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ghcstao3 · 4 months

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Johnny likes art. Likes looking at it, likes creating it, likes learning about it. He’d always known he’d end up in something involving it at the end of everything, and that he does.

For a few years now, Johnny has worked as an art restorer. Primarily fixing up paintings, it’s pretty close to ideal work—he gets to study all sorts of new styles, and bring pieces back to life so they can be admired again, as they were always meant to be.

The only downside is that it’s freelance work.

At the very least, gone are the days where Johnny had to make a real effort to establish himself—but just because he gets better jobs now, doesn’t mean he gets better supervisors.

His current employer is a great example of this.

Johnny had been hired by a man named Ghost, real name unknown, to revamp a private collection of his for an absurd amount of money. Johnny would be an idiot not to accept—even when part of the terms included working onsite and with provided tools in order to get everything done.

The house—manor, more like—is beautiful, nearly as stunning as the eclectic collection or artwork Johnny is meant to repair itself. He’s greeted by a man going by the name of John Price, supposedly a dear friend of Ghost’s, here to meet Johnny since his employer wouldn’t be home for another day yet. He’s kind, not strange like Johnny thought anyone involved with this might be, and he introduces Johnny to the few pieces he’d be working with.

It’s… intriguing, to say the least. Because the pieces come from different time periods, but all look as if in the same state of decay. It’s bizarre, Johnny thinks, because all other artwork in the home is pristinely kept.

That isn’t to say he’s not grateful for this opportunity, of course.

John makes good conversation until he ultimately leaves Johnny to his own devices. First day progress is well along, and by the time Johnny is seen out, he’s feeling optimistic about this job.

Then he meets Ghost.

It’s like the atmosphere of the manor has entirely shifted around the man and his broad, imposing figure. Even eyes that share the warmth of coffee pierce through Johnny, and Johnny isn’t sure what to think of the mask that obscures most of the man’s face otherwise. His voice, low and gravelly, rumbles through Johnny as he makes inquiries about the previous day, about Johnny’s process, then dismisses him to continue his restoration.

Even though Johnny doesn’t see him again until the end of his work day, he feels like he’s being watched all the while.

The third and fourth days are the same. The fifth, Ghost surprises Johnny by sitting in the room for part of the day, though he offers no commentary between incoherent grunts and what Johnny hopes to be hums of approval.

The sixth day, Ghost asks, “What do you think happened to the artist?”

Of course, there’s no signature, so even if it was by an artist Johnny knew of, there’d be no indication.

But he considers the question anyway. Considers the painting, it’s clear inspiration in impressionism, it’s pale colours and light, flowy strokes. And yet, it seems contradictory to the style—the scene within is almost… angry, sorrowful. Like grief. Its problem had been a tear in the canvas and fading paint, nothing overly difficult or unsurprising for Johnny.

So he shrugs. He doesn’t look back at Ghost, maybe afraid of that gaze, of gauging any reaction.

“Hard to say,“ Johnny admits. “A painting doesn’t tell a whole story about its inspiration, let alone its artist. And not knowing any of the artist’s other work, or when it began and ended—it’s hard to say.”

Johnny can feel Ghost looming over him. He tries not to shrink in on himself too much, but it’s almost impossibly.

For a long moment, Ghost doesn’t speak. He barely acknowledges Johnny’s response, and Johnny wonders if he’d ever get one.

If he had said the right thing.

“Hm,” Ghost finally decides. Johnny can feel his presence straighten, putting distance between them. He says, “I’ll give you a hint.”

Johnny offers a slight nod, eyes fixed on the painting before him. He still doesn’t dare turn back. “I’m always happy to learn.”

“This artwork, everything I’ve hired you to restore,” Ghost says, “it’s all from the same man.”

Immediately, Johnny frowns. His gaze darts across the piece and the collection of others he’s meant to look at, all of completely varying styles and forms, before whirling around to ask something, anything of Ghost’s statement—but he discovers Ghost to have already left.

Well, Johnny supposes with defeat.

He doesn’t know if he should let himself become curious.

(part 2)

#um um um maybe a second part soon #(this is immortal ghost btw)#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

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mushies-stories · 4 months

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TF141- S/O that has a lot of plushies

Warning: none, little suggestive for soap and ghost.

John Price

He treats your plushies like they are real life people, talks to them just like he would one of your friends. Shows actual respect for them.

Will sit with them on your bed while you are getting ready for a night out. He chats with them too! Mostly to keep himself entertained while he watched you doll yourself up.

“Beautiful, in’she? A fine work of art I got myself here.” He exclaimed to one of the plush bunnies with overalls on.”

“Taken quite a while though, wonder if we’ll make it out within the next hour?” he then asks after another five minutes with a soft sigh. He leaning his head back lovingly onto the pile of plushies behind him when you give him a glare through the mirror.

When you're cuddling on the couch or in bed, watching a movie or show he doesn't mind one bit that you have a plush in your arms. He thinks it cute how you cuddle all close to him but refuse to let go of your precious plushie.

He lets you keep a few stuffies at his place so whenever you stay over you know you have one there. He likes the one you left with a little green cardigan and glasses the most.

When you move in with him he lets you bring the whole gang on one condition. you make use of putting most of them up so they aren't too scattered. He gets you one of those corner net sling.. Thingies..? Lets you use a few small ones as decor on shelving.

Your favorites were allowed out and there was at least one stuffie in every room.

He was all for letting you have your stuffies and respecting them.

Until it was time for bed.

He would let you fall asleep against him with your plush being held tightly in your arms. He loved watching you fall into blissful peace and slumber so waiting wasn’t much of a task. When he feels your body completely relax against him and your arms loosen around the plush, he slowly pulls it from your arms. He lets it fall beside you on the other side of the bed and smiles while your arms reach out for him.

He will wrap you up in his arms and finally let himself succumb to slumber with your head on his chest and his arms holding you tight.

Gaz

much like price, he respects your stuffies. Doesn't care too much to interact with them but will say ‘excuse me’ when moving one out of his way.

I feel like he’s just the most uncaring but also still thinks it's adorable.

He likes to use them as head rests and pillows. Best for taking a nap while he waits for you.

Doesn’t mind if you sleep with one but if he feels like he needs a little more attention he will pull it gently from your arms without waking you and pull you closer. Sometimes he just wants all of your attention, even if it's asleep, to be on him. Does not care if the stuffie is banished to the floor however and will fling it once he has it free from your clutches.

If you are watching TV or something on the couch and he feels like he needs more of your attention and touch he would gently tug on your plushie and give you those big puppy eyes of his.

“Love, how’bout givin me some of that attention, yeah?”

You set your plushie aside and curl up closer to him and give his jaw or cheek a few kisses before relaxing again.

Most of the time though he thinks it's cute and likes to watch your face light up when you see a plushie at a store, even if he won't let you buy it because you have enough at the moment.

“Sorry lovie, got too many right now.” he chuckles with a shake of his head when you stick your bottom lip out at you.

When you start living together he is a lot like price. Doesn't want them all over so as long as the majority have a place to be while not being used he will be fine with you bringing them all over.

Won't let you have them all over the house as much though. One or two out because he doesn't want to step on any or have to move them around too much.

Soap

Is kind of a menace to your plushies. He doesn't mind them one bit, thinks you're adorable with your pile of plushies. However, he has little to no real respect for them. Instead he acts more like a child with them then you ever have.

WILL throw them, lay all over and crush them, banish them to the floor and he has broken a button or two off one the plushies coats.

“Sorry Bonnie, didn't mean to.” he would pout and you’d forgive him.

Uses a goofy voice to speak for the plushies when you get mad at him for being so rough.

Does get jealous when you cuddle your plushies over him sometimes. When's he’s just gotten home and all of your attention isn't on him? Nope, he will throw that plush to the other side of the couch and pull you into his lap.

Will rile you up before bed just so you let you plush go while he sucks your neck and grinds his knee between your legs just to lay down and drag your body against his before you can even grab your plush back.

“G’night Bonnie.” he mumbles happily against your head as he nuzzles you closer into him like he was a big snake coiling around you.

You decide it's best to put up your plushies when moving in with him, knowing how destructive he could be, even though he doesn't really mean to be.

You still keep a few out for yourself, mostly ones that don't have anything that could be ripped off or broken.

When he's gone you happily take them all down and out and cuddle them until you get word he's on the way home.

You have been caught more than a few times when he unexpectedly comes home late only to find your shared bed covered in plush and you sunk under them all. He proceeded to fling them out of his way to get to you.

Ghost

Is the meanest. Aha.

Try to have some kind of respect for your plush friends but not that much. Will crush them right under him when he lays on your bed, not caring for your protests.

“They can't breathe love, just fluff and stitches.” he comments.

Find it adorable when you're pouting at him until he gets up and lets you fix the mess he made.

Relaxing turns into teasing quickly when you're trying to cuddle a stuffie and him at the same time. He gets a little jealous that you pay more attention to the ball of stuffing over him.

