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thatsdemko · 10 months

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drought - c.leclerc

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: husband!charles leclerc x wife!fem!reader

warnings: not intended for minors + fingering (f receiving) + minor grammatical errors!

a/n: everyone say thank you to Charles leclerc’s recent photo dump

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

the simulator, the meetings, the practices, the races. it’s never ending exhaustion for Charles as he struggles grappling the seasons horrid start.

he’s thankful to have someone to turn to when times get rough. his lovely wife, you. through thick and thin is what you promised each other, and right now? this was the thin. this was what was starting to tear you both further apart.

Charles spent all his time home at the simulator, or any chance he could, at the factory. you’ve spent dozens of lonely, boring, nights in your shade king size bed.

the picture frame above the headboard is no longer crooked. you’d have time to fix it into place because the reason it fell was the endless nights of sex. the headboard would bang into the wall and eventually the picture, from your wedding night, would either come falling down, or end up sideways on the hook.

it was a reminder of your once thrilling sex life has come to an end. sex was no longer something you both were actively participating in. it was rather you and a vibrator on those lonely occasions.

“headed out?” you ask, picking your head up from your book in your lap. you’d heard his heavy footsteps. his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth searching the right sneakers to wear.

“just to maman’s salon. been awhile.” he says coming into the living room to sit beside you on the couch.

you nod in agreement having not remembered the last time his beautiful brown hair was trimmed. although, you don’t mind the length, and neither did his fans. you’d encouraged him to listen to them, and at the time he laughed. then you showed him why you liked it so much. the ends being tugged between your fingers, ruffled and yanked during sex, he enjoyed the arousal. now, there was no need for it.

“tell her I say hi.” you say, soft smile forming to your lips.

he catches your eyes for a brief second when he looks up from tying his shoes. he takes the quick second to press a kiss to your cheek, “you should come by. maman would love to see you.”

you’d missed pascale. in fact, you missed his whole family. it’d been months since you’d shared a laugh with Arthur, or even held conversation with Lorenzo and his new girlfriend. while you knew the chances were slim to seeing his siblings, you still joined him in the car. it’d been the first time in weeks being in his pista.

his hand dangerously slips across the center console. his thumb strokes the skin your inner thigh that’s exposed from your biker shorts. he’s happy you’ve tagged along, he can’t remember the last time you’ve spent more than two hours together that wasn’t spent sleeping.

“I noticed you fixed the picture above our bed.” he says turning to look at you for a brief second at the stop light. you figured he hadn’t noticed, it was slight change and he rarely slept at home when he had days off. you’re sure he’s seen the toy under your side of the bed if he truly went looking.

“gives you a new challenge again.” you reply back watching the wheel spin under his hands as he pulls into the parking lot. you were finally free from his grip.

he scoffs, putting the car in park, “it was always too easy. it was never a challenge.”

a smirk forms to your lips. your words catching him before he slips out the car, “well you have a new challenge and it’s much better than you’ve been in the past month.”

—

you’re sitting in the chair beside him watching pascale trim the wet ends of his hair. a few fall in his face or around the top of the cape.

she’s happy to see you. in fact, she’s only talking to you the whole time.

she doesn’t notice how you’ve been squeezing your legs together every so often. your one leg is crossed over the other, he sees you shifting in the chair as you answer his mothers questions. he sees how turned on you’ve become watching him.

it’s funny to him. how it’s the most mundane thing ever and it’s got your pussy throbbing for him. all he’s doing is sitting in the chair allowing his mother to cut the dead ends of his hair.

he can tell whatever you were using to get off was not enough. and it was his own damn fault for choosing the simulator or the factory over pleasuring his wife’s needs.

pascale walks away to answer the phone leaving you two alone, and he swivels the chair in your direction, “I did not know this would get you so horny.”

you feel heat spread across your cheeks. you try to pull the neck of the sweatshirt over your face to hide the embarrassment of being caught.

“when we get home—“

“you think I’ll last getting home?” you cut him off before he can propose his plan. his eyes widen, a smirk toys his lips as he shakes his head seeing his mother come back into the room.

“take the keys to the pista, you’re making this hard for me.” he tosses the keys into your lap, “it’s a private parking lot. you can finish what I started.”

“I’m almost done with him. you‘ll be able to go home in no time.” pascale promises and continues to trim his hair. you watch for another couple of minutes and now she’s finally getting ready to blow dry his wet hair.

you can’t watch any longer. you’ve made up an excuse to head to his car and wait out the final minutes. you’ve turned on the air in the car and sat in the passenger seat awaiting his arrival to take you home.

your leg anxiously bounces as you hear him whistling. he opens the passenger door, takes the knob that adjusts the seat, and pushes it as far back as it goes allowing him to kneel in front of your seat.

“Charles what are you doing?” you ask watching him close the passenger door once he’s in. it’s cramped. his head is just inches close to the top of the car, your legs are nearly into your lap and suddenly it’s warm in the car. the air must’ve kicked off after a period of time running.

“taking care of something.” he leans over your lap, letting the back of the seat go as far down as it can. he moves you closer to the edge of the seat, “lift your hips.” he demands and you do as he asks, allowing him to remove your shorts.

“Charles, we can’t do this in your car—“

“nobody is here.” he points out the very obvious. not another car is in this parking lot, and there’s not a single car that has drove down this street since arriving. you were as safe as you could be under the street lights.

“come on, let me treat you right.” he coos, fingers running up and down your thighs, “I did this to you.” he reaches into your lap, fingers toying with the wet material clung to your pussy, a whine threatening at your tongue.

“can I do that? can I touch my wife?”

you nod, unable to speak any words. you push you hips up again allowing him to remove your panties. you spread your legs as far wide as you can. his index finger stretches out across your folds. it’s like a ghost against your skin, you can feel him but barely. a soft whine escapes your lips, you lean back against the seat.

“good girl,” he whispers, “just relax for me.” he says. his index finger wiggles in your entrance. his name rolls off your tongue ever so quickly, and you feel him add a second finger not even giving you a chance to respond.

your fingers go flying into his freshly cut hair, and yank on the short ends. you curse him for what he’s done, and try to grab anything you can while his fingers pump inside of you. he takes his time, discovers every single bit of you like lost treasure. a place he hasn’t tended to in awhile.

sweet whines and moans escape your lips. it’s adorable how quick you were able to fold under his touch. all it ever really took was a swipe of his finger, tongue, or anything else to get your body to fold. you were his in the matter of seconds.

you feel one of his fingers just brush your clit. your back arches, pussy clenching around his fingers. you’re begging him to do it again, and again, until you come.

he doesn’t stop until he notices your legs are visibly shaking, the car is shaking from your bodies response, and until his fingers are met with cum.

“I can’t.” you breathe out, your body itches to exhale the sweet cum he ever so loves. he’s nodding along, encouraging you to come. you throw your body back against the seat, you feel the body of the car move as you do so. sweet delicious cum finally exits your body and so do his fingers.

“that was fun wasn’t it?” he licks his index and middle finger of your cum before pulling your set up close to where it was, and he’s getting out of the car. you quickly pull your shorts back up and double check your hair.

you look him in the eyes when he slides into the drivers seat. you can see the arousal in his pants, a content smile across his face, “don’t worry, you can take care of me when we get home. I’ve got an idea in my mind.”

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obsessedwithceleste · 1 month

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Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Mattheo Riddle x Slytherin reader

Prompt 4 of @thatdammchickennugget ‘s hogmarch challenge🫶🏽 and dedicated to this psychic anon request 💕

Summary: I’d kiss you as the lights went out, Swaying as the room burned down, I’d hold you as the water rushes in, If I could dance with you again.

word count: 4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You watch silently from across the Slytherin common room as yet another girl places her hand flirtatiously on Mattheo’s chest, batting her lashes with that seductive grin you knew all too well from watching all the other girls do it too.

“Go to the dance with me?” Her lips read as she leaned closer to your friend.

You can’t help but smile as Mattheo just rolls his eyes, moving away from the girl, not giving her more than a shake of his head.

The girl’s mouth hangs open in shock of the rejection. Really she should be flattered you thought dryly to yourself. She’d made it significantly further than others you’d witnessed.

Truth was, you’d had a massive crush on Mattheo since you were kids, and watching as he rejected girl after girl was much more entertaining than you cared to admit.

Growing up, you’d always admired his bold brashness, and willingness to say whatever came to mind. The two of you had always gotten into trouble together, bouncing mischievous ideas back and forth. The summer before coming to Hogwarts, your mother had given you a heart shaped locket, and Mattheo had insisted that a photo of the two of you go inside it.

"In case we don't go to the same house." The boy had reasoned.

But of course, he’d never seen you as anything more than a friend, and unfortunately, the cringey, cliche nature of the situation was not lost on you. Even now, as you mindlessly fingered the carefully disillusioned pendant while Mattheo stalked towards your group with an air of agitation.

“Bloody hell I can’t wait for this fucking Yule ball rubbish to be over and done with,” Mattheo states flatly as he sits down lazily on the sofa next to you.

“Just pick a girl to go with then. They’ll leave you alone if they think you have a date. Why do you think I asked Daph so early on?” Theo replies, not bothering to look up from his book.

Daphne whacks him with her textbook.

You watch as Mattheo tilts his head in consideration before his eyes shift over to you, a sly grin forming on his face.

“Don’t even think about,” you say, holding up your hand as if to block out whatever idiocy the boy was about to spew.

Now it’s Mattheo’s turn to open his mouth in shock.

“Wha- you don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“You were going to ask me if I’d go to the dance with you,” you reply dryly. “Honestly Matt, I’m not stupid.”

“Well will you?” He asks, giving you his most charming smile.

“I’m already going with Blaise.” You respond.

Looking back, had it been a bit of a rash decision? Yes. But you had made peace with the fact that Mattheo likely wouldn’t ask you to be his date, and Blaise was one of your best friends. You knew you’d have a good time with him, and all your other friends had been pairing up.

“Tell Blaise to go with Astoria,” Mattheo reasons.

“Toria is already going with Enzo.” Daphne intervenes.

“What about Pansy?”

“She and Millicent got accosted by Crabbe and Goyle last I heard,” Theo replies.

“He can go with Draco then! People already mistake them for gay lovers anyway.”

“Matt, you know Draco is trying to muster up the courage to ask Harry. Don’t be dense.” You reply.

“Oh come on! How do you all have this sorted out already? The ball was only announced yesterday!”

“We organized it at dinner,” Daphne responds, as if the answer was obvious.

“You mean while I was in detention?” Mattheo asks incredulously, only to be met with a chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘mhms’.

You look over as your friend slumps into the sofa in defeat, a wave of slight guilt washing over you.

“Lighten up Matt, you’ve already been asked by a handful of girls today, you’ll be able to find someone to go with easy,” you say.

“Not with anyone who matters,” he grumbles, so low that you almost miss it.

A week had gone by and you were about to lose your mind. You thought that after the initial conversation in the common room, Mattheo would relent and just pick one of his many admirers to take to the ball. You really should’ve known better. You’d known the boy long enough to know that once he had his mind set on something, there was really nothing in the world that could stop him. You just never thought that you would be what he set his mind to.

“Matt, I’ve told you a million times, I’m already going to the ball with Blaise,” you groan, collapsing on your bed as the raven haired boy follows you into your dorm.

“Well lucky for you, I have the perfect plan to steal you away from ole Blaisey boy,” Mattheo says, his signature smirk in place.

You roll your eyes, leaning back on your bed as you wait for him to continue.

“It’s easy. You just have to date me,” Mattheo replies, as if his idea was particularly clever.

You let out a rather unattractive snort as your heart clenches. It felt as though it might pound out of your chest.

“Matt, that has to be the worst idea you’ve ever had. And you’ve had a lot of really bad ideas.”

Though asking the girl that’s fancied him for years to pretend to date him, only for him to snatch it all away again a few weeks later probably had to be one of the cruelest, you thought to yourself.

“Oh c’mon. There’s no way Blaise would be offended if you ditched him if we said we were together. He’s a perfectly reasonable bloke. He’d understand!”

You shake your head once more. There was no way you were pretending to date the boy you had been pining after for this long. It was only going to end in one way. Heart break. And not on his end.

“Bloody hell. What if I can get Luna to go in your place. Will you do it then? We both know he’s been eyeing that loon up for months.”

“Don’t call her a loon Matty.” You tilt your head in consideration however.

If he was willing to actually encourage Blaise’s love life, and be willing to get intermixed within the logistics of it all, he must be desperate. And you had been dying to set the two of them up, you supposed.

But you just couldn’t shake the bad feeling this whole situation gave you. It couldn’t be all that bad though, right? You reasoned. You’d gotten this far without Matt realizing your feelings, a few weeks of bliss surely couldn’t hurt.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll tell Blaise we got together and that I want to go to the ball with you, only if Luna agrees to go with him instead.”

Mattheo immediately brightens at your words, a self satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Good. Because I already told Blaise that we were together and that I was taking you to the ball,” he says quickly. “Also- considering Blaise is more of a yapper than people give him credit for, the rest of the group definitely already knows.”

Your mouth drops open as you glare at the boy in front of you.

“Matt. What on earth. Did you tell him?” You grit out, praying to Salazar that Blaise hadn’t embarrassed you too much.

Mattheo shrugs. “Just told him that we had been out by the lake on one of our walks and I kissed you. One thing led to another and I asked you out. He seemed to believe it pretty easily actually.”

The boy looked all too calm about making up a whole scenario in which he made out with his best friend for your liking.

You purse your lips, taking a deep sigh. What did you see in this boy?

“Mattheo.”

“Yes love?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Can’t do that love, you wouldn’t kill your boyfriend.”

You continue to glare at the boy, fingers gripping tightly around your wand.

“Easy there, pretty,” Mattheo laughs nervously, slowly edging closer to you with a bashful grin.

“You better have thought this through Riddle. Because I’m telling you right now, that this is a bad idea.”

It was too easy. You know that much clearly. The two of you, you and Mattheo that is, walk silently along the streets of Hogsmeade, your friends surrounding you, shielding you from the brisk winter air. Mattheo's arm is wrapped securely around you, hand tucked into your jacket pocket, your fingers intertwined. It was so warm. So comfortable. So effortless, as if you had spent forever with his hands in your pockets.

Blaise and Daphne had been the only ones to know of your secret feelings towards your best friend, yet not a single one of the others looked particularly shocked when the both of you showed up in the common room wrapped in each others arms one night.

“Bout bloody time,” you’d heard Theo grunt to Draco from across the fireplace.

Daphne of course had been utterly elated for you, and Blaise had made sure you knew that there were no hard feelings about switching dates for the ball. Especially after he had secured one Miss Luna Lovegood as his date with the surprising help of Mattheo.

A warm squeeze of your hand shakes you from your thoughts as your group comes to stop outside of The Three Broomsticks.

“You sure you don’t want to come down to the shops, y/n?” Daphne asks looking back at you as she forges on with Astoria and Millicent.

“Bloody hell, yes! She’ll be fine with me. You can’t have her to yourself all the time!” Pansy says with exasperation, shooing the other girls away and linking her arm through yours on your free side.

The bell above the door rings lightly as the rest of your group enters the warm tavern, Theo and Enzo racing to secure your usual table.

“Hey Matty!” A voice shouts, stopping your trio in your tracks.

You turn to see another booth filled with familiar looking Hogwarts students and recognize one of the girls you’d watch Mattheo reject just a few days ago.

“Come sit with us,” she continues, attempting to wave him over.

Pansy gives the girl a sneer as you walk past, Mattheo not even sparing a glance in their direction.

“Don’t even know the bloody girl’s name,” he mumbles under his breath, causing you to let out a soft chuckle.

“Ey, what’s the hold up?” Theo shouts as you all hurry over to the table.

“Bloody hell. I thought y/n being my girlfriend would finally get those birds to back off,” Mattheo complains as he takes his seat in the booth.

His arm remains wrapped securely around you the entire time, sending warm tingles through you. It’s all an act, you have to remind yourself, pulling yourself out of your head.

Draco snorts at Mattheo’s grumbling.

“Half the school already thought you two were dating. Didn’t stop em then, so I don’t see why it’d stop them now.” He says matter of factly as the rest of the group nods in agreement.

“You lot are so dramatic. No one thought we were dating,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at your friends.

Their eyes flicker awkwardly back and forth between the lot of them. “Right.” Pansy says finally, bringing an end to the silence.

You glare pointedly at the girl.

“I’m going to the loo. Order me a butter beer Matty?” You say, standing up abruptly.

“I’ll come,” Pansy says quickly, going to rise as well.

“It’s fine Pans. I’m a big girl. Promise not to get attacked by a troll or nothin,” you say with a smile.

Mattheo opens his mouth to protest before closing it again and giving your hand a tight squeeze.

You make your way through the maze of tables, finally making it to the ladies room. Making a beeline to the sink, you take a breath, letting cool water splash against your face.

Salazar, you needed to get a grip. But everything about being with Mattheo felt so real. So natural. Which just meant it would feel all the more real when things ended. You take another moment to gather yourself, dabbing any remaining bits of water from your face. As your hand falls on the door handle to make your way back however, loud voices fill the hall.

“I don’t know what he sees in her,” a voice practically snarls. You can practically feel the malice, dripping from their lips.

“So it’s true then? Mattheo is taking that girl to the ball?” Another voice asks.

“I heard they’re dating.”

“They weren’t already?”

“I wonder if he’s taking her out of pity.”

A chorus of voices all say at once.

You immediately bristle, realizing they were talking about you.

“I hear she was the only one in their group who didn’t have a date and she practically forced him to take her.”

“I thought she was going with Blaise.”

Bloody hell. Where did they get all of this information?

“Whatever. It’s not like it matters either way. There’s no way they last. She’s a mess, and Mattheo has never been able to settle has he? It’s only a matter of time.”

You feel a deep frown form at the harsh words, but before you’re able to react, the bathroom door is pushed open and you’re face to face with the group of girls from before. The girl you had recognized as Mattheo’s reject smirks as she eyes you up and down before simply pushing past you. The rest of the girls follow, leaving you to wander back to your friends.

When you sit down again, Mattheo has a warm drink already waiting, and you let out a small smile as you cozy up next to the boy. No matter how hard you try to distract yourself however, the words of the girl’s echo through your mind.

