise.

As much as he wanted to continue —his cock throbbing to full hardness, filling out the twill his pants were made from and straining against his zipper— there were more important matters at hand.

Using every ounce of willpower in his body, Dick dragged his hands away from Damian's thighs, smoothing his skirt over them before placing his hands on either side of Damian's waist, helping him sit up on his knees.

Damian's brow creased, pushing his weight against Dick, but in the end he was sitting up on his knees, his skirt fanned out across Dick's thighs, hiding the satin panties that were barely hiding his growing erection.

"Let me see you," Dick gasped out, smiling as he indulgently dragged his gaze over the embroidery that decorated Damian's apparel.

Damian's eyes rolled up to the ceiling, letting out a frustrated huff and a pout even as he sat up a little taller on his knees.

"Do you even know how gorgeous you look like this?" Dick asked, slightly awestruck as he sat up, his hands darting out to steady Damian's hips as he dove forward. His hands slid up Damian's back, pressing his shoulder blades against the door and kissing the hollow of his throat.

"Of course you do," Dick breathed against Damian's skin, answering his own question. A growl escaped as he nibbled the tender flesh of his throat.

Dick's fingers toyed with the hem of Damian's skirt before bypassing it entirely, sliding his hand across his bare thigh and dipping his hands under the garter belt to tug the waistband of his panties down. Their lips connected in a mess of teeth and tongues.

Sucking Damian's tongue into his mouth, Dick's palms kneaded the exposed flesh of his ass. Even though they were still on the floor, there was nowhere in the world Dick would rather be.

Damian broke the kiss first, glaring at Dick with half-lidded, hazy eyes, his tongue darted out to clean the spit from his lips as he pushed at Dick's shoulder.

"Don't just leave me here on the floor, you twit. At least take me to the bed before removing my undergarments!"

Dick let out a breathy laugh, lifting Damian as he pushed himself easily to his feet, carrying him past the bed and depositing him into his office chair. It was that first sight of him in Bruce's chair like this that left Dick unable to resist him. It was only fair.

"Better, your highness?" Dick asked, dropping to his knees at Damian's feet and nuzzling his knee with his cheek to encourage him to open his thighs.

Damian rolled his eyes and spread his legs as he was directed, blessing Dick with a view unlike any he could have prepared for.

Dick's eyes stayed fixed on the exposed skin hiding under Damian's skirt as his thumbs popped the straps holding his stockings up one at a time, letting them snap against his skin in favor of tugging his panties the rest of the way down his legs and over the heels.

His breath caught in his chest as he drank down the full view of Damian like this —leaned back in the chair, his legs splayed carelessly, as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

It wasn't until he lifted Damian's ankle onto his shoulder, spreading his legs just a bit wider, that he saw the sparkle of something he would have chalked up to a trick of the light in any other situation.

In this one, however, he was determined to investigate. One palm slid over the sheer fabric of Damian's stocking as it trailed up the underside of his leg, crowding the space under Damian's skirt between his ass and the chair.

He gave one cheek a gratuitous squeeze, his middle finger darting out and only half expecting to feel the smooth edge of crystal under his fingertip. Dick's breath hitched, his finger pressing into the stone.

"This wasn't part of the deal," he said.

Fuck, this kid was going to be the death of him, he thought as he gave a testing press to the plug and drawing out a gasp from Damian in the process.

Damian shot a glare down at the man kneeling between his knees.

"I fully committed to the role," Damian explained, managing to keep his voice steady despite the way Dick's middle finger was toying with the rounded cut of the gem. "I do not need you to tell me how to deliver."

Dick couldn't help the affectionate smile that teased the corners of his mouth.

"And you performed beautifully," Dick said, his thumb brushing back and forth across Damian's inner thigh, teasingly close to the cock that was beginning to tent against his skirt.

"Let me make it up to you for cutting your performance short," he offered, pushing Damian's skirt up and brushing the pad of his thumb along the underside of his cock. It felt so small under Dick's large hand as his hand wrapped around him, stroking him to full hardness.

Damian's hips trembled and his hands flew to Dick's hair as he wrapped his lips around the tip, his tongue swirling around his slit and gathering precum on his tongue.

"I won't forgive you so easily," Damian warns, but little gasps spill out as Dick sucks him into his mouth.

Damian's cock doesn't quite hit the back of Dick's throat and there's more than enough room for him to flick his tongue along the bottom, moaning as he nuzzles against Damian's tummy.

A few more expert swirls of his tongue and Damian's gasps drag out into groans, his hands tugging at Dick's hair and drawing an eager hum from around Damian's cock.

"Wait —fuck— it's too much..." Damian's pleading now, but Dick doesn't stop.

He knows Damian will only be more pliant once he cums once, and Dick is determined to have him like putty in his hands. Damian eventually gives up trying to pull Dick away, his hips trembling as he seeks out more each time Dick slides his lips up to suck on the head.

Dick is painfully hard from the combination of sensations. Damian's skirt pooling against his stomach, the taste of precum pooling on his tongue from having his baby brother's cock in his mouth.

