#Unique linen gifts

[livelinestore]

Discover the ultimate 2023 linen gift guide for all occasions at LiveLinen.com. From luxurious bedding to stylish home decor, find the perfect linen gifts for everyone on your list. Explore our curated selection and make your loved ones feel special with the timeless elegance of linen. Shop now!

#Unique linen gifts #Linen gift ideas #return gift ideas #birthday gift ideas for husband #birthday return gift ideas #birthday return gift ideas for 50 rs #farewell gift ideas #birthday return gift ideas for 100 rs #return gift ideas for adults #return gift ideas for birthday party #linen #luxurious bedding

[plushflower]

You and Tom can find dining sets @

linktr.ee/PlushGemArt

#self care #self love #intentional living #unique gifts #dining table #dinner #soul eater #healthy eating #eat local #tablecloth #welcome to the table #table setting #tableware #our dining table #friends at the table #linen #table linens #napkin #napkin holder #napkin rings #contemporayart #i’m not fussy #unique #colorful #vibrant #elegant #edgy aesthetic #aesthetic #aestheitcs

[missydior]

MILK & HONEY ୨୧

♡: slow and peaceful saturdays with the love of your life.

notes: charles leclerc/reader, established relationship, domesticity, fluff, lovey-dovey humour, pet names, lazy make out sessions, use of french phrases.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: this is my first uploaded piece on my new blog so please, please, please interact, give me feedback, leave a like or anything <3

i listened to ‘la petite fille de la mer’ whilst writing this.

♡ ✧ 。*・.

It is a gentle afternoon in the principality of Monaco: the skies a palette of pale lilac against the quilt of grey clouds in gentle rainfall that lingers with a hint of petrichor, a slow and familiar hustle amongst the streets of smooth stone and Belle Époque architecture where a stray cat wanders her path before disappearing once more into the alcoves of an alley.

After a slow dawn of waking amongst a mess of clean, linen sheets, feathered pillows, and tangled limbs where the heavy, velvet curtains danced serenely in some lovers' waltz, hiding the bedroom in some quiet bask, the both of you enjoyed breakfast over almond croissants, blueberries stolen from one another's plates and your usual café au lait – half a sugar, more milk than deemed necessary, just as Charles knows you love it – before you had walked around the neighbourhood by eleven o'clock to at least feel somewhat productive.

Even when the both of you only wanted to lounge endlessly after returning from Montréal the day before.

Despite finishing 4th and not quite following through in his hopes in securing an awarding podium and a taste of sweet champagne, faced with the recent difficulties of upgrades, he had come to accept and delight in his small succession nonetheless with you by his side, forever proud regardless.

Phones on mute, the rest of society blissfully forgotten and only each other to indulge in, it is pure bliss; perfect heaven.

"Hm, you smell nice," By two o'clock – after a light luncheon on the balcony overlooking the beauty of the Côte d'Azur – you are dozing idly about the plush invitation of the sofa, his voice a hushed murmur near the side of your neck where lips ghost over in something close to a kiss when he speaks.

Charles is half-draped over your own figure, though his weight is comfortably balanced by an elbow against a sewn cushion, some kind of Jardin De Fleurs -inspired embroidery made and gifted by your grandmother, with ankles locked about each other and your soft-skinned palm tracing his shoulder through the white linen of his shirt.

For a moment, a quietude settles between you once more and you welcome the entwined curl of his lithe fingers around your own when his hand drifts higher from the inside of your wrist absently like some unspoken 'I love you' before his mouth meets yours.

It is slow and sweet, the kind of kisses you savour in committing to memory each and every time, and he can taste remnants of sweetened milk & honey tea on your breath that is so apparently mundane but equally unique to you alone.

When your head tilts back against the cushions – hair falling about like an angel's halo – and Charles shifts his own body further, closer, above you, his hands come to cradle either side of your lovely face, his thumbs grazing the delicate line of your cheekbones, his nose brushing lightly against the bridge of your own.

He kisses your brow, then the bridge of your nose, the apples of your cheeks, and finally your mouth again, all in that order, before breaking away for air.

"What was that for?" Voice hardly a demure whisper, you gaze at him through the veil of your lashes in some lovesick delight where your mouth threatens to curve against a hushed giggle, your own touch idly feeling along the carved line of his jaw like intricate marble where a dusting of five o'clock shadow lingers from a few days' worth. You secretly adore it, how it feels.

Charles smiles – all beautiful, revealed dimples and a glimmer in his eyes that remind of leaves in late August – and brushes a stray hair behind the shell of your ear. He takes a moment, his gaze lingering about the lines of your visage as if falling in love again, everyday. "For no particular reason, ma chérie, just because I want to."

Then he is leaning down to meet you again just as you welcome the embrace without question, only allowing yourself to melt further into the serenity of some lovesick truth as your arms drape about his shoulders faintly.

"Je pense..." Charles' mouth drifts down from yours slowly in a trail of kisses about your chin in his verbalised albeit quiet musings before lips slant together again and he encourages you to open for him, tasting, feeling, his tongue teasing over yours in a caress, "That I don't need a reason to kiss you."

In some silent, earnest contentment, you agree, because you could never refuse or object to the intimacy of his kisses and touches.

Mouth curving upwards against his, you let your fingertips feel the trimmed, soft hairs at his nape against tousled brunet tresses whilst breathing him in: Ombré Nomade cologne, hints of something akin to cedarwood against raspberry, incense and warm amber, against his natural pheromones. Home.

Feeling the lean muscles against his back through the soft fabric, toying only subtly with the subtle drag of teeth against his plush lower-lip whilst your eyes remain blissfully closed, you meet the faintest resonance of a sound from the back of his throat like a purr when he sucks upon your tongue with the same touch of loving.

"Vous êtes si belle," He sighs the compliments against you in sweet nothings and unabashed confessions, his own touch ghosting over the curves of your waist through the ivory, lace camisole hugging your physique, thumbs fleeting over the jut of your hip-bone before drifting higher once more.

It is when idle strokes are felt over your rib cage that you unconsciously emit a breathless, flushed sound of laughter against him before you can help yourself, instinctively shrinking against the touch whilst earning a look from him as he draws away fractionally with arched brows.

"Ticklish, are we, ma chérie?"

Your mouth parts for a retort or quick dismissal out of bashfulness – even when you know that he already knows too, given the Monégasque has the privilege to know each intimate, secretive and wholehearted truth about you – though the words die on your tongue the moment his fingertips continue their ministrations over your sides.

You cannot stop the serenade of laughter from leaving you, not when you are entirely vulnerable beneath, and a warmth settles in your chest when the corners of his eyes crinkle in a genuine smile as he continues tickling you.

"Arrêt–" A breathless gasp of imploration, palms that reach to try and draw him away with a shove at his chest though your rosé cheeks hurt from the depth of your raw, honest smiles, "Charles."

Chuckling lowly, the man offers you the respite of mercy as he comes to a halt and kisses the corner of your mouth intimately, instead allowing his hands to feel the curve of your lower-back and the notches of your vertebrae until eyes meet in the peace of the afternoon, otherwise silent save for the lull of Lana del Rey from the kitchenette radio.

"Je t'aime."

He kisses you again and it is rich in his responding, ardent devotion to you, letting the faint remnants of your lipstick smear his own mouth like the prints you leave on hand-written love letters of cursive Française just for him in your diaries, the cashmere throw forgotten about your feet on the other end of the chaise lounge whilst rain continues.

"Je t'aime aussi, pour toujours."

a/n: don't forget to interact and leave a like or comment to spread the love <3

♡ ✧ 。*・.

#୨୧ my works #i love him #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 #f1 #hashtags for the sake of audience </3 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 girls #f1 wag #f1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you

[gretavanlace]

Dirty Filthy Things 2

Jake kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, language, light impact play, anal play, somewhat public, anal toys, anal sex, etc. porn without out plot…ask if I care ❤️

When Jake presents you with a beautiful box, adorned with dried flowers, in lieu of the traditional bow, you’re expecting a gift, of course…

A bracelet, perhaps. Maybe a mixtape; he’s fond of creating those for you just to watch you tear up when you listen to them on the vintage record/cassette tape player he had refurbished. A keychain from a place he’s been and would now like to take you to visit. A rock he found and knew you’d love.

He presents lovely offerings. Usually unique, and unexpected, so you’re used to never knowing what you’re going to find beneath the wrapping paper. But this one? This one you hadn’t seen coming…

Lid lifted, you find a solid, clear, glass plug nestled and waiting amongst tissue paper. It’s solid when you close your fingers around it, but light enough that you could wear it comfortably…you think.

He’s watching you with an amused glint in his eye. It’s nearly childlike, the way you’re inspecting it with such surprise, and a hint of trepidation.

His voice, when it comes, is quiet…betraying how much simply watching you hold it has turned him on “Do you like it?”

“Would you like a truthful answer?” You ask, running a finger over the smooth glass.

“Always.” He nods, looping a lock of your hair around his finger idly.

“I like it very much. It’s pretty…is that weird to say?” He laughs, just a breath of a sound. “But I’m also a little afraid of it.”

“How afraid?” He’s about to weigh whatever you say heavily, you can feel it. He won’t stand for you walking into something you aren’t comfortable with just to please him.

Out of the box it comes again, with you rolling it back and forth in your palm. “Just afraid enough to make me want it even more. Will it hurt?”

He plucks it out of your hand gently and sits it aside before turning back to you, thumb and fingers clasping your chin delicately. “No, princess,” he promises, lips so close to yours his breath warms them. “It won’t hurt.”

When his tongue slips out to taste your kiss, you allow it and then turn around, suddenly impatient. Down go your panties, just low enough to give him the room he needs, and then up goes the old t shirt you’d been padding around the house in.

“What are you doing, baby?” He teases, with a sinful smile in his tone.

“Put it in.” Your request is a shaky whisper as you drop down against the cool wood of the dining room table, eagerly offering yourself up in delectable sacrifice.

“Is someone attempting to run the show?” His wrinkled, linen pants are pressed against the round swell of your ass now, just to let you feel how hard he is for you.

“No.” You arch back into him, needing more.

“No, you aren’t, are you?” His thumb has found its way into your mouth from behind. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you? My very best little princess who knows much, much better…”

“Mhmm…” you hum around him, sucking away as he presses his thumbprint into the flat of your tongue.

He fucks you there, bent over the table, with that very thumb slipped inside your ass, moving at a slow, half-maddening, clip that matches the drag of his cock…

But your new accessory lies ignored.

Days later, with you dolled up pretty for him in his favorite dress and a pair of heels he enjoys listening to the click of when you walk, he kisses your forehead while you toy with the ancient coin that swings about against his chest.

“You look good enough to eat.” He has chosen his words purposely, you know, to make you imagine him doing just that.

Stealing his heart away with a charmingly adorable blush, you adjust the collar of his blazer. “So do you, pretty boy.”

“M’not pretty.” He lands a light swat against your thigh. “Ruggedly handsome, yes. Intimidatingly good looking? Absolutely. Pretty?” He waits a beat and then nods. “Yes, that too, I suppose. You’re right.”

“And modest to boot.” You finger comb at his tangles, not thinking much of it when his hand slips into his pocket, until the plug is presented - an offering held up with a cocked, questioning, eyebrow.

“Tonight?” You shiver at the very thought, and he notices, because of course he does.

“Oh,” there’s that grin again. “Someone’s excited. Have you been waiting?”

“What a patient girl.” He praises when you nod up at him with doe eyes, fingers curled around his lapels.

It slips inside, slick from his gorgeous mouth, and leaves you deliciously full. A devious little secret tucked away inside you, warm and indecent. It sets your nerve endings blazing and your cunt throbbing.

When he slides your panties down around your ankles and helps you to step out of them, you’re sure you’ll soak through your dress at the restaurant. But, for some reason you’d almost welcome the stinging humiliation of weaving your way through tables with the evidence of what he’s done to you on display for all to see.