Later that evening, you lay comfortably in bed with your head resting gently on Mattheo’s chest, hypnotized by the slow rise and fall. You hadn’t seen your roommates all day, and doubted they would be back if they weren’t there by now.

You lived for nights like these when Mattheo would bow out of whatever mischief Theo and Enzo had cooked up, and instead spend the evening holed up with you cuddling, talking, or getting into your own trouble. Your room had become a safe haven. A sacred oasis of sorts for the both of you to unwind, safe from the outside world.

“You were awfully quiet today at The Broomsticks.” Mattheo says, breaking the silence.

You only hum in response.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“How are we going to break up?” You ask, rather abruptly, as you look up at your best friend.

Mattheo looks surprised at the question.

“I don’t know. Didn’t really think I’d get this far in my scheming to be quite honest. I suppose I figured we’d just say that we figured we’d be better off as friends, or something of the sort. You can blame the split on me though if you’d like.” He replies.

You move your head to look down once more, picking at the blankets.

“No, no. The friends thing is fine. When should we do it?”

“Trying to get rid of me already, love?” Mattheo asks with a laugh.

“I just want to know what to expect.” You say quietly, causing Mattheo to grow quiet as well.

“Alright. Then how about a few days after the ball? We say that the dance made us realize we were better off as friends, and everything goes back to the way it was.” He says finally.

You feel your heart crack at his words.

“Yeah. Exactly like how it was.” You repeat.

Smoothing your dress out one final time, you turn around to hear Daphne gasp.

“Oh that’s stunning,” she gushes, her own deep blue gown cascading elegantly around her in waves of silk.

You’d spent the last several hours or so in her and Pansy’s shared dorm getting ready for the ball with the other girls, though where Pansy had wandered off to you had no idea.

All you knew, was that you were bloody nervous. You didn’t think you would be. It was just like any other night you reasoned. You and Mattheo were with each other constantly. What difference did a pretty dress make?

“I think the boys are ready for us whenever we are. Toria, come get these shoes,” Daphne shouts.

Astoria really did look like a princess you think to yourself, her soft yellow gown billowing gently with every movement.

“Ready to go down?” She asks, seeming to float over.

“As I’ll ever be,” you respond with a nervous smile.

Giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Astoria slips on her shoes before making her way down to the common room, you and Daphne following close behind.

The boys are already congregated by the fireplace; their loud chattering could be heard across the room, but as soon as Theo’s eyes meet Daphne’s he freezes and the rest of the boys quiet down, noticing the shift.

Your eyes lock onto Mattheo’s and you slowly make your way over, nervously picking at your skirt with trembling fingers.

“Beautiful as always, y/n,” he says, smiling down at you when you finally reach him. Gently, he raises your hand to his lips, barely grazing over your shaking fingertips before looking back at you with his signature smirk.

“Where’s Draco?” You ask, not quite able to stomachs the intensity of his gaze.

“Had to be there early. Something about the champions and their dates having the first dance or something,” he replies easily, his hand finding its ever familiar place on your waist.

“Oh we are not missing that,” you say, your nerves quickly being replaced with excitement.

Mattheo grins back. “I knew we’d be on the same page,” he responds, tugging you towards the doors.

Together, the both of you rush to the main hall just in time to see Harry and Draco getting herded into a lineup of the champions to be paraded into the Great Hall.

“I certainly hope he took Snape’s dance lessons to heart,” you giggle.

It doesn’t take much longer for the rest of your group to join the both of you and soon enough you find yourselves following the flood of students into the newly decorated Great Hall.

It really was spectacular. The house elves clearly had spared no expense with thick, green trees covered in tinsel and ornaments lining the walls. Floating candles cast a warm glow about the room and the floor had the appearance of being covered in freshly fallen snow.

You watch, hiding a laugh, as Draco and Harry move awkwardly around the dance floor, almost colliding with Cedric and Cho on more than one occasion. Salazar help them.

Slowly, other couples begin to join the champions on the dance floor, swirling together in a sea of shimmering color.

“May I have this dance m’lady?” Mattheo asks with a lopsided grin.

Before you even have the chance to respond however, Mattheo is pulling you onto the dance floor, a look of pure delight across his face. There were very few times you remembered him looking this happy, and it melted your heart.

As the night progressed, Mattheo refused to leave your side, his hand rarely leaving your waist. Really, you hardly left the dance floor either. The few times you were able to escape with Daphne or Pansy to the punch bowl, Mattheo tracked you down shortly after, pulling you right back into his arms.

To say that you were in heaven was an understatement. You had spent hours daydreaming about what it might be like to have Mattheo’s hard-won affection to yourself. And now that you had it, you were practically floating. Which just made it all the more heart wrenching as you anticipated the inevitable. It was as if every move you made, every dance the two of you shared, was done with your hands tied.

People really weren’t going to believe your break up if he continued on like this, you’d thought at some point. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to tell him to back off, especially as it grew later. Your time with him was fleeting after all.

“Bloody hell, Matt. Give the girl some breathing room,” Pansy exclaims after Mattheo had sought you out for the third time.

Mattheo just gives her a guilty grin before spinning you out onto the dance floor once more.

“I didn’t realize you liked dancing this much Matty,” you tease as the two of you away slowly on the floor.

“Oh I don’t. Just making sure I take full advantage of the night,” he replies, looking intently down at you.

You cock you head to the side.

“With you as my girl, I mean,” he adds. And before you’re able to put together another cohesive thought, his lips are on yours. In the middle of the dance floor.

Immediately it feels as though the lights had gone out, leaving the two of you alone in the room as you let your eyes flutter shut, focusing on the softness of Mattheo’s lips on yours. They move slowly at first. Carefully. Before quickly growing hungrier, more determined.

You barely register Mattheo’s fingers digging into you as he pulls you closer, and find yourself lost in the gentle sway as everything around you burns to the ground, leaving behind a fire growing steadily in your chest.

And just like that, you’re back in Mattheo’s arms as the water comes rushing in, jerking you back to reality. You stand frozen staring up at Mattheo as couples continue to move around you.

Had that really just happened?

“Um- fresh air. I think.” You stutter out, all but dragging the boy from the dance floor, praying no one had seen or noticed.

Mattheo wordlessly allows you to lead him out to the courtyard entrance before you all but collapse on one of the stone benches, still in shock.

“Please don’t avada me! I didn’t think that through entirely.”

“I don’t want to break up.” You say in unison.

“What was that?” Mattheo asks in surprise.

“No- hold on. Why in Salazar’s green bed sheets would I want to avada you?” You ask incredulously.

“More importantly, you don’t want to fake breakup?” Mattheo asks with a grin.

“Of course I don’t want to break up! I’ve fancied you for years!” You blurt out, slapping a hand over your mouth as soon as the words escape.

Mattheo looks at you with shock.

“No. I’ve fancied you for years. Why else do you think I refused to take anyone else to the ball?”

“Because you’re a stubborn arse,” you retort, barely processing the boy’s words.

He liked you?

The two of you stare at each other for another moment, still not fully believing the other as your minds race to put the pieces together.

It’s Mattheo who acts first, surging to connect your lips once more in a heated frenzy. It’s addicting really, the feeling of his soft lips against yours. The pull as he brings your bodies closer together. The warmth you can feel radiating off of him.

When you finally pull away this time, Mattheo’s eyes are shining down at you with that familiar intense gaze.

“We’re a pair of oblivious idiots, aren’t we?” You mumble, leaning into the boy.

“Well, you are. I haven’t exactly been subtle.” Mattheo replies with a snort, hugging you to his chest.

“Don’t be a twat. You’ve had girls fawning over you for years. What was I supposed to make of that?”

“I never looked payed them any mind, love. Think of it this way. I’ll just have years to make up for tonight,” he says with a cheeky smile.

You feel a familiar heat begin to rise in you once more as Mattheo takes hold of your arm, leading the way back to the dungeons.

“Oh I’ll hold you to that,” you reply, a mischievous smile making its way to your face.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less of you, love.”

#Spotify #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin boys #slytherin #hogmarch challenge #theodore nott #draco malfoy #daphne greengrass #pansy parkinson #yule ball #matteo riddle #lorenzo berkshire moodboard #enzo berkshire #blaise zabini #mattheo riddle fanfiction

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studioghibelli · 3 months

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masterpiece - a joel miller x reader

summary: joel moseys on in to your art store, despite seeming distant and cold towards you. an annoyed artist and an aggressive man, now that seems like quite the match.

warnings: artist!reader, grumpy!joel (no shit lol), post-outbreak, jackson era, age gap (early 20s reader/ 56 year old peepaw joel), sort of enemies to lovers but the “they’re annoying to me” kind, no use of y/n, female reader, short but sweet smut (semi-public, f receiving oral, unprotected sex)

notes: this is for @iamasaddie’s moodboard writing challenge! thank you for the wonderful inspiration <3 also i know the photo is not joel, but i only write for him at the moment so everybody let’s just PRETEND OKAY!!!! enjoy my lovelies Xx

Memories from before the world collapsed were hazy for you.

Bucket hats sewn for toddlers, bright colored toy dinosaurs made from plastic, a red wagon your grandparents used to pull you around in through the neighborhood sidewalks- vaguely, their pictures sat within the confines of your mind. Vaguely you could remember the sound of your aunties laughing whilst cooking, the way your father would roar at the television during football season.

You could remember them, and yet they felt more like ideas than memories. As if they were something you read about in a book, not an experience you had once lived through.

When you were thirteen and your family had found their way to Jackson, you fell in love with all the art encyclopedias Maria had given you. On missions, your father would bring you every single book he could find that talked about art. All different types. From Giotto to Fragonard, Vélasquez to Monet, Van Gogh to Millais- all of them had enraptured you, they had taken you over, body and soul, and in a world that was chipping away around you, you found solace in their creations.

After you turned eighteen, you had enough courage to try your hand at portrait art. The first one you made of Tommy was unnerving. You made him look more like a neanderthal than a man, with mismatched ears and crossed eyes, thick and uneven facial hair and wild curls. Still, Tommy had it framed and hung above the mantle of his fire place.

It was a reminder of growth. Of where you once were.

Now you did portraits around town, traded them for some dried out herbs or freshly pressed paper. People liked having art around. It reminded them of what once was. They flocked to you happily, wanting to feel the same contentment they once fell, before the world had sunk to its knees and submitted.

You were a reminder to the townspeople that life didn’t have to be so gray, nor dreary. Everyone seemed to love you and your quirky, distant, eclectic personality. A true artist. A Van Gogh, as Maria had described you once. You saw the world in whatever color you so pleased, you saw things others didn’t, you picked up on pockets of beauty that many looked over. People admired you for that, they wanted to talk to you, wanted to pick at your brain.

Everyone except him.

The moment you watched Joel Miller trot in through those gates, you knew you had to have him. To paint him, that is. His thighs stretched taut across the saddle, his broad shoulders budging at the seams of his flannel, chocolate eyes distant and full of worry, anger, hunger- he was.... incredible. Your dream man. For painting purposes only, of course.

Well, that's what you continuously tried to remind yourself. You would reprimand your own mind, stating what you felt was the obvious: You were attracted to him the way an artist was attracted to the rising sun or the waves of the ocean. You wanted to paint him, study his features, color in his skin. There was no physical, emotional, or romantic attraction there.

No. No way. Not you. Not for a man as old as your own father, if not older. Not for a man who had only ever given you grunts and one worded answers in response to your questions. Not for a man who couldn't give you the time of day.

It was a normal Wednesday when it finally happened. Sitting in the little studio in the town's strip that Maria and Tommy had created for you, doodling away and sketching. You were working on a watercolor of the tree line in the distance, now focusing on the rise of the mountains behind them. Snowy, navy, serene. You weren't that good with scenic paintings, but Maria wanted a big canvas of your work to hang in the Tipsy Bison, for everyone to see.

And, as you so often did, you decided to indulge her.

The record player was scratching in the corner, some melodic crooning of Sinatra filling the room.

A deep huff escaped you. Things were not going your way today. "Not right. No, no." You muttered, looking at the wonky, twisted tree trunk you had just messed up on. "Not right at all." Amidst your personal berating, you hadn't heard the bell of the front door swing open and chime its familiar song.

"How hard is it to draw a fucking tree?" You grumbled, hissing in annoyance as you wiped away the dripping paint. Somehow, it only looked worse. You wiped your stained hands across your pants, groaning out in defeat.

"Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

The voice startled you. As your nerves dissipated, you recognized who that voice belonged too. Deep and baritone, the kind of voice that sunk through your chest like honey dripping from a spoon, swirling in to a cup of steaming tea.

He was honey, wasn't he? If honey was old and bitter, you thought to yourself.

You turned, finally meeting the face of Joel Miller.

"Hello." You stood up from your stool, wringing your messy hands out on your apron once again. "Why... are you in here?" You spoke slowly, as if you couldn't believe he were actually in front of you. Was it him? Or an apparition? Your eyes could be deceiving you. Perhaps you were Van Gogh after all.... slowly descending in to madness. You shook the thought away.

"You give that warm a' welcome to all your guests?" Joel narrowed his eyes at you, looking around the slightly messy studio. Hanged paintings for sale on the walls, splatters of paint dripping down wooden easels, tubes of oil and acrylics strewn around. Not many people visited you in here, lest to pick up their orders.

"I..." You trailed off in search of what to say next, narrowing your eyes at him in return. "No."

Joel hummed out between his teeth in response, fingers gently trailing down the sides of a few handmade journals you had for sale. "What do you want for one of these?" He asked, picking up the leather bound pages.

"I usually do a trade. Some vegetables, um... pretty much anything, really."

"You drive a hard bargain." His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Did you come in here to annoy me, or do you actually want something?" You snapped, sitting back down in your chair with a huff. The current painting you were working on was doing your head in, and your artistic talent was definitely being challenged.

You felt shit at your craft today, to be honest.

"I don't really got none of that." He responded sheepishly. "I could do somethin' for you? Got a leaking sink? Broken cabinet?" He sat down on a stool adjacent from you, flipping through the blank pages. "I wanna get this, for my daughter. She's, uh... she's a bit like you. Real in to art and stuff."

You rolled his offer through your head, thinking on it.

Portraits! There was your answer.

"I know what you could do for me."

Joel looked up at you and shrugged. "Sure, what is it?"

"Let me paint you. I-I need to work on my portraits, need to.... find my style." You explained softly. You watched his face spread over with confusion.

"That's just extra work for you, you ain't gettin' anything in return for painting me."

"Yes, I am! I'm honing in my skills."

Joel looked around at the art all around him. Paintings of the dogs he had seen wagging their tales through town, a portrait of Maria in the corner, a field of blooming flowers- he didn't think your skills needed any honing. You were remarkable, but Joel didn't really know that much about art, anyways.

"Fine."

"Free tonight? After dinner?"

Grudgingly, Joel agreed.

• • •

His ass was hurting. The cold, metal stool beneath his thighs was uncomfortable, digging in to his skin. He wondered how you could do this all day, how you could sit and stare and paint and move without complaining.

Because, god damn, was this seat uncomfortable.

When he had walked in for his portrait, you were changing the track on the old record player. The Goo Goo Dolls. He had rolled his eyes, unable to count all the times he had heard Iris on the radio.

Still, it brought a sense of nostalgia he had thought died out a long ago. It made him feel…. normal. And normalcy was the most beautiful thing in the world now.

“How d’you sit on this all day?” He snapped half way through your session. Your body was hidden behind the canvas, and every so often he saw splatters and drops of paints exploding. He was curious what you were doing back there.

“Just do.”

Joel snorted. “That ain’t a real answer.”

He heard your annoyed sigh. “It is. Once I get in the zone, I just go for it.”

That answer satisfied him enough.

“Why do you like art so much anyways?”

You peeked out from behind the canvas, eyebrows furrowing. “Because it makes me feel alive. Do you know that feeling? Inhibition? Freedom?” Your words dripped with sarcasm, hissing out with impatience. Why did he care, anyways?

Joel rolled his eyes, holding on to the edge of his seat as he winced. His back was strained, and he knew he was getting too old for this.

“I do, actually.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re really damn annoyin’, you know that?”

You grumbled beneath your breath, tweaking a few strays of eyebrow hair on his portrait. “Been told.”

“Sure you have.”

A long bout of silence eased over the room, and for a long while, the only sound was the scratching of the vinyl and the thick breeze outside.

“What’s your deal, anyways?” You finally asked, working on the thick vein of his neck.

You stared at him for a long while, tracing over his face. He was undoubtedly handsome. The curve of his Aquiline nose reminded you of the Roman sculptures you had seen in your books, the softness of his perfectly curved lips, the shape of his moustache. He really was a true masterpiece.

The length of his neck bled into two sturdy collarbones and thick shoulders, biceps strong and deep beneath the sleeves of his dark green flannel. The color of his skin, tanned and slightly golden and perfect, had been your favorite to paint thus far, the depths of his cheeks and cheekbones perfect beneath the swinging light of the studio.

Joel stared at you, your question racketing through his brain like a pinball machine. “What do you mean?”

“Why’re you so angry? Why don’t you like me?” You finally asked, disappearing behind the easel once again.

“Never said I didn’t like you.”

You laughed softly, the tip of your brush swiping down the side of his jaw. “It’s implied.”

“By you, maybe.”

“By me? You’re the one who avoids me. I don’t have the plague, y’know.”

Joel snorted. “Worse than that.” Hu grumbled beneath his breath.

“Heard that.”

He took in a deep breath, and although you couldn’t see his face at the moment, you knew without a doubt his brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. The typical mask Joel Miller wore with such pride.

“Look.” Joel began speaking, but he wasn’t sure where he was going. “You….. I….. look.”

“I’m looking!” You exclaimed in annoyance. “Just spit it out already, man.”

In one swift move he had gotten up from his stool and had grabbed your wrist. His grasp wasn’t hard, it wasn’t mean. In fact it was gentle, sturdy with an unfamiliar sort of warmth. His brown eyes bore down in to yours earnestly, and you saw them flickering with something you couldn’t quite pin point, an emotion you had never seen him show you.

A thick lump was forming in your throat, and you felt your stomach churning with butterflies, aflame by the feeling of his calloused palm on your skin. He was warm, rough, masculine.

He was perfect. A masterpiece.