You’ll soon find your neck being peppered with kisses, his big hands wandering and grouping your body until he’s able to pull your plush from your arms. Wants you to hold onto him while he's there, he misses your touch so much while he’s deployed.

“My time, they have you while I'm gone, don't they?” he would grumble into your ear.

He likes to crawl into bed after you just so he can rip your stuffie away with a kiss to your pouting lips. Lays his head on your chest and hugs your body so you have to use him to cuddle.

Really… this all started by you calling him your big teddy bear once while cuddling. Now all the others are just threats at this point.

He solved the problem with how many you had by getting a new place that had a spare room. With a daybed and decor you picked out, it became your plushies new home.

Doesn’t care when a few escape but when he notices too many around the house will just throw them back in the room as he passes.

Basically he is jealous of them and needs all of your attention when he's home.

#ghost x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john price #price x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #task force 141 #cod #cod x reader #cod imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #tf141 imagine

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saekkas · 11 months

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𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐒

summary: romantically cliche things the boys do when they're in love with you.

includes: isagi, nagi, reo, yukimiya, rin, sae, kunigami, kaiser, karasu, bachira, aiku.

notes: this might just be the most lovey-dovey thing i've ever written in my life.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍: goes out of his comfort zone, does anything he can so that you're always smiling when with him, makes butterflies erupt every single time he opens his mouth.

kaiser, sae, isagi, karasu

"can't you let me see? we've been doing this for hours!"

his hands are around your face, shielding your vision. you can see nothing but darkness, only small spots of light from the gaps of his fingers. he's been nothing but romantic for the whole day, eager to celebrate your anniversary on a day off. he's taken you to a popular italian place, which he's booked under your name from two months ago, and brought you to a science and art museum that's produced more than a hundred lock screen worthy photos.

all the while keeping his hands around your eyes every time you move onto a new spot. he's determined to make this the best day of your life, and with the way it's going, he's gotten his wish.

"calm down, we're almost there." his voice is right by your ear, tone completely warm as he chuckles at the shiver it brings. "since when were you the impatient one in the relationship?"

"can you blame me? how am i supposed to know you aren't leading me into a trench in the middle of nowhere?" there's only silence, and you can only assume he's grown tired of your whining. "it's a perfectly plausible scenario and you know that. what if-"

"we're here," he says, this time whispering lowly as he stops your movements, placing his chin on your shoulder. "i hope you like it. it's my last present for today."

you blink your eyes when he finally takes away his hand, trying to get used to the onslaught of brightness. you gasp, realizing belatedly that he's taken you to the canopy of your joined apartment. he's taken two chairs from your kitchen, along with a high desk from your work room, and transformed the space into a private space for two.

"this is beautiful. i can't believe you did this for me."

his hands are warm as they trail down your waist, wrapping you snugly against his chest. you can feel the soft breath coming from his mouth, and the telltale signs of a five o'clock shadow as he nuzzles into your neck. "do you like it?"

"i love it. i love you." you stand in silence for a while, taking the time to take everything in. you snap out of your trance like state when he takes your hand, pulling you towards the seats. "thank you. you've completely made my present for you look like trash."

there's a shadow of a smile on his face, bright even under the darkness of the ink blue sky. you'd print it if you could. you'd freeze this moment, this day, so you'll get to experience it forever, in a never-ending loop, if you could.

"two tickets to meet my favorite team is far from trash, but i'll accept the compliment."

that shadow of a smile turns into a grin, and you realize you never want to experience a day without his smile for the rest of your life if you could.

the lights from nearby buildings look and feel as if fireflies, surrounding you in a peaceful hue. his eyes are a different shade today, far brighter than they usually are. his embrace far warmer.

you suppose love does that to the best of people. and you suppose you're lucky to be able to get to experience it with him.

"i have something for you."

you quirk an eyebrow as he leans down to reach for something under his seat. it's rectangular, medium-sized, nothing special looking, and yet your heart's beating against your ribcage, threatening to let loose and engulf him whole.

"i thought this whole set up was supposed to be the last?"

"i lied," he chuckles, handing the object to you with soft eyes. "open it."

the wrapping is shabby at best, and you bite your lip, both endeared and amused by his actions. you tear it gently, gasping when the cover of your favorite book looks back at you. "i..."

the cover feels smooth under your fingers, and you can only choke back a sob when you flip onto the first page, finding his scribbled writing right under the author's autograph. the next pages are similar in different ways, filled with little notes and highlighted words at the edges. his thoughts immortalized for you to read.

"you annotated a book for me?" you sniffle, wiping away the tears before they fall onto the pages. "and got the author to sign it?"

"why are you crying?" he asks out of pure sweetness, nothing but love looking back at you from his eyes. "isn't that what a guy does when he's in love with a girl?"

you only nod, still at a loss of words as he leans down another time, this time placing a cool box on the desk. "gelato?" he asks with a laugh as he places two of your favorite flavored dessert in between you. "can't have my love crying on our special day, can we?"

you learn that the gelato isn't the last surprise either. his last present comes in the form of a ring and a promise made under the night sky.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍: holds every single one of your things, will not let you move a single finger, proudly shows you off as his.

aiku, nagi, kunigami

"i have two hands too, you know?" you laugh, your shoulders shaking as you lean against the apartment door's entrance. "i can bring my own things."

you watch with thinly veiled amusement as he shakes his head with a stubborn frown. his footsteps are heavy, the added weight of all your shopping bags dragging him down slightly. you move slightly to the left, pushing the door open wider so he could enter.

"i'll get you something to drink. hold on," you say with a pointed look before making your way to the kitchen to fetch a water bottle. walking back, you giggle at the sight of him peeking into the paper bags. "here."

the palm of his hands are slightly calloused against the skin of your thighs as he all but drags you onto his lap. the couch sinks under your joined form and you raise an eyebrow when he looks up at you with puppy eyes.

"what?" you ask, slightly suspicious of the pout on his face after the few seconds of silence. "you want something don't you?"

"show me?" his tone is dripping in honey and his hands rub circles on your back as he tries to persuade you. "wanna see my girl all dolled up and pretty."

you sigh at his request, your heart weak at his show of affection. "fine. you better pay attention though."

he hums, nodding his head excitedly as you take the bags and bring them into the bedroom with you, ready for a fashion show.

"i'm not wearing every single one so i'll show you my favorites." the dress you have on is innocent, fun. one you've picked exactly for picnic dates and ice cream runs. it's a baby blue color, white lace trimming your waist with a bow to match. "what do you think?"

his eyes roam from your head down to your feet, and you blink at the silence that coats his answer. "do you not like it?"

he blinks back, as if breaking out of a gaze before he stands, leaning down to press three pecks onto your lips. you watch as he walks back to the couch, tilting your head at the coy smirk on his face. you feel dumbfounded when he waves a hand, motioning for you to try the next one.

the second outfit is far simpler. white top matched with a leather jacket and boots. there's no other sound besides the fan by the edge of the kitchen and his footsteps as he leans in to press another kiss. only two this time.

you snort when you realize when he's doing. if there's anything your boyfriend will do, it's charm you with whatever weird stunt he has up his sleeve. "you are impossible. what is this? your version of america's top model?"

"i don't hear you complaining." he walks back to his seat, watching you with lidded eyes and a small smirk filling his expression. "next one?"

you snort, changing into the last outfit for him to see. this one's far more intimate as you've bought it for special occasions. the dress is a dark maroon, it sinks down to the floor with a plunging neckline that is a wonder to the eyes. you watch as he stiffens, becking you forward with a come-hither motion on his finger.

you sway your hips as you walk, looking at him with a coy smile that he most certainly loves. before you have the chance to lean down, he shoots up, pressing three kisses on your lips, and another on your exposed chest.

his hands wrap around your waist, tilting your chin so that you meet his eyes. "next one."

"that was the last one." you quirk an eyebrow, squinting when he grins. "what?"

"try my clothes. i'll give you full scores for every outfit."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒: gets you anything and everything that reminds him of you, reminds you of your worth every day, charming to the point that your mother wants you to marry him asap.

rin, yukimiya, bachira, reo

"hey, i know you're a big-time pro-athlete now but that doesn't mean you need to spend all your money on me."

your boyfriend has a thing for splurging. he buys things that are almost always useless and insists on gifting them to you with a big shiny bow wrapped around it. he isn't much of a spender for himself, insists on wearing his clothes until they're somehow falling off his body but with you? his pockets are loose, wallet seemingly always filled with credit cards.

an investment for the future, he calls it.

you don't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of his words or cry because this handsomely talented individual actually sees you as part of his future. he's calling you as his future. talk about sweeping a girl off her feet.

"they're pretty. i thought you'd want to see them."

the bouquet that he sent is nothing if not pretty. it's a stunning piece of work, an arrangement of many different kinds of vividly colored flowers wrapped into a huge bundle. it's hefty in your hand and you'd be lying of you said that it isn't a treat for the eyes.