And its not much longer before he has Damian's cum streaking across his tongue as he cries out. Then, Damian's hands are in his hair again, trying to pull away.

"It's too much," he whines, wriggling back into the chair only for Dick's mouth to follow.

He sucks until he hears Damian sob from overstimulation. Letting Damian's length slip free from his lips, his tongue traces over the sac, which twitches against Dick's tastebuds as he makes his way to Damian's perineum and then down to his hole.

Damian is hiding his noises behind grit teeth as Dick lifts his hips and pushes his tongue against the tight ring of muscle. His tongue explores the new sensation, learning which prods make Damian quiver and purr.

When Dick glances up in time to catch Damian's hand flying to his face, the back of his hand covering his mouth, Dick doubles down on his efforts, his teeth scraping against sensitive skin as Damian's heels dig into his shoulder blades.

All of it feels so much better than it should.

Dick shouldn't enjoy defiling his little brother like this, but suddenly he has an overwhelming need to see the kid's bare thighs streaked with his cum.

Dick kisses Damian's thighs as he leans back, reaching for the lube he keeps next to his bed and pumping his hand full before returning to rest his cheek on Damian's thigh, his damp fingers seeking out his flexed entrance.

"You've gotta relax, babe," Dick murmurs, the kisses he presses against Damian's thighs to reassure him offered with a chaste innocence that hardly matches the invasive prod of his fingers.

"Do you want me to stop?" Dick asks, his voice gentle. It's a bluff, but Damian shakes his head anyway, the curls of his wig bouncing in the process. "Then breathe for me." That suggestion seems to help as Damian relaxes enough for Dick's middle finger to push inside.

They both moan as he does, and Dick's pants feel tighter than ever as he drags his finger back, memorizing the locations that draw breathy pants from Damain.

"You look so good like this, Dami..." he murmurs. "Too good for those pervs." Nevermind that Dick was just as bad.

It was, after all, him who walked into a store and shopped for the dress that still looked pristine from the waist up, even as under the skirt, Dick worked another finger in alongside the first.

"This wasn't the only one I bought, you know," Dick said, catching the way Damian's eyes widened at the admission. He curled his fingers forward and Damian's mouth fell open in a silent cry.

"Right there?" He asked, and the way Damian's cock dripped at the motion was all the agreement he needed. He swirled his fingers around Damian's prostate, drawing a strangled moan.

"Just get on with it already," Damian growled, pulling his legs in toward his chest as his hands gripped the crook of his knees, holding himself open in a lewd display that had Dick cursing under his breath.

"Fuck, okay," Dick said, unfastening his pants with one hand as the other stood ready to lube up his cock as soon as it sprung free from the confines of his zipper.

As he drags his cock across his hole, it occurs to him that Damian might not quite be as ready as he seems.

"Are you sure—" he starts, but Damian cuts him off.

"Just put it in already!" Damian whines, grinding his hips and taking the tip in on his own.

Since there's no way in hell Dick can stop now, he wraps his hands around Damian's shoulders, rocking his hips forward. As Damian's heat engulfs him, Dick's not sure who the noises they make are coming from, but also doesn't care.

Their bodies fit together better than they should, in Dick's opinion, Damian's arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him into a wet kiss.

Damian clawed at the hair at Dick's nape, whimpering against his lips as the new angle trapped his cock between their torsos. Dick's thrusts grew more desperate, his teeth sinking into Damian's bottom lip as he groaned.

He wasn't ready for this to be over yet, but the tension building in his gut told him he didn't have a choice. Damian's cock twitched between them, shooting an impressive amount of cum for his second round onto Dick's button down, but he didn't care.

For the first time, he understood why Bruce kept his old uniform in a glass case. That every time he looked at it, he must recall tugging their uniforms aside as they desperately rocked against each other. Dick would do the same with Damian's little dress if he let him.

Just like he'd promised, there was plenty more where it came from. Maybe next time he would even take Damian with him to pick out a few of his own. Though he wasn't sure they would make it out of the store if their present situation was any indication.

Damian felt limp in his arms as his head fell to Dick's shoulder.

"Doing so good for me, I'm so close," he murmured into Damian's hair. He was apparently not entirely out of it yet, since he tightened around Dick, milking his orgasm out of him with his soft little hole.

That was all it took before Dick was spilling inside him as Damian clung to the back of his shirt. Dick swore he saw stars in his eyes as he came down.

"You're way too good at that," Dick said, letting out a laugh under his breath as he stood, Damian still clinging to him.

Dick carried him to the bed so they could cuddle properly. Later, he would unfasten the buckles of Damian's heels and massage his ankles. He would roll the stockings down and kiss the soles of his feet. He would take that dress off one button at a time and buy a display case to put it in so he could remember this night every day for the rest of his life.

But for now, he would let the sound of Damian's breathing lull him into a comfort that his mind would undoubtedly replace with guilt the first second he was alone. For now, they were both happy.

#DickDami #fanfic #wip #fanart #oneshot #femboy