You sucked in a sharp breath of air as Joel crouched down, now level with your eye sight.

“Look.” He began once again with his new favorite word. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous. Okay?”

“What?!” That’s what he was trying to say?

“Yes. It’s embarrassing, I know.” He was seething through gritted teeth, jaw clenching with annoyance. His cheeks had grown a soft pink, no doubt out of embarrassment for the admittance of his secret.

“I-”

Joel wasted no time cutting you off. “I ain’t the poet type, alright? Lord knows I’m not. And when I see you…. fuck. This is so fucking stupid. When I see you, I feel shit. Okay?”

A laugh of amusement escaped you. “You feel shit?” You asked incredulously, and his grip on your wrist loosened.

Joel took a step back, sitting down on the floor. “It’s stupid. A fuckin’ crush, in the middle of the world ending.”

“It hasn’t ended yet.” You purred, setting down your brush as you sat in front of him. “So, maybe take the time to kiss me? Just in case it doesn’t end, tomorrow or something.”

Joel stared at you, a long moment blanketing your bodies. He was weighing his options in his mind, calculating what could happen if he did, if he didn’t. Damn the risks.

He had spent so long wondering what you tasted like, what you felt like. He said a silent prayer to whatever god may still be alive, and leaned in towards you.

His lips were softer than you thought, and his facial hair tickled and bristled against your cheeks. Joel was a good kisser, a passionate kisser. Your mouths melded together like two pieces of iron being hammered into a ring, thick and sweet and harmonious in their shared movements.

Joel couldn’t help his wandering hands. The rough tips of his fingers made you shiver, calloused thumbs drawing circles in the dips of your hips as he pulled you closer. You were straddling him now, arms thrown around his neck as you kissed him fervently, as though his spit was the last thing you would ever taste.

“You could’ve done this months ago, y’know.” You mumbled against his skin.

“Probably could’ve.”

Your fingers moved down to the buttons of his shirt, Joel’s mouth attaching to your neck.

“Probably would’ve saved you a lot of annoyance, you know.” You grinned down against him, a soft gasp escaping you as your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers tangling into his curls. You grinded your hips down, feeling that bulge pressing into the crotch of your leggings. “If you woulda told me, I could’ve helped with all that pent up aggression.”

Joel rolled his eyes at the playfulness of your words, pulling you closer to him. “You’re trouble.” He muttered, lips attaching back to yours. A smile broke out across your face as you pushed his flannel off his shoulders. Joel pulled away, throwing off his shirt, before tugging yours off in turn. Your chests, bare and warm, pressed in to the other, and in one swift flick of his wrist your bra came off with ease.

He pushed you back on to the ground, grinding himself against you. You tugged your pants off, left with a pair of panties that were now soaked through. Your clit, swollen and throbbing beneath the cotton material, was ignited with each movement of his hips, his covered bulge tracing circles into your sensitive nub.

Joel moved downwards, until he was face to face with your covered pussy. He leaned forward, dragging his nose across your clit as he pressed his tongue flat into your folds, tasting your arousal that had settled into your underwear.

“Off.” He commanded, undoing his own belt. You flicked your panties away, and he was face to face with your cunt once more. “Pretty little thing.” He mumbled, leaning forward to taste you. When his lips wrapped around your clit, your back arched off the cold tiles of the floor, pleasure coursing through you in electric droves.

“Taste pretty, too.” Joel smirked against your pussy, his tongue pressing in to your hole, dragging out that sweet wetness that dripped from you like syrup.

He tasted you, breathed you in, swallowed you. You were the only thing that filled his senses at the moment, the only thing that he had his mind on. In that moment your pussy was the only thing he worshipped, the only thing he wanted to spend any time tending to.

Your hips were grinding against his face now, his tongue swirling and lapping at your swelling clit. You couldn’t even talk, couldn’t even think. He was all you could pay any attention to. Damn your art, damn your painting- right now his mouth was the only thing you could wrap your head around.

Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your orgasms on brewing in the pit of your belly. Joel’s rough palms carved up and down your sides, his well worked hands scratching your skin in a delicious sort of way. He was moaning against your folds, nose brushing up and down your pussy as he lapped at the pink of your cunt.

“Joel, Joel-” You were drunk on him, on his movements, clit tingling against the tip of his tongue. He chuckled against you, knowing just what he was doing to you.

Joel knew how to make a woman feel good, and you were no exception.

“Gonna cum.” You breathed out excitedly, hips bucking one last time as your orgasm washed over you. Your moans and cries echoed across the wall, and you tugged him by his curls farther between your thighs. Joel licked you through the height of your orgasm, until you had no choice but to push him away.

You lay on the floor, breaths hard and shaky, blinking as you came back down to earth. Joel crawled over you, his thumb gently trailing down your cheek. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself on his tongue, which was now pushing past your lips and exploring the softness of your mouth. You moaned, legs opening to grant his throbbing cock access.

With your small hand, you guided the tip of his leaking cock to the folds of your pussy, pressing it gently against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck me.” You begged against his mouth.

Joel happily obliged you.

To say you had never been fucked quite like that was the understatement of the year.

Joel’s cock was thick and perfect, curved ever so slightly to the left. He hit every spot deep within you that made you shiver and moan, he knew just how to roll your hips to drag you towards your second orgasm.

And god, did he know how to last.

By the time your third orgasm had rushed over you, his fingers had tangled themselves in your hair and your teeth had sunk into the thickness of his pretty neck, his cock still hard and stern inside of you. He was panting like a dog, grinding and humping in to you as his twitching cock filled you to the brim.

Your thighs were shaking, wrapped around his waist as his fingers tweaked your nipples. He was breathing hard and heavy in to your hair, eyes shut tight as he took you all in.

“Feels so good.” You whimpered, eyes pricking with tears of pleasure.

“Fuckin’ love your cunt.” He grumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “Gonna paint these fuckin’ walls. Gonna fill you up, make you mine.” It wasn’t just dirty talk, it was a promise. His hips stuttered into you, your aching clit pressing into his pelvis with every deep thrust he gave you.

“Cum inside me then. Make me yours.” You whispered, nails digging into his shoulders, dragging down his back. You had etched your sketches into the skin of his back, drawing lines of ravenous pleasure that only he would be able to see, when all was said and done.

Joel groaned at the sound of your sweet voice, and with a final grunt, you felt ropes of his cum filling you up, dripping and sliding out of you as he lazily thrust, riding out his own high.

By the time he had fallen beside you, your hand had grabbed his, and you both knew you were done for.

Months of built up pressure, stolen glances, curt conversations- you both knew what was there, beneath the surface. Two people who didn’t quite know how to approach the other, and yet still, two people who knew what was lurking beneath the surface.

God, you were so happy Joel had walked into your shop.

He had helped you get dressed, and you both walked outside to the street, sharing a cigarette you had bartered for a couple weeks ago. You took in a deep drag, gently holding it to his lips. As you exhaled, he inhaled the tobacco, and both of your eyes settled on to the bare street, the winter moon beating her sweet, silver light on to the pavement.

“If you keep doing that, I don’t think I’ll ever finish your panting.” You finally spoke, filling the comfortable silence with the sweet cadence of your words.

“I like it how it is.” He whispered.

You turned, looking at the canvas that was drying ever so slowly beneath the store light. It was a bit whacky, a bit unfinished, as though a part of its story had yet to be told. But Joel’s eyes though…. well, his eyes were what struck you the hardest out of it all, and for a moment you allowed yourself to take in the beauty and skill of your craftsmanship.

Those umber orbs, painted with that familiar distance his eyes so often held, swirling with mystery, regret, wonder, and a little bit of admiration that you hadn’t quite picked up on while painting. They were full of emotion that Joel so often showed, in his own quiet way.

You turned to him, taking another puff from the cigarette. A smile stretched across your face, and his arm gently hooked itself around you.

“Yeah, me too.” You admitted quietly.

After that night, the townspeople wondered why Joel was a little bit more approachable. They wondered what made him a little bit more softer, kinder, a bit more poetic.

And each time you would sneak away into his house underneath the cover of darkness, the reminder of that fateful night hung just above his sofa, Joel’s unfinished portrait staring at you with that familiar beauty of his.

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occamstfs · 1 month

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How To Be A Father

This was meant to be a shorter one but it seems to have gotten away from me, I hope you enjoy! I’ve got a special one coming later this week! Gonna do a little epistolary/diary multi TF to celebrate 500 Followers !! - Occam

Franklin’s older brother, Jack, was a soon-to-be dad, he is terribly nervous about raising a kid, as anyone should be. Franklin was looking for some way he could show his support. His eyes scan the shelves of the local bookstore, sure that there must be something of use in the advice section. He has only just graduated university and remains in a sea of uncertainty but at the very least he could buy his brother some pittance of a self-help book.

There wasn’t exactly a sea of options available, many of them were clearly religious, some were on raising children in other cultures, one particularly gaudy one was a guide on rearing the perfect American citizen. Franklin prepared to throw in the towel and order a book to be delivered, before at the end of the aisle he saw a simple clear cover, upon which was written, “How To Be A Father.” It didn’t even have the author’s name on the front. Franklin couldn’t help but let his interest be piqued as he goes to pick it up.

As he does so it’s almost as if the lights of the store dim as the monochrome cover continues to call out to him. Before checking the contents he checks the back looking for any hint of what lies between the pages and finds another completely featureless page. At this point Franklin’s eyes would usually roll as he returns this obnoxious marketing mishap to the shelf, but instead his brows furrow. He simply must know what is inside. He rushes to open to the first page as his mind can only obsessively demand the contents of the book.

He opens to the middle of the guide, stumbling on a photo of what may as well be the platonic ideal of man. Franklin’s stomach lurches in discomfort, his heart pangs knowing he could never be such a man, as the image in front of him. His eyes trace the jawline defined even through a dense beard. He hungers to be even a hundredth as masculine as the imagine in front of him. Franklin glances at the next page hoping for some recipe to be just like him, rubbing his hairless jaw as he turns eyes blurring as he reads the sentence:

"A Real Father Is Strong."

He audibly grunts as he reads the sentence and holds that exemplar of man in his mind. He doesn’t dare desire to be a father, but strength. How could he not want that? He looks down the page hoping for work out tips but his eyes find no purchase as the words blur together. Nevertheless he stares at the smudges, willing them to give him answers, as the book begins to work its own will unto him.

Franklin has spent little time on his body. It has never been a priority for him, and yet now he wants strength? The book grows warm in his hands as his eyes roll back. He bites his lip as he feels the warmth begin to surge from the book into his arms. Veins begin to bulge in his hands as they continue up his arms. His hands grow calluses from day after day of lifting iron. His forearms burst forth growing to a size larger than his calves are currently. He feels his shirt soon grow tight around his biceps as muscle begins to bulge. Thick veins appear down the direct center of his arms as he is overcome with pleasure.

The strength does not stop flowing into him as his arms start to rip open his sleeves however. Just as soon as his massive biceps make room for themselves his chest begins to demand its own attention. Muscles that he didn’t even know he had cramp on his chest as pecs burst out of his chest shooting buttons down the aisle. Just after this he feels his back expand similarly giving him a wingspan he never dreamed he could achieve. His knees buckle as he feels the warmth force itself into his lower body.

He slams to the floor loudly as his growing limbs fall out from under him. Sensing challenge from the forearms his calves rip holes into his pants as they reach a size and definition of a bodybuilder and his thighs swiftly follow suit creating a tear from his waist down to his feet, fully exposing Franklin’s lower body as he struggles to stay conscious. Not to be out done he feels his feet begin to press against to press against the boundaries of his shoes, the tongue bulging out as he starts to hear the fabric tear before he’s interrupted-

“Um, Excuse me sir? Do you need help up?,” asks a clerk at the bookstore, seeing Franklin on the floor.

Franklin’s face blazed red at being caught in such a compromising position as he shoots up to standing. “I! So sorry I don’t-“ he struggles to explain what he thinks happened having fully lost himself in his growth. As he looks down at himself however he sees that although his clothes are fitting tighter, there are no rips to be seen. His nipples make themselves well apparent through the polo, but his sleeves remain untorn, and his pants hug his waist and ass but are clearly in one piece. There is also a massive bulge in his pants though it is thankfully not growing at the moment.

Franklin starts to make small talk with the clerk who checked on them but before getting very far he is thrown off guard as the clerk replies, “I don’t know sir”. Why the kid keeps calling him sir? Kid? Franklin is sure they’re about the same age the kid can’t be less than twenty three? Well wait? Franklin isn’t twenty three either, that had to have been? Franklin feels his mind start to heat up as a massive headache starts to build. He stares down at his feet as the clerk once more grows concerned.

The problem does not stay for long however as he sees the book he was so obsessed with is on the floor. That can’t be right! As he goes to pick it up he finds it is on a new page! Excited to learn what new wisdom lies in store he is greeted once more with an all too eye catching man. It’s a mirror selfie which should have no place in what is presumably an advice book. His body is absolutely shredded as he smirks from the page, but even more eye-catching is his massive cock.

Franklin does his best to look away from this clear attempt at softcore porn lest he have yet another issue growing out of his clothing. Unfortunately the text opposite the image is even less help to this end, Franklin can’t help himself but read:

"A Real Father Is Horny."

If the power flowing into him from the book filled him with pleasure, it was truly nothing compared to the energy and desire burning through his veins now. The clerk's eyes widen as the sound of fabric stretching emanates from Franklin’s crotch before being immediately followed by the loud tear of a zipper bursting off. He quickly looks away before seeing whatever has apparently burst from Franklin's pants as he stares at the man in shock.

The embarrassment only heightens Franklin's ecstasy, his clothes caress his powerful body as he feels his balls pulse as he feels them shift into overdrive, begging Franklin for release as they fill his barely hanging on briefs. Briefly keeping his lust at bay he looks up to see the clerk still in front of him and chokes back a grunt of hunger. His body flexes to pounce before he hesitates, god, he looks like he could be my kid. But that would- That can’t be right.

Before he can question any further he feels his balls grow even bluer as his cock begins to create rips in his underwear. Putting off his lust just long enough to avoid criminal charges he runs from the man who he could have sworn was his age, or his son’s age? His breath catches in his chest as he storms down the aisle. He feels his nipples scratch against his shirt as pre soaks through his increasingly torn briefs. He clenches his jaw to avoid moaning as he leaves a trail of sweat in his wake, barely making it inside the restroom and locking the door.

The cool air shocks his body as he holds his sweaty body against the door. Directly across from him is the mirror, seeing himself sets his hunger aflame higher than anybody can sustain. He sees his cock fully burst from his pants, sticking out straight from his crotch, the length he would’ve sworn his forearm was. Looking back to the mirror he flexes at himself and fully loses the ability to hold back. He moans as he cums without even touching his cock. His balls pulse as they continue producing five more loads to take the place of this one as he slides against the door, leaving a trail of sweat on the door as he moans and closes his eyes.

When he reopens them he finds himself in a thankfully different scene. There is no sign that he came all over the floor of a public restroom and he did not have a boner burst from his pants in front of that clerk. He’s been this horny his whole life, he knows how to handle himself. Fuck did he turn him on though. Franklin decides he needs to masturbate more, can’t be getting so horny for college hunks now that his son’s going to school. Fuck! He doesn’t have a son! Franklin knows something horrible is happening but before he can even start to make a connection he sees in front of him, precisely where he thought he came on the floor, his book. Lying open to a new page. He hasn’t the willpower to even feign resistance. He sees a powerful bear of a man. Franklin craves his power. He craves his virility. He needs to be more like him. He doesn’t even need to read the page opposite for it is already ingrained into him.

"A Real Father Is Mature."

He burps as his tight abs quickly begin to soften and slightly bloat into what can only be described as a dad bod. He rubs his still growing stomach as his pubes inch above his waistline and shadow the whole of his torso. His body loses definition though he of course exercises to stay tight and strong as any real father should. He feels his hairline then as dark arm hair inches up towards his shoulders. He smirks as he reaches up to scratch at his ever-present stubble. Exposing his hairier pit to the fresh air, he laughs as his mind is filled with thousands of jokes, each worse than the last. You could say he’s Armed for every occasion he laughs as he flexes at himself in the mirror, each chuckle sounding deeper than the last.

Frank looks in the mirror ahead of him and feels and starts to chub up once more. He looks younger than he remembers being, although with each laugh at his own jokes his hair starts to grey and his forehead lines grow deeper. Each final change cementing him as a real father like the book suggests. He needs to go try these dad jokes out on an audience now. His son Jack would love to hear them.

Frank feels content looking at the book in front of him. This will be the perfect gift for his kid. This thing’ll make a dad out of anyone, lord knows it's worked wonders for him! Frank chuckles to himself, as his stubble grows out into a beard, thinking about whatever less-than-clever joke he’ll tell his son when he gives it to him as he heads out of the bookstore. He eyes the clerk that went to help him earlier as a hunger begins to build within Frank once more. The twink seems to be looking at a book on the shelf as if he’s never seen one before. He starts to reach out to its white cover as he thinks to himself, couldn’t hurt to see what’s inside.

#male tf #masculinization #jockification #age progression #mental change

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shiny-kaibernyte · 4 months

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Can i get romance hcs for Kieran?

Ask and you shall receive! I have so many requests but I couldn't resist doing this one! Do hope I fit the bill for this one as Kieran is an, interesting character to write for 💜

Pokémon Headcannons | Kieran (Romance)

Pokémon Scarlett and Violet DLC Spoilers ahead!

Warnings: Possessive behaviour; obsession

SPOILER WARNING For Teal Mask and The Indigo Disk

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(Was gonna use one of his Teal mask mission photos but i love this one to much not to use it. Straight up mood.)

When you step into his life, it is you and you alone who rules his heart.

Kieran’s drive for things is strong, very strong. And when he sets his mind on something; he will never stop until he’s achieved whatever it is he’s after. So when he set eyes on you, his goal was to give his all to you. And hope you will give your all to him.

Your Agias and Kieran are like siblings, he's the quiet one, Agias is the give me your food or else one

He will never force you to do anything you don’t want to. After the Ogerpon situation, Kieran spiralled into a state where he no longer felt danger. He would dive into every challenge head first, fight every trainer, every Pokémon and climb the most dangerous of mountains if it meant he could be the best. But when he’s with you, he’ll dial it back. Always staying within your comfort zone, the last thing he wants is to push the most precious thing in his life away from him.