"you could have taken a picture and showed it to me through text, eh?" you walk forward, smelling the flowers in your hand, and carefully place them on the desk to put in a vase later. "you didn't need to ship it all the way from paris."

you watch as the pixelated version boyfriend shrugs, a sweet smile forming on his lips at your words. it's nighttime where he's at, and it shows through the darkness of the hotel window he currently resides in. the video shakes as he holds his phone, moving away from the window and onto a bed.

"do you like it?" he asks, propping a hand behind his head and on a pillow. "the florist recommended that one for you. she said it had a special meaning."

"yeah? tell her she has amazing taste and is very kind if you ever meet her again."

he hums, eyes hazy and laced with sleep. you smile when he tries to stifle a yawn. "you should go to sleep. it's late there, isn't it?"

"it's fine." he yawns like a puppy is your first thought when he does let it out. there's an air of tiredness around him, clearly drained from practice and a match. you giggle when he yawns again, this time stretching his hands above his head like a cat. adorable. "i wanna talk to you for a bit more. i miss you."

you soften at that. "i miss you too. just three more days, right?"

he nods at that, the smile never leaving his face. the smile, you've come to realize, is reserved especially for you. "i told the florist to write a note for you too. is it there?"

you hum, placing the phone against your mug to look for it. you've been too distracted by its beauty that you never noticed the small piece of white paper that's attached to one of the flowers' stems. the first thing that catches your eye is the list of flowers the bouquet is made from and their meaning.

roses; love, warmth. dahlia; eternal love, appreciation, commitment. chrysanthemums; loyalty, happiness, joy. ranunculus; charm and attractiveness. anemones; anticipation.

the second, is the beautiful cursive handwriting that details, "i'll love you until the last one withers."

you look back to your phone, smiling brightly at him. "thank you. this means everything to me." there's an air of happiness that surrounds him at your words, his smile brightening along with yours. there's a glint in his eye that you're suspicious of, yet you don't get to call him out for it.

"i'm glad you like it. i'm gonna head in now. i'll text you in the morning, okay?" he hums, padding from his bed and turning the light off, bathing him in a moonlit glow. "call me when you wake up."

"okay." there's always a bittersweet feeling in saying good night to him, in saying temporary farewells. your shoulders slump slightly and you nod, blowing him a kiss. "night. sweet dreams. i love you."

"i love you too, angel."

the line disconnects after a few minutes of silent staring and you sigh, turning away to find a vase for your newly bought gift. it's only when you're gently placing the flowers in that you realize one's different from the others. you chuckle, holding the fake flower to your chest. picking up your phone, your fingers glide across the screen, sending him a text you hope he'll see when he wakes.

you: who knew you were such a romantic

you: i'll love you forever. thank you. you mean the world to me.

your fingers stop as you take in the flower once more, every single one of its petals has been painted a different color. it's smooth against your hand, and you grin when you lift it to your nose to sniff. it smells like him.

you: send me your hotel address. i'm sending you a gift.

you: me.

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p4p1l0nn · 5 months

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lover boy.

pairing: mark x fem!reader

content warning: 18+, slight choking, slight clit play, perv!mark

a/n: just spicing things up a bit ;)

it's not uncommon to find you strolling around the house without a bra. one might say it's your signature at-home fashion statement. no underwire, no problem — just the laid back charm of embracing the freedom within your own four walls.

today is no exception. no fuss, no worries. you continue being authentically you, leisurely walking through the shared space in your braless glory. the sunlight gently filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on your carefree silhouette.

unfinished chores turn into a kind of impromptu dance, a relaxed ballet as you effortlessly float from room to room. mark, usually used to your chilled-out vibe, starts picking up on the subtleties of your unbridled ease. the way your laughter rings out freely while folding laundry and those random spins in the kitchen while whipping up something tasty.

mark, being mark, can't help but sneak a few glances. there's a subtle change in his demeanor, like a light bulb flicking on in his brain. he's starting to see the beauty in your straightforward comfort. you're not even trying, but in his eyes, you're creating a mosaic of everyday moments that radiate a surprising charm.

in the kitchen, you wield utensils like a culinary wizard, the smell of your cooking wafting through the air. the familiar clatter of pans becomes a rhythm that mark finds himself vibing to, caught up in the symphony of domesticity.

you reach for spices on a high shelf, and mark can't help but appreciate the natural flow of your movements. in his head, he's mumbling, “damn, who knew grabbing spices could look so . . .” he shakes off the thought, not wanting to sound too much like a pervert.

mark, while watching you, says with a chuckle, “you've got this whole domestic goddess thing down, huh?”

you grin, “well, someone's gotta keep this place from turning into chaos.”

and there it is. your simple response does something to him. maybe it's the soft sigh escaping your lips, a sigh of satisfaction from all the hard work you put into cooking. he can't quite put his finger on it, but he's sure there's just something about you looking so small in his shirt. the right side slips off your shoulder, exposing your collarbones.

mark can't help but let his mind wander into more perverted territories. “well, isn't this a delicious sight? i'm not just talking about the food,” he mumbles, a sly grin playing on his lips.

you glance over at him, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes. “what's that look for?”

mark, with a smirk, replies, “just admiring the view. you, in my shirt, cooking up a storm. it's like a feast for the senses.”

you roll your eyes playfully, “feast for the senses? mark, you're being ridiculous.”

mark chuckles, “ridiculously accurate, you mean.”

as you continue with your culinary magic, mark keeps his thoughts going. “i must say, this kitchen has never looked so appealing. or maybe it's just you. hard to tell.”

you blush, trying to play it cool, “stop talking nonsense, mark.”

mark grins, “nonsense? i call it appreciating art when i see it.”

“you're getting all shy now?” mark smirks, strolling into the kitchen when you don't immediately respond. up close, he sees you wearing a tiny short underneath that oversized cloth of his. he shifts slightly to the side, aiming for a better look at your face.

as he takes in the sight, he notices beads of sweat forming on your forehead, some hair sticking to your face. but to mark, you look hot. really hot. he licks his lips involuntarily.

you, on the other hand, glance at him with a mixture of shyness and amusement. “mark, can you not right now? i'm trying to cook here.”

mark grins, unabashed. “is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here?”

you shake your head, laughing off his perverted remarks. “stop exaggerating. it's just the kitchen, mark.”

mark leans against the counter, still eyeing you appreciatively. “well, the kitchen's never been this . . . steamy before.”

you playfully toss a piece of lettuce at him. “quit it, or you won't get any of this deliciousness.”

mark catches the lettuce mid-air, winking at you. “i can always settle for a different kind of feast, you know.”

rolling your eyes at mark's lingering gaze, you dismiss his comments and focus on the simmering pots on the stove. the aroma of the food intensifies, signaling that your cooking creation is nearing completion. you decide it's time to enlist mark's help in setting the table.

“mark, can you set the table, please? the food's almost ready,” you request, gesturing toward the dining area.

mark, being the pervert he is, can't resist turning the innocent request into something more. “gosh, i love it when you beg,” he says with a sly grin, his gaze locking onto yours as if daring you to react.

you shoot him a playful glare, not entirely surprised by his antics. “i'm not begging.”

but mark, persistent in his teasing, takes a moment to look at your face before slowly saying, “beg again, baby.”

you feel a sudden rush of shyness, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in the conversation. “mark, seriously? just set the table,” you mumble, trying to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“but i can't move, baby,” mark said, his voice carrying a deep groan. surprised by his boldness, you turn to look at him, only to find him palming himself and squeezing his bulge while letting out a content sigh.

it stirs your mind a bit, but you decide to play it cool and pay no attention to his provocative display. closing the stove, you tiptoe to retrieve the plates from the cabinet. unbeknownst to you, mark takes a discreet peek from below, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin as your shirt rides up.

“seriously?” you call out to his actions.

he smirks, acting innocent. “what? just admiring the view from down here.”

mark quickly discards his hand, offering to take the plates, citing your difficulty in reaching them. you appreciate his seemingly helpful gesture, and he sports a sheepish grin.

“sorry about that earlier,” he says casually as he reaches for the plates.

you nod, still focused on other preparations. “just get the plates, please.”

with a sly grin, he seizes the opportunity to grind his hard dick against you as he retrieves the plates. your gasp reveals your surprise, and mark, the mischievous charmer, continues his playful tease.

“oops, my bad again,” he says, feigning innocence.

you catch onto his mischievous intentions, deciding to play the game too. before he can even grab the plates, you grind your ass directly into his bulge, earning a deep, low groan from mark. in response, he tightly grips your hips.

“careful there, princess.” mark says in a seductive tone, his voice laced in desire.