Let them stare. Let them talk. Let the women seethe with jealousy…they should. Let them want what’s yours, you don’t mind. The prize is taking you home tonight.

He fucks you that night, too. Spinning and tugging away at the plug as you whine into the pillow beneath you and beg for his cock there instead.

“Not yet, princess.” He soothes so softly after each whimper and plea. “Not yet.” His words are laced with calm and care, but you hear it there too…the wanton satisfaction that comes with listening to you beg for his cock in such a forbidden place.

He’s carried you so far, shown you so many darkened corners of yourself that you never knew existed, and he’s always anxious to guide you deeper…but all in good time, lest he frighten you away from yourself.

The very next night, you, with your soaked and fluttering cunt wrapped snug around the base of his cock, and he, stretched out beneath you, hair a tousled halo spilled out around the sheets, he holds you down firmly in his lap.

“Let me move…” you pout, nails digging dull nips of pain that he relishes, into his chest. “Let me…” you squirm in his grip. “Let me fuck you…I need, fuck, please…”

“You need what?” He tilts his head in feigned confusion. “Tell me what my sweet, sweet princess needs.”

“Need to cum…” tears are gathering in the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks when you attempt to blink them away.

They blur your vision, setting everything in a dreamlike haze as you watch him lick his fingers and reach behind you.

“How about if I slide my cock out of this pretty little pussy that’s hugging and squeezing me like such a sweetheart, and slip it in right here, instead?”

He punctuates himself by nudging the tip of his finger inside, reveling in the way your eyes widen in lustful surprise.

“Fuck…” the obscenity drags out of you, soft and slow, as you try to back up into his touch.

“Yeah?” In a bit deeper he pushes.

“Yeah…” you nod urgently. Who knew you could need it this badly?

“Ask real nice, angel…” he can’t resist taunting you. Loves to coax you along, to leave you desperate and writhing for whatever he’s willing to give. “Tell me where my dirty, filthy thing wants my cock. C’mon baby, be good and tell me.”

“You know where I want it.” You pound your fist once, and then twice against his chest…a muted, bratty tantrum.

“In your mouth?” He raises his hips when you shake your head no, grinding the tip of his dick against your cervix. “Here? In your perfect cunt? Is that where you want me?”

Rocking against his touch as it sinks in a little deeper, you fix him with a babydoll-gaze he can’t deny.

“Someone isn’t fighting fair,” his free hand strokes into your hair. “That’s okay, I know what you want, and I know where you want it. You feel that?”

He begins a rhythmic push and pull that should feel wrong, but feels more right than anything ever has.

“Yes,” your head falls back, lips parted.

On and on he goes, watching you with love and fascination blazing in his eyes, though you’re too far gone to notice. But, just as you’re clawing your way to the edge, he stops…easing his fingers out as your slick walls pulse and coil around his twitching length.

“Roll over, princess,” he rasps, clearly struggling to cling to some semblance of composure, “On your knees, alright?”

You do as he says, because of course you do, you would stand outside the gates of hell and insult the devil for Jake’s amusement should he decide to drag you to hell.

You can feel him behind you…the weight of his presence, his warmth, his love -

And then you can feel him…his palms, gingerly babying your skin, his lips meandering a trail over the small of your back as he breathes you in. “Need you to relax for me, princess. Can you do that? Can you relax and breathe? So it doesn’t hurt? You gotta help me take care of you.”

You nod without hesitation, assuring him.

More kisses and laps of his silken tongue pepper your back, whispered words melting against you, bruises suckled along your spine, fingers dancing a slow waltz where you never thought you’d want them.

“Please…” you finally whine, no longer able to stand it.

“There it is.” He lifts away from you and your skin instantly craves his lips, misses them, longs for them. How you wish you could feel him everywhere, all over you, all at once.

You’re buzzing with excitement, and a touch of uncertainty…and hyper-alert, but you still somehow manage to miss him fumbling around in the bedside drawer. The cap snapping open on a bottle of lube escapes you as well, but the vibrator that is suddenly humming against you pulls you out of the clouds.

A shaky moan causes his eyes to roll back in his head, though you can’t see it. “You keep it right there, princess…make that pretty clit feel nice. Deep breaths, yeah?”

A pitiful whimper of his name is all you can call forth, but that does just fine for him.

“You remember what you say if you want to stop, babe?” There are his palms again, petting over the dimples in your lower back.

Assuring him that you do sets him in motion, and you’re met with his pillowy head drawing slick circles over you. “You clench up every time I move,” he breathes. “It’s cute. You’re so fucking gorgeous everywhere. You shouldn’t be this pretty here.”

Blushing furiously over his praise, you swirl the vibrator around, chasing down the pleasure to run from the delicious shame of it all “Stop saying things like that.”

They should sound wrong ringing in your ears, those words of his…they don’t, but they should.

“Why should I stop?” He nudges against you, but with barely there pressure. “My girl is perfect…my beautiful princess. And her ass is as pink as her cunt, and I can’t believe she’s going to let me put my cock inside her, and I’m gonna fucking tell her all about it.”

Turning to hide in the pillow, your admonishment is muffled. “Jake, shh…”

For once, he listens and moves on. “Breathe, baby…remember? You just relax and breathe.”

He can feel you soften beneath him, but he checks in anyway. “You still good, baby? Because I’d be just as happy to fuck you like I always do. Just wanna be inside you.”

“No…” your fingers dart back and are stuffed into your pussy in a blink, simultaneously giving you something to clench around and barring his entrance. “Give it to me, please. Please, Jake…please.”

Cumming right then and there, with his hand fisted around his cock, watching you fuck yourself while begging for something you seem to think you shouldn’t want…it seems like a real possibility. One he’d almost like to give in to, he’s so fucking turned on…

Instead, he begins a slow, halting voyage. Pushing in little by little as you writhe and gasp below him, vibrator still working away as you finger fuck your cunt harder, driven by the blissful, burning sting.

“It hurts…” you pant, and he almost pulls out, until you finish your thought. “It hurts so good. More…”

Your entire body is flushed, blotchy dots of pink forming up your back like a roadmap. He trails a finger along the path, hand disappearing into the dampened hair at the nape of your neck to give it a swift tug. “You like it, princess?’

“All the way…” you plead feverishly. “Fuck it in all the way.”

The way that you’ve worded it sets him wild, and he has to actively fight the urge to slam into you. The way you would scream and likely try to scramble away…fuck.

When he drives in as deeply as he possibly can, though, he’s gentle. Loves you far too much to hurt you, even if he might indulge in the power trip of it all in his head now and then.

High pitched gasps are stuttering out of you, staccato and hitched, but your fingers are moving even faster now, and he can feel you clenching violently.

“You love that, don’t you, princess? Feeling full everywhere? Fingers in your cunt, cock in your ass?” The swift crack of his hand against the swell of your hip happens before he’s even registered his need to hear the dominant snap of impact.

“Yesssyesyesyesyes…” it moans out of you, hardly words at all.

He jerks your head up until your eyes are focused warily on the headboard. “Next time, I’m gonna suction one of your cocks right there, make you suck it down dirty and sweet until you’re gagging…every single hole filled right up, nice and full.”

You tighten like a fist around your fingers and his dick as it jerks and throbs inside you. “Please..”

“Please, what?” His grip curls into a fist against your scalp.

“Cum..” you barely make a sound, but he hears you all the same.

“Yeah? Would that get my girl off? If I came right here?” He slides in as deeply as he can. “You want it where you shouldn’t?”

“I want to feel it first,” you’re begging like a whore, and he couldn’t love it more. “And I’m so close, please…”

He couldn’t stop it for anything in the world. Not now, not after listening to you confess that you want to feel him, warm and wet, inside you, before you cum.

When he lets go, it’s with an animalistic growl that flips your stomach…a dirty, addicting, tumble that makes you tremble with the insatiable need to follow straight behind him…

And you do. You follow his lead, cumming hard, crying out for him to never stop, to fuck you just like this forever, to make you feel nothing but him for the rest of your days…nothing but Jake until you draw your last breath.

Like all good and perfect things, it comes to an end, with you collapsed down into the soaked sheets, and his panting, sweating form pressing you down against the mattress.

“Fuck me, baby…” he pauses to draw in a tightened breath. “That was…god, how am I ever gonna pull out? You’re so warm and tight.”

“Stay.” You murmur, settling into the afterglow. “Just a little while.”

He nestles his face into your hair and stays, just as you’ve asked.

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#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #fanfic #greta van fic #gvf fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka imagine #gvf smut #jake kiszka #gvf jake

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

cruel, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, previous taehyung x reader

summary: It's cruel, this feeling. How are you supposed to respond to loss of someone that was so perfect, someone that turned life into a romance movie, someone that now had that with someone else? You watch him be happy without you and you should have lied and said that you were happy too. Instead, you told him he was cruel.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; honestly, it's probably not what you think it is; fluff? idk; smut (fem reader, penetrative sex, cowgirl, fingering and f-receiving oral in a dressing room, a lot of making out and staring into each other's eyes); non-idol!AU; long-haired, rapper / music producer!Yoongi, ft ex-boyfriend Kim Taehyung being handsome and perfect

--

now playing – cruel by the veronicas

How do you know you’re supposed to be with someone?

I always knew when I was with you.

You answered it with such certainty then. Like you really knew. Like he was the light to your dark. Like he was the life to your death. You had made him smile with your words, his unique smile lit up by the harsh rays of the sun, softening the edges of his box-like grin. He was so beautiful then. Striking. Picturesque.

No word was good enough.

You toyed with the vintage teacup. A delicate white with the painting of a green and yellow bird on a sparse, winding branch. The saucer matched. All soft edges and curves. English porcelain. He gifted it to you after returning from one of his many Europe trips.

You tipped the cup onto the edge, holding the handle.

He became more handsome without you.

You relaxed your hand, letting the base of the cup tinker back onto the saucer.

You thought about throwing it into the wall. Shatter that little shit like how it was shattered between you and him. Turn it into shards that matched the slices of light that they used in all those photoshoots, highlighting all his angles, because all angles were good angles for Kim Taehyung.

You stood up.

Placed the teacup back into the glass cabinet and pushed it to the back, behind an orange glass-blown vase.

I always liked you.

Me too.

You closed the cabinet and took a step back.

There was a pair of scissors on the dining room table.

But now I love you.

He had whispered it over candles and linen napkins, in expensive clothes and low light, with dried flowers in his hand and a black velvet box in the other. A solitaire, sparkling diamond on a dainty chain. Dried flowers so you could keep them forever, just like what you two had.

You picked up the scissors. The blades were very sharp. Silver, gleaming in the overhead light. You saw the reflection of the modern, industrial black chandelier in the flat side of the scissors. He wouldn’t like it. Taehyung was much more into the romantic.

You imagined cutting those glossy, long locks off that stunning model he was dating now.

Snip, snip.

You opened and closed the scissors, listening to the egregious friction of metal against metal.

She was really pretty. They suited each other.

You suited him too, back then.

Just not anymore.

Hello. Nice to see you.

That was what he said after everything. Months after, because he had been traveling from fashion week to photoshoot, to who-the-fuck-knows-what. Always busy, that Kim Taehyung.

It’s not that nice to see you.

Those moody dark brown eyes had faltered then, looking away. He treated you like he barely knew you. From hand-in-hand to a stranger in a strange land. You should have lied. You should have put on your best, most dazzling smile and told him that it was great to see him. Show him how fucking fantastic you were doing without him.

Instead, you tilted your head and cocked an eyebrow.

He had lowered his head and looked back up at you with a wan smile.

I treasure all of our memories. I hope one day, you can too.

You had paused.

That was when you knew that you couldn’t be lovers, but even worse, you couldn’t even be friends.

You’re cruel.

That was all you said before you bowed politely and walked away, letting him return to the confused, doll-like face of his new forever, the place you used to stand, the space in his heart you used to occupy. You used to wonder what wedding dress he would like to see you in. Probably white, with floor-length lace and an obscenely long train. Close-fitted to show off your body. Dramatically simple extra-long tulle veil to cover your entire body as you floated down the aisle, holding a waterfalling floral bundle that bordered on ridiculous, but it was all part of the dream.