Gets jealous incredibly easily. ESPECIALLY if it's Drayton. The Rivalry between these two is uncanny, it would be no surprise if Kieran felt true hatred towards him for a time. Though it's gone now. The jealousy of even seeing Drayton standing close to you is overbearing.

You and Carmine are practically best friends. You're the glue that keeps the pair bonded together.. When you are around Carmine doesn’t feel afraid of Kieran as you bring out her little brother, the brother she thought was lost to obsession.

If you are a member of the BB League, he will be a lot sweeter for you. He may get frazzled when the rest of the group is around and everyone is slacking off. But he will always apologise to you if you tell him he’s gone too far. Never to the others however. Even if you force him to, he’ll never mean it.

Is not an outdoor person, even with the yelling and the confidence, deep down he is still the same shy, excitable boy who just needs a hug. So his ideal time with you is sitting together and watching movies, or reading books.

He is a listener. He will listen to you for however long you need him to. Every word you say he will listen.

He isn’t good with words, even after everything that happened with Ogerpon and Terapagos. So he tends to be a lot more handsy, always trying to hold your hand, your arm, or just you in general.

Speaking of that, when out in public together, he practically is stuck to you, he eyes glaring towards anyone who shows you any form of interest, hand on his Hydrapple’s Pokeball just in case they don’t take his death stare to literal.

He’s a cheek kisser, deep down he is still extremely shy and closeted, so kissing you on the lips can fluster him even when he's the champion, so he uses cheek kisses as his way of saying he loves you.

Hug him please. He will melt. This poor boy needs a break from everything.

If he was a ship, you are his lighthouse. If you were a tree, he is your roots. You both complete each other.

When Kieran begins his ‘redemption arc’ he tries to redeem his actions slowly though he doesn’t exactly know the best way around it. So he asks for your opinions on basically everything he does. Carmine attempts to give input but as sibling rivalries go, it falls upon deaf ears.

His Hydrapple loves you, almost as much as Kieran does. Almost.

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writingwithfolklore · 1 year

Text

Don't Wait for Your Muse (Using Sources)

In the same way that artists collect reference photos, fashion designers collect fabrics and textures, and interior designers collect paint chips, writers must collect sources. A source could be:

Evocative, funny, or interesting dialogue

A description you’ve never heard before

Interesting and rare words

A cool dream you had

A paragraph from a book you love

A specific feeling or experience

Something you saw out in the real world

A snippet of conversation you passed by on the street

A smell that gives you a particular memory

Any other piece of art, writing, music, design, a sense, story, etc. etc.

Essentially, anything that sparks your imagination, that’s evocative of the human experience—of that humanity and closeness we’re always trying to capture. My creative writing prof said to us, “why are you waiting for a ‘muse’? Go to your sources. Don’t just wait for inspiration to strike.”

She cautioned us not to try to make sense when we put together our sources, but rather make meaning. The nice, easy part is that anything you put together will create meaning. So here’s what we gathered to get started, but I also challenge you to carry a journal or a place on your phone to start collecting things you find out in the world.

Choose a one-word or sentence theme that describes your project. For this theme, collect:

A photo, taken by anyone at any time

A poem, written by anyone

A paragraph from a newspaper or magazine article, then scramble it using the “cut up machine”

A screenshot of something posted on social media

A series of text messages, emails, or other communication between parties

A screenshot of the abstract of a scholarly article

Good luck, and if you’re comfortable, I’d love to see your collections!

#writing #writers #writing tips #writing advice #writing inspiration #creative writing #writing community #books #film #filmmaking #screenwriting #novel writing #fanfiction #writeblr #writing sources #sources #inspiration #muse

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bao3bei4 · 5 months

Text

why zines? how zines?

i was on a panel at fanworks con 2023 about zines today. it was a lot of fun! i decided to turn my portion of the talk into a post for my friends who couldn’t make it to the panel.

this post includes my thoughts on:

why make a zine

how to generate ideas for zines

how to finish your zines

how to build an audience for your zines

so why zines? what are they? [ZEENS, rhymes with beans], pronounced that way because it’s a shortened form of the word magazine, are basically just that: self published magazines. but why make a zine over, say, a blog post? or any other piece of art.

i have basically three reasons. the first is that making little books is cool. it’s genuinely awesome to make physical zines and have the product of your labor in your hand. it’s a great feeling to finish a project and feel a concrete reward, and a lot of times we don’t get that in our lives.

the second reason is that zines give you absolute editorial control. you can put anything you want on a page. whatever layout, whatever order, whatever fold, whatever content. you name it, you can do it. this is something other venues rarely give you. for artists, it’s phenomenal. and for the rest of us, it gives us the ability to become artists for a little bit, as we lay things out.

the third reason is that zines can be absolute shit. in fact, the more shit they are, the more diy and punk they are. they have an incredible lineage of stolen copy paper and anarchist politics. all that to say, is that there are no standards. the zine ethos is say what you wanna say. it’s tremendously freeing to go fuck polish and respectability, i’m making my project.

because of these three reasons, i want to encourage you to get started making zines by describing common challenges and worries and giving you several practical tips for each on working past them. so, in order, they’re “i don’t know what to make a zine about,” “i struggle to finish projects,” and “no one will read my zines.” let’s get into it.

first up, “i don’t know what to make a zine about.” i think this one is pretty common, even for experienced zine creators. sometimes you’re in the mood to make things but you have no clue what. a lot of people suggest to just go with random words or whatever pops into your head, but i’m picky! i find that unsatisfying! so here are some tips for people in the same boat.

ONE: what’s distracting you? work with it. because anything can be a zine, let the things you’ve already done serve as inspiration. photos you’ve taken can be formatted into a zine. is there a game sucking up your attention? make a zine about it. the song stuck in your head can turn into a lyricbook, forgotten works in progress or sketches can be resurrected, cannibalized, or even published as incomplete zines. if you’ve been busy with real life, maybe the recipes you’ve been making—even if, especially if, they’re struggle meals, can turn into zines. interview your most interesting friend. summarize a book you read recently. even if you’ve just been doomscrolling, that’s a zine too! i got a zine last weekend called bay area newsreel which was collecting recent articles about local news from leftist perspectives gathered up into a handy volume. your attention is a gift, so look at what zine fodder it’s accumulated for you naturally.

SECOND: add a twist. sometimes i have an idea but it isn’t quite right. it just seems too straightforward. so i try to develop along a single axis of content or form. what this means is basically go against your instincts, or rather, your first impulse. that first idea is very hard to walk away from, but doing so often gives you an idea that gets you unstuck. so for content, add a different perspective. for me this is often a theoretical approach. when i was stuck on my scum villain zine, turning it into freud zine let the words start flowing. next, on form: present it differently than your first instinct is to. if my first thought is “essay,” i try to figure out how to chunk out the information into modules or how to add interactivity or what kind of illustrations to add. if my first thought is “this could be a fic or comic,” i try turning it into an essay. saying things a different way often gives you a new perspective on the content as well.

THIRD: copy! make your take on the same thing as someone else. it’s not stealing—well, ideally it isn’t. make your original take and give credit where credit is due and ask permission if necessary. but engage with the medium!!! making zines without reading zines is the same thing as trying to write a paper without citing sources, or a novel without reading your contemporaries. that is, you can do it, but it’s hard. zines are a genre into themselves so figure out how to situate yourself in their ongoing dialogue. an example of this from my own practice is that i own a zine about queer gods and mythological creatures from chinese history. reading it i was like. why don’t they talk about this. why don’t they talk about that. and that became the basis for my own zine, guaitai the strange and the queer which focused on queer chinese history and literature instead. different zine, same inspiration.

all of my ideas suppose you have SOMETHING going on. what if you truly have nothing. my advice? adapted from my “how to write an essay” blog post, is to read a book. read an article. read something. and then post about it. and then turn your posts into a zine. don’t start entirely from scratch — give yourself a scaffolding. so first. read something and tell someone about it. i wasn’t lying about calling myself a consummate poster. it’s a big part of my thought process.

second up, what if “i struggle to finish projects.” i’m no stranger to having a bunch of half finished half started projects lying around. but here are some zine-specific tips i have for addressing that.

FIRST! go smaller; go shittier. reduce the scope of your projects. make one pagers, lists. once when i was feeling stymied, i made a physical zine about movies i’d watched that month, just listing them with a couple bullet points on each film. i eventually turned it into a bigger digital zine where i listed movies i’d watched over the past several months with more thoughts on them, and nicely formatted. but that was something that came out of reducing my scope from “i need to write a manifesto on a movie i’ve watched recently” to “well i can just tell people about it” to “i can say two things about it.” and something actually got finished.

SECOND. your friends are a great tool for accountability. something i like to do is zine jams with my friends. nothing fancy, it’s just we’ll sit down for an hour and go we’re going to make something in this hour. or, for a bigger scope, we might work separately but commit to making a zine that weekend. it’s nice to have community and it’s nice to feel a little bit of a friendly deadline. i recommend this even if you DON’T have problems finishing zines. it’s a good time.

THIRD. a lot of times if the words aren’t coming easily, it’s because i’m not trying to say the right thing. keep in mind that your zines don’t have to be “content.” this little paper zine i made about movies wasn’t made to share online; in fact, it’s not available online. i didn’t make it according to what other people would see or be interested in. you can and will burn out on making “marketable” content. corollary to this: sometimes what i have to say is something i DON’T want to share online. it might not be that it’s boring, it might be that it’s too personal. and i share a lot online, i write personal essays after all. but some projects i stall on because they’re really just for me, and i’m again, focused on making content. so this piece of advice is about rejecting the tyranny of the imaginary audience.

and the next challenge is about embracing that audience! what if no one reads your zines, something that’s entirely possible. well there’s plenty you can do about that.

FIRST. cultivate zine community. read other people’s zines! talk to them about their zines! this greatly increases the chance that they will do the same for you. don’t go in expecting reciprocity; do it for its own sake, but it’s a great place to start. try asking people at zine fests if they’d be willing to trade with you, for instance.

SECOND. write for yourself. it’s cheesy but it’s true. you really have to. if you’re not proud and happy with what you’re making on its own merits, what’s the point. now because this is a cop out tip, i’m not counting it as a tip on its own.

so SECOND PART TWO. make your zines more accessible. if they’re not free, make them free—yes, you deserve to be compensated for your work, but it’s up to you to decide if you want a bigger audience first. if your zines aren’t short, make them shorter. make them short enough that you can post their entirety on social media or something else easy for your audience to consume. it’s a big ask sometimes to get someone to download your pdf! if they’re physical, hand them out to people you meet. remove all the barriers to entry.

THIRD. related to this, change medium. if you’re not making physical zines, try printing them out. if you’re not making digital zines, try digitizing them. both of these offer access to new audiences and new people who might be more interested in one form than another.

i hope these thoughts encourage you to make a zine! if you do, please let me see it. i love reading zines.

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jamneuromain · 7 months

Note

Hey honey! I'm loving your bingo challenge<3

So I want to send in a request for Steve Rogers for the prompt 'ugly duckling'

So basically Steve meeting readers family and friends, and the running joke is how reader bagged an Greek god looking man like him despite being not so pretty. He soon understands why reader was first hesitant and a bit surprised when he asked them out. But Steve takes a stand for them in front of everyone and call them out on their behaviour and all the fluff! Please feel free to change anything you like or ignore the request if it's not worth it! Thank you so much! I love your fics💙

Hi hon <3

I feel so much about the "ugly duckling" so I added a little bit of "horrible family actions" that I've seen. I hope you'll enjoy this!

Make an Impression

Steve Rogers x You

Warning: Ugly Duckling, shaming from all aspects, bad language word(?)

Summary: Steve was nervous about meeting your family - your larger family, that is.

A/N: My eighth entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

"What if they don't like me?" Steve whispered in horror as he looked at himself in the mirror.

"They will love you." You stood on the tip of your toes and kissed his cheek, "Seriously, my mom thought I'd be single for life. So she is already way beyond happy that I'd be taking someone home for this traditional festival."

Steve mumbled a "yeah", before turning to you, "I really want to make a good impression." He almost knotted his brows into a bun, "Any tips on how to be the best boyfriend?"

"You are the best boyfriend there is." You help flipping his collar in place. He was so nervous about meeting your family that he tried on five different ties for over a dozen times, leaving his collar a mess, "You'd be helping out... I think. And you definitely do not need a tie to suffocate yourself when you're helping out. They will love you." You emphasized the idea that your family would welcome him one more time, shrugging, "Just try not to answer any questions when my aunties and my grandma ask you about 'when are we having kids'."

"Kids?" Unfiltered panic filled his eyes.

"Um-hmm." You fiddled with the hem of his shirt, tucking it in place, "I know, we aren't even planning anything yet. Still, they love to do that. They'd be scheming when we're having our fifth kid with or without our help."

Steve swears he is sweating like a fountain.

"Smile. Tell them we're enjoying our solidarity. And you will be fine." You threw him a sympathetic look, "Tell them about your military stories. That would distract them enough."

You hoped your boyfriend would survive under your ruthless (or so you believe) aunties.

"C'mon. Mom said we should be there by 11 to help her cook lunch." You kissed his cheek again, "You'll do fine."

"Not quite sure about that." Steve muttered. If confidence could be measured from 1 to 10, he'd be negative a hundred by now.

You thought your aunties - your father's sisters - would be hogging Steve until he was going to have a panic attack, asking about your relationship or about his family three generations ago. But within an hour, you heard that he was able to make all of your aunties laugh with joy by telling some interesting stories in the barracks, while your mother kept you in the kitchen to help her around.

Help with cleaning. Not cooking.

After an hour and a half, your grandmother pulled an ancient photo book out of nowhere and started to show him your baby photos.

With pots of traditional dishes simmering over the stove, you were finally able to get a break from your mother's accusations of "not practicing homemaking" and escape to your boyfriend.

At which point, the photo album was only about one-quarter through, and your aunties had just started the chapter where you were 4 or 5.

"...now this." Your grandma chuckled and shook her head, "This was precious. She has always been the not-so-good-looking one among my grandkids. Hasn't changed about that. See her skin? And the hair? Her cousins tried almost everything to help her look better."

Yes. By "help" she meant that your cousins, who were not that older than you, shoved you around like a doll, pinning all their least-favorite hair bands and hair pins onto your head, and giving you ridiculous "make-overs".

The kind of "make-over" some 6-year-olds could achieve.

While your male cousins ignored you.

Some of them still did.

You didn't mind.

Your family isn't exactly the tightest bun in the world. You tried avoiding them until important family-gathering activities such as this one. Because they would criticize everything from your clothing to your work. And probably also tell your boyfriend that you are not that good.

"And what are you wearing?" One of your aunties eyed you disapprovingly, gasping as if she had just seen you. Even though you have been helping cleaning and cooking for at least sixty minutes, "Sweetie, your ass is going to rip your jeans. Why not sportspants? They are definitely more comfy. Could help cover your thick thighs too. Honestly, how you are able to date... him-" She gestured at Steve, "is baffling."

"That hair..." Another auntie tutted as loud as she could, "So messy, my dear. Have you tried conditioner? My boy brought back a bottle of L'OREAL conditioner from Paris and it has been working wonders. "

Third auntie chirped up helpfully, "Must have been that awful job, cutie pie. I told you that you should be working closer to home, not driving three hours to see your family. That incompetent husband of mine recently opened up a factory and we'd be happy to arrange a desk job for you. Smaller pay, but closer to home. What could a ton of money do anyway if you can't see your family every week-"

That's enough bullshit for you for a day. You'd rather drown yourself with mud than listen to them criticize from head to toe.

"I think that's my phone." You forced a smile, getting up as fast as you could, "I'm gonna go check."

"See, I told you a busy job can do you no good..." One of your aunties yelled behind your back, before gossiping in a low voice with others.

What you didn't see (or hear, for that matter) is that Steve apologized swiftly, leaving the couch and following you.

Eight months ago

Steve accompanied Bucky to his graduation ceremony that day. Being around the same age, they chose a path in the military at the start, though Bucky had a severe injury to his left arm and had to leave the sergeant program after only a few months. After some rehabilitation and trying a handful of jobs, Bucky decided to head back to university and study criminal law in order to become a police officer, or a district attorney if he's not fit for police work anymore.

Steve, on the other hand, was luckier. He stayed in the sergeant program and got assigned to the States right before Bucky's graduation. After three tours and a surgery to collect bomb shells from his leg, the Army decided he could be a drill sergeant on the New Jersey Base, responsible for training new recruits before shipping them overseas.

Anyhow, Steve pulled Bucky into a big hug when the ceremony was over. He whistled and nearly clapped his hand numb as Bucky beamed at him in a black graduate gown.

"I guess I'm the smarter one of us now." Bucky smiled coyly, punching Steve in the chest, "And the luckier one too." As he fished a cute girl in gown by her wrist and introduced her, "This is my girlfriend Wendy. Wendy Stone. Wendy, Steve."

She reached out shyly to shake his hand, "Hi Steve. I've heard a lot about you."

And as if Bucky was the magnet, attaching people like coins in a line, you slipped through the crowd patting Wendy on her shoulder, "Your phone. You almost forgot - Hi Bucky, I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

Bucky's palm flew to his forehead, gasping out in shock, "Damn. I haven't introduced you two yet. Steve, this is Y/N, Wendy's cousin. Y/N, this is my best pal Steve."

Five months ago

You had hung out with Steve a couple of times, but only in the presence of Bucky and Wendy. Wendy and you shared the same apartment, so it was nearly inevitable for Steve to bump into you when looking for Bucky, or Bucky asking both of you to join Game Night for you four to know each other well.

Steve grew fonder of you, nonetheless. He loves the laughter whenever you hear a silly joke; he loves the way you make a face to him whenever Bucky and Wendy getting all gooey and clingy, making both of you feel like the third and fourth wheel; he loves your optimistic and can-do attitude, whether it was Wendy having a bad day at work, or when the pipe burst in your apartment.

Before he opened his mouth that day, sharing a pot of coffee with Bucky during the quiet morning of a Sunday. Bucky cut him off, saying Steve's line, "You should ask her out."

"You think I should?" He gulped nervously, counting the larger bubbles on his coffee.