“you wanted this, so i'm giving it to you,” you reply, maintaining a playful tone. mark stays quiet, leaning in with a dangerous proximity. his lips hover dangerously close to your ear, and he nibbles.

mark smirks, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “giving it to me, huh? careful what you wish for, princess.”

you roll your eyes, challenging him, “oh, i can handle it, mark. can you?”

mark, undeterred, whispers, “i guess we're about to find out.”

without a warning, he slipped his hand into your shorts, his touch sending an electric thrill through your body. a gasp escapes your lips, caught off guard by the sudden bold move.

his cheek presses to yours as he said, “now, let's see how far you're willing to go.”

the proximity intensifies the already charged atmosphere, and you can feel the heat radiating between your bodies.

in response, you turn your head slightly, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. the taste of neediness lingers as your tongues dance in a rhythmic exploration. mark's hand, still nestled in your shorts, becomes more daring, tracing patterns that send shivers down your spine.

his fingers ventured further, reaching past your panties. he forced his way to your slit. caressing you with no shame on his face. “ah, baby, wet already?”

you gasped. unable to control your tongue. stomach filled with fireworks as mark's delicate fingers does its wonders.

“just for you,” you reply with a smile. mark, unable to resist, turns you around, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. the intensity builds, each touch sending electric pulses through your bodies.

both of you sigh into the kiss, caught up in the intoxicating moment. mark trails down to your neck, leaving a few marks. as you catch your breath, mark compliments you with a whisper, “that's my good girl.”

you wrap your arms around mark's shoulders, bringing him closer as the heated make-out session continues. mark, caught up in the intensity of the moment, lifts up your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin, squeezing it gently.

slowly, his hands making their way down until he grabs a handful of your ass. you gasp into his lips, and mark takes it as a sign to deepen the kiss. he slips his tongue into the dance of passion, as every touch and movement adds to the fiery exchange between you two.

after the passionate makeout, you and mark catch your breath, leaning on each other's foreheads. mark gazes at you lovingly, his eyes tracing the contours of your face — your eyes, nose, and lips. eager to feel closer, he guides your hand to the nape of his neck, and you comply, wrapping your hand around it.

your touch elicits a satisfied sigh from mark as he briefly closes his eyes, savoring the feeling. feeling emboldened, your hand trails down slowly, gliding from his throat, to his chest, then to his abdomen, and grasp his confined bulge, undoubtedly swollen by now and yearning to be set free.

soft moan escapes from mark's lips, “let's move this to the bedroom, so i can feast on you until i'm satisfied.”

#nct smut #nct dream smut #nct hard hours #mark lee smut #nct mark smut #nct 127 smut #nct hard thoughts #mark lee hard thoughts #mark lee hard hours #mark lee x reader #mark lee x y/n

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multifandomwhore-003 · 5 months

Text

Deal? —Scrap

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x female! reader

Genre(s): smut, fluff, a bit angsty if you look closely

Summary: Finding a past love in the bedroom of your best friend's parents can lead to a lot more than just a quick catch-up.

Warnings: smut, fingering, no condoms (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, a bit of breeding link maybe.

Taglist: @dark-night-sky-99 join taglist here

A/N: As much as I wanna be proud of this for being smut and therefore out of my comfort zone, I can't, you see this is what made me realize just how rusty I am in writing,like the fingers are creaking an screeching. Anyways, I tried my best, so... enoy?

Gif credits to whom it belongs

REQUESTS CLOSED

THIS IS NOT FREE USE,YOU CANNOT USE MY WORK

You could say it began right this second, finding yourself wrapped in a perfume that no longer had notes of peach and pear, the hours you had spent wandering around the crowd salted it with cigarettes and perhaps a vodka you shouldn't spending time thinking where it proceeded from. Taking a deep breath to relax was, a bad idea, was it the alcohol or this newfound smell that produced that wooziness? It was just for a couple of seconds at least since you could focus more clearly on the four walls you just stepped in, far too big for it being your old best friend's childhood room.

Reaching the windows to scan the city through the glass, glistening with passing cars every once in a while.

"Julie, you crazy bitch," you chuckled remembering how she had just recently bought the whole place to herself, including everything inside it, wanting to neglect her parents as much as they did her back when she was far too young to thirst revenge.

You could tell she hadn't changed anything, the side tables slightly covered with dust still, and the framed pictures of the "happy" couple on the shelves. She hadn't even dared to pull out her father's Cuban cigars she was always so curious about, the plastic around the rim being intact. Your curiosity peeked remembering her mother this time, the beautiful clothes that adorned her seemingly flawless frame, you paced quite rapidly to the walk-in closet, flicking through the infinite number of shoes and bags, finally reaching the hangers.

You didn't think twice before pulling out the most exquisite structure you ever laid your eyes on, lines curving in all the preferable places, covered in red hand-sewn crystals that matched the rest of the smooth fabric, invisible stitching, it was art. —It could pass as a Mugler— you thought, perhaps it was knowing none of Julie's things were ever cheap. You hesitated for a second contemplating your next actions.

"Fuck it," you began getting rid of the pink that had been covering your body the entire time, "She did say she was gonna gift me some anyway," you murmured. You could jump in excitement seeing how absolutely mesmerizing you looked, reflecting light that could easily be produced by your smile alone.

Before you had time to reach your phone from the bed the door closed, followed by rapid exhaling, you furrowed your brows, worrying more about the posible anxious someone.

"Are you okay?" you stepped out slowly.

The man jumped slightly, "Sorry, I'll leave," he began his exit.

"Don't, it's okay, you can stay here," you lowered your voice placing a hand on his arm carefully, "Do you need anything? Do you wanna leave?"

"No, I'm fine, I'm just-" he tried recovering his breath.

"It's okay take your time," you granted him a slight smile.

"I had to get out of there," he grinned, slightly more relaxed.

"What happened?"

"I was being ambushed,"

"By who?"

"Everyone,"

"Oh shit," you said a bit shocked, "What are you famous or something?" you tried to joke.

"I- I don't like using that word," he finally turned around.

"Okay, we'll use popular then, how's does that sound?"

"Way better," he was fully comfortable now.

"Ok Mr. Popular, do you wanna stay here the whole night? Or I can take you to the stairs and call you and Uber to be more discreet,"

"In that dress?" he pointed out.

"Oh! This isn't mine I kinda just borrowed it for a second, I'll take it off then," you simplified.

"Please don't, I was just messing with you, I'm Oscar by the way," he extended his hand as a motor raced by lighting his face.

You widened your eyes in a very pleasant surprise, "Oh my god, I knew the voice was familiar, fucking Pastry you should've started there asshole!" you pushed his chest.

With no time to ask you where you knew to call him that, his mind also clicked, "Y/N?"

"Yes, bitch! Oh my god!" you hugged him, "It's been so long, what are you doing here?! How did Julie even contact you?" your smile grew wider.

"Instagram!"

"Makes sense," you laughed embracing him again, "Look at you! You're a man!" you grabbed his shoulders, "Still got a baby face I see," you moved your hands to the edges of his face.

"Rude," he playfully pushed you away.

"Who am I kidding, back then I defended you to death whenever anyone pointed that out," you shrugged.

"They did?!" he found a new offense to that statement.

"Of course they did! Especially my parents,"

"Oh yeah, they never liked me did they?"

You just shook your head making him smile more.

"I would aks you how you've been but I already know, Mr. Rookie of the Year," you mocked, flipping your hair.

"I've been great, you? Did you end up marrying Zach Efron in the end?"

"Hilarious, truly," you squinted your eyes.

"You used to cry laughing at my jokes," he passed by you to sit on the bed.

"Yeah, well," you followed making him move to sit by his side, "In my defense a) I was madly in love with you," you rolled your eyes, "and b)My sense of humor was simpler at the precious age of 15"

"You were crazy about me," he nodded.

"Okay," you placed a hand on his face, "At least I didn't dedicate you a race on international TV which let me remind you! You lost," chuckled at the hilarious memory.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that!" he slightly slapped his thigh.

"I sure as hell didn't! It was the last race I ever watched,"

"Really?" his head turned suddenly.

"Yes, really, by the time you were on the next one we were beyond over,"

"That's right," he closed his eyes, "I'm sorry for ruining motorsport for you,"

"It's okay," you slapped the air, "The heartbreak was far worse than never having to watch you again,"

"You broke up with me I was the one who was completely shattered,"

"Hey! So was I,"

He crossed his arms, "For how long exactly?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, "A week," you looked away.

"Ouch, I suffered all summer Christmas thanks to you,"

"I'm sorry," you scrunched up your nose.

"Wanna know something embarrassing?"

"More embarrassing than losing that race? I don't think there is anything that can be better than that,"

"What if there is?" he cocked up his head.

"I'll ..." you thought for a second, "I'll tell you my most embarrassing story, deal?"