Taehyung, standing at the end, looking crisp and statuesque compared to your ethereal beauty.

You had looked back to see him tucking a spare strand behind his new girlfriend’s ear and lightly kissing her glowing cheek. He was so handsome like that, with his dark long curls half-swept back and in a relaxed rich brown suit with a low-necked beige shirt underneath.

You had snapped your head away, feeling like you had intruded on a beautiful moment.

As if you witnessing it had somehow made it ugly.

Hey, are you okay?

I’m fine.

In your dining room, you opened the scissors and turned them in your hand so the exposed blades were between your thumb and index.

Stabbed downward.

Dragged it across.

The clear tape on the cardboard box split, a grating hollow sound following. You lifted your hand and closed the scissors, placing them back on your dining room table. Opened the box, finding brown paper packaging.

You used to love Kim Taehyung.

Now everyone was telling you to unlove him.

You reached into the carboard box, but then you stopped. Bit your lip. In your head, Taehyung was grinning at you, dragging you through the park, summertime sun gleaming off the green grass like the scene of a movie. Every day was a movie with Kim Taehyung, with excellent cinematography and hazy lighting reminiscent of old films, a romance for the ages.

The brown paper crumpled in your hand, harsh points digging into your palm.

You used to love the love between you and Kim Taehyung.

You looked down.

Black velvet.

A box.

For a ring.

You opened it.

A silver skull surrounded by a snake.

You took it out and slipped it onto your left middle finger.

-

The taste of skin.

Right there, on the edge of your tongue. You kissed to the sound of dead leaves falling, held on to the drumbeat of rain, tangled yourself in warm scent during the rapidly cooling nights. Fingertips sliding up your arm, closing in around your elbow, pulling you closer. Close was never close enough. Intense never intense enough. Harder. A waterfall of black softness, shadow. Lips right there, dark from kisses.

Your eyes finding him.

His gaze already on you, open-mouthed smirk bordering on good-natured.

He leaned in, shrouding you in the black waves of his long hair that had become messy and fucked up from your hands.

“Lift your hips.”

So deep.

You gasped. Almost painful was the right amount of pleasure, digging your nails into his sheets and following his rhythm, closing your eyes and letting the sensations take over, breathless with effort, muscles wrung tight with tension, hot and soft and wet and tightening your core, ticking your head back, the taste of Min Yoongi’s skin on the edge of your tongue.

You stood in his bathroom after, putting your silver ring back on your left middle finger, making sure the face of the skull was facing you.

You reflection looked back at you but there wasn’t much to see.

You ran a hand through your hair and decided that was good enough with the casualness of your oversized hoodie. Your straight-leg jeans were somewhere. All black. That was all you wore these days. Everything as black as you could get it, so black that the fabric seemed to suck all light from everything around it.

You turned the light off and went back to Yoongi’s bedroom.

“Are you doing something on Saturday?”

“Why.”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, coming from your mouth.

“Gonna take you to a concert.”

“My interest in frolicking with the masses is lower than your voice,” you replied dryly, picking up the edge of the blanket and sliding under. The owner of the bed was laying down in it, holding his phone with one hand. He did not drop it even as you settled in.

“My voice isn’t that low.”

“Lower than your interest in frolicking in the masses, then.”

He tutted and turned his phone towards you. “That band you were talking about earlier is holding a concert near my place. Saturday, at seven. I like to arrive early, so swing by a couple hours earlier and we’ll grab dinner before going.”

You glanced at him.

At bored, cat-like eyes and fair skin that barely saw the sun, complete with dark circles that explained why.

“You don’t like rock bands.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows. “And why do you think that?”

You shrugged. “You like hip-hop.”

He chuckled and set a hand behind his head, looking amused. “I’m a rapper, but I create all genres of music. I started with classical piano. I’ve even made tracks for idol groups.” He ticked his head, looking down at you even though he was below you. “Don’t put me in a box.”

You looked down at his phone screen, away from his face.

Date and time.

The picture of the band, smiling and harmonious.

Silence.

“I thought you weren’t listening,” you finally said.

“Of course, I’m listening. You were talking about your interests and music is my life. Why the fuck wouldn’t I listen?”

Your line of sight raised and you stared into Yoongi’s eyes.

He looked back at you, slight frown on his lips.

You didn’t say anything more.

-

They were even better live than you thought. It was strange, focusing on nothing but the music and the performance. You were glad you attended the concert because a week after a few members of the band announced their departure for military service. You owned a few of their albums and set them out to display on your dresser, placing your printed-out ticket next to it.

A memory.

Now, you were sitting on another person’s bed.

Yoongi was holding your left hand, turning it in his.

“It’s cool.”

Your knee was resting against his.

He let go of your hand.

You stared out his bedroom window, thinking about how the leaves were really turning brown now, falling in blankets that were either crunchy or soggy underfoot depending on the quality of the sky that day. He lived more in the city, out of necessity. Easier to make connections when he was in the vicinity, especially when convenience was the determining factor on whether or not Yoongi wanted the inconvenience of human interaction.

There was a park nearby, but he rarely went.

“You bought it,” you said.

“Mhm.”

That was kind of how conversations went between you and Yoongi.

It was mostly your fault.

You turned your head to the left to face him.

Yoongi barely angled his face to glance at you questioningly.

“Why?” you asked.

“Because you showed it to me. I liked it.” He chuckled, looking down at your silver ring of a skull anchored by a snake. Almost sheepish. Still relaxed though. Always relaxed. Calm and collected, that Min Yoongi. “You are the kind of person who is meant to be yourself.”

Your hand rested onto your thigh.

“What does that mean?”

Those dark brown eyes raised, piercing and cat-like. You had a feeling it wasn’t going to answer. That was how conversations went between you and Yoongi, a back and forth of subtext and eye contact, and then the real questions being asked. Eventually.

“Why did you break up with Taehyung?” that deep, raspy voice asked you.

Hey, are you okay?

I’m fine.

Well, I’m getting out of here. Come on.

You stared at him, at pale-faced Min Yoongi framed by long black hair that cascaded down the left side of his face, a face of refined features that seemed delicate and yet his demeanor was anything but. Chilling sometimes, unbothered most times, observant all of the time.

“I was getting sick of the constant travelling,” you finally answered.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow.

You want to get a drink?

I don’t drink.

Then how do you get through a shit time? Sulking?

Fuck off, Yoongi.

He nodded, turning away to look out of his bedroom window.

“Hm.”

It was a very dismissive, hm. It made the moment weird, as if it would be suddenly inappropriate to crawl into his lap and make out with him, which was kind of the whole point of you being here.

Kind of.

You chewed at nothing in the back of your teeth and breathed out.

There was no difference, no matter what questions he asked. Or what he said. Or didn’t say. It just was what it was and nothing more. What was the point of talking about it? There was nothing to talk about. You had sat in a bar with Yoongi as he ordered a drink and drank it while you sat there and brooded in your head. He didn’t even pay attention to you. Had his phone in his hand and sipped his whiskey. The sounds of the bar were all meshing together, music, laughing, conversations, closeness.

You had turned to face him.

Yoongi had looked up from his phone.

The party you had both attended was for a mutual friend. You hadn’t wanted to go, but they were celebrating their engagement and you figured you should at least deliver a congratulations in person. At least some damn flowers. You hadn’t expected to see Taehyung at that hour but, unlike you, he had probably been there the entire time. You had only stopped by for a few minutes. Work and shit. Yoongi had only stopped by for maybe half an hour.

Your knee had been touching his at the bar, your chairs too close.

The sounds of the bar were all meshing together, but you barely heard it. There was a solidness against your knee, and then a fluidity as you leaned in, wanting to see his reaction.

Stopped.

He smelled a little bit like alcohol, but mostly like sharp, fresh cologne.

Yoongi hadn’t moved.

He was just watching you.

“You think I’m pathetic, huh?” you whispered, looking into his eyes.

His head tilted, something intense in his calm gaze.

“Pathetic people don’t think about kissing me,” Yoongi replied.

You searched the ocean within those dark brown orbs, almost black in the shadows of your faces.

“I’m not thinking about it.”

That was what you said.

His lips had curved into an open-mouthed smirk and you had closed the distance.

And now.

Why did you break up with Taehyung?

You could stand up and walk away without saying a word. You could. He wasn’t even looking at you now. You didn’t have to look into his eyes before walking away. Tick. Tock. You breathed in. His scent was everywhere, sharp and fresh. This was his place, lit up orange by golden hour, fiery in the way the sun’s rays caught onto the white duvet and then snuffed out by the black accents and dark wood of the furniture. He said his dad basically ended up picking out most of the pieces. His dad told him his future wife would enjoy this kind of style.

You liked the black-on-black look of Yoongi’s studio more.

Especially the dark gray rug read, KEEP OFF.

You meant to ask him where he got it but, till this day, you hesitated.

You looked away from his things and told Yoongi the truth.

“I broke up with Taehyung because I was beginning to think that I loved the way he loved me more than him actually loving me.”

You stared out of his bedroom window, but instead of seeing skyscrapers and an urban jungle, you saw a hazy scene of a park and summertime sadness. Everything was picture perfect. Nothing out of place. Nothing but the way you felt, the festering feeling of something being wrong about this scene but how could it be wrong when it was so right, when it was just like a movie, you and Kim Taehyung?

“I didn’t want to admit that maybe I fucked up and picked the wrong guy when the guy was perfect.”

Flowers and candlelit dinners.

“He’s not that perfect,” came the raspy murmur beside you.

You still had that diamond necklace.

“He’s perfect for someone.”

“Not you.”

You turned your head and faced Yoongi.

“How do you know?”

He turned his head and faced you.

“I don’t.”

He ticked his chin down to the bed and then flickered his gaze back up.

“Pathetic people don’t think about fucking me, though.”

You stared at him.

“You’re cruel.”

Yoongi smirked, his black hair casting shadows over his eyes and cheek.

“We all are, sometimes.”

-

I bet you could be cruel if you wanted to.

Your hands on his wrists, gripping tight. Nails into skin.

Why would I want to?

Devouring kisses. His tongue was so strong. You had to fight it. Suck on it and abuse it and he was smiling under your venomous mouth. You shoved his wrists into his own pillow, forcefully, driving your hips down at the same time, abruptly releasing Yoongi’s tongue and hissing right into his mouth, not letting him escape your hot breath.

Life is about balance, you know.

Slow roll of your lower body and you let go of his wrists, sliding your fingertips up his palm and tracing his fingers, inhaling his shuddering exhale. There was no good word to describe his scent. Not his cologne, but him. Not quite warm, for his hands were usually cold. Soft in comparison to the sharp angles of his chin and cheekbones. Comforting for some reason despite his usually distant, cold expression.

Your hands were always warm.

You kept your demeanor razor-sharp, pricking anyone that tried to get too close.

You felt the calluses on the pads of his fingers.

You opened your eyes.

Yoongi smirked, open-mouthed and teasing.

You lifted your head and slid your hands off his, onto the pillows, and then the angle was better, more fulfilling and intense, easier to clench around him and drive his hard cock in deeper, almost in pain but not quite, harder, clawing your nails into his pillows, looking down at him, watching his eyes close and his lustful sigh escape him, smile on his face, not hiding his pleasure, unafraid.

You tilted your head.

Tightened your jaw and all around him.

Fucked him into his bed until you were breathless.

And kept going, anchoring your knees into the mattress, your hands curling into fists and punching into the soft pillows, so focused at each arcing wave of pleasure that you could feel it move through you, the vicious high prickling through your veins and making your muscles scream, crushing tension threatening to push you over the brink, his low moan catching your ear and you looked up, your messy hair covering half of your face.

His own hair was a chaos of black waves that rose as Yoongi lifted his head, lashes lowered, breathing out your name like hot smoke.

Ghost of a sly smile on his seductive lips.

“You get sexier every time we fuck.”