"Dude, why do you think I've asked you on these game nights stuff?" Bucky snorted into his mug, "You practically glued your eyes to her the day you met. It's hard not to notice."

"Thanks...?"

"Don't thank me yet, punk. I've asked Wendy about her. She's one tough-" Bucky paused before continuing, mulling over the semantics, "Is it degrading to say son-of-a-bitch? Because Wendy said the exact same words. Anyway, according to Wendy, she doesn't really date a lot. And her work is crazy as hell. Plus, they came from the same family, cousins from their mother's side. They are a hard-to-please bunch of people, and Wendy heard that her father's side was even worse."

Steve didn't really take the last line into consideration back then. Still, asking you out was one hell of a mission, worse than the tour he had in the middle of some desert. It took some persuasion and some more coaxing ("good-measured coaxing", Bucky insisted) to get you on the first three dates. But from that point forth, everything has run smoothly, until now.

"You alright?" Steve closed the door behind him. Your tiny room seems smaller with his broad shoulders larger than the door frame.

"Yeah." That's a lie. "Another few hours and we'll be left alone." You swept away the invisible dust on your jeans, murmuring.

That's why you don't like your relatives. The smell of grease and tobacco rose from the backyard where the men were drinking and smoking, more revolting than the way you remembered.

Steve pursed his lips tightly into a line, "Are they always like this?"

You huffed out an unamused laugh, "At least we were related. You should have seen how they treated my mom."

"That's why she's in the kitchen?"

An unimpressed glare threw in his direction, "She enjoyed that, believe it or not. Cooking and cleaning and homemaking." Raising your chin towards the kitchen, "Blamed me about 'not doing my part' just now."

"Why don't you-"

"Stand up against them?" You knew what he meant. You did. You tried. But they would always accuse your mother of not "teaching you properly".

"They are bullies, Steve." You shrugged, pretending that it didn't bother you at all, "They'd do anything to make sure we get all those nasty comments. And the moment any one of us stand up against them, they'd ask my parents to force me to apologize."

Steve crossed his arms, furrowing his brows again.

"Look, my mom is ... old-school. So are all of them. She nags a lot but she'd be sad if I'm not here to support her during this family reunion. But reunion means all of them, so..." You held his wrist, resting your head on his shoulder, "family comes first."

He took you into his arms, landing a kiss on your forehead.

You craned your neck to smile sweetly at him, as if nothing had happened, "Let's get back to the living room before they mock me for being a baby about it."

Surprisingly, for one full hour, they weren't able to make a comment about you - plenty of comments about Steve since your three cousins had arrived. More comments about your cousins. Gossips about their neighbors. Judgements thrown around on their men and your mother's cooking.

"... your daughter better have clarity on herself." Your grandmother pointed at your mother, drunk on her third cup of wine, her words slurring, "Steven....s Steve, here, is way out of her league. And she needs to maaaarry him before some s... ska... skank butts in."

Your mother eyed you, mouthing silently, asking you to eat rather than reply, before coming up with a polite smile, "Of course. But young people have their own opinions on marriage, and I suppose it's only fair that they figure it out themselves."

One of your aunts waved her fork too hard, sending a piece of chicken into the air, "Oops. Ma's right. And you need to have a kid soon, sweetie. Marry him, and have a kid. Your body is a ticking clock. Don't turn deaf towards it."

"I'm surprised you were able to get a boyfriend, let alone... this." Another aunt gestured at Steve, "You've never been the pretty one, cutie pie, and you sure ain't now."

You put your hand on Steve's thigh to calm him. You could feel his muscles tensing and his jaw clenching, not so subtly. You shook your head lightly.

Don't give them what they want. You hoped you were able to convey the message.

"Oh my oh my," the last aunt chuckled, "we are not going to witness some cheesy scheme of renting a boyfriend here, are we? I heard from my daughter Jean that it's quite popular these days. You know, it's not that embarrassing not to have a boyfriend, I mean, we all thought that way-"

Jean, being one of your cousins sitting by the table, chose to munch her food in silence rather than responding to your aunt.

"That's enough." Steve placed his napkin on the table, folded it back into a triangle before he spoke, "All of you." His rigid tone from the military days seeped into his voice, having the conversations on the table stop for the moment. Taking your hand beneath the table, he watched every person on the table with a serious expression, "Our relationship is none of your business, and so is her appearance. I see a beautiful, strong, independent woman, and I pity you for none of you were able to see her the way I do. Because you were so focused on yourselves, comparing everything about you to make you feel less pathetic. "

A brief pause.

"You didn't say anything about your daughter owning a clothing store, inherited from you, that barely gets by." He looked at the aunt who called you "fat".

"No one said anything about your son stuffing potato chips in his mouth and being unemployed, still taking expensive trips with your pension, because he's the son in the family." He points at the aunt who called you "cheap".

"And finally, you know damn well that husband of yours is having his third secretary-mistress. Since that's all the rest of you could hint about this afternoon." He directed at the aunt who thought you weren't "homemaker" enough.

"I hope you'll have the day you deserve." He spat out, standing from the table, asking for your hand.

For the first time today, your eyes sparkled with light. Gladly taking his hand, your rose from the table. Not minding if you have shoved your chair backwards too hard or the sudden movement is not "lady" enough.

"Mom, I'll come visit next week. Promise." A big smile raised the corner of your lips, waving your mother goodbye while the rest of the table watched in silence.

You still had trouble believing this when you got in your car. Steve immediately pulled you into a hug, nudging your neck with his cheek.

"Not so scared about 'impressing' my family now, huh?" You joked, tugging the end of his blonde hair lightly.

"They're going to hate me and you after I dumped every scandal on them." He mumbled apologetically, "Sorry, I hate bullies."

"No." You signed, "I should've be braver and just ... cut them off."

"You did the best you could." He kissed your shoulder gently, looking into your eyes, "You are everything I've dreamed of, and I meant everything I said at the dining table. You are incredible."

"Hold your proposal, Rogers." You teased him, seeing his ears turn into beet-red as you mentioned "proposal", poking his chest with your index finger, "You aren't on your knees yet and I'm not having five babies without five carats."

Steve's face flushed with a shade of pink, looking like a total turnip if it wasn't for his blonde hair. "Five babies???" He gulped, and then, "Does that mean we're having ten babies if I buy a ten-carat now?"

It was your turn to be stunned speechless. Only when he was grinning madly did you realize he was messing with you too. Laughing with tears, you fell into his embrace, "Steven Grant Rogers, you are a horrible person."

A few laughs bubbled from his chest as you leaned back in your seat and buckled your seat belt, "You'll get used to it." He started the engine and changed the subject, "I didn't have much food in your house. Mind if we stop by at the new Burger joint and order something?"

"I almost forgot how awful my mom's cooking is." You set your phone on navigation mode and put it on Bluetooth speaker, chuckling, "I'm starving. Let's go."

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mitsuyeaah · 1 year

Text

MUSE

SHUJI HANMA x f! reader

"pictures of the old us got me feelin’ older. i just thought you should know i never wanted closure but you had no problem leavin’, now i’m the one to feel it."

cw: photographer! hanma, angst, smut, oral (m receiving), nsfw (mdni), slight fluff, mentions of break up, hurt/no comfort, pet names (baby, doll, princess), swearing

word count: 6.1k

a/n: italicized paragraphs indicate the past!! :”) © divider: animatedglittergraphics-n-more

“Aaand, that’s all for today! I will send you a link for the pictures you’ve chosen after touching them up.” Shuji mused, looking up at his client from the chair he sat on, one hand on the mouse from scrolling through a collection of photographs he had recently taken. His client, a famous one at that, thanked and bid him goodbye before leaving his studio.

Finally.

Shuji leaned forward and propped his elbows on his desk, letting out a sigh he had been holding in since the session started while slowly massaging his temples. The client that booked him for today was unforgettable, today’s model–Hakkai Shiba– that he took photographs of was fine but it was his manager that made the shoot a little more complicated than it should have been.

Usually, his clients would give him the liberty to express his art and skills through the photographs he’s taken with a brief background of how they want the photos to turn out, and that was fine because it still gave him enough room to incorporate his ideas into each photograph taken. But Hakkai’s manager had asked more than he’d expected. This was fine by Shuji as it challenged him more than usual–and he had to thoroughly think of his next move–but it just overwhelmed him.

Just a bit.

He wasn’t usually like this during his booked sessions as he needed to be in his best mentality, mind cleared from any non-work related distractions but today was different. Shuji had somehow let his feelings get the best of him and is probably the reason why he’s blaming his client’s manager for feeling more stressed and on-edge.

It was a bittersweet day for him.

Shuji managed to bag a very famous model today, which meant the pay that came with it was also going to be good but today was also a very important one at that, well, it used to be important. Not anymore.

You and him were supposed to be six years today. Six years of loving each other, six years of waking up next to one another, six years of unforgettable memories. All was well, until one day last year, you decided to throw all those years down the drain like it was nothing, years wasted, just like that. You left him all alone in your shared apartment and took a piece of him that he knew he was never going to get back.

Now, he tried moving on with his life despite the gaping hole where his heart used to sit, beating for you, and you only.

Shuji cursed under his breath before opening the last drawer of his desk and reaching for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, upon doing so, he spotted a memory card in a transparent case which was underneath the cigarettes. He furrowed his brows, trying to wrack his brain around what it could be since it had no label on it.

The memory card was clearly used as it had a sticker attached on the case that he’d usually put when the card was full. He held a cigarette between his lips and lit it up, taking a long drag, savouring the way it filled his lungs before puffing out the heavy smoke and reaching for the mysterious memory card.

Wisps of smoke surrounded his workspace as he grabbed the camera—that was connected to his computer—which sat next to his computer and changed out its memory card with the one he’d found. Shuji grabbed his mouse and hastily exited the application that housed the collection of photographs he had taken today and clicked on the new icon that had popped up on his desktop.

He wasted no time and dragged the cursor of his mouse to where the icon was before coming to a sudden halt, the cursor hovering the icon, waiting to be clicked. Shuji sucked in a sharp breath as he read the name of the icon, ‘My Muse’, his heart skipped a beat at the name, he only had one muse. His one and only muse.

You.

He leaned back in his chair, contemplating whether to click it or not. He didn’t know whether opening the file was a good idea or a bad one, he sighed and took another long drag of his cigarette, leaning his head back before putting it out and leaving it in the ashtray.

Fuck it, he thought and opened the file. He didn’t know what kind of contents it housed but that wasn’t a reason for him to be this nervous about diving into the mysterious memory card.

The application quickly opened, loading a collection of photos. Of you, and there were many.

The computer screen showed the very first set of photos in the memory card, it was when Shuji was still in college starting out his Arts degree. He clearly remembered taking these photos like it was yesterday and internally cringing at some of them, some photographs were out of focus, some had the subject moving too quickly, and some were blurry in a way that he knew were caused by shaky hands.

“Come on, please? Just this once! I really really need a subject for this assignment.” Shuji practically begged on his knees, both his hands encasing one of your hands and shaking them as he looked at you with desperation.

You sighed and briefly closing your eyes before meeting his expectant gaze, his golden eyes glimmering with hope, “Shuji, I already told you… I am too busy typing up lab reports to be taking photos. Just go find someone else, plus, I’m not even photogenic .”

Apparently, Shuji had an assignment where they needed to photograph a live subject while focusing on some factors such as light and contrast while also emitting emotion from the still photographs. They were free to choose any concept as long as it closely followed the rules stated.

The tall man in front of you huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking over to the side to avoid your gaze, “But I want you to be my subject.” you could see a slight pink tinting his cheeks. He was adorable. Shuji turned his head back to you, looking defeated, “Just this once! I promised I won’t bother you about it again. Please? For your boyfriend?”

And how could you say no to that?

Later that night, Shuji had come into your dorm, a camera bag evidently slung over his shoulder and a laptop tucked on his side. He sat on your bed, fiddling with his digital SLR camera to sort out its settings so the photographs came out exactly how he wanted them; with you typing up your lab report in mind, Shuji decided he wanted to do a concept that all students closely related to.

Pulling an all-nighter. That was going to be his concept.

He wanted to photograph you while you typed your lab report. He wanted to capture the raw emotions of his subject going through the different stages of studying, the concentration, the thinking process, the stressing out, and the procrastination while also incorporating the play of light.

“Okay, just do your thing. Pretend like I’m not here at all.” he whispered, as if this was some kind of sacred moment. You nodded at his instructions and focused on your laptop in front of you, the lab report document already pulled up.

Shuji shuffled around you, trying to get the best angles that captured both the atmosphere and your emotions well, you heard the soft clicks of the shutter but paid no mind to it as it didn’t distract you as much. He also played around with the lamp that you had on, pointing it in certain angles that casted harsh shadows upon your face or illuminating the features that he had grown to love.

At first, you felt tense under the constant attention you gained but Shuji didn’t fail to calm your mind.

You had to hold yourself back from smiling as the constant quiet praises he gave you, giving occasional ‘Ooh yes, that’s a good pose. It really shows how stressed you are’, ‘I like that’, ‘Nice’ and other praises just like photographers seen in movies would do so. You knew he did those to reassure you that you were doing a good job for him, despite not claiming to be photogenic.

It didn’t take long before Shuji was satisfied with the photographs he took, finding some hidden gems amongst the collection of photos. You both looked at the shots on his laptop, laughing at some that looked funny, “I like this a lot, you made me look so pretty.” you giggled, leaning onto his shoulder as you circled his waist with both your arms.

“Hmm? No, no, it’s all you baby. But if that’s the case, then I might just make you my muse, huh?”

Shuji smiled at the old photographs of you. God, you looked so young and cute, he always liked photographing you when you were off-guard because of how real your emotions came out in the shots.

He looked at the last photo from that night, the light illuminating your features which produced a stark contrast against the dark background behind you. The photo showed you staring off to one side, chin rested on your palm and a small pout on your lips. Shuji remembered how he accidentally blurted out ‘so pretty’ as he looked through the viewfinder of his camera, it made you blush. He always liked making you blush, he liked how he could pull out such reactions from you.

Shuji scrolled further down the collection and stopped at a different set of photographs that captured his eyes. It was a group of black and white portrait shots of you, your features enhanced with makeup. You were definitely a little older here, probably during the time he was just starting out his own business of being a professional photographer.

These were one of the many photographs that he had up on his website gallery to familiarise potential customers more about his work and how he expressed his skills. Shuji rested his chin on his palm and clicked a photo, it showed a typical portrait photo of you, back straight, shoulders rolled back and facing the camera smiling.

It was the weekend, which meant that it was a time for relaxation and lounging around the apartment after doing some chores. You lazed on the couch, mindlessly scrolling and switching between social media apps, stopping at certain posts that piqued your interest.

Shuji waltzed into the living room, yawning loudly before slumping right beside you on the couch, head resting on your shoulders and an arm slinging around your front as he peeked at the screen of your device. “Can I ask you something?” he mumbled. You knew that tone, it was the one he used when he wanted something you couldn’t say no to.

“Lemme guess, another shoot?” you chuckled, placing your phone face down on your chest and slightly turned to look at your boyfriend. Shuji chuckled, “You know me so well.”

That’s what he liked about you so much, you could read his body language so well and he appreciated that a lot. He might’ve lied when he told you the first time that he wasn’t going to bother you again with his shoots back when you were in freshman college, because he clearly couldn’t get enough of you and your beauty.

You were Shuji’s favourite subject after all.

It made sense that it was going to be photographs of you plastered on his gallery website because to him, you were the epitome of beauty. You may not be flawless nor perfect in your eyes, but he loved every single thing about you. He loved how your expressions were always so genuine while you stood in front of the lens every single time because you always saw yourself as a non-photogenic person.

“Okay, let's take a break.” Shuji removed the camera from his face and walked over to his desk to set it down. You two were currently at his newly bought studio—that was still under construction— and he had set up a white backdrop and some lights for the shoot. You hopped off the stool you were sitting on and stood behind your boyfriend who now sat in front of his computer, surveying the black and white photographs of you.

Shuji whistled as he looked at them one by one, “You always give me the brightest and most genuine expressions. I love it so much, baby. So pretty.” he chirped, looking over his shoulder, his singular long gold earring swaying with the movement. You met his golden gaze that was filled with amazement and love that made you blush, you waved a hand, brushing him off, “It’s because you’re the one behind the camera. When someone that handsome is looking at me, I can’t help but do so.”

Now it was Shuji’s turn to blush. He shook his head and chuckled softly, “Come here.” he whispered as he pulled you onto his lap and securely wrapped an arm behind you. “Not to be sappy but… I’m really glad you’re still with me.” He started off, his expression turned into a sullen one.

“I know my career didn’t really start off stable and it’s just so competitive, too. I really appreciate you for sticking with me through ups and downs of my life, fuck, you even helped me pay for this studio. I’m grateful for you because if it was anyone else, I don’t know if they’d stick around longer than you.” Shuji’s sudden confession took you by surprise, he was never really one to be sappy and openly confess his feelings like this.

It made your heart ache thinking that Shuji thought other women would leave him for his unstable career path, his career definitely didn’t define him as a person. He had so much love to give you and that’s all that mattered, you were there with every up and down of his life because he deserved to experience it with someone he loves.

He had let you know countless times how stupid he felt for choosing such a career that didn’t exactly guarantee the future he wanted. Shuji was scared of the fact that he might not be able to provide enough for your future but you’ve reassured him countless times that you two were going to get through this together.

“God, Shuji, you know I don’t only see you for your career. I helped you pay for this studio because I saw how passionate you are with your work and I know people will soon appreciate that, and I will be there with you when that happens. I will be there cheering you on when that gallery exhibition you’ve been dreaming about finally comes to you.” You cupped his face, giving him a smile that calmed his heart down.

Shuji deserved everything in the world and you wanted to let him know that. He had been dreaming about wanting to host an exhibition to showcase his works as far as you could remember. You remember him telling you about it, a hopeful glint in his honey coloured eyes that made you want to follow him to the edge of the world.

If you could, you would pay to see his hard work finally paying off.

Shuji remembered this day. This was the day he asked you to be his subject for the photographs he was going to put up on his website. He also remembered how you reassured him that you were going to be there with every step of the way.

How ironic, he thought.