"Deal," he accepted, "When I wrote to Santa I told him to gift me the golden locket you saw in your favorite movie, the Nutcracker one with Barbie so I could give it to you because all I wanted was your heart back again. Imagine how much I cried when instead all I got was an Xbox,"

You placed a hand to his heart, "Aw, that's adorable, but yeah it sounds pretty embarrassing considering your parents had to read that,"

"Your turn now,"

"Okay, but after that you can't tease me about it,"

"Alright,"

"After we broke up, the first time I kissed someone else, we were at a gas station, and when he bought me some gummy bears as I thanked him I said 'thank you, Oscar'"

He tried to bite down his laughter.

"He absolutely flipped, and dumped me that night in front of my parents who were waiting by the window,"

"Wow," he gulped clenching his jaw, "That's- That's rough," he cleared his throat.

You nodded slowly, "Humbling experience for sure," you sighed resting your head on him, "So, let me guess, you escaped the people who wanted to take pictures with you," you pointed at the door.

"Don't tell me about it,"

"I thought all you wanted was to be The Great Oscar Piratri," you exaggerated with your hands.

"Not great at all to be harassed all the time,"

"Yeah, sounds awful to have so many fans and money..."

"That part's fun," he admitted, "But everything else is just a bit of a nightmare,"

"I'm sorry, but you know what," you tried to lighten the mood, "What I'm absolutely most sorry about is that we..." you stood up taking his hand, "Never ended up living right... there!" you pointed at the most beautiful building of the view.

"Well for starters, you never married me,"

"I did! Well not legally but we had vows and everything,"

"And my cousin as our officiant, what a mess that was,"

"And all for a wedding night, that we never had,"

"I still can't believe we faked a wedding just so we could have sex,"

"To be fair, back then we were good children who followed God's rules," you whipped your index finger dramatically as you turned to see him.

"Your parents were awful,"

"About us yes, but you have to admit they weren't too bad about everything else,"

"No, they just made you break up with me after three years, nothing big really," he pouted sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, really, I never wanted that to happen, I was just- Young and brainwashed," you cupped his face, "And also, the next three years we spent hating each other didn't help your image so much," you tilted your head.

"Yeah, sorry for egging your house those Halloweens,"

"Don't apologize, me kidnapping your dog for a week was way out of line,"

"Archie is still alive, you know?"

"Really? That's great!"

"He's a bit old, but staying strong,"

"He better be, he tackled me down a couple of times when I visited you,"

"I still have those videos," he said proudly.

"No, you don't,"

"Yes, my mom still has my old phones,"

"Why though?" you complained.

"It's never been easy for her to let go of stuff,"

"Yeah, I remember she always invited me over to yours while you weren't around, but I just couldn't do it, I felt way too guilty,"

"I have to ask," he let out, "If it weren't for your parents, how long do you think we would've lasted?"

"I'm not sure, but I can tell you that back then I wanted you- I- I wanted this," you signaled between the two of you, "Forever," you grinned, nostalgia and regret adorning your entire semblance.

"I can rest peacefully now," he caressed your forearms.

"Why?"

"I had a piggy bank for our future engagement ring,"

You opened your mouth slightly, "I had a savings account for that Rolex you always wanted,"

"Guess what?"

"What?"

He showed you his wrist, "I got it on my own,"

"Show-off," you spat.

"It's better than stealing," he looked down at the garment adorning you, long forgotten under this conversation.

"I wasn't stealing, I was just- trying it on," you defended.

"It looks good,"

"I know,"

"Now who's the show-off?"

"At least you get to keep it,"

"Hurts doesn't it,"

"Fuck off, you can win all the races you want, but I bet you still can't beat me at wrestling," you got close to his face before walking slowly to the other side of the room.

"Is that a dare?"

"I don't know, if you're brave enough it is, if you're a coward then it isn't," you crossed your arms.

"I have muscles now, it wouldn't be fair," he added with cockiness.

"Don't patronize me, I do ballet, my legs are far stronger than your arms,"

"Bet," he stepped closer.

"Yeah, bet!" you clapped your hands before giggling as you began this ridiculous dance.

If you both hadn't been laughing the entire time you probably would've seriously hurt yourselves given how careless you were being, throwing each other on the bed and the floor over and over again. After a couple of minutes, the laughter stopped leaving you as panting messes still struggling for dominance, it wasn't until he laid on top of you that you considered giving up.

"I told you, I had muscles," he paused in between words.

"And I-" you gathered yourself as quickly as you could straddle his legs and with much adrenaline and heat flip him over, pushing his hands down to completely immobilize him, "I told you I did ballet asshole," You grinned devilishly in victory, "Ready to surrender?"

"Yeah, fine, I'm done," he truly wasn't, yet the sight of you in that position alone told him to stand down.

"All that driver training for what? Still, lose to your ex-girlfriend?" you let go of his hands only.

He chuckled under his breath, struggling to stand on his elbows, "Well, when she's the one that goes away, you have to let her win, right?" he confessed.

You licked your lips without knowing how to respond, however, being fully aware that something about you not removing yourself from his body told you that this was no longer part of a friendly conversation, perhaps it never really was.

—The one that got away— he had just described everything that needed to be said in one simple phrase.

"Sorry," he began to realize his words getting his back to straighten up, "I didn't mean to make it awkward,"

"You didn't," you were incredibly doe-eyed as you met his gaze, "Just shut up before you do," you pulled him by the collar of his shirt kissing him. He knew how to respond, as he immediately hugged your waist with one hand, resting the other one on your thigh right before the hem of the dress.

"Carry me to the bed Oscar," you gasped in between his mouth, to which he obeyed, carefully lying your bodies to fir perfectly, like you always knew they did. Your tounge slipped in between to which he groaned in your mouth, fingers begining to inch closer to where all his teenage wet dreams met.

"Do it, please," you whispered, "Don't wait longer than you already have, just do it,"

As much as a part of him wanted to treasure this moment as much as he could, his more carnal side acted on behalf of your encouragement, circling your clit with his thumb as you moaned into him. You slightly thanked you were fucking him until now, a way more experienced and knowledgable version of the man you'd thought to be the love of your life.

He traveled to the back of your ear right, knowing more than guessing your sweet spot was still there, confirming it by how you lightly arched your back, pulling on his hair as he left a mark you were probably gonna regret so much later, pulling back to allow him access to your neck and jawline.

"You're so fucking wet,"

"Proud of yourself for that?"

"A lot,"

You could feel him grinning against your collarbone, slowly feeling the purple stamps, trailing to the top of your breasts that the dress ever so slightly allowed out, he contemplated his options for a moment, admiring your body in such a piece.

"Rip it off if you want," you mumbled.

"As tempting as it sounds, I want you to wear it for next time, then I'll rip it off, deal?"

—Next time— what twisted grave had you dove yourself into?

"Deal," you nodded.

"Now be a doll, and help yourself out of it,"

"Jesus Oscar, did you always have that under your sleeve?" you unzipped the sides.

"I saved it just for you," he pressed his thumb harder making you moan louder.

You slipped it over your head, tossing it away, "Keep saying stuff like that and maybe I'll marry you for real, deal?"

"Deal," he said against one of the nipples before beginning to suck on it.

"Multitasking motherfucker," you groaned feeling his middle finger pumping slowly into you, he moves his hands around for a living, of course, he was good at fingering, way too fucking good.

All kinds of sounds bounced off the walls and into your ears, sounds you only ever imagined on those lonely nights after the breakup, and so did he. More of your moand as he added his index finger drowned in the vibrations of the music for the outside to never find out how awfully loud you being for him, just for him; especially if his thumb switched to eight circles as he focused on your other tit.

"I'm close- I'm so close Oscar," you begged, "Go faster," you gulped, "Please,"

The most pornographic sound escaped his lips, "Beg again, beg for me," you obeyed without a second thought as he also did as told, keeping his pace as you reached your orgasm, whether you screamed or just raised your voice, no one will ever know, the music from outside and the cars rushing by braiding it in. By the time you realized, his belt clinked on the carpet floor, feeling as if in one motion everything in between you two was now discarded.

"I'm on the pill by the way," you whispered.

"Wasn't planning on having children until that wedding of ours, deal?" his tip rubbed against.

"Deal," you answered without ever crossing your mind how actually terrifying the idea of being pregnant was, just to have him inside you you would've signed a prenup right then and there.

He joined your lips again as he slipped inside, filling you up to the brim, with an unnecessary elevated ego that this whole situation resulted in, he thrusts into you mercilessly, you couldn't complain, his hands supporting his body on your hair, tangling all around the cover and his skin. Now being completely shameless it seemed as if you were competing to see who could make the most noise. You both came undone almost at the same time, Oscar having to battle with himself to get hard again as you followed his lead.

"I wasn't joking about next time," he mindlessly whispered in the crook of your neck.

"Neither was I, my place next time, deal?"

"Deal"

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri angst

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 9 months

Text

Always have but never hold

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n part seven folks. Still blows my mind that people are enjoying this. Will take a little break after this chapter so bear (hehe) with me please! But these two will come back to you as soon as possible.✨🤍

warnings: the usual, past trauma, forceful behavior, mental health struggles, anxiety, fire.