Maybe he was mocking you, but you stared into his eyes and it didn’t feel like that at all.

You sucked in a sharp breath, the dryness of your throat stinging you.

The drop.

It hit you too hard and too fast, stamping the air out of your lungs and leaving you on the edge of ecstasy, your head snapping back and eyes squeezing shut, seeing nothing and feeling everything, throbbing rush of orgasm torrenting through your ribcage and all around him, rigid and hard and alive, and then you heard Yoongi hiss, the immediate fwump of his head hitting the pillow and his wanton moan, his hands shooting up to your hips and digging his fingers into them, pinning you down to his jerking length.

Roughness, harshness, opening your eyes to see Yoongi breathing out, shuddering at the high.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Hard.

“It’s infuriating how handsome your orgasm face is,” you panted.

Yoongi didn’t open his eyes.

His just chuckled, dark and low.

-

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

“Seven billion plus people on this earth,” Yoongi hummed as he sliced the pork belly. “And you want me to believe only one person out there is the one for me?” His hand paused and he raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged.

He ticked his head, pocketing a small scoff in his cheek. “The likelihood of meeting said person is extremely low, not to mention in some cases downright impossible for some due to the cost of travel. What if your soulmate lives across the world? How will be even know without travelling there? And then there’s the cultural, societal, and personal biases that interfere with the very nature of soulmates, for how can you have an open mind about other human beings when you’re too busy being shallow and trying to mold others into an impossible ideal?”

He glanced at you, setting the knife down.

You pushed the bowl of thick-grained sea salt towards him.

Silence.

“You believe?” he asked softly.

You shook your head.

“No.”

His fingers picked up the salt and he rubbed it into the meat generously.

“It’s fine if you do.”

You half-smiled. “I don’t. I think soulmates are an idea created by greedy companies to push society towards heedless consumption of various services to perfect oneself but then those same companies create a paradox by constantly changing the idea of perfection. It’s an endless hamster wheel, and the concept of soulmates is only one spoke of many. And, anyway, isn't the idea of soulmates simply a response to the fear of the unknown? A certainty created by the human condition to console that fear. Someone to believe in. And, as we all know, at the center of believe is a lie.”

More silence.

Yoongi slowly nodded, pensive.

“Then arranged marriage or matchmaking in the previous generation is better?”

“I don’t really believe external influences should have much impact on someone that you are vowing to be committed to.”

“We have responsibilities as sons or daughters, though.”

He turned and washed his hands, body no longer facing you. The profile of a chef. He was good with the knife and he knew how to prep the meat. Practiced and calm.

“My dad told me I should just focus on being happy over anything else.”

Yoongi smiled, pouring oil into the deep pan. “He’s right.”

“He also said I fucked up big when I broke up with Taehyung and that no one will ever love me again.”

“Ah. He was trying to make you feel better.”

You both waited. Minutes passed. The meat was lifted with metal tongs and then placed into the scorching hot oil, gradually searing the outside to a golden brown before Yoongi would eventually remove it and place it onto the grated oven sheet to bake and become crispy pork belly.

“Love dads. They’re great,” you commented dryly.

The head of long hair turned, dark waves wisping over fair-skinned cheekbones and a half-smile.

“You’re not happy right now?”

In an oversized cream t-shirt and black sweatpants, holding a pair of tongs, meat sizzling and popping below Min Yoongi’s amused grin and dark brown orbs that sparkled knowingly.

You felt something.

A little twist of the knife right to the heart. It came and it went, swift and jarring, but you were sure that it was there. Certain that you experienced it, even though there was no evidence left behind.

You stared back.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” was your answer.

Yoongi turned back to the meat, turning it. “It’s a useful skill to have. I should at least know how to make your favorite food.” He shrugged. “Crispy pork belly is easy anyway.”

“I can make it on my own.”

“You might like mine more.”

“I haven’t eaten yours.”

“Hence the events transpiring right here, right now.”

It was pretty good.

You hadn’t made your own recently, so you told him you would have to get back to him of whether or not you liked his more. He said that was fine. His playful smile was a little suspicious though.

-

You walked past the glass cabinet in your dining room.

You were holding scissors.

Paused.

Opened it and reached to the back, turning the teacup so the bird graphic was visible behind the orange glass blown vase. Pulled your hand back and looked at it. The whole thing, all kinds of delicate trinkets inside the clear glass, various gifts from various points in your life.

History.

You closed the door and went back to your bedroom to cut the tag off so you could get dressed.

-

“What do you look like when you want to seduce someone?”

You blinked slowly. “What?”

“What,” Min Yoongi repeated calmly, tucking his hands into his black trouser pockets. “Do you look like when you want to seduce someone?”

“What does that have to do with wedding guest attire?”

“Nothing really. I’m just curious.”

You were also wearing black slacks, high-waisted unlike Yoongi’s, and paired with a white crop top and charcoal gray denim jacket two sizes too big. A different vibe compared to his red plaid shirt over a branded white t-shirt. Him, sneakers. You, thick-soled black boots with a zipper down the side so you could get out of them easily when trying on dresses for that wedding you weren’t originally going to until Yoongi mentioned that he needed assistance in picking out clothes since he didn’t really have anything for the same wedding he was also invited to.

You looked over the racks, seeing a black, figure-hugging minidress with extremely thin straps and a mesh overlay.

“Something like that. Simple black heels. With a longline blazer over it, possibly with statement lapels, unique fabric, or some other standout aspect about it.”

Those dark, cat-like eyes went from the dress to you.

“I’ve never seen you wear something like that. Not even when Taehyung brought you around.”

You thought you would feel a sting of pain hearing his name, but, nothing.

“That kind of style would contrast too much with his.”

“So?”

“He is the model.”

Yoongi blinked slowly, staring at you until you felt uncomfortable.

“That dress with the jacket and boots you’re wearing now.”

He ticked his head.

“It’d look good.”

You looked back, holding his gaze for several seconds.

Then you went over to the rack and picked up the black dress.

-

His eyes told you, see, I told you it would look good.

Yoongi didn’t say anything because he shouldn’t be in the dressing room with you and he most certainly shouldn’t be sliding his hands up your thighs and leaning in to kiss you. Remarkably silent, like two shadows conversing, your bodies meshed into each other, tongue to tongue, breathing into his mouth as his nails dragged across your ass, bunching up the black dress from barely covering you ass to no longer covering it.

You concluded that you should at least buy it after if you were about to defile it like this.

Yoongi slid his tongue into your mouth and smiled against your lips as you sucked on it, hard.

Turned his hand and slid it between your legs, his shoulder pinning your body into the wall, the mirror behind him reflecting his back and part of your face shrouded by his long black hair.

“What?”

“Come in with me.”

Raised eyebrows. “Hah?”

“Are you scared you’ll be too loud and give us away, Yoongi?”

Narrowed eyes, taking on your challenge.

So far, so good. The loudest noise was his fingers sliding into your wet pussy and going in and out.

Your gaze flickered from the mirror to his face, warning him.

He switched tactics and rubbed your clit instead.

You let go of his tongue and clenched your teeth, the buckling weight of sensitivity threatening, but he stifled any sound you could have made with his lips. Darkness, your eyes squeezed shut, tensing up at the constant, steady rubbing. It would have been unbearable if Yoongi started with too fast of a pace, but he didn’t, slowly building the inescapable pressure into shivering pleasure, his other hand against the wall to anchor your bodies, your breath getting thin, your hips moving with his hand, the dress that you hadn’t purchased yet scrunched up at your waist, slickness clinging to your inner thighs, sweet scent of sex rising between you and him.

He exhaled into your mouth, hot and hazy.

Following his fingers, intensifying the rhythm with your hips pushing back against his strength.

Silent moan into his throat, your eyes opening slightly and his too, connected under the shadow of lashes.

Closer.

The music in the store was very loud but you heard nothing, only the quiet labored breathing between you and Yoongi, strands of his hair brushing against your cheek, electricity stinging over your skin, pleasure and excitement.

Your head tipped back and his followed.

Your eyes closed again.

His lips leaving yours, and yet no sound leaving your throat, your resolve caging it all in.

“Cum for me,” he whispered under his breath, barely audible.

You bit your lip and sucked in a tight breath, tension from jaw to thighs, and then your hips bucked against his insistent fingers, legs shaking and gripping his wrist, the wicked flinch of orgasm radiating through you and followed by rough, rippling pulses, cum sliding down your inner thighs and his hand.

Mute bliss.

The dressing room was pretty small.

Yoongi let your ride the throbbing high until you stilled.

Then he kneeled down and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, hot tongue to hotter wetness, and your hand automatically grabbed his head, sinking your fingers into his soft hair, chewing on your lip to avoid making any noise as he licked you off and you rode his face.

You pushed those black waves back, looking down.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, cocky expression solely in his eyes.

You bought the dress.

The initial mission was not completed, but the executive decision was made to not give a fuck.

-

“You don’t like this kind of stuff?”

For the first time, those cat-like eyes faltered and glanced down at the intricately plated steak placed on a specialty cutting board with a raw edge, accompanied by a wine glass, well-designed silverware, pale gray linen napkins and white sateen Egyptian cotton tablecloth.

He hesitated, which was very unlike Min Yoongi.

Then he looked up and didn’t answer your question.

“I’m not Kim Taehyung and I will never be.”

Over candlelight, you gazed back at him.

“I know. That’s why I was the one to invite you to this restaurant instead of you bringing me here.”

Yoongi tilted his head, and he was very much himself once more. Discerning, reading your body language, taking in the details of your outfit. The longline blazer with the black satin lapels and red brocade. Your hair swept to the side. Striking smoked-out eye makeup with red stained lips. Silver ring of a skull and a snake on your left middle finger.

Tiny, tight, black minidress with a mesh overlay underneath.

“I heard you have expensive taste,” you hummed.

His chin ticked downward and a flash of sheepishness came and went through his expression.

“Calling me out, huh.”

“You can have whatever you want if you’re ambitious enough.”

Those eyes darted to yours and he smiled.

That smile meant something.

As if it was asking you, are you?

“I will admit, these restaurants modelled after Western high class is slightly pretentious,” he commented, keeping his tone light.

“It’s accurate, then.”

And now Yoongi laughed.

Not loud, because he never laughed loudly. A little raspy, as if he was not used to it, almost exasperated but amused at the same time, the kind of laugh that made his cheekbones puff up and his eyes crinkle, flash of pink gums and white teeth in his smile.

You smiled back.

You thought it would feel weird, but mostly it felt right.

-

You wondered if you would count the seconds, minutes, days, months.

You wondered if it would feel weird.

You wondered if you had made a mistake.

You stood in your dining room, leaning against the table, thinking about it. The songs he used to play for you, you didn’t listen to anymore. The parks you used to frequent with him, you didn’t visit anymore. The flowers you both used to stop and appreciate, you walked past now, ignoring them.

You used to stare at Taehyung for hours, because he was so beautiful.

And now you even didn’t think of him until you walked in this room.

You raised your head.

In front of you the glass cabinet, and your reflection.

It would have been more romantic if you were wretched, maybe. In a large t-shirt you had taken from him, with tears down your face, glittering in the overhead light, slowly sinking to floor, into the shadows of your dining table and chairs, and, in your windows, twilight slipping into the darkness of night as you thought of him.

Instead, it was a cloudy afternoon and you were wearing a black velvet shirtdress with a waist tie and Min Yoongi’s borrowed leather jacket that you used last time when you came home late.

You wondered if you were supposed to have a longer period of mourning.

You wondered.

You wondered if you were supposed to lurk Taehyung’s Instagram to see what he was up to lately.

You reached up and opened the glass cabinet.

Pulled the teacup forward so it was visible, in front of the orange glass-blown vase. The small bird and the leaves gleaming against white porcelain, reminding you of Yoongi’s skin after he showered, droplets clinging to his cheekbone and jaw, his wet black hair pushed back as he leaned in, smile on his lips when they touched yours.

You felt guilty for not feeling strongly about it all.