If only you knew back then that your words basically contradicted the situation now. Now, he was all alone, you weren’t by his side anymore. You didn’t cheer him on anymore, even after being sought out by many famous models and companies because of his excellent work.

Is this what it felt like to be alone at the top?

Being surrounded by so many people that absolutely adored his work but the one person that he did it all for didn’t even care anymore. The one person he strived to work hard for was gone.

Now that he finally had his work recognized, where were you?

Shuji let out a heavy sigh, propping his elbows on his desk and burying his face into his hands. It’s already been a year since you two broke up but why was he still this broken? Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of you and how he would never be able to feel your warm touch again, how he would never see your pretty face first thing in the morning and how he would never look forward to tomorrow because you weren’t there anymore.

The thought of you not being by his side broke him. He wanted to grasp something that he couldn’t.

Were you doing well these days? Do you still think about him? Questions ran through his mind. But the most important one of them all caused a tear to run down his face, have you already found someone else? Someone who loves you more than he does?

You probably did. You were a gem and he was sure no man would be able to resist you. On the other hand, he was all alone, still expecting you to come by his studio and wrap your hands around him. Shuji was still hoping for something that he knew was completely foolish and impossible.

But it never harmed anyone to dream.

He was about to exit the folder of photos until he caught a glimpse of a certain set of photos at the bottom row. He scrolled down to see the entirety of the collection, eyes widening at it. He sucked in a sharp breath before clicking on one of them, the application enlarging it which showed rather interesting poses of you in a racy lingerie.

His eyes darted everywhere. Fuck, you looked so sexy. You were lying on your front, chest rested and arms crossed on top of the arm rest of your sofa, feet kicked up, sporting black stilettos and back sexily arched while looking straight at the camera with a sultry expression.

You deliciously filled out the black lingerie you were wearing, the way it hugged your body in all the right ways caused Shuji to swallow thickly. This was the day he wanted to try something new, not just portraits, not just fashion photography, something more fun. Of course he’d only try it with you, and only you.

This photo was sometime around last year, a couple of months before you two broke up.

“A what?” you almost spat your morning coffee out. “A boudoir shoot. It would be fun!” Shuji took a sip out of his mug, throwing you a sly look while wiggling his brows. You playfully rolled your eyes at him, “Yeah, for you, pervert.” you chuckled.

“I don’t sense any disagreement though.” “You don’t even have to ask, you know I’ll say yes.”

“Oh good, cause I already know what you’re going to wear.” Shuji gave you a smirk before jumping up from his chair and practically sprinting to your shared bedroom, your eyes trailing him, confusion seeping in.

Shortly after, he came back out with a medium-sized white box and a distinct black bow tied around to seal it. Shuji carefully set the box next to your coffee and looked at you with expectant eyes, a saccharine smile forming on his pink lips, “Open it.”

You didn’t bother asking him what was inside because you knew he’s stubborn and would rather want you to find out by opening the box, you reached for one end of the black bow and pulled on it to untie it and placed your hands on the lid of the box and took it off, revealing the contents of it.

Amongst the white tissue paper, there lay a black lace lingerie set that you knew was barely going to cover anything. From the looks of it, it was a halter-bra that sported a very generous opening right in the middle of it, which would gloriously expose even more skin of the wearer. The set also came with matching panties and a suspender belt—which consisted of a small white bow in the middle of the garter—with opaque black thigh high socks.

Of course you weren’t new to these types of clothing and owned some yourself but this was completely different. It was sexy, very sexy. You don’t even know if you could pull the whole look off but the gaze Shuji was giving reassured you that it would compliment your body just fine, splendidly, even.

Shuji didn’t even give you enough time to examine the intricateness of its design before eagerly pushing you into the bathroom of your shared bedroom to try it on while he got his equipment ready.

It took you quite a while to put on the halter-bra due to the large opening right at the centre but you managed to put the set together without ripping the delicate fabric. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, the opening right on the middle of the bra was bigger than expected and exposed your inner breast area. The lacy panties barely covered anything and you weren’t going to lie, you liked the way it complimented your ass.

The suspender belt along with the opaque thigh high socks were the selling point and probably the reason why Shuji had picked this set without any hesitation. You knew Shuji was a sucker for the way thigh high socks tightly wrapped around your upper thigh, it did things to him to the extent where during your intimate times, he would leave them on, if you were wearing one.

You opened the bathroom door and poked your head out to see Shuji patiently waiting on your bed, equipment already in place. He was going all out for your boudoir shots, he even had his old reflectors set up and pointed at the bed—where you would be posing, you guessed—Shuji noticed you and stood up, eagerly telling you to show him how it looks.

Your palm instinctively covered the exposed area on your chest as you stepped out, you weren’t insecure about anything since Shuji had seen your body in its entirety but you were rather shy since it had been a while since you wore a lingerie set.

The tall man in front of you sucked in a sharp breath as he took your whole body in. He was at a loss for words, you were fucking beautiful. It looked like it was made for you with how well it hugged your body, he swore he felt himself getting hard by just the sight of you.

“Baby, you look so beautiful.” He gaped, softly tugging away the hand that covered your chest, Shuji leaned down and kissed at your exposed skin, earning a small sigh of content and making you shiver. “Shouldn’t we start the shoot first before doing anything? Or have you changed your mind?” You chuckled, slightly pushing him away by the chest, a teasing look on your face.

“Fuck, you’re right.” He breathed out, running a hand through his hair.

“Get on the bed for me and lie down with your head resting near the foot of the bed and cross one knee over the other—yeah, just like that. Try to place one arm near your head and give me a sultry expression.” Shuji instructed and you closely followed his instructions.

Your boyfriend shuffled around the bed, fixing your hair and the sheets to maximise the outcome of the photo.

You managed to pose several times on the bed, eventually incorporating black stilettos as well to amplify the sexy look. One of Shuji’s favourite shots were of you lying on your stomach, an elbow propped on the mattress and chin resting on your palm as you gave him a sultry look. Your feet were kicked up in the air and the black panty hooked on one heel of the stiletto. It was truly a sight.

The bed wasn’t the only location Shuji took photographs of you in, you two basically explored the whole apartment. From sexily posing on the couch to pressing your body against the wet walls of the shower and with every click of the shutter, Shuji grew harder.

He couldn’t help but admire the way your body seductively posed in different ways, the way your back arched the same way it would while he was fucking you. Fuck, he couldn’t help his dirty thoughts.

There was no hiding the fact that Shuji had a painful tent evident in his pants, you also saw the way his gaze changed as the shoot progressed further, his honey eyes that were once filled with enthusiasm now clouded with lust. His breathing also became shallow and he gripped his camera a little harder each time he had to move around to take photos as his hard cock would painfully rub against his clothing.

“Do you need help with that?” You smirked, looking down at the tent in his pants before meeting his lustful gaze. “Fucking hell, come here.” Shuji loudly set the heavy camera on the sink before pulling you into him and roughly kissing you against the counter of the sink.

His kisses were rough and desperate, just how you liked them. Shuji didn’t hesitate running his big hands all over your exposed body, from your hips to your waist and even up to your chest. He settled for your chest, massaging your breasts over the lacy fabric of the lingerie which earned a small whine from you.

The parting of your plump lips allowed Shuji to slip in his hot tongue, exploring the inside of your mouth and causing you to moan. “Fuck, can I rip this off already?” He whispered against your lips, fingers hooking on either side of the opening of the halter-bra.

He didn’t even give you any time to protest before completely ripping it apart. The bra now loosely sat on your chest and revealed your breasts as the ripped fabric rested on either side of your chest. Your boyfriend leaned down and sucked on the valley of your breasts while massaging each mound with a hand.

Shuji’s hands were big enough to encase the entirety of your breasts which made them easier to massage, it also felt a hundred times better due to the fact that he was able to squeeze and play with your breasts all in one go as it fit perfectly against his hands.

Your hands flew up to his hair, tugging at them as he sucked on your nipple, his tongue swirling around the bud, causing you to become even more sensitive to his touch, Shuji also slipped his hand underneath your breast and pushed it up to shove more flesh in his mouth, earning a loud moan as you threw your head back.

He groaned against your skin at the feeling of your hands roughly tugging at his hair, he made his way back up to your neck and peppered it with kisses and bruises, his mouth alternating between sucking, biting and kissing at the sensitive skin.

You pressed your hands on his chest and slightly pushed him away to break the kiss, you dropped down to your knees and reached for his pants, fingers hooking around the garter of his joggers and pulling it down to reveal his hard cock straining against his black underwear.

There was already an evident wet patch where his tip was as you palmed him through the piece of clothing, Shuji’s knees almost buckled at this and practically had to rest both his hands on the edge of the counter, effectively trapping you between him and the sink.

He hissed as you pulled his boxers down, his hard cock finally springing free from its confines. You gaped at his length, it was standing proudly and had an evident vein that ran down on one side—a vein that you often liked to trace with your tongue—and his tip an angry red with precum, waiting to be sucked on.

You trailed kisses along the vein that ran on the side of his cock, earning a desperate groan from Shuji, he gripped the edge of the counter a little tighter, knuckles whitening as you massaged his balls while peppering kisses all over his length. He loved it so much when you did that but it made him more desperate for your touch, more desperate for your mouth.

“Fuck, princess, just suck me off already.” he whined, one hand leaving the counter and down to your face, brushing out strands of loose hair that covered your face before resting against your cheek, thumb tenderly caressing your skin. You looked up at him and met his heavy-lidded gold eyes that were full of desperation, Shuji lifted up his shirt, biting at the seam so it wouldn’t get in the way.

God, you looked so pretty looking up at him like that, leaning into his palm while you kissed up his dick, hands still massaging his heavy balls. Shuji swore he could cum from this erotic sight alone. If only he could take a picture of you right now so he could savour this moment forever but he was too focused on the way your mouth moved against his dick to reach over the sink and grab his camera.

Shuji threw his head back with a loud groan as you finally put his tip inside your mouth and sucked on it hard, stiff tongue running up and down his precum-filled slit. He tasted salty but you didn’t care, you were used to it anyway.

Both his hands flew to your hair as you took his length into your mouth, inch by inch, his hips desperately bucking into your mouth and hands pulling at your strands, “Ah! Fuck, baby, that’s it—mhm! Take all of me like the champ you are.” Shuji groaned as he completely bottomed out the fabric of his shirt falling from his mouth, your nose made contact with his pubic bone along with his balls that sat against your chin.

Shuji was so fucking deep that you had to grip onto his thighs to ground yourself, “Breathe through your nose baby, I won’t go easy on you.” he whined at the way your mouth felt so hot against his dick. He slowly pulled out, his fingers tangled in your hair, gripping the side of your head before thrusting back in, setting slow deep thrusts into your mouth.

Soon, his thrusts sped up, hips desperately bucking into your face while his heavy balls slapped against your chin, Shuji couldn’t help but harshly grip and tug your hair from the pleasure that engulfed his tall body. He was so vocal. His mouth hung open and eyes tightly shut, endless profanities and pornographic moans rolling out of his mouth.

You could only sit there and take what he was giving you, all of it while you held his shirt up against his stomach. Endless tears rolling down your cheeks due to how deep he was going and jaw hurting at this size but you behaved like the good girl you were and tried your best to bring Shuji closer to his high by hollowing your cheeks. This made your mouth grip him tighter, earning a strained groan from him.

All kinds of dirty sounds could be heard throughout the apartment, from Shuji’s dirty talking and endless moans to the wet sounds of your mouth as he thrusted in and out of you.

You knew Shuji was nearing his climax with the way his deep groans turned into frequent light and airy breaths that ended in small whines, chest heaving with every breath that escaped past his lips.

“Ngh—ah! I’m cumming, doll! Take all of my fuckin’ load like the good girl you are—ah!” Shuji threw his head back, letting out a loud erotic moan and buried his dick deep inside your mouth and spurts of his thick cum ran down your throat. You rode out his orgasm by massaging his balls, squeezing and tugging at them, just how he liked it.

Shuji whined as he pulled out of your mouth, pulling you up and tasting him against your tongue. “Fuck, I love you so much.” he panted against your lips as he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

He exited the application before he ventured any further into your boudoir shots, he felt like he wasn’t allowed to view them anymore since you two were no longer together. Shuji let out another heavy sigh and leaned back into his chair, briefly looking up at the ceiling of his studio, before completely logging off and turning off his computer. He quickly packed up his things and closed up for the day.

He had a big day tomorrow.

Tomorrow was the day that he was hosting an exhibit to showcase his work in a gallery, the day he’s been dreaming about for as long as he could remember. Normally, he would be ecstatic and over the moon about his first exhibit but there was a missing piece in his chest and he knew you weren’t going to be there to cheer him on tomorrow.

No one was going to be reaching for his hand whenever he was hit with a wave of anxiety anymore.

—

The gallery was busy. The exhibit was open for the public eye, so many journalists and people that admired Shuji’s photography didn’t miss the opportunity to view the showcase of his work.

Each wall was plastered with different collections of photos he had taken throughout the years, accompanied with a little blurb at the bottom of the photograph to explain and give viewers a little insight about the certain picture.

Shuji walked through the gallery, people greeting and congratulating him on the success of his first exhibition, he tried his best to give out genuine smiles and ‘thank you’s’ but he couldn’t help but think back to the day where you told him you were going to be there cheering him on when the day he holds an exhibition finally comes.

The day finally came but where were you?

He stopped in front of a particular photograph, he couldn’t help but add the black and white portrait photo of you, the one where you had the most genuine expression, the one where you said you only had those expressions because he was the one behind the camera. The blurb under this photo was sweet and short, ‘My Muse.’

“You said you’d be here to cheer me on.” Shuji whispered to himself, scoffing as he looked up at your picture. A woman stood next to him as well, keenly viewing the photograph, a bit embarrassed for being caught talking to himself, he was about to silently walk away until the woman beside him spoke up.

“And I am. I never broke my promise.”

Shuji whipped his head to the woman next to him. It was you, his muse. His heart raced as his eyes darted across your features, the features that he had grown to love so much. He was at a loss for words, suddenly everyone else in the room disappeared and he only saw you, his ears tuning out every single sound that didn’t come from you.

Were you actually here? He wasn’t hallucinating, right?

He took your appearance in, all of it. Your hair was now shorter than he remembered and it was styled very differently from the way you wore it in the photograph on the wall and his heart sank, realising that the person he held onto in his memories and photographs no longer existed.

You looked so different now.

But you still had that genuine expression on your face as you met his gaze, this time you weren’t in front of the lens and he wasn’t behind the camera anymore. It was just the two of you, face to face and nothing in between. “I’m so proud of you, you know that, right?” You gave him a small smile before walking away, he wanted to run after you, take your hand in his and never let you go but he stood grounded in his spot.

Unmoving and unsure what to do.

Tears welled up in his eyes, his vision becoming a blur as he stared at your figure walking away from him for good, for the second time in his life. God, he has never hated seeing your back so much until now, he hated how you walked away and never even turned once to look at him.

It was so unfair. You were so unfair, how did you think that suddenly coming into his life again was going to do him any good? Shuji was back to square one, his heart ached and yearned for you more than ever.

It didn’t matter to Shuji anymore that you never broke your promise because you did something worse, you broke his heart.

#shuji hanma #hanma smut #hanma angst #hanma x y/n #hanma x you #hanma x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x reader

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aziraphales-library · 2 months

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Hello! I'm not looking for one specific fic, I was just wondering if there was any fics in which Aziraphale is being taught/learns how to use social media and funny things happen with it? thanks! (ps bless this blog so much, you guys are awesome!!!)

We have a #social media tag where you'll find fics of interest. Here are a couple specifically where Aziraphale uses and learns about it, most of which have been recommended before...

Coffee by ZephyrOfAllTrades (T)

Crowley gets the angel a phone. He discovers Tik Tok. And tried to do the "Kiss Your Best Friend" challenge.

Taking Some Pictures or Something by his_infinitevariety (G)

On a road trip to the South Downs Crowley gives Aziraphale his phone to take photos of the views. However, Aziraphale doesn't know how the phone works and spends all day accidentally posting to Crowley's Instagram story.

Twitter and Grindr by Literallymyusername (T)

Acting on advice from Maggie, Aziraphale procures his first mobile phone. (Set sometime in Season 3, probably.) - Aziraphale noticed that the app appeared to be missing the “e,” and was thus abridged to “Grindr.” Young people had no appreciation for the written word. It had been years since he had to carefully convince a human under the age of 40 to not purchase one of his books. Crowley insisted the change was due to Kindling, which Aziraphale thought was probably a manifestation of the demon’s trauma from a certain bookshop fire and the discorporation of his best angelic friend. He chose not to press the matter.

This Postcard Just to Say by Chash (G)

Crowley can think of loads of good reasons why Aziraphale might want to get a mobile phone. None of them turn out to be the actual reason, which is that Aziraphale wants to play Pokémon Go.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #social media #technology #mod d

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finelinevogue · 1 year

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never too late

summary - billy plays you a song and you fall in love with him a little more

pairing: bestfriend!billy x reader

word count: -1k

a/n: first ever billy dunne fic! it’s probably absolute crap but pretend you enjoy it anyways!!! also let me know whether you want a pt.2 cause this is just a taster!!!!

“I have something new.” Billy walked into your room and slouched down on your bed.

He leaned back against your headboard with his guitar strung over his chest ready to be played. His t-shirt was ridiculously sweaty from how hot it was out, the open window barely passing a breeze through.

You were sat at your desk, scrapbooking again. You loved making scrapbooks for each passing year and due to it being December it had come that time of year again, to have your photos developed and stuck in a book forever.

“When did you get here?” You laughed at his audacity to just waltz into your room. You hadn’t even heard him knock.

“Well your mom was talking about another friend she knows who can get us a gig for next Saturday. So, about 40 minutes ago.” He joked about how your mom would just talk and talk and talk…

You shook your head and gave him your undivided attention, by coming to sit on the corner of your bed next to his feet.

“So, you have something new?” You asked.

“Yeah.”

“Is it as political as the last one? ‘Cause I don’t think singing about how much you hate America is going to sell well.” You teased him, to which he responded by playfully kicking you with his foot.

“Actually, it’s a love song.” He sniffled, rubbing his nose with a finger - a nervous tick of his you’d noticed since forever.