Parts in cursive are glimpses to the past.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Carmen knew he was sinking. The images of his previous chef shouting at him didn't ease up. It was always there. Nagging at him. Eating at him. Putting him down and making him feel small. You're terrible at this. You're not good at it. Move faster. Why are you so slow? You are nothing. You're bullshit. You'll never be good enough. Do you like letting people down? You're great at that shitface. Give up. Give up. You'll never get it. Never have what you want because you are a fuckup. A mistake.

Carmy shot up. Cold sweat dripped down his face. Mouth dry. He blinked his eyes a couple of times. Right as the doorbell rang again. His body stilled. It was already late. He had fallen asleep after he returned from the restaurant. That wasn't the plan. But he had laid down on the sofa for a moment, watching a mind-numbing show on TV. And he must have slipped into that uneasy state of slumber. The doorbell went off again. Carmy dragged a hand over his face. He thought about ignoring it. Whoever that was could fuck themselves. Until he remembered that you didn't have your keys on you, and if...

Carmy tripped over the fallen pillow as he staggered through the apartment. Towards the door. His hands were shaky as he turned the key. Yanking the door open. Chest barely managed to welcome all the oxygen he's been inhaling. Hopeful. Lightheaded. And then nothing. And suddenly, there's not enough oxygen. And his shoulders slumped. And he felt tired from that sprint he just had. He felt heavy. The light tingle in his eyes was dying.

"What do you want, sugar?", he sighed. Standing in the doorway, feeling fatigued from that one, single sentence alone. "That's one way to greet your sister", Sugar grumbled, eyes on Carmy. Carmy looked like he was dragged from hell itself. Leaning against the door for support. Carmy, who looked so tired, even sleep would help. "You won't invite me in?", she asked after a while of standing in the outside hallway. Carmy was barely a human. The last thing he needed was someone barging in.

Yet he still stepped to the side because this is sugar, and he loves her. Mikey loved her too. The three were together against the world. Should have been. Youngest or not, Carmen always felt the need to protect her. Somehow shield her from the insanity that was their family, but it rarely worked because even with all the pleading, all the just drop it, don't ask mom that, just let her be, Nat always went head first, igniting the flames even more.

"Shit, Carm... what... where...", he catches her shocked expression as she looked around the apartment. Boxes were still everywhere. But he doubted that was what had she looking stunned. There were dirty plates all over the counter and empty boxes of freezer meals. Cans of drinks. A tea towel was on the floor. The living room looked like it usually looked when art exams were coming. Carmy had dug up everything. Every single thing that, in a way, removed him from you. Was it a mess? Yes. But it was his mess. Your mess. The mess you two made. The mess of you. It was beautiful to Carmy.

He snapped out of the trance just as Natalie reached to take one of your books that was placed right by the stove. "Don't touch it", Carmy barked almost immediately. "Carmen, this is a safety hazard", Nat groaned, and even with her brother shooting daggers at her, she still lifted the book that held a whole bunch of Monet paintings. Water lilies were glancing at the two of them innocently.

"I said leave it be", Carmen wanted nothing more than to snatch the book from Nat's hands. It felt too personal for her to hold. "Clean out the trash at least", she said, moving to turn the pages. The pages. Carmen cringed. "Put the book down, Natalie. Don't fucking mess with me right now". His voice was bitter. Cold. Demanding. He rarely used it with her. It just didn't sit well with him. But this felt as if Nat was pushing her fingers deep into the wounds that Carmy bore. Turning them as she damaged the skin tissue even more.

Natalie had stopped just watching Carmy now. The eyes were nearly watery. "I thought hanging out with Claire was good for you", she muttered, and she truly couldn't have picked the worse words to say. That name alone now made Carmy sick. "Don't", was all he managed to say. Because it was true, he got excited about seeing her in the grocery store back then. And yeah, it felt almost made up when she popped up. She was a big part of his life back then, yes. And Carmy had thought about her when he just moved out. Even then, they hadn't been talking much. But then you walked in, and he saw no one else. There had always been these voices in his head. These nagging thoughts and Claire was one of them, but you killed them all. Wiped Carmy's head clean.

"Claire's a good...", Natalie stated, but Carmy moved forward straight away, ripping the book out of her hands before pointing his finger at her. "Stop pushing her on me! All of you this time! Stop it!", Carmen barked, brushing his head over his face. "Did you ever stop and considered that I was fucking happy?". Those words made Nat bleed as well. Carmen could see the way something in her chest tightened. Her face changed. He still hoped that she had always wanted what was best for him.

"I found someone who loves... loved me, and...", to change the tense felt wrong. But Carmen wasn't sure now. Wasn't sure if you were still out there. Holding onto that little flame that was the love the two of you shared. "I always wanted what's best for you ...", Natalie muttered, eyes full of tears now, glistening in the dim light of the apartment, "Does this look like the best thing for me?"

Carmy gestured around him. Around all the mess. Around himself, "When I blow my brains out just like Miney did?" Natalie's face paled, and her hand came over her chest. She held her breath for a moment before mumbling, "Don't talk shit like that! That was just some girl....", "Some girl? She's been my whole life. She made me better. She made this world better, Natalie", the sound of Carmy's voice was nothing but a silent sob. Because no matter what he did, life constantly chose to remind him that you weren't there beside him.

"Try this," the kitchen was submerged in different smells. Some old French tunes were playing. You were sitting on a little bar stool as Carmen carefully lifted a spoon toward your mouth. You instantly leaned forward, letting the flavors hit your tongue. Eyes big when the most delightful taste filled your senses, "I would sell my kidney for this", you muttered, motioning for Carmy to give you another spoonful, mouth already open. He let out a chuckle, dipping the spoon back in, "It's not that good". You let out a gasp. "Chef, I beg to differ. That's sublime! You need to add this to your menu".

It was delicate. The act of sharing food. To some, it might seem silly and stupid, but to Carmen, it was a whole lot more important. You knew that much even back then. It was his way of saying I trust you. This is me. Now you are looking at one of the rawest forms of me. Stabbing me now and making me feel like no one would be so easy. So what will you pick? It's his way of saying I love you so much that I'm sharing a part of me that's so venerable.

Your eyes shined as you wait for another spoonful, but Carmen halted his movements. "The chef is still unsure", he says, and you narrow your eyes at him, "He would like some more convincing. How about a kiss?". You watched him for a bit, slightly taken aback by his words because Carmen was so rarely in a playful mood. A smirk spreads over your face. "And does this chef kiss all of his taste testers?" That same half-smirk curves his lips as Carmen settles the spoon in the pot. "No, only the one he really fucking likes". You lick your lip nervously, biting the side of it. "Really, really, huh?", you ask in an almost teasingly innocent manner. Carmen only nodded his head as he leans forward. "Well, then... maybe your taste tester is just as desperate for the taste of the chef's lips", and that's all it took for Carme to lean toward you. For you to catch his lips between your palms as you pulled him closer.

"And then I said... Hey? You're listening?", Sydney's voice drags you out of your head, and you nod your head quickly. Eyes fell on Luca, who was a couple of steps away, making you two dinner. His back and arm muscles moved with every delicate cut that he made. "No, I hear you, and it's... well, shit,", you breathed out. Ever since the call earlier today, you've barely let go of your phone. Marcus and Sydney were both pissed. The beef was more than likely to close. The shit was falling apart. Carmy was falling apart. If he hadn't crumbled completely already...

"It messed with Marcus a lot", Sydney's voice was barely a whisper when she said that, cautiously looking at Marcus, who had slipped out to the balcony for some fresh air. "He was... well excited, you know, and I tasted it. It was fucking great. Who even gets a doughnut almost perfect on like a fourth try?", she continued to rant. Luca lifted his head to the sound of doughnuts, and you narrowed your eyes at him. Of course, that's the first thing he subconsciously reaches for. Oh, these fucking chefs trained more insanely than Pacvlov's dogs.

Silence falls, from the little screen in front of you, you can see a lost Sydney, and oddly enough, you feel guilty. As if this was your fault all along. As if you should have thought more about your flee. "Where are you anyway? Carmy goes mental at the mention of your name", Sydney killed the silence, and suddenly you don't know what to say. The obvious thing would be to say the truth, but...

"Oh am... Just you know", you muttered, but you can tell that she didn't know. "You two broke up or something?", and it's an innocent question. She's like a kid who made an absurd comment and jabbed the grownup right where it hurt the most. You can sense that even Luca stilled.

"We didn't... well, we did..." you let out a sigh, "Complicated. I'm in Copenhagen". Sydney's eyes grow big as she brings her phone closer to her face, and you cannot help but chuckle slightly. You watched little pieces put themselves together in her brain.