That was strange, wasn’t it? Wasn’t there supposed to be a moment when you were looking back fondly on the memories, reminiscing about that past romance, that first love that you were sure of now? You knew people treasured those moments. Not just in movies, but in real life too. You heard the stories of friends lamenting beside you, daydreaming about what it was like back then, even those in complete and fulfilling relationships.

Drunk on nostalgia.

You adjusted the teacup so it was perfectly in the center of the saucer.

There it was, displayed at the center of the cabinet.

Expensive, beautiful, and unused.

Forgotten until you saw it again.

You closed the door.

-

“What are you watching?” Yoongi asked as he approached.

You were standing at the bus stop, waiting for him. You plucked out one of your earbuds.

“UFC.”

He blinked slowly. “Hah?”

“You mentioned it the other day and I was reminded that it’s been a while since I’ve kept up with it.” You pocketed your electronics, sliding them into your bag and zipping it shut. “I watched all the high profile matches when I was in high school.”

His eyebrows raised. “Your parents paid for pay-per-view?”

“I knew my way around the internet.”

He snickered. “Tsk tsk.”

“Come on. This is our bus.”

-

You held his hand.

You felt his head shift. He looked down and then up. Silence, except for the sounds of the street, the loud chatter of patrons, and the sizzle of hot oil inside the street stall. Orders were being called out in a firm, clear voice. Kids laughed and crowded around, small hands grasping paper cups and long sticks of rice cake and sausage drenched in savory red sauce.

You held Min Yoongi’s cold hand and warmed it with yours, waiting patiently.

“I used to come here as a kid,” you chuckled. “With my friends, counting up our allowance, and then annoying the cashier with too many coins.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be an arcade there, facing the market. I bet the workers got tired of wiping up after our sticky hands.”

He squeezed your hand.

Your heartbeat fluttered in your chest.

You turned your head and saw Yoongi glancing over to where you gestured.

He was smiling, somewhat ruefully and in agreement.

“Back in the day, huh.”

“What, were you one of those cram school kids?”

His head turned and the cool breeze caught the edges of his black hair, curling it against his cheek, his stark profile contrasting the grey sky and dead leaves scattered on worn asphalt, wearing a black bomber jacket with white dragons on it, dark grey sweatshirt under, black slacks, and monochrome sneakers.

Yoongi gave you a look, raised eyebrow and pursed lips, wordlessly asking, are you serious?

“No, I was playing basketball and making music instead of doing homework.”

You hummed. “Can safely say your hobbies became more indicative of your future than mine. All of my arcade tricks of jiggling the controls have not become applicable skills for adulthood.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked, almost innocently.

Almost.

You narrowed your eyes at him and the employee called your name, letting you know your deep-fried swirly potato-on-a-stick was ready.

His long hair was getting all over his face.

“Why didn’t you wear a beanie?”

Yoongi shrugged.

“You like when my hair gets messy.”

-

You dragged his hair over his face and sank your fingers into it, thrusting your hips up and tipping your head back, shocking pleasure rippling through your tense muscles, succumbing to the intoxicating high, breathing out, hot exhale and smoldering lust.

Yoongi clenched the right side of his jaw and stared down at you, the tendons on his neck standing out.

He was trying to resist it.

Your tongue slowly traced your open lips, ending with a smirk.

His torso shivered against your thighs, pushing his hips forward, deeper, wet and tight and pulsing, all around, suffocating salient sensation that drove him insane, or at least he looked the part, harder, his hair cascading down over his eyes and his cheeks, open mouth, heavy pants, following the rhythm of your body, the muscles of his shoulders trembling, closer, finding his dark eyes in the shadows of those strands, daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

You felt him.

The high so high, the air so electric, and you didn’t look away, lifting your hips to meet his in a loud smack, clenching around his twitching cock, the ecstasy of orgasm prickling all over your nerves, his name and your name mixing in husky whispers, breathless from the intensity.

Yoongi pushed back his hair, exhaling hard.

His forehead leaned against yours.

“Hah… You have a surprising amount of power in that sexy body of yours…”

“No, you.”

He laughed gruffly at your quick response, tickling your chin with his breath.

“I’m tired,” you declared.

He was so close that you could count his eyelashes.

“Then stay here.”

You stared into his eyes.

You never stayed before. Eventually, when there was no more to do, you went home. The same apartment. The same furnishings. The same routine that was becoming so mundane, so brainless, so pointless, because what was the point of experiencing life’s small comforts on your own when next time, next time, you could…

You didn’t say anything.

You bent your arm and reached over to above your shoulder, finding his hand and wrapping your fingers around it.

It was so simple.

“Don’t regret it,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

He raised an eyebrow. You felt it more than saw it.

“I thought it was obvious?”

“We should… at least say it once.”

It would be said more than once. Many times.

The first time was just the one to start off forever. You didn’t wait for him.

“I love you.”

Yoongi lifted his head so you could see him say it. He didn’t hesitate.

“I love you. I mean it.”

-

Red lips.

Red dress.

Dark red, high collar, billowy long sleeves, backless. The fabric clung to your hips, accompanying high side slit to expose a flash of leg. Hair swept to the side with long dangling earrings, red gems in a teardrop shape.

Silver ring of a skull surrounded by a snake on your left middle finger.

Min Yoongi rested his arm around your waist, his hand loosely on your hip.

Dark red shirt with a notched collar, black slacks, and his keys with the white tag keyring jangling on his belt loop. He carried his blazer over his shoulder, somewhat surprised that it was warm in the venue, but that was probably due to the number of people crowded in there, everyone busy congratulating the newlyweds.

You saw Kim Taehyung.

In a dark teal three-piece suit, standing next to his girlfriend wearing a forest green dress that suited her long hair and elegant figure. He spotted you and your eyes connected.

He almost looked away.

You smiled and nodded.

Taehyung paused, and then he smiled back.

“You want to say hi?”

“No.”

“Hm, I was looking forward to you telling him how much better I am at fucking.”

You almost snorted.

“I can’t say something like that at a wedding, Yoongi.”

“You can. I believe in you know the exact Korean words to express your satisfaction.”

You didn’t even bother giving him the side-eye this time.

“You’re cruel.”

“We all are, sometimes.”

“I’m about to be cruel to you in this dress.”

“Oh, good. I was beginning to lose hope.”

You smirked, turning your head, and Yoongi smirked back, open-mouthed and playful, yours, and you had wondered, how would I know, but you just knew, and how you knew was over time, over touches, over conversation, over moments that you thought meant nothing but, actually, they were all scenes of a movie that only you and Min Yoongi could make.

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you

[thefreelanceangel]

FFXIVWrite2023 (#2 - Bark)

Angling the knife, she pressed down with all of her weight. A sliver at first, then a curl of cherry bark gave way as she got the blade adjusted at the correct angle. Imayo panted a breath, leaning on the tree, and plucked the tough outer bark away. The inner cambium revealed, she could begin harvesting in earnest.

Sweat trickled between her scales, made the join of skin and scales itch terribly, and dampened the light linen smock she wore. Imayo squinted behind the smoked glasses she wore, tilting her head forward to keep the broad brim of her hat protecting her ghostly skin, and shook one hand, dancing the glove back into place.

Not for the first, third, or thousandth time, she longed for an assistant.

Imayo knew not to linger on the thought, on the rage that so easily followed it, on the exhaustion which came on the heels of that. While her parentage, her birth, her very being could not be laid at her own feet as a fault, her perspective on such and how she managed it could.

She knew the stories, the superstitions as well as anyone else. Perhaps better, due to her unique position between life and death. No one could truly be blamed for finding her... a bit off-putting. The very fact that she could (and did) cross onto sacred ground without hesitation, that she'd climb Mount Rokkon unaccompanied and return uninjured...

With a sigh, she looked towards the path she'd unhesitatingly climbed, hand adjusting on the handle of her knife. For years, she'd wandered without hesitation in pursuit of the roots, bark, leaves, flowers all needed for her alchemical potions, her medicines, her tattoo inks.

And never once had someone come after her to ensure her safety, to perhaps see if she needed aid.

To spend time with her.

A foolish sorrow, perhaps. Once she tried not to dwell on as she went about her daily life. Only occasionally, when a task overwhelmed and she remembered the rare, precious times she'd had the gift of a friend's company, did Imayo acknowledge an emptiness in her life.

#FFXIVWrite2023 #Imayo Mikomori #FFXIV #Screenshots #I'll hopefully be more coherent for tomorrow's prompt b/c where even was I going with this #I obviously need to spend more time with Imayo

[bijoumikhawal]

Cardassian Worldbuilding: Name Days

This is based on a throw away reference from ASIT: "“And Limor Prang will get you started. This is Elim Garak, our newest junior probe,” Tain said to Limor, whose facial expression appeared permanently set to reveal nothing. Tain turned back to me; the smile was gone. “You will no longer live at home. Visits to your family will be limited to holidays and name days. You are never to say anything to anyone about your work other than your designation as a research analyst in the Hall of Records..."

IRL, a name day is a celebration mostly found in European and Latin American countries where you celebrate the day of the year associated with the Saint who bears or is associated with your baptismal name. Some counties celebrate this and birthdays, while others do not. I, like most people, don't think normative Cardassian society is theistic by the time that Garak lives, and that includes the idea of saints that have officially recognized days.

The way I choose to interpret this is simply that Cardassians do not celebrate birthdays. Looking further at ASIT (this topic is not mentioned at all in the show to my recollection), I found this quote. "My name as a child was “Sleg” after the sleg corgan, a huge crawling beast that in certain seasons would barely move at all." The distinction made by calling it a "name as a child" and not a nickname to me implies that the name day is a celebration of the day one receives their "adult" name.

The adult name is picked and formally recognized when a child is around 2 years of age. This time is culturally recognized by Cardassians as when a child has crossed a threshold and is now unlikely to die of illness, and by this time most children no longer need adults to help them maintain body heat at all (in fact for many this need ceases much earlier).

This age is when it's expected a family will start collecting items for the dower and dowry of a child- delayed for the same reason as the delau of naming. These are collected in a chest and filled as the child grows, with the items needed to start a house (dishes, linens, crockery) as well as items primarily of value and decoration (jewelry, art, fabric for clothes). If a parent dies before one or more of their children has had use of their dower/dowry and is past their age of emergence, it's not uncommon for them to be given a small box containing a portion of it that the parent considers particularly important (see Garak's little red box that Tolan gave him). These small boxes are often very decorative.

Prior to receiving an adult name children are usually referred to by a slightly insulting nickname (such as Sleg). This is an old tradition that most Cardassians would not admit is intended to keep evil intent away from the child by referring to them in unappealing terms. It'd still common for a child to be called their child name by their parents even into adulthood as an expression of affection. Adult names have more blatantly positive meanings.

The first name day is celebrated by announcing the name to a gathering of family and friends, and many parents will commission a painter/calligrapher (one usually trains as the other) to paint something relevant to their child's name and write it out. This is displayed similar to a family photo in a common area of the home. This is sometimes also used as a basis to commission a piece of jewelry with the name on it, either as the primary decoration or an engraving. Gifts on subsequent name days may also feature an engraving of the name, now that it is known to others. Even if two people have the same name, the way a calligrapher writes it and the painting they create are unique (by this point personality is fairly familiar to their parents and they may talk about their child's personality to the artist, influencing the final piece).

In addition, it's common for children to bring a small treat for their school mates on the school day closest to their name day, and similar goes for workplaces. The celebrant gets their own sweets and gifts at their celebration. Depending on the families social status, the family may provide food at the celebration as well as the treat the child shares, while others provide something at the celebration but expect guests to bring dishes as well in a potluck style celebration.

Name days are celebrated every other dleiha (a period of time lasting 130 days, so name days are every 260 days). Dleiha are named after a constellation, and if one is named after one as well (which is not uncommon) they often will have an especially elaborate name day celebration during the corresponding dleiha.