You swallowed lightly, “O-oh. So you’ve got a muse, do you?” Your smile was small and Billy knew you well enough to tell just that.

“Is that so bad?”

“N-no. Aha, no not at all. What’s the song about?” You tried to steer the topic of conversation, before you ended up revealing your truest heart to him.

Billy Dunne could never know that your heart had always been his.

He just couldn’t. It was ruin everything.

“Well, they always say when the end of the year comes around you look back on the things that you regret not doing, saying… loving. So, I guess it’s a tribute to that feeling.” He looked at you with those big blue eyes and you were found all over again.

Falling in love with Billy had been easy.

Catching yourself from falling too hard, too quickly, has been the issue.

“Let’s hear it then.” You smiled more confidently, always excited to hear Billy sing. You often listened to the tape he had recorded for you before falling asleep, because it was all the acoustic versions of the songs that had never been produced further than that.

They were solely yours. That mixtape was your own personal slice of Billy’s heart, waiting to be played every night to let the love spill out of the music and into your own heart.

Billy started strumming the guitar and you were trying to memorise every note so that you’d never forget it. He smiled as he played, most likely thinking of the girl who he regretted not loving this year.

You watched him intensely, watching his fingers strum the guitar with precision and allowing the music to flow freely. It was a challenge not to smile in awe of him.

His lyrics were sad, but hopeful. It sounded like he was calling out to this girl and stressing there was still time for them. The year hadn’t ended yet and Billy sounded desperate to not finish the year without making sure she knew that. The melody was beautiful and catchy. No doubt you’d find yourself singing in every shower concert from now on.

Once he’d finished he looked towards you apprehensively to gauge your reaction. His brows furrowed when he saw you teary eyed.

“That bad, huh?” He chuckled briefly, trying to lighten the weird pressure in the room.

“No,” You rushed out, “God, no, Billy. Just, well– yeah…”

“Yeah, what?” He put the guitar down on the bed next to him and sat up so he was closer to your body. “Was it really awful?”

“Billy…” You rolled your eyes at how he could even suggest such a thing. Billy Dunne would and could never be awful at music. His lyrics, his melodies and his songs were always second to none.

Billy was made for the big stage and you dreamt every night that he would achieve those dreams. The day Billy performs for a crowd larger than 200 people will be the day you run on stage and kiss him for how much you love him.

“Hey.” He sat forwards a little more and took your hands in his. “What’s up?”

“The song was nice.”

“Nice? You’re upset because my song was nice?” He chuckled, finding that hard to believe.

“No, i’m… It’s just nice that you think of this person you wrote the song for in that way.” You looked into his eyes of ocean blue and fell a little bit more in love with him. You smiled and made sure he was smiling too.

He kept looking over your features of your face; scanning from eyes to nose to freckles to… lips. His eyes took in every inch of your face and yet all your could focus on where his eyes. Those beautiful eyes that told you a thousand different pictures on one canvas.

“Well, it turned out I more than love this person.” He smiled warmly, clearly thinking about this girl in his head.

“Why did you never tell me?”

Billy laughed a heavy gasp, turning his gaze towards the more interesting looking floor and collecting his thoughts before turning back to you.

“I.. I dunno.” He smiled.

“Well I hope you play this special person your song and I hope they fall in love with you too.”

“I just did.” Billy said quickly, almost as if he didn’t say it now he never would. It felt unplanned for him, but it felt right.

“W-what?”

“Shit - Aha - Did you fall in love with the song? With me?” He asked so quickly that your mind was not focusing properly. “I’ve fucked this all up haven’t I? Fuck. Y/N, listen I—”

“Billy, you love me enough to write me a song?” You asked quietly, your eyes gently tearing up again.

“Always kinda have.” He smiled.

“God…” You laughed to yourself.

“What?”

“I just.. I never thought you’d ever actually love me back!”

Billy’s smile turned wider and into a large grin, with eyes full of hope. “You mean?…” He looked expectantly at you.

“I love you, Billy Dunne.” You said once quietly and then repeated it louder for ask your neighbours to hear. You wanted everyone to finally know your declaration loud and proud.

You wanted everyone to know Billy could be the world’s icon, but he’d always be your heart.

#billy dunne fanfic #billy dunne fic #billy dunne #daisy jones x reader #daisy jones and the six #daisy jones and the six fanfic #the dunne brothers #the dunne brothers fic #daisy jones and the six x reader #billy dunne concept #billy dunne x reader

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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter four

well it’s love, make it hurt series

four: some place we can be ourselves

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: The Mandalorian buys you a present.

Warnings: BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, Dom!Din and sub!reader, soft Dom!Din, pain play, nipple play, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), collaring (collar in the moodboard is not completely what I wanted. tell me not to have it commissioned just for the purpose of a photo lol), some feelings

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 6: Collar, inspired by @absurdthirst's wonderful prompt list, without which I probably would not have written anything.

also on ao3

3 ABY - Fall

Neither of you were squeamish; you couldn’t be. Injuries were inevitable in your line of work. You had seen Mando burn his skin back together. He had seen you stitch up a gash on your leg.

So why was the slowly fading ring of bruises around your neck so hard for him to look at? Was he still mad about the botched job and your behavior that night? Or did it simply disgust him to see marks on you made by any other hand?

Whatever it was, he needed to get over it. The worst damage had been healed by the bacta spray on the first night, and you refused to waste more over bruising.

You were starting to get mad, now that you thought about it. You had just been examining the wounds in the mirror of the fresher. You had just gotten out, dried off, and dressed when you caught sight of your reflection.

You were up on your toes, neck craned to see around the sides. It was healing up nicely. You ran your fingers over the delicate skin, and it was far less tender. It was almost pleasant, the dull ache when you pressed on them.

Mando chose that moment to walk past. He stopped, staring at you for a half second, and hit the button to close the fresher door on you.

“Hey!” you smacked the door with your hand. “What was that for?”

But when it slid back open, the hull was empty.

You were heading out in the morning for a hunt, one that promised a challenge. As glad as you were for an interesting job, it also meant you and Mando were essentially hands-off until there was a new carbonite slab on the ship.

So really, he was going to have to get over it or live without getting his dick wet for another week. Given the voracity of his libido so far, the latter seemed unlikely.

While Mando putters around in the hull eating his dinner, you curl up in your seat in the cockpit with a book on the datapad. Your routine had settled quietly into this rhythm—he could eat without rushing, you could read without him groping at you, and you both got time alone. For two people who had been mostly solitary before, it was invaluable.

“I’m running into town,” he calls up the ladder.

“What? What for?” you yell back, but it's drowned by the pneumatics of the ramp. “What the fuck?” you say to the empty ship.

By the time he returned, the suns had set, and the moss-dripping trees outside were thick and dark. You had dozed off in your seat, feet tucked under you and head resting on your folded arms. The datapad had slipped down between your knee and the seat.

He shook your shoulder, and you stirred. Not for the first time, you marveled at how deep you could sleep here. How you had stopped flinching for your blaster. You blink up at him, a smile breaking out, until you remember why you had fallen asleep there.

“Hey, what the kriff was that? You just took off, like—” You helpfully demonstrate with a little wave of your hand and a whoosh.

He stares down at you, head cocked, hand still on your shoulder. “What’s with the outfit?” He waves a hand at you in what you're sure is a rude mockery of your previous gesture.

Oh, right. The outfit. It didn’t seem so clever now. You had wrapped yourself in an elaborate headscarf that hung over you like a hood with a tasseled cowl. And, well, nothing else. Your blanket had slipped when you sat up.

You were supposed to be waiting for him bare. Accessible. Ready. And to the little bratty voice in the back of your head that was so mad at him earlier, this was compliant. He didn’t say you couldn’t accessorize. It wasn’t denying him access to your body.

Right now, though, as he put a hand on one hip and glared down at you, it felt like maybe you were in trouble.

“I, um.” Stars, why did you think this was a good idea? You thought you could confront him about the bruises and maybe get a little roughed up in the process. And you would have enjoyed it earlier, but now, suddenly, it feels like you might cry if he yells at you.

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. You know when you’re being given a second chance, so you swallow hard and look back up at him.

“I’m sorry. I was kind of trying to push you, it seemed like a good idea, but I don’t want to anymore, I promise.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why did I want to, or why do I not want to?”

He sighs heavily. “Why did you want to?”

You look down at where the datapad is lodged, picking at the edge of the cushion with your nail. “I was trying to make you mad,” you mumble.

He tilts your chin up with a bare hand. You hadn’t even noticed him take the gloves off, but it feels so nice that you almost forget you're trying to talk your way out of trouble.

“Sweetheart. Why would you want me to be mad at you? If you want me to hurt you, all you have to do is ask nicely.”

At the low rumble of his wicked words, you no longer feel the cold of the cockpit. Your mouth waters, and you’re hyper-aware of how hard your nipples are, how exposed.

“I—kind of? No, I mean—” You can’t concentrate anymore. His finger that was stroking your cheek brushes across your bottom lip, and you open automatically, waiting. Begging. He pulls it away, and you whine.

“Hmm. Not yet. I want you to finish explaining yourself.”

“I had hurt feelings.” It punches out of you, and you’re mortified to realize it's the truth. You had been telling yourself you were mad, and maybe you were, but you had been lashing out like a hurt massiff.

Mando squats down beside the chair, and you turn, crossing your legs so you can face him. “What did I do that hurt your feelings, pretty girl?”

“It’s stupid, I’m being stupid. I’m—”

His hand snaps out, and unlike the gentle touch earlier, he grips your jaw tight before slapping you sharply across the face with his other hand. You yelp, more from surprise than pain.

“What have I said about that? Are you allowed to talk about yourself that way?”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“And why not?”

“Because I’m yours, and if I’m disrespecting myself, it means I’m disrespecting you.” It was a lesson you had learned over his knee on more than one occasion.

“Good girl. Now tell me why you’re upset.”

“It’s like you can’t even look at me anymore, when you can see my neck. I’m sorry I fucked up; I’m sorry it’s ugly. I thought if I covered it up, maybe, maybe…”

Your words die in your throat as he stands up off the floor, rubbing a tired hand over his helmet. He snaps his fingers, jerking a thumb toward the pilot seat. “Get up, c’mon, I’m not doing this here.”

You scramble to your feet, confused and a little scared. Doing what? Oh, kriff, what had you gotten yourself into?

“Grab your pillow, baby,” he called from across the room without looking.

You double back for it. He was settled in his chair when you reached him, so you let it fall with a soft thwomp before lowering yourself to your knees.

“Look at me,” he orders. “And take that off.”

Fuck. Someday you’d get it through your head and stop giving in to the urge to hide. He hated it, but it was one of the few holdups you still had.

When you obey, tossing the scarf out of sight, he reaches down and wraps his hand around the side of your neck, avoiding most of the bruising. “I didn’t look because I didn’t want you to be disgusted by me.”

You furrow your brow, opening your mouth to speak, but thinking better of it.

“You were so upset about what happened on that hunt. And I hate that it was someone else who put those there. But stars, baby, do you look beautiful all marked up. I want to sink my hands in until you’re wearing my fingerprints all the time.”

Your mouth falls open, throat dry, and you shift around on your knees. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What, no. Just. Fuck, that’s so hot.”

He leans back, studying you. “You know, I never want you to try something you’re not comfortable with just because it’ll please me.”

“I’m not, I swear. I couldn’t stop looking at them in the mirror and wishing it had been you.”

He swears darkly, leaning forward so suddenly you flinch back a little. His hand cups your cunt between your spread legs, and he swipes a finger through your folds and holds it up. It’s soaked. He chuckles. “Good girl,” and shoves the finger between your lips with no pretense.

You close your lips around the digit, sucking and watching him through wide eyes. You whine when he pulls it out.

“As much as I would like to mark you up, cyar’ika, it’s not safe. But I did have an idea for something almost as good.” He reaches into a pouch on his belt and holds up a strip of leather.

It doesn’t register right away. You stare at it and then at him. He holds it out to you flat on both hands, and you gasp. You've never seen one outside of the holos he's shown you, but you recognize it all the same.

The leather is soft and supple in the same brown as his bandolier. It has a simple double-loop closure. You run your fingers over it for a moment before he snatches it back to dangle it just out of your reach.

“I take it you like it.”

You hold your hands in your lap, biting your bottom lip and whining. He laughs and runs a hand through your hair.

“You want it, sweetheart? Want to wear my collar so everyone knows you’re mine?”

“Please,” you beg over and over.

“You are mine, right? My sweet, obedient girl.”

“Yes, sir, please. I’ll be so good for you.”

He laughs. “Of course you will, needy thing. You’re already all mine. Look at you, trying so hard to please me.”

Your face goes hot. After the last few months of him talking to you like this, you thought you’d stop being embarrassed, but it only seems to get worse.

“C’mere,” he says, voice softer as he leans back. “Want you up here so I can see.”

You scramble onto his lap, straddling him. He pulls you closer so your wet cunt smears where he strains against the flight suit, and you moan.

“Can I put it on you?”

You’re already whispering a litany of pleas before he finishes the sentence.

You stop breathing when he reaches around you, holding as still as you can. You want to feel every second of it. He gently lifts your hair out of the way to settle the strap behind your neck before pulling the ends to meet in the front. He slides it into place, tucking two fingers between the collar and your neck.

“How’s it feel, ner cyare?”

You don’t ask about the new Mando’a. He’s never told you what cyar’ika means, either. Not that you’ve asked. He says it with enough fondness that you trust it’s not mean, and this sounds the same. Not that you aren’t curious. But the only things you know about Mandalorians are things he’s told you of his own volition, and you’re afraid to push.

Your eyes are watering. You trace your fingers over the collar with shaky hands. You’re terrified, actually, because this feels like something heavier than the other ways you play. “I love it,” you whisper.

He tugs on it, yanking you closer to him, before pulling it back, grinning at the way you let your body be moved at his will. “I think I like this a lot.” He holds you in place with it, pinching and tugging on your nipples. He gives your tits a few sharp smacks to feel the way you jerk in his lap.

“Ready for me, baby?” he teases.

You know it’s rhetorical, especially given that he’s already pulled his cock out, but you moan a “yes, please, sir,” just to see the way it makes him twitch. He smacks your clit twice with the head of his cock and then just shoves it all the way in.

He tugs the collar, pulling you to bend forward at an awkward angle.

“Watch, pretty girl. Look how greedy your little pussy is. Look how well you take me.”

You can’t look away. He’s splitting you in half, the pressure sharp and incredible, but you’d never know it from the way your walls and lips are hugging his shaft, beckoning him in. He flicks your clit while you’re watching, but you still jerk back at the sting. You’re stopped short by the collar, and he laughs and does it again.

He pinches and twists at it while you make broken little sounds, moans and cries, and you squirm to get out of range of his cruel fingers. But you can’t. He’s got you pinned so well between the cage of his thighs, bent up behind you, and the grip on your collar.

He only takes pity on you when he moves his attention back to your swollen nipples.

“S’it hurt?” he pants.

You whimper.

“Really? 'Cause you’re fucking soaked, cyar’ika, and your cunt keeps squeezing me so tight. I think you like it.” He flicks your nipple to punctuate his words.

“I do, I do like it, please. Like anything you do to me.”

“Those are dangerous words, sweetheart.”

“Nuh-uh,” you grunt, face twisting as he tugs hard before switching back to your clit. “Nnn. Trust you.”

He pinches a little harder than he means to, struck by the sweet way you bare yourself to him. His fingers dip down to gather some of the slick you’re leaking around his cock, and he brings them back up to your clit, rubbing firm, tight circles.

He drops your collar and grabs your jaw, pistoning his hips up harder so the wet slap of your bodies echoes in the cockpit. “Whose cunt is this?”

“Yours, sir,” you gasp.

“Yeah? Whose beautiful, perfect slut is this?”

“Yours, sir.”

“Cum for me, cyar’ika.” He presses down hard on your clit, and his hips stutter when you immediately clench down, body jerking. He grabs you by the collar and holds you upright so you don’t fall as you twitch and scream.

He doesn’t ease up, rubbing hard at your clit. “Another one. Now.”

You don’t know how he does it. You never have to force it. He knows your body like his armory, knows how much pressure it takes to pull the trigger, knows right when to fire. You’ve never not cum when he commanded.

“Down,” he snaps after you’ve come apart on him a few more times over.

You slide off immediately, sinking down onto the pillow, mouth open and tongue out. Your hands lay in your lap, palms up, and you even remember to keep your eyes open.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he groans, stroking himself furiously before shoving into your throat as he spills. You take it all, eyes on him as you watch him fall apart for once. His shaky hand strokes through your hair as he comes down before settling around your neck just below the collar.

He pulls you back up into his lap, askew so your legs dangle over one side of the chair, and he can tuck your head against his chest. You’re shaking and softly crying as he wraps you up in your forgotten blanket.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. “And cyar'ika?”

You look up at him, sniffling and trying to blink back the last of your tears.

“You did so good telling me when you were upset.”

You bury your face in his unforgiving chest plate, and he allows you the moment to hide. Someday, he thinks, maybe you’ll believe him.

*Title from "Beat Up Car" by Taking Back Sunday. (what is the Razor Crest if not a beat up car persevering?)

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #kinktober 2023 #corazondebeskar-reads and writes #mistakes have been made #i love them your honor #make it hurt verse

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novlr · 11 months

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do you have any tips on how to get better at showing, not telling when it comes to descriptions in stories? i really struggle with describing characters without blatantly telling you what their features are especially. i always find myself reverting back to telling without realising it. thanks!!

Our post in the Reading Room today is all about showing, not telling, and includes these great writing exercises to help you improve your skills!

Writing exercises to show, not tell

Picture this!

Using a random picture (it can be anything from a stock photo, your favourite painting, or a book cover you like), describe what it shows without explicitly stating what’s depicted.

This isn’t an easy task, but it’s a great challenge to get you to start describing things without stating the obvious. It’s a good way to practice giving readers a sense of things and really putting your imagination through its paces.

Let me give you an example below:

With a regal bearing and a piercing green gaze, she stands before the void in feline judgement.

Sensory immersion

Choose a familiar setting, like a coffee shop, a park, or a favourite restaurant. Spend a few minutes observing your surroundings, paying close attention to the sensory details, then write a descriptive passage that never mentions exactly where you are.