"I'm at a friend's house. He answered the call. Luca. He's a baker", You weren't sure why you were explaining yourself, but then something completely different shifted through Sydney's face. "Wait, Luca? THE chef Luca from Copenhagen?", and just like that, the whole relationship drama was swept away. Your eyes met Luca's, and he was already chuckling slightly. "Of course that... it definitely doesn't mean that it's THAT Luca because, like, there must be a lot of Luca's...", and here she was, muttering and falling over her words and it's making your heart clench. That's how she talked about Carmen not long ago. How she looked at him in the kitchen—that admiration. An astonishing thrill to be able to swirl around chefs like that. "Oh yeah, scratch it. It's definitely that, Luca", your eyes fall to the screen, and you see Luca leaning over your shoulder with a gentle smile on his face as he waves at Sydney.

"Hi, it's me again. Haven't called in a couple of days, and", Carmy takes a hesitant breath, "You probably were happy with not hearing from me". Another sigh leaves his lips, "I thought about Ossobuco today. So random, right? But I... I thought about our trip to Italy". The silence this time held this anticipated moment of peace almost. "You liked that dish so much I could make it for you constantly for the rest of the month, remember?", something like an almost happy cackle leaves Carmy's lips. "I'd like to cook ossobuco for you one day again", he says, and the line goes silent.

You were puffing out the last clouds from the cigarette when Luca stepped out onto the balcony. Your phone was tossed to the side. Stains of angry tears were kissed by a light evening breeze. Luca said nothing as he sat down, his hand coming to run your thigh softly. "Penny, for your thoughts?", he said quietly, his eyes now fully on you.

"Do you remember when you came to Libby's that night?", Luca's hand stopped moving; his hand was completely still on your leg now. You could tell that he was clenching his jaw tightly. He didn't want to remember, nor did you, but he still nodded. "I was so confused and scared", you muttered. "You were pumped with shit that ass gave you and dumped for later use", Luca huffed, and you cringed at his pick for words slightly. "Libby "found me", you say air quoting the last two words. "And then he fucked her as a thank you and kept doing so for the next six months till I found out", you let out a bitter laugh. Closing your eyes to fight the stinging in your eyes "Why are you bringing this up?", Luca asked. "Because it's been playing on my mind ever since I came here," you admitted, pushing your cigarette at the ashtray before lighting a new one. "I...", you shake your head slightly, "Carmy made my head less busy ", almost in disbelief. "I was almost set, like, that's it. I found my happy ever after after all that... We will get married, he'll have his restaurant, I'll open an art gallery, and we have a kid or two or twenty, I don't know", you muttered, suddenly getting so angry almost. Not sure at who exactly, but the frustration was bubbling.

"Do you remember what Pop used to say?", Luca asked, almost as if he wasn't listening to the whole random rant you just had. "He said many things, Luca", you grunted. "Love is the best thing we as humans have the privilege to give", your frown at Luca's words. Out of everything, "You love him, bunny; he loves you considering the number of times your phone pings throughout the day", Now it's Luca's turn to shake his head as he considers his next words, "I'm not justifying his actions, but as I've been saying, you didn't listen to his side of the story, and you've always wanted and wished that someone had listened to your side back then".

The restaurant felt more and more unfamiliar to Carmy as the days went by. He was late with paying bills. His brain was buzzing with Richie and his not-so-legal ways of getting the money. The place was shit. He was surprised they hadn't been closed yet. He was short on staff. Especially after Sydeny and Marcus left. Carmy had wanted to call both of them individually. He had picked up that doughnut that Marcus was eager to show him. He picked it right off the floor and put it straight into his mouth. It was amazing. Sure, it needed a couple of tweaks to perfection, but Carmy would have served it like it was.

He hadn't told anyone about... well, whatever the situation between the two of you was. But from the way Tina was looking at him, he was convinced that at least she knew. I mean, she did say, "Ask yourself why, Jeff," and "Boy, I thought you were smarter". And telling himself that he hadn't done anything that bad seemed like such a duchy thing too. Sure, he didn't flirt, they haven't kissed, and there was nothing sexual between him and Claire. They met up a couple of times. She dragged him to one party. He chased this childhood dream with her. Oh, if I just caught onto it, maybe just maybe my family will open their eyes finally too. But Carmy made awful choices along the way.

Carmen longed for you through the days. He found himself going to the office when shit hit the fan, and he would lose track of reality. Hoping to find you there. In hope to be held in your arms. Let the chaos die down. Just the more he stepped into the office, and it was emptier and emptier.

Carmen had let everyone go home earlier. He said it was because they've done an awesome job. The truth was that he just wanted to be alone. Carmen thought about cooking something. Maybe something new, but his imagination had been so dull. Nothing felt right, no matter how hard he tried.

So Carmen opted to scrub the floors, scrub the countertops, and check through the walk-in. Until he was left there. Staring numbly at the clock. Until he reached for the pack of cigarettes before realizing, after tapping his pockets multiple times, that he didn't have a lighter at hand. So Carmy leaned in carelessly, flipping the gas stove on and trying to direct the cigarette to the flame.

Then everything happens so fast, and his mind is so tired. The fire catches the rest of the countertop. Spreading. Hot tongues licking towards Carmy. But all he hears are the same words that hunt him now. You're terrible at this. You're not good at it. Move faster. Why are you so slow? You are nothing. You're bullshit. You'll never be good enough. Do you like letting people down? You're great at that shitface. Give up. Give up. You'll never get it. But it's not his old chef. Oh no, this time it's you. You scream at him through the flames, and his irrational mind panics because you're in the flames and you're... Are you burning? So he nearly leaps forward, reaching for you. And then it's no longer the nagging voices; it's his name that Carmy was hearing over and over. Louder and louder.

And then there are hands pulling him away; Carmen being pulled behind the counter; someone is extinguishing the fire; someone is holding onto him; and someone is still calling his name. But Carme stares at the fire. "Carmen", the voice called out. Pulling at his mind. Trying to ground him. Trying to make him come to his senses. "Carm", and then gentle hands caressed his jaw, pulling his face away from the stove, and there and then Carmen was convinced that he had burned. Went straight to the flames and just burned. "Are you fucking insane? Show me your hands", but he's stunned. He's... "You're not real", he muttered, shaking his head. Doubting his eyes fully "You can't...", He doesn't believe it. Reaching out, he touches the person in front of him. Worried eyes look up at him. "Y/N...", Carmen muttered, and then it's a mantra on his lips, and he's muttering it without a single breath in. And you know you shouldn't. It's bad; it's wrong, but Carmen launched himself into your hands. Arms wrapped around your middle, and you're shaking, and he's shaking, and it feels like an illusion, like a dream you two had walked into. It's probably not real Carmen thinks. And he's waiting for you to disappear to slip past his fingers, but you don't; you're here, and he's holding onto you. And finally, Carmen takes a deep breath in, and his heart kick-starts again.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: Carmy: @nishinoyahhh @thewulf @shewasthelimit @chatitajens @azxulaa @hidingfromtex @randomhoex @hopplessdreamer @lostinheavensworld @jackierose902109 @gallaghrh @gabbycoady13 @harrysmatcha @lady-bellyn @lovejoyenjoyer @infinitelycharmed23 @royalestrellas @hanula18 @thoughtfulmoonchild911 @buckys-winter-child @arieltwvdtohamflash @simsiddy @yezzyyae @hidingfromtex @toptierbunny @rooster-bradshaws @simonsaysyasss @hannahmmarie2016 @ladygrey03 @kyushii

#carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x you #carmy the bear #the bear imagine #the bear tv show #the bear x you #the bear x reader

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wynnyfryd · 3 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 48

part 1 | part 47 | ao3

cw: mentions of smoking/sexual activity

Chapter 11

February

For two and a half months, Steve’s life goes perfectly. He didn’t realize how far into a pit he’d fallen until Eddie showed up to help Robin and the kids lift him out, but the difference is jarring. Golden hour sunlight after catching a matinée.

Steve spends two months blinking.

He sloughs off his sadness like a snake shedding skin; spends the winter getting back to being Steve, restocks his favorite hair products and restarts his fitness routines — morning runs through the woods, afternoon pick-up games with Lucas and some of his teammates when the weather doesn’t suck. Weightlifting in the evenings because Eddie says he likes how Steve’s arms look when they get a little big, says it’s more fun to pin him down when he knows it’s just for show.

And he tries new things, too, just because Eddie likes them or because the kids think they're cool. He reads a Vonnegut novel. He eats Indian curry. He even learns a song on guitar.

...Sort of.

Eventually.

(Actually, that whole thing goes pretty horribly and takes for-fucking-ever. Eddie spends an afternoon patiently encouraging him and doing his best not to tease while Steve clumsily moves through a beginner chord progression, and then breaks down wheezing when, after the sixth attempt with no improvement, Steve puts the guitar down in a huff and threatens to demote his pinky finger from his hand if it doesn't start cooperating. Eddie laughs so hard he tips face-first into Steve's crotch, and it takes them a sticky-spitty-sweaty half hour to get back to the lesson.)