#cipher talk #ds9 #cardassians #My worldbuilding #ASIT

[takuas-eyebrows]

by popular demand, here are some reader insert headcanons for the Toa Nuva!

by popular demand i mean 2 people asked me for nuva hcs and my lizard brain spent a week obsessing over it. it's very easy to make me do things apparently. (thank you for your support!!)

as before, some of these hcs are slightly nsfw so beware. oooooOOoOoOoooo more ghost noises as I disappear back into the abyss.

Tahu: Enjoys PDA, especially if it means showing off how hot y’all are together! Expect him to have a proud hand on your hip or your knee at all times. Even touchier in private. He smells like licorice and fennel. He used to be very hotheaded and took on a lot, has since learned to delegate and work as a team. Sometimes still needs to be reminded to talk about his feelings. He can also get a little competitive, if he loses against you at something he’ll sulk a bit. Dates tend to be very active & physical–ziplining, axe throwing, skateboarding–or competitive–sports games, arcade, nights in playing video games. Not skiing. Shows & receives affection through gifts and acts of service; he’s not the best at giving or receiving words of affection. He enjoys movies, particularly comedies & action flicks. He says he likes horror, but he actually hates it and watches horror movies through his fingers or from behind a blanket. In bed, he’s intense, focused, and passionate. He’s not as kinky as one would think but he is very open minded. He likes being in control, but he would enjoy & benefit from not being in control every so often, though he’d need to be convinced. Big spoon.

Gali: Is already quite touchy to begin with, but gets flustered easily beyond anything she’s not used to. She likes holding hands and linking arms. She smells like clean linen and salt water. Very good at communication, but her patience is not limitless and she’s probably already used up a lot of energy doing emotional labor for her team so you’d better pull your weight and learn to communicate. Shows & receives affection through quality time & words of affirmation. Dates involve volunteering together, working out, nature walks/hikes, and going to the beach or lakeshore. She also likes sightseeing, so take her somewhere neat & unique. She’s very cuddly in bed and prefers positions that give her as much body contact as possible. She tends to take charge unless otherwise agreed upon. She’s actually quite kinky, but shy about voicing her desires, so be patient with her. She’s a fantastic kisser. Vers spoon.

Kopaka: is extremely PDA averse. He’ll let you hold his hand and sit pressed up against him; if he’s feeling particularly touchy maybe he’ll put a hand on your knee. In private, he likes holding you as you lean back into him. He smells like pine. He’s a little slow to voice his concerns/needs and sometimes needs to be reminded to talk about them, but can be an effective & straightforward communicator once he opens up. He’s surprisingly hilarious, but only ever mutters jokes into your ear. Shows & receives affection through acts of service and quality time, he’s abysmal with words of affirmation–he gets flustered if on the receiving end. If there’s snow, dates involve skiing/snowboarding, cross country skiing, etc. followed by a warm drink in the lodge lounge. Non-snow dates involve hikes or anything that involves exploring, being high up, and not a lot of people. He also likes independent cinema. In bed, he’s extremely curious and fascinated by your reactions to his actions. He’s attuned to his senses and enjoys exploring your body with touch and taste, but needs some of your guidance. Responds well to praise, so tell him he’s a good boy. <3 Little spoon.

Pohatu: Enjoys PDA and is usually touching you in at least one place at a given moment, but he’s also a touchy person in general. Chances are, you’re probably sitting in his lap already. He smells like leather & cloves; he also might smell a little sweaty if you catch him at the right moment, huff huff. Very amicable, nothing fazes him so others may think he’s a pushover, but he can actually stand up for himself just fine. Very confident in himself. Very aware of how attractive he is and uses it to his advantage. A good team player and partner, doesn’t expect you to change anything for him but also will not compromise his sense of self for another person. All your disagreements come to a peaceful resolution somehow. Shows & receives affection through all means–quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, gifts, etc. Dates mostly involve sports games, playing sports, running, and working out, but he is truly down for anything so hell yea take him to that pottery class you’ve been eyeing. He loves action movies, biopics, and rom-coms. He’s very laid back in bed and will try anything at least once, and has a long list of things that he wants to try as well ;) Has incredible stamina and can go on forever. Big spoon.

Onua: He’s shy about initiating PDA and can get a little flustered, but actually enjoys it. He’s a big cuddly teddy bear and especially loves holding onto you, or just holding hands when out and about. He smells like rain and fresh grass. He’s definitely the strong, silent type and needs to be reminded to speak up if something is bothering him. He speaks gently but straightforwardly, and you find yourself relying on his wisdom and unique way of looking at the world. Great listener. Prefers to give & receive affection through quality time and acts of service. Gets very flustered at words of affirmation, but it’s very cute. He’s very much a gentleman and loves a traditional dinner date + evening walk somewhere nice followed by a coffee; y’all cook together and tend to your joint community garden plot. Dates may also involve birdwatching, hiking, browsing through bookshops, or volunteering. Loves documentaries and sci-fi movies. Tends to let you take the lead in bed, but thinks using his strength to manhandle you a bit is hot. Surprisingly loud. Big spoon.

Lewa: Naturally very touchy, so enjoys PDA. Will kiss you in front of other people. Always has an arm around your shoulders or waist. Smells like lilacs and citrus. Constantly moving and appreciates when someone is able to keep up with him. Easily excitable, charismatic, and full of humor, generally very lively to be around. At times, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes and there seems to be something gnawing at him from deep within, and sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and only sleeps again when you hold him tight and stroke him. Dates feel like adventures–ziplining, climbing, sightseeing. Y’all may have tried hunting for cryptids together once or twice. Knowledgeable about plants you can eat, so he’ll take you foraging and show you dishes you can make from foraged produce. Loves a good concert and a good party, loves dancing. Not picky about love languages, anything goes for him–quality time, gifts, words of affirmation, acts of service. Even though he’s extremely agile and in touch with his body, past events (read: being possessed and his body being used to do harm) have made him a little hesitant regarding physical intimacy. He wants it, but it takes him a while + a lot of patience & encouragement to make him understand that he will not hurt you/he is not still a pawn of Makuta’s. Once he’s opened up to it, he still prefers not to take the lead, but does seem to develop a kink for fucking in risky places. Little spoon.  

#bionicle #suggestive #tahu #gali #lewa #onua #pohatu #kopaka #sorry not sorry #lewa's hesitancy around physical intimacy is actually something i wld like to explore in fic at some point #i think i saw a post abt it at some point but i can't remember where it came from #so if anyone remembers that'd be awesome thx!!

[lady-morrigen]

two queens (in a king sized bed)

PAIRING: Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen (if you squint)

RATING: G (dw, it's all fluffy, yearny angst)

WORDS: 800

WARNINGS: slight wlw themes, some angst, brief mention of death, heavy on the yearning, food and wine mention; nothing too wild, just the innocent portrayal of the love for your childhood best friend

A/N: this is a gift for my angst loving, soft, sweet @corrabell as part of our HotD server exchange! happy new year, my darling! i'm so so happy to know you and to be able to gift you something just for you! 💜

(thanks to @acrossthesestars for giving this a beta and endless encouragement)

Lush, green blades of grass tickle at the bottoms of her feet as she walks through the Godswood. The air is crisp, the smell of jasmine floating along the breeze like a promise, like a distant memory. 

Her fingers grip tightly to the book in her hand, itching to pick back up where they left off the day before. Long, delicate fingers intertwine with hers, swinging gently as they march on. 

There’s a tree ahead, larger than the rest, twisting branches reaching toward the sky as if trying to send a message to the Gods - their spot. She turns to her silver-haired friend, excitement threatening to overcome her. The kind, tender smile she finds on her companions face is exhilarating. 

She’s been rather sullen, what with the impending birth of her little brother. Alicent knows Rhaenyra is excited, but there are many pressures surrounding the babe’s arrival and complicated emotions to be had. 

When they reach the Heart Tree, Rhaenyra has laid flat the blanket carried with them. They drop unceremoniously to the ground, Alicent with her back propped against the rough, gray bark, Rhaenyra’s head in her lap. 

Cracking open the book, she resumes regaling Rhaenyra with the exploits of Nymeria the Warrior Princess, quizzing her every chapter to ensure she’s paying attention. Each correct answer awards Rhaenyra with a gentle pat on the head and one plump grape, fed to her by Alicent. 

Time passes by unnoticed, the two of them inhabiting their own little world, completely wrapped up in each other. There are no thoughts of Kings, of lines of succession, or heirs to be had here. It’s just the two of them, and the unique way that having each other makes it feel as if they can conquer anything. They dance, hand in hand, twirling in the soft grass until they feel as if they’ll puke. They play with each other’s hair, weaving intricate braids with wildflowers, gushing over how beautiful they look. They feed each other fruit and cheese, and drink themselves silly on wine stolen from the kitchens. 

The sun begins its slow descent, casting the Godswood in a dreamy, warm glow. They know it’s time to head back to the Keep, to return to a life where they each have their own roles to play, lines to deliver, people to please. But for now, Alicent thinks, she’s quite content to stay right here, with Rhaenyra’s head on her chest, breathing softly, hearts beating in time, watching as the sun sinks lower and lower, until they’re cast into darkness.

Alicent wakes suddenly in a damp, cold room, in a bed that seems simultaneously familiar and strange. She sits up, rubbing sleep from her weary eyes and takes in her surroundings. The room is quite large, the embers of a long-dead fire simmer quietly in the corner. She’s in a giant canopy bed, the white linens draped delicately over her body, one she didn’t have only moments ago. 

To her left lay a sleeping figure, stringy white hair cast haphazardly over their pillow, soft snores tumbling from their parted lips. The figure, distinctly male, was not that of her childhood friend, but rather that of her friend's father, the King. 

It all comes back to her at once. The birth of Rhaenyra’s brother, Baelon, the death of her mother, Aemma, Baelon’s falling shortly behind. She remembers how her father, Hand of the King, had placed her directly into the line of sight of a grieving Viserys, ensuring that she would be the first he thought of when choosing a new bride. Emotions sit thick and heavy in her throat as she remembers how she wasn’t there for her best friend, her soulmate, the only person who had seen her as a person and not as a pawn to further political connections. 

When had she started crying? 

Alicent sat there, alone on an island, the shell of her husband sleeping soundly beside her, and wept for the way the events of the past had shaped her future. 

She wept for Rhaenyra, how she had felt the call to rebel, not trusting that she could come to her best friend for comfort, for understanding. She wept for Viserys, who was so blind to her father’s ambition that he couldn’t see their marriage for what it truly was. She wept for her children, ignored by their father, weighed down by the pressures of an impossible legacy. 

And finally, she wept for herself, a woman she didn’t recognize anymore. A woman who now held resentment in her heart for the one person she had ever truly loved, whatever that love had once been. The woman who, despite her achievements, her family, and her duties, would love nothing more to escape to the Godswood.

To share one more lazy afternoon laughing and dancing, picking flowers, and watching the sun set over Westeros in the arms of her soulmate. 

#alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent x rhaenyra #rhaenicent #two queens (in a king sized bed) #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #hotd #hotd fic #hotd server exchange #sweet corrabell #mare writes #my writing #my fic #exchange fic

[plushflower]

Plush Truth in Real Life …an omelette wrap and iced tea can feel like fine dining with right help …find a dining set for you experience @ linktr.ee/PlushGemArt

#modern art #unique gifts #contemporayart #fun art #self love #gift ideas #self care #intentional living #incenseburner #incense #home decoartion #homeinterior #homeideas #homecooking #home staging #homedecor #homedesign #home decor #table styling #table linens #table etiquette #table setting #napkin holder #napkin rings #napkins #napkin

[joshlee5881]

10 unique present ideas!

The Art of Thoughtful Giving:

Choosing the perfect gift involves a balance of consideration, personalization, and a sprinkle of creativity. Let's delve deeper into why each of these ideas makes for an excellent, affordable gift.

1. Personalized Recipe Book:

Cooking is not just about preparing a meal; it's an experience, a journey of flavors and memories. A personalized recipe book turns this journey into a keepsake. As you compile your favorite recipes, consider the stories behind each dish. Did a particular recipe become a family tradition? Was there a memorable occasion attached to a certain meal? Including these details adds layers of sentiment to the gift.