Focus on sensory details and illustrate what is happening around you. Share this passage with someone who is also familiar with the place and see if they can tell where you’re writing about from description alone.

All about action

Take a character from one of your stories or create a new one. Write a scene where the character experiences a strong emotion, such as joy, anger, or fear. Without explicitly stating the emotion, write around it using action only.

You can use body language, facial expressions, and gestures but avoid using anything (synonyms, for example) that will give away the emotion. Show it to a trusted writing buddy and see if they can guess the emotion you’re trying to convey.

Talk it out

Write an exchange between two characters where they are having an emotionally charged moment. You can use a character you’ve created, or use two characters from a favourite book or TV show that you know well. As long as you have a good sense for who they are and their back story.

The exercise is to avoid directly stating the emotion each character is experiencing; instead, use tone of voice and word choice to illustrate their emotional state and convey their thoughts and emotions indirectly.

Narrate your day

This one is super fun, but be warned, if you do it in public, people will think you’re a little odd. I’ve done it before, and it resulted in some hilarious real-world interactions, but just be prepared. Some of you might prefer to only do this one when you’re alone.

The task for this is to narrate everything you do for a day. Using the recorder on your phone, dictate your actions, your thoughts, and your feelings. Going for a walk? Talk about where you’re going, what is around you, how things feel under your feet, and what the weather is like. What other things are you thinking about on the walk? How are you feeling? Not just in the moment, but what is going on in the back of your mind?

At the end of the day, listen back to everything you’ve narrated. Take note of what sticks out. When I did this exercise, I found that the emotions I thought I might be feeling in any given moment were often not the ones that I was actually feeling. For instance, I’d spoken with my family earlier in the day, and there was a sense of homesickness that wormed its way into every other moment of the day, from my interactions with others to my mood before bed.

An exercise like this can really help show you how to use subtext to show, not tell.

Remember to approach these exercises with an open mind and a willingness to experiment. The goal is to practice and refine your ability to show rather than tell, not to generate a world-class piece of prose that you’d immediately want to include in your next project.

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theblackdog-taylorsversion · 3 months

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being an ao3 writer isn’t just sitting down, putting words on the page and posting.

it’s spending hours hunched over a screen and only forcing out a few words, it’s nights when you can’t sleep because you have to write, so badly it’s like a frenzy inside of you. it’s scrolling for long stretches of time on pinterest looking for a photo that’ll spark inspiration. it’s putting way too much pressure on yourself to complete prompt challenges or requests. it’s posting one night and waking up to just 3 hits, no kudos and no comments. it’s pouring your soul out into your words and nobody taking it seriously because it’s fanfiction, because you’re a teenager, because it’s not a real book. being a writer is a blessing and a curse, and i don’t think i could live without it.

#writing #writeblr #ao3 #ao3 writers #fanfiction #bloggy stuff

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e-dubbc11 · 1 year

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Afternoon Delight

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Dirty talk, a LOT of it. Reader and Billy both have filthy mouths in this one so 18+ please (no minors or I’m telling), some swear words

Word Count: 1.6k-ish

Summary: Reader is reading and waiting for her boyfriend to bring her lunch in the park. A very handsome man takes a seat next to her, the book she’s reading is one of his favorites.

A/N: This is my contribution to May’s writing challenge over on the Thirsty For Cox discord server. This month’s prompt was sundress season and I honestly didn’t mean for it to get dirty but my brain had other ideas. Oh the book I took the quotes from is The Picture of Dorian Gray. I hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

A gentle summer breeze rushed across your exposed shoulders as you sat alone on a park bench reading your book on an early Saturday afternoon. The subtle rustling of the trees above your head prompted you to look up and watch the sun highlight the veins in the leaves as the wind moved them in multiple directions.

The warm afternoon sun shone through the leaves on the trees, drawing attention to bright green patches of grass all over the park. It was a beautiful day.

Your boyfriend told you earlier that morning that he would meet you in the park for lunch and you couldn’t wait to surprise him with the new dress you bought.

Black with white polka dots, adjustable spaghetti straps, long with a deep V-neck and a drawstring closure, it was perfect for a day like today and you were sure he would love it on you.

Continuing to turn the pages of your book, you looked up the walkway and noticed a very handsome man walking toward you wearing a gray suit.

He had ebony colored hair, a short well-groomed beard and as he came closer you noticed his eyes. He had beautiful yet very mysterious deep brown eyes, the kind of eyes you could just get lost in while he was talking to you. They looked like two flat black marbles and they were looking directly at you.

There were empty park benches everywhere, so you didn’t think he would take a seat next to you and yet, he did. As he sat down, he smiled at you. You’ve never seen a more perfect smile on top of an already incredibly handsome face.

He said hello, you said hello back and returned the smile he gave you.

A smile like his could get you into some serious trouble but then he doubled down and opened his mouth to which you heard his soft tone, his voice was smooth like warm honey with a slight New York accent.

“I love that book.” He said.

You almost forgot you were holding a book, he was quite the distraction.

“Me too.” You said. “This is my fourth time reading it. Do you have a favorite part?”

You asked him, hoping to throw him off guard to see if he’s actually read it or if it’s some lame pick up line.

“Well…let’s see.” He said. “There are so many.”

Got him.

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.” Chapter 2, page 23

“Oh and…”

“When we are happy, we are always good, but when we are good, we are not always happy." Chapter 6, page 106

The fact that he had those passages memorized, shocked you to your core and you felt slightly embarrassed and ashamed that you doubted him, but it turned you on at the same time.

“I’m sorry, I thought that…” You said.

He interrupted you.

“You thought it was a line, didn’t you.” He said with a sly grin.

Very few people surprised you, especially tall, handsome men just strolling through the park.

“I do apologize Mister?” You asked.

“Russo…Billy Russo.” He said extending his hand for you to shake. “I read that book a lot when I was deployed overseas.”

“Deployed? Wait, lemme guess…” You said as you carefully looked him over from head to toe. “You were a marine.” You were biting down on your lower lip, and fighting the desire to draw him in close by his tie.

He continued to stare at you with those intense brown eyes of his, he could not look away and neither could you. He held your gaze and felt yourself start to blush every time he smiled at you.

“How did you know?” He asked.

“Well…actually, my boyfriend was also in the Marines.” You said in a low breathy tone.

His smile disappeared.

“Well your boyfriend is a lucky man, I’ve never seen a more beautiful smile…on anyone.” He said.

He took the words right out of your mouth, you felt the same way about his smile.

Billy moved his head like it was on a swivel, looking all around him. “So…where is this boyfriend of yours? If you were mine, I’d never let you out of my sight.” He stated.

The struggle to keep from smiling was difficult, and you replied. “Actually, I don’t know. He said he would meet me here for lunch and he’s never ever late.”

You weren’t sure if it was the rays from the sun or Billy that was causing the warmth to rise to your cheeks.

There was something you wanted from Billy but maybe you shouldn’t ask. Although, what harm could come from reading a few pages from your book to you?

There was just something about his voice that was captivating. The way the words rolled off of his tongue was musical and hypnotic, like he was meant to read them aloud.

As he read, he’d glance away from the pages for sentences at a time to look over at you. He had memorized a lot of the passages, staring at you as he recited the words.

At one point, he stopped and lost his place because he was too busy staring at you.

“I’m so sorry.” He said. “I have to tell you, I’m very distracted by this beautiful dress you have on. Although I’m not sure if it’s the dress or the woman wearing it, maybe it’s both. I can’t believe your boyfriend let you leave the house without him, lookin’ like that. Every man that walks by this bench is having the same thoughts as I am.”

Trying to swallow the lump in your throat, the ache between your thighs grew hungry for him.

“Oh? And—what sort of thoughts would those be, Mr. Russo?” You whispered.

“Impure ones.” He hissed as he looked you up and down.

Your fingers lightly danced across the glowing skin on your chest and moved up to rub the back of your neck as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip.

“Thoughts of taking you back to my place, hiking that dress up over your hips and fucking you so hard you can’t walk right tomorrow, pinning you against the wall, and having your legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper into that sweet pussy of yours. I wanna hear you scream my name over and over again until your voice cracks, and I bet you’d look really pretty sitting on my dick.”

Gently, he touched your bare shoulder, and brushed the warm soft skin of your arm with his calloused fingers, those words sent shivers down your spine despite the hot afternoon sun.

Shuddering at those sinful thoughts, you leaned in to him so your face was closer to his yet your bodies remained apart and whispered against his mouth. “Is that right? Anything else?” You asked before sucking on his bottom lip.

“Or just ripping it off of you because it covers that gorgeous body of yours, then using it to tie you to the bed so I can look at you all spread out, ready to take my cock. Those are the kind of thoughts I’m having.”

A bead of sweat had dripped from your neck down your chest and in between your breasts, your panties were soaked from listening to Billy describe what he wanted to do to you, and if he wanted to fuck you right there on that park bench, you would probably let him.

“Maybe I’m having similar thoughts.” You said softly. “Maybe I want to see you on your knees in front of me, your head underneath my dress, and your tongue fucking me until I can’t see straight.”

You were so distracted by him, you forgot why you were sitting on that bench in the first place.

He inched closer to you so his thigh was touching yours, the look in his eyes was primal, his long slender fingers touched the side of your face, his other hand grazed the top of your breast and then he pushed some of your hair back behind your ear so he could whisper to you.

“Role playing is fun, isn’t it sweet girl. I don’t even need to touch you to know how wet you are for me. Love the new dress. I know I was supposed to bring lunch but I didn’t think there would be a snack waiting for me when I got here.” He said with a devilish smirk and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

You reached out to brush his beard with your thumbs and let out a little chuckle. “Wow…And I thought I’ve heard every cheesy pick up line there is, my love. Are you done flirting with me? Where’s my lunch?”

Billy held up one finger. “Number one, I’ll never stop flirting with you, number two, you’re wearin’ MY lunch…and I promise I’ll get you something to eat, but I need to get you home now otherwise we’re both getting arrested for indecent exposure.” He said with a wink. “I held out as long as I could. I’m pretty sure I flatlined when I first saw you. You look fuckin’ hot, baby.”

You leaned in close and gave him a hungry kiss, your tongue twisted with his and your teeth nipped at his lower lip which made him absolutely feral for you.

“Well let’s go home then, Mr. Russo and don’t forget our book.”

Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @idek-what-to-put @anastasianeedstoread @ratsys @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @simple-lovebot @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again

#billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #billy russo smut #billy russo #billy russo x you #thirsty for cox may challenge #thirsty for cox writing challenge #tfc challenge

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greenhorn-art · 7 months

Text

Prince of Shadows, Lord of Thieves by alkat

Fandom: The King's Avatar | 全职高手

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Words: 1 929

Once upon a time, their exploits were immortalized by artists and writers across the tapestry of history. Once upon a time, they were worshipped as gods and reviled as demons. None of that stopped the Met from stealing all their shit.

About the Book

FONTS: Alegreya [Google Fonts], Lato [Google Fonts]

IMAGES: all art made by myself @greenhorn-art for this fic

MATERIALS: regular ol' printer paper (8.5"x11", 20lb, 96 bright); ~2-2.5mm binder's board; Neenah cardstock (8.5"x11", 65lb, bright white); Cialux bookcloth (black); waxed linen thread (30/3 size, white); wheat paste (1:4 flour:water); paste wax (from a friend, unknown ingredients&quantities, some kind of wax and turpentine/mineral spirits)

PROGRAMS USED: Affinity Publisher 2; Affinity Designer 2; Bookbinder JS | Renegade's Community Imposer (settings: Quarto, snug against binding edge, custom signatures of 2, 1, 2 sheets).

Text & QR codes printed with colour laser printer (duplex, flip long edge), images printed with inkjet printer. QR codes generated with LibreOffice Writer, snipped, saved, and inserted where needed.

BINDING: quarto (quarter-letter) size, sewn board binding with french link stitch and breakaway spine.

So this one all started because the visual of HST's outfit was so fun that I was possessed by a visceral need to draw it. Inspiration slapped me across my mind's eye, and much like a medieval knight being slapped in the face by a glove (which didn't actually happen, that's a myth that sprung from the throwing down of a gauntlet. but that's beside the point), I felt bound to take up the challenge. Which lead me to draw a few more, and then I ended up binding the whole thing.

(Also, I find it really amusing that the famous Terracotta Warriors were just storage for YXs stuff. And the gang going 'shopping' at various exhibits for gifts for friends/family,, like that sure is SOME window shopping! I can hear it now: 'Oooh I'll take one one those SMASH, and that SHATTER, and throw in some of those CRASH, they're going to love these! 😇'. All in all, it was a fun little read, and fun little project! :D)

About the Art

Because this was initially a one-off drawing I tried a new art style (and struggled to at least not stray too far for the rest). It was fun and helped me think more about shape and visual focus, instead of being caught up in the details.

The crow (based off of image ID: 4039963 from Rawpixel) and the red umbrella on the front cover were filled curves made with the pen tool. The illustrations' poses were based off of a combination of images found on Google and photos taken by myself.

Pinterest is awful for sources, but it would have been handy to pin the references I'd googled. Only remembered to save the one of a man sitting at a desk. (I deliberately searched for someone sitting with bad posture because YX is described as being "slumped" over the desk. I figure that since "the laws of physics held no meaning to ["cursed souls eschewed by the natural order"]", they'd also be immune to mundane things like discomfort from sitting hunched over for too long. Back pain images were a gold mine! All I had to do was choose one with lighting that would give me a silhouette.)

The Myriad Manifestations Umbrellas and illustrations were drawn in Procreate.

I opted for a more plain umbrella design because it's not (presumably) a fantastical weapon in this story. Though the initial version did have YX cradling the donghua!MMU.

For the scene breaks I inserted the images, pinned them inline as character, and adjusted height and baseline in the pinning menu to fit.

The author wrote one scene break differently than the others, using multiple empty paragraphs instead of just one. Following suit, I used a different image for that particular break. I wanted to reference vampires somewhere, so for that break I made two bloody spots resembling bite marks. The blood spots were made with a group of shapes in Designer.

On cover design:

Because the MMU is what sparks the whole heist, I wanted it on the front cover.

Earlier iterations involved a full cover spread with a man's shadow standing before a shattered glass case, with a plaque mounted on the wall to the left providing information. The plaque was formatted like a museum label and had the author, date published, title, event collection, and story description. I'd also added a QR code to it. Ultimately, I abandoned the concept because it was difficult to decipher what is was when only looking a one cover at a time.

My second idea for the cover would have been a bookcloth-only cover with a cut-out of the MMU on the front, acting like a window showing off an image of the MMU on paper below it. (Inspired by the work of a number of folks over on Renegade's Discord. Here's a few examples gleaned from a quick search: szynkaaa's lung cutouts, some of EHyde's books, and the front cover of Spock's massive all-in-one TGCF). As fun as that would have been to try out, I felt it didn't quite suit the style of the art so I nixed that too.

Eventually I landed on the back cover design with the Met exhibition webpage. At last, I felt that the back & white and simple-shapes-background went with the artwork. The webpage viewed on the phone is based off of the Met's actual website. I took a snip/screenshot of the Met's logo from the banner at the top, then looked at their exhibitions' pages and eyeballed it to create my own. (Threw in the QR because I wanted the easy access to the fic online on the back cover). I chose to use a phone screen rather than I computer monitor because it worked better composition-wise. And besides, while YX may be allergic to owning a phone, SMC is not. I imagine that she saw the news while on her phone then messaged him.

The front cover came together after that. An umbrella for the MMU, and a pop of red. One of YX's messenger crows. A black shape in the background similar to the back cover's, sort of creating a spotlight over the umbrella and placing the rest of the cover in shadow.

Trying New Things: Applying a protective finish to printed covers

Over on the Renegade Bindery Discord, folks have spoken about using a beeswax & turpentine/mineral spirits 50-50 mix to seal printed covers (thank you Kate). According to my dad that's just a paste wax, so he threw 3 different ones at me and said 'have at it'.

I tested them out using the same paper and inkjet I'll use for the cover. I was looking at 1) whether the paste wax affected the paper colour or print quality, and 2) the finish. After applying one coat each and buffing them out I had my winner. Then I applied & buffed two more coats to it and tested 3) water resistance by dripping tea on it. The liquid beaded up and wiped away without staining -- good, three coats will work nicely.

(Test results: Mystery paste wax from a friend wins.

The commercial SC Johnson Paste Wax Original formula (intended for woodworking) has a nice dry shiny finish, but coloured the paper slightly brown -> disqualified

My dad's homemade stuff has a nice shiny/satin finish and didn't change paper's colour, but it felt slightly tacky even after buffing it -- maybe I didn't buff it enough?

The gifted paste wax has a matte finish, didn't change paper's colour (in the image below this one has 3 coats. The paper is now slightly off-white, but still acceptable), and while not as dry-to-touch as the Johnson it was not as tacky as the other homemade stuff.)

When I print out my quarto covers, I print front and back covers side-by-side on the same page*, with some guides to ensure I'm cutting and gluing in the correct place. (The guides mark the boundaries of the covers and start of the turn-ins, and stop at the edge of where I cut. Before cutting I flip it over to mark the guides [see marks indicated in image below] on the wrong side and connect them so I can see where to glue/place book. Then flip it back over to cut, right side up.)

*I'm being economical here at the cost of possible warping damage. This layout means that I'm only using one sheet of paper, but the grain is running in the wrong direction (across the book instead of preferred head-to-tail/top-bottom). This could cause warping issues, but I'm OK with that. I'm hoping that by just gluing at the edges, instead of pasting down the whole thing, warping will be minimized. (I use wrong-grain endpapers most of the time with larger books anyways).

I applied the paste wax before cutting out the covers, working carefully to avoid accidentally creasing/bending the paper (which happened twice, but it was minimal and I hardly notice it). Doing so before cutting ensured that the cover material was completely covered. Even the turn-ins -- something I later came to regret. After all, wax is used specifically so that things don't stick to it. It made it rather difficult to drum on the endpapers because I was trying to glue something down onto a waxy surface. It all worked out in the end -- perhaps due to the fact that there were multiple layers of wheat paste which could adhere to each other, followed by being squashed in a press.

#Prince of Shadows Lord of Thieves #alkat #fanfiction #bookbinding #my art #the king's avatar #qzgs #tka

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