2. Customized Photo Calendar:

A photo calendar transcends the ordinary and becomes a visual narrative of shared moments. The careful selection of photos for each month allows you to curate a story. From birthday celebrations to quiet Sunday mornings, each picture captures a snippet of life. The calendar, hung on the wall or placed on a desk, serves as a daily reminder of the joyous times shared with loved ones.

3. DIY Spa Day Kit:

In our fast-paced lives, a spa day is a luxury. However, with a thoughtfully curated DIY spa kit, you're bringing that luxury to your friend's doorstep. Consider scents and products that promote relaxation – lavender for calming, eucalyptus for invigorating. Add a personalized note suggesting they take a well-deserved break, and you've gifted not just items but a moment of tranquility.

4. Handcrafted Scented Candles:

Candles have an enchanting quality, casting a warm glow and infusing the air with delightful scents. Creating your own scented candles allows you to tailor them to your friend's preferences. Experiment with combinations like vanilla and cinnamon or fresh linen. The act of making them by hand adds a personal touch, making these candles more than just décor – they become a sensory experience.

5. Movie Night Basket with Snacks:

A movie night basket is a versatile and enjoyable gift. It caters to both the film enthusiast and those who simply enjoy a cozy night in. The selection of snacks can be tailored to their taste – from classic popcorn and candies to gourmet treats. Include a variety of movie genres or focus on their favorites. It's an invitation to unwind, indulge, and enjoy the magic of cinema.

6. Plant or Succulent in a Cute Pot:

Bringing a piece of nature indoors is a gift that keeps on giving. A plant or succulent, known for its low maintenance, adds a touch of greenery to any space. Pair it with a cute, decorative pot that complements their style. This gift not only enhances their surroundings but also symbolizes growth and longevity.

7. Handwritten Letter or Poem:

In our digital age, a handwritten letter or poem stands out as a rare and meaningful gesture. Pouring your thoughts onto paper requires time and intention, making the recipient feel truly valued. Consider recounting shared memories, expressing gratitude, or simply sharing your feelings. This tangible expression of emotion becomes a cherished memento.

8. Puzzle or Board Game:

Games have a magical ability to bring people together, fostering laughter, friendly competition, and bonding. Choosing a puzzle or board game that aligns with your friend's interests ensures the gift is both entertaining and thoughtful. It's an opportunity to create lasting memories during game nights filled with camaraderie and shared joy.

9. Hand-Painted Coffee Mug:

A hand-painted coffee mug turns a daily ritual into a personalized experience. Consider your friend's preferences – do they enjoy quirky designs, inspirational quotes, or simple elegance? Every sip from the mug becomes a moment of connection, reminding them of your thoughtfulness with each use.

10. Homemade Cookies or Treats:

Homemade treats have a special place in the world of gifts. Baking a batch of cookies or crafting a delicious dessert shows that you've invested time and effort into creating something unique. Package them in a way that reflects the occasion

Where to find all these products in one convenient place: https://kit.co/JoshLee5881/gift-ideas

#christmas #christmas time #gift ideas #christmas gift #holiday

[essentialcatering]

10 Ways to Create Instagram-Worthy Catered Events

In the age of social media, hosting an event that's Instagram-worthy is not just a desire but a necessity. Whether you're planning a wedding, corporate gathering, birthday bash, or any other special occasion, making sure your catering Melbourne event is Instagram-ready can elevate your event to the next level. People love to share their experiences on social media, and you can harness this trend to create buzz and leave a lasting impression. Here are 10 ways to create Instagram-worthy catered events:

Choose a Stunning Venue

Selecting the right venue is paramount. Consider the ambiance, scenery, and architectural elements. Natural lighting is often a plus, as it enhances the quality of photos. Beautiful venues provide a strong foundation for Instagram-worthy moments.

Creative Decor and Tablescapes

Work with event designers and decorators to create a cohesive visual theme. This includes unique centrepieces, table linens, chair covers, and other decor elements. Elements like flower walls, hanging installations, or themed props can make your event visually stunning.

Trendy Food and Beverage Stations

Think beyond traditional buffet lines. Offer interactive food stations like make-your-own tacos, sushi, or ice cream sundaes. These stations engage guests and provide opportunities for captivating photos.

Food Presentation Matters

Collaborate closely with your caterer to ensure dishes are plated artistically. Experiment with different textures, colours, and presentation styles. Consider serving dishes in unique and eye-catching serveware.

Signature Cocktails and Drinks

Create visually appealing signature drinks that match your event theme or colours. Garnish them with colourful fruits, edible flowers, or unique drink accessories. Specially designed glassware can also add an element of elegance.

Lighting is Key

Lighting can completely transform the atmosphere of your event. Consider soft, warm lighting for an intimate gathering or vibrant, colourful lighting for a lively party. Professional lighting can enhance the overall mood and make for excellent photos.

Photo Booths and Backdrops

Set up a dedicated area for photos. Provide backdrops that fit your theme and add props like hats, masks, or funny signs. Encourage guests to use the photo booth and share their pictures with your event hashtag.

Engage with Social Media

Leverage social media platforms to build anticipation and engagement. Create countdown posts, behind-the-scenes sneak peeks, and share stories leading up to the event. During the event, use live coverage to showcase key moments.

Live Entertainment

A live band, DJ, or performance can serve as a captivating focal point. Ensure the stage or performance area is well-lit and visually appealing. Capture the energy and excitement of the entertainment to share on social media.

Unique Favours and Swag

Provide guests with memorable takeaways that they'll want to photograph and share. These can include customised event merchandise, gourmet treats, or personalised gifts that align with your event's theme.

Incorporating these elements into your catered event not only makes it Instagram-worthy but also creates a more immersive and enjoyable experience for your guests. Remember that consistency in theme, decor, and branding throughout the event contributes to a cohesive and visually pleasing atmosphere that's more likely to be shared on social media. So, get creative, pay attention to the details, and encourage your attendees to share their unforgettable moments with the world.

#cateringMelbourne #catering

[farfromsugafanfic]

Amadeus | Chapter Three: The Violinist

Genre: Werewolf AU, slight Fantasy AU, Musician!Reader

Pairing: Bang Chan/Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: violence, animal attack, violence against animals, mention of familial loss, injury

Synopsis: Chan belongs to the Order of Amadeus who work to keep the kingdom safe from the lycanthropy plague spreading among the populace. You can only hunt so long before you become what you hunt.

Y/N is a violinist in a traveling music troupe-one of the few left in the kingdom. One morning when she is practicing in the woods, a man emerges from among the trees and changes her life forever.

Down a member, the Order of Amadeus continues their mission to end the lycanthropy plague, but their missing member remains in the back of their mind as they narrow in on the worst wolf of them all.

There was nothing you loved more than a foggy, misty morning on the edge of the forest. The dew kissed your skin as you left your tent with your violin case slung across your body. It was made of fine brown leather, a gift from your adoptive family for your birthday earlier in the year.

The violin itself had been your grandmother’s and thus was made of an antiquated willow wood that was rarely found in modern violins. However, your troupe liked the older, deeper sound provided by your violin, becoming a mainstay of their sound. 

You walked lightly to prevent waking anyone in your troupe, especially Anton. He had become your de facto older brother since you joined the troupe. He did not like your morning trips into the woods to practice saying that you would one day come face to face with a wolf. Yet, in your two years traveling with troupe, never had seen the glowing, yellow eyes of a wolf up close.

Whenever you and the troupe camped near the woods, you often heard their howls and barks in the distance. Sometimes, it would send shivers down your spine, but then you would glance at the shotgun outside each tent and feel a bit safer. Never had anyone needed to use one but as one of the few traveling music troupes in the realm, you all had to take precautions.

Reaching a lone black poplar tree near a quick running brook, you slung the case over your body and undid the clasps to bring out your violin. It was stained a red-brown which everyone likened to your hair. When your grandmother gave you her old violin, it seemed like it was an indication you were meant to have it.

Placing the instrument between your chin and shoulder, the leather of the chin rest having worn a lighter color where your skin so frequently touched it. Bringing the bow to the strings you began to play. You were not playing any tune, in particular, preferring to let the light pressure of your wrist guide you.

The tune turned somber as it so often did. Unless following the notes laid out on paper, it seemed impossible for you to play a happy song since an avalanche destroyed your village. You still do not know how you ended up at the lodge at the bottom of the valley where the avalanche did not reach. Yet, you’d woken up on soft linen sheets with your violin case laid next to you. The sheets caressed it just as it gently wrapped around your bruised body.

At the lodge, you’d taken to entertaining the guests by the shores of the lake and sometimes in the late evening in the lounge. When the troupe stopped in the nearby village, Anton heard you playing by the lake one day. After an impromptu audition, he asked you to join the musical troupe because their strings section lacked and use the unique sound of your willow violin.

You were thankful to have found a family after losing your own. Still, it was in these early mornings that you became pleasantly somber. Watching the sturdy winter tadpoles practice swimming against the current, you heard a sound among the trees. The bow ceased its fluid movements as you looked around, not catching sight of any glowing eyes or bared teeth. 

It was early, but well past dawn. You would never venture into the woods in the dark. Though, you had heard rumors of eternal wolves–werewolves that never left their wolf form–daytime wolf attacks were rare. It was more likely to be a hare or deer whom you often see eating their breakfast during your practice sessions.

The bow glided over the strings again. The music floated high into the trees almost blending in with the sharp breeze as if it belonged there. You hummed along with the tune absentmindedly, your feet soon joining in to slowly move to the sorrowful melody. This was your favorite part of playing, the way it made you feel like you were lifted high in the air.

A growl sounded in dissonance to the violin. Bringing the violin away from your chin and expecting to meet a snarling wolf, you instead came face to face with a brown bear. Having grown up in the far West mountains, bears were much more manageable than wolves. Yet, you’d never come this close to one before.

Dropping your bow and gently placing the violin against the black popular, you remained facing the bear. It was just like meeting any other predator–never ever turn your back. Once the violin sat in its case, you raised your arms over your head and theatrically curled your fingers into claws.

Your father always told you that if you meet a bear make yourself as big and loud as possible. Your voice was held down with fear, but you managed to force the bear to take a step back, but it still stood with its back slightly arched and fur raised. The bear was skinny and mangy, tufts of missing and matted hair dotting its otherwise beautiful fur.

Bears rarely sought out humans for food, company, or otherwise. However, this one was desperate. It growled again showing ulcerated, bloody teeth. You kept your enlarged stance, but nothing could widen your body. The bear was at least four times your size, even with its diminished frame.

You managed to let out a yell, but it did not deter the bear. The beast raised up on its hind legs, doubling, if not tripling, your stature. As it began to come down, it moved towards you. This time you let out an unrehearsed scream and fell backward.

Before the bear’s claws could come down, it suddenly turned, its massive paws landing inches from your head. You heard a man yelling to your right. Anton?

Except it couldn’t be Anton because the camp was to the left. The right was further into the forest. Standing up on shaking legs, you eventually caught a glimpse of a man. He wore some sort of armor and appeared to have a knife, but a small rapier was hardly going to defend against a bear..

You realized he had thrown a rock at the bear which must have distracted the bear from you. The man and the bear fought in a way that looked like two humans. The bear tried to bite and the man dodged. The bear tried to swipe and the man countered. It was so natural and nearly unbelievable to watch. 

Eventually, you realized you should help, but had no idea how. You had no weapon or strength to fight off a bear. You’d already tried what you could. During the tussle, you noticed the bear’s interest in the pack the man wore. 

“Your pack!” you shouted, hoping he would hear you. The man brought his attention to you, only for the bear to get a successful swipe in that knocked him to the ground. Running towards the tussle, you reached them in time to see the bear ripping the man’s pack from his back.

Once it was free, you used all of your strength to pull the man out of harm’s way. It was only when you had managed to pull him a few feet and the bear had fled with the pack that you realized the man was helping you by pushing himself along with his feet. It was awkward, but you got him beneath the poplar to examine his wounds. 

The bear’s swipe had left a slash across his chest. He wore leather armor, but it appeared old and soft. The bear’s claws had slashed right through it, blood staining the light brown hide. You also noticed bandages around his forearm which had bled through hours before. You considered your options. He needed more help than you could give him in the forest, but you feared he would bleed too much walking back to the camp. 

“I apologize for this as we just met,” you said, reaching to unclasp his armor and unbutton his shirt. Thankfully, the slashes were shallower than they looked. You did not have any bandages, but since it was towards the end of mid-winter you wore your thickest petticoat with multiple layers of soft cotton and fleece. 

Reaching down for the man’s knife, you cut a strip of white cotton from your petticoat and pressed it to the wounds on his chest. While the man was conscious, you worried since he stayed nearly silent and still beyond his labored breaths. You certainly did not expect him to make small talk, but something seemed off. 

Applying as much pressure as you could muster, the blood soaked through the cotton rather quickly. You cut another strip and repeated until it took much longer for the blood to soak through. As you worked, you spoke to him, trying to keep him awake.

“Thank you for saving me,” you said. “I’ve never encountered a bear before. My older brother always says I would meet a wolf out here, but that was the only time something like this has happened.” You noticed his eyes peering up at you as you talked. 

“My name is Y/N, by the way. I’m a violinist in a traveling troupe that’s passing through. Once I get your bleeding under control, I’ll take you back to the camp. We have a lot more supplies there. Our flutist, Maria, also trained as a nurse at one point, so she will be able to do a much better job.”

The man’s lips quirked into a slight, almost imperceptible smile. “You’re doing a good job.”

It was the first thing he said, yet, it sent a shiver down your spine that was not from the cold. “You’re regaining strength. Can you keep pressure on your chest?”

The man complied and used his good hand to keep the bandage pressed firmly against his wound. Moving from his chest, you looked at the bandage on his wrist. You knew that you normally were not supposed to remove an old bandage from a wound. But, this one was so dirty and blood-soaked that you saw no other option. 

Unwinding the old bandage, you noticed the small clots of blood and breathed a sigh of relief. Still, you could tell it was a fresh wound. Cutting one last strip of cotton from her petticoat, you wound it around his wrist careful not to get it too tight.

“Stand up,” you said after tying off the makeshift bandage on his wrist. As he stood up, you took the two ends of the bandage and tied it behind his back. Picking up his shirt and the leather armor, you handed it back to him. For the first time, you noticed his hard muscles. Turning away to give him some privacy as he got redressed, you carefully arranged your top skit back over your petticoat.

“You’re bleeding,” he said from behind you. Facing him, you gave him an odd look, seeing that he was dressed and picking his knife up from the ground.

You do not remember feeling warm blood, but as soon as he mentioned it, awareness came back to your body and you felt pain on the side of your neck where you’d hit the bark of the poplar tree when the bear attacked. 

“It’s all right,” you said. “It’s just a scrape. Come on, let’s get back to camp.” Reaching for your violin that thankfully remained untouched, you secured it in your case before the two of you headed back towards the edge of the forest.

“Y/N!” Anton yelled when he saw you. He looked panicked, likely having noticed your absence lasting later than normal. “Where the Hell have you been?!”

“Where’s Maria? He’s injured,” you said, gesturing to the man who had slung his arm around his shoulders due to the settling pain from his wounds.

Anton’s tall form continued to stay close as Maria–hearing her name–emerged. She was one of the oldest members of the troupe. Plump with gray eyes and graying hair, the man seemed to relax when he saw her like a son seeing his mother.

“What the fuck happened?” Anton asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He was from the Southern provinces evident by his dark skin and accent that carried a lilt. 

“I was practicing,” you said. 

“You were practicing?” He quirked an eyebrow before scoffing. While he seemed angry, you noticed the relief washing over his features. “And then what happened?”

“And—then—a bear attacked—”

Anton let out a sharp breath. “See, this is why I don’t like you practicing out in the woods. You never know what is lurking in there.” He sighed and placed each of his arms on the tops of her arms. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a few scrapes and bruised pride,” you said, giving the man who had become your older brother a small smile. “That man—” It was only then you realized you did not know his name. “--he distracted the bear. Since he was injured I owed him a debt and brought him here.”

Anton was not a fan of new people that were not explicitly invited. You understood, but also wished he was not so strict about maintaining what he called “the integrity of the troupe.” Still, you knew he would make an exception this time because the man had saved your life and was not really in a state to cause much trouble.

“Very well,” Anton said. “We shall provide aid, but do not go getting attached. As soon as we reach the next village with a bed in their infirmary, we are parting ways.”

Chan woke up hours later. He noticed the sun was beginning to dip below the trees and the hour before sunset was upon them. The woman named Maria had stitched his wounds. Her eyes lingered on the bite wound, but she simply disinfected it and did not ask questions. For that, he was thankful. 

It was not long after he awoke that the violinist—Y/N she’d said her name was—came into the tent carrying a tray. On it was two blue ceramic bowls, a small plate of greens, and a roll. She sat down beside him and placed the tray over his lap. 

“I know it’s not a lot, but Maria said you can’t gorge yourself immediately.” Taking one of the bowls from the tray which seemed to contain a stew with a dark colored meat and a few types of vegetables.

Chan studied you, noticing that you had changed and your hair looked freshly washed. The scrape on your neck had been bandaged. He had noticed your natural beauty when he first came upon you playing in the woods. Hearing the somber song, he was surprised to find you dancing to it. He’d watched and listened for a moment, closing his eyes and nearly falling asleep since he had been up the entire night.

“Thank you,” he said. He took a sip of the stew and found that the meat was lamb—his favorite. Dipping the roll in the broth, he nearly salivated down his chin as he took a bite. This is certainly not the meal he expected from a traveling musical troupe, but he could not complain.

“Thank you,” you said. “It took a lot of bravery to take on that bear. I cannot repay you enough.” You bowed your head in respect and thanks.

Chan felt odd accepting your thanks as it was more instinct than anything. His training was to prevent beasts from ravaging the human race. Sure, normally, it was wolves, but all large carnivorous creatures were alike. Yet, he did not reveal his true identity to you. You would only feel more indebted to him and maybe even less lucky. He did not want you to feel like you were simply part of a routine.

“It is only what any respectable person would do.” He was already almost done with his food, absolutely ravenous after going nearly an entire day without any food. You seemed to notice and placed your roll on his tray. 

“Also, I never got your name,” you said, your smile reaching your eyes.

Chan thought for a moment. As he was from the Eastern provinces, he carried both his original name and the name that he used in places unused to the tongue of the Eastern provinces. He pondered which one he should tell you, but remembering he used his birth name in the Order, it became an easy decision.

“Christopher. My name is Christopher.”

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[freedom-shamrock]

An Auspicious Day sounds fascinating!!

An Auspicious Day (aka :An Auspicious Day for Madame Sabine's Caravansary) was an AU I'd written for the Miraculous Magical Tales zine that suffered some possible misappropriation of funds or products and never came out. The goal was to create a short story, but I'll admit the first go felt much more like the start of a novel (which I then plotted out). It's an AU with magical Marinette who grew up in a large boarding house (caravansary).

The teaser for the short version is below the cut.

An Auspicious Day for Madame Sabine's Caravansary (TEASER)

Marinette draped lavender linen over the broad table at one side of her workshop. It was where she marked out patterns in chalk, cut fabric, and pinned pieces together for assembly. It had been a gift from her parents and friends when she first opened Coccinelle, her dream shop. She worked in all things fabric, but her specialty was clothing. Although she wasn't the only stitch-witch in the town of Lutetia, Marinette was the best for unique and challenging pieces.

"Mew?" The call was questioning and polite. She turned her head to see the black cat sitting on the ledge of the window that looked out into the private garden between her shop and her parents' business. Madame Sabine's Caravansary was the largest and most respected rooming house in the region.

"Well hello there, Chaton," she said, smiling at her friend. Adrien was a shape‑shifter and one of her parents' long‑term residents. He'd taken a room with them nearly two years ago, always paying in good coin though he had no apparent occupation. The first month he'd been as jittery as a feral cat, an apt comparison, and didn't leave his room other than to eat or use the facilities. Even now, he rarely ventured out of the caravansary in human form, and she avoided using that name when possible, instead, calling him Chat Noir. "Did you enjoy your morning work with Mama?"

He launched from the window to her table, careful to avoid her fabric with his paws. Once he was closer, he let out a loud happy purr. About a month back he'd met with her parents to discuss exchanging his labor for continued room and board. It seemed his money was finally running out, and he didn't want to go back to where he'd come from. His past was a mystery he refused to talk about, even once he'd opened up and become friends with Marinette. Some of the things he'd said suggested he'd grown up surrounded by both wealth and abuse.

He'd always proven willing to help with repairs and heavy lifting, though his skills had gaps in the basics. "I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time," she insisted. "And I know she appreciates having you." As much as possible, Marinette continued to help with the chores she'd held since she was old enough to help with the family business, especially in the busy spring and festival seasons. But Coccinelle's clientele was rapidly growing, and she wasn't always available to assist with place settings and turning out vacated rooms. Adrien's timing couldn't have been more perfect.

Chat Noir tilted his head and let out a sniff.

Before she could continue reassuring him, the cheerful string of bells at the storefront rang out to announce a visitor. "One moment!" she called. "I'll see you in a bit, Chaton." She left him in the workshop knowing he was respectful enough not to touch anything he shouldn't. He would and could, come and go as he pleased. In that regard, he was very much a cat.

She walked through the section of her shop dedicated to fittings and alterations, pushing aside the curtain and stepping into to the storefront. "Welcome to Coccinelle…" she broke off, recognizing the visitor. "Ah, Sir Felix. To what do I owe the pleasure?" The man was too oblivious to take the flatness in her tone to mean anything.

The green-eyed blond could have been considered handsome, and indeed many of Lutetia's unattached ladies and men, were thoroughly twitterpated over the knight since his arrival a few weeks back. Marinette found him rude and entitled, an internal ugliness that spoiled his potential. He clearly thought his title, lineage, and appearance could get him anything and anyone he wanted.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Fanfic #WIP #WIP Challenge #Asked and Answered #An Auspicious Day #AU

[misakomimoko]

SHOP UPDATE! 💖 These adorable Pin Cushions are already in the shop. 🐈 Inspired by Maria Antonietta, Rainbow Cupcakes, Easter Eggs, and Spring Baskets… and also in Kitsch porcelain figurines, my NEW Pin Cushions feature Fuzzy The Cat in a basket, with a luxurious golden cushion to hold your needles and pins.  🎀 🌼🌷I added two felt flower pins and one velvet bow pin, to get a little more of this baroque style.😊 💫These unique pieces are totally handmade by me, even the cute handweaved basket made from linen cord. 💝They come inside a clear plastic box. Ready to give away as a gift or keep for yourself. 
🥰 Hope you like them! 👉Link in Bio / Stories / Click on the image ❤️Happy Sunday!!! 
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[peterfieldsberlin]

If you are looking for some gift ideas, here’s a little inspiration. You will find these and other unique items in our online shop, to make someone or just yourself happy. Today with: - Fingerless Gloves and Scarf in Midnight by @lebonnetamsterdam - Key Chain and Anchor in Brass by @smoky_sumis_store_ - Blanket Merino Cashmere 1408 by @johnhanly1893 - Coated Linen Tray Blue White Stripes by @foglinenworkeurope - Soap Dispenser and Toothbrush Cup Anelli by #cositabellini - Le Blouson "Aviateur" in Denim by @fleursdebagne - Peter Fields "Gift Card" @peterfieldsberlin #shippingworldwide 📦 #inspiration #giftideas #giftguide #details #menswear #menstyle #mensfashion #lebonnetamsterdam #smokysumisstore #accessories #jewelry #knitwear #fleurdebagne #johnhanly #homedecor https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl8QXfdI2Z5/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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