Anyway, he likes the way their lives entangle. As easy as weaving his hands through Eddie’s hair.

He gets invited to band practice; he sits in on D&D. Sometimes he watches sports with Wayne when he's got a day off, then he heads out with Eddie for long joyrides through the countryside.

Eddie blasts his metal music when they get out to the backroads, and he talks too loudly over the bass and laughs even louder and rants about nothing and smokes cigarettes while he headbangs to his favorite guitar solos — almost lights his hair on fire on more than one occasion, fucking dumbass — and he does this silly, lewd shit that makes Steve's chest just ache. Makes it clench around the word that's been burning a hole in his tongue since New Year's Eve. Eddie wags his brows and palms himself through his jeans and asks if Steve wants to take another joyride when they get home, and Steve thinks:

God, I love you.

I love you.

How could I not love you?

And really, how could he not? And how much longer can he keep not telling him so? When it feels like the word is going to burst out of his chest Alien-style any second.

When it feels like Eddie's the reason he even has a home to get to.

Slowly — so slowly, hours spent thrifting and bartering and keeping an eye out for free stuff left out on the curb, even more hours sanding and painting and caulking and sweating to death between trips to the hardware store — they redo Steve's whole trailer. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, they exorcise the haunted tin can. They make it his; they make it theirs.

Eddie injects life into every inch of the space, fills it with weird art and funky lamps and a big, comfy leather couch that he likes to bend Steve over. Comes inside him in every room when they get done working on it as a reward; gasps in Steve's ear about how he always wants to be inside him: in his home, in his body, nestled deep inside his heart. "Keep me right here, baby," he breathes as he fucks Steve against a wall, his left hand gripping Steve's chest while he fills him from behind.

It’s perfect.

It's perfect.

Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts unless Steve asks.

And then, because this godforsaken town and everyone in it are fucking cursed, one day it isn’t anymore.

—

part 49

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic #oh giant joseph head we're really in it now

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thepathwechooseif · 4 months

Text

DEMO TBA

In the English countryside in 1914, you live with your two children on your late husband’s grand estate. Two years have passed since the tragic sinking of the Titanic, from which you became a single parent.

Though surrounded by wealth and community, you remain lost in a fog of grief. But with the arrival of summer, the neighbouring family prepares to host their annual month-long house party. Your curious children persuade you to attend, hoping the festivities will lift your sorrow.

Lucas/Lucia Bertham, the family's charming heir, bonds with your children and seems to understand you in a way others cannot. But will secrets regarding their family's future prevent love?

Azra Hays arrives, a traveling storyteller with a gift for magic in their words that soothes your soul. Gardner Isaac Hill has loved you in silence, finding joy through your children's smiles.

More suitors await too - brilliant sculptor Zephyr Langston, whose art mirrors your heart, and Doctor Henry Bellman, who ministers to the people with patience and good humor.

As festivities crescendo with masques, fireworks and more, you start to believe in love and laughter again. But which person holds your whole heart? And will dark forces from the past destroy this new paradise you’ve begun to build?

The summer promises intrigue, blessings, and maybe a sweet romance if you can let go of history and embrace the gifts of tomorrow.

Customise your character as well as your children’s

Choose where you live and how you dress

Your choices have an impact on how society reacts to you!

Uncover secrets from your past!

Pursuing different ROs with varying levels of affection leads to unique story endings that resolve the mystery

Lucas/Lucia Bertham (m/f/nb)

The Heir, 26, Lucas/Lucia Bertham is the only child and heir to the prestigious title and lands of Bertham. They are a successful businessperson, but relish returning to their ancestral home each summer. While other young people prefer to travel abroad, they prefer the simple pleasures of country life. They take their duty as head of the manor seriously, helping tenants with an approachable demeanor. Though destined to marry well for station one day, they remain single and enjoy lively flirtations. While others dance at balls, they are the happiest hosting gatherings under the stars or riding alongside farm laborers by day. Lucas/Lucia lights up any room with their charm, wit and easy smiles. But is there a lonely heart searching for more beneath this carefree facade? As always, only time will tell what develops between Lucas/Lucia and you over the magical summer months at Bertham.

Isaac Hill(m)

The Gardner, 35, Isaac Hill has lived and worked on your estate for years. His strong, weather-worn hands coax beauty from the soil. Gardenings comes naturally to gentle-souled Isaac, as does his way with any creature in need of care. The expansive gardens are his pride and joy, a wonderland open for all to enjoy. Despite his huge build, muscular arms and calloused palms, his demeanor remains soft-spoken yet self-assured. While most village maidens sigh for officers or heirs, Isaac's gentle soul and way with children has turned many a head. But he remains devoted to coaxing new life from the earth, finding solace in small things. Perhaps amid the Bertham's blossoms, Isaac's own heart may bud anew this summer as well.

Zephyr Langston(m/f/nb)

The Sculptor, 27, Zephyr Langston hails from one of London's most prestigious arts families. Though young, their sculptures have already gained fame across England. While many London soirees vie for their presence, Zephyr relishes escaping to the countryside each summer. Using moody landscapes as inspiration, they work tirelessly to capture fleeting emotions in stone. Some say their sculptures are too sensually lifelike, but the Berthams proudly collect their edgy works. Zephyr charms salon attendees but remains unmarried, focused solely on their "passionate mistress," their art. Though prone to brooding moody spells while working, they come alive at parties with a playful wit. Could this summer be when they find inspiration of the heart as well as hands among the Bertham estate's rolling hills?

Henry Bellman(m)

The Doctor, 29, though young, he runs the village medical practice with a maturity beyond his years. What he lacks in words, Henry more than makes up for with his compassionate bedside manner. He listens with steady brown eyes that seem to see into patients' very souls. While others chat idly, Henry prefers observing life unfold with subtle calm. An avid reader, he's as learned as any university man but without pretense. More than one farmer's daughter has blushed starry-eyed receiving his attentions, yet he remains a bachelor focused solely on his work. The Berthams value Lucas greatly for his discretion and healing touch. But does his solemn façade hide deeper passions waiting to emerge? As always, only time will tell what mysteries lie beneath the calm exterior of Doctor Henry Bellman, and what intrigues he may stir in your heart this season.

Azra Hays(m/f/nb)

The Storyteller, 27, Azra Hays is a free spirit , with mischievous eyes like the summer sky. While others settle, Azra is happiest wandering the countryside in their worn boots, flute in hand.They’re a jack of all trades but lives for their art - spinning spellbinding tales that transport listeners far from their daily toils. With their easy smile and flirty manner, Azra charms all they meet. Yet beneath this bohemian exterior beats a kind and generous heart, always helping travelers in need. An orphan from youth, they never take their freedom or talents for granted. Azra makes their coin sharing folklore, gossip and bawdy jokes in villages along their route. But they save their most magical stories for moonlit campfires, weaving magic that leaves audiences in awe. Some say their nose for intrigue could even rival the Sherlock Holmes tales. Will Azra linger longer this year among Bertham's gardens and party revelries? Is there feeling breeding beyond friendship beneath Azra's roguish charm? As always, only time will tell the true depth of bonds woven beneath the summer stars.

#interactive fiction #no demo #twine game #twine wip #twine interactive fiction #twine story #twine if #wip #status: wip

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nexusnyx · 1 year

Note

For daddy Bucky<3

“Nobody will know if you’re quiet”

jade green daydream

dbf!bucky x f!reader ; [3.7k]

⚠️ minors dni, explicit content. | 🏷️ daddy, established relationship, secret encounter, laundry room sex, semi-public sex (they're at a party?), soft!dom!bucky, orgasm delayal.

Usually, Bucky was better at hiding how much he wanted you.

That's why you pulled this move tonight—using the jade green dress that Bucky had bought you had been bold. Daring. A little bratty, if you would. Not something his usual 'good girl' would do, but something that needed to happen.

Defying Bucky had been buried deep inside your mind since the second you first laid eyes on him, three years ago at your eighteen birthday party, and it had never left. Never diminished or dissipated, not even with him finally giving everything you wanted: the attention, the touches, the praise, the feelings, the rush.

Bucky had been yours for a whole year now, but the first six months of trying were a tentative, rocky road.

Now was when you were putting your claws out.

And the effect... it was beautiful.

At first, you think your shot's wasted.

When you first walked in, Bucky had only looked.

Fixed, frozen, under a spell.

Not a muscle moved in his body, but that, you were used to. Initially, you had mistaken it for hatred, even. A deep dislike, or perhaps indifference. The man your father introduced as "this is James, darling" looked stoic, serious, and every bit as business-like as any other one of his boring, old colleagues. As beautiful as a man could be—his beard had initials signs of the grey taking over him, and even in his slicked back hair the platinum strands shone under the party’s light, as a bold and clear statement that James sent: he had no shame in them.

Who the hell would have? He’s Adonis.

Adonis proved to be more than a lifeless, made-of-numbers guys.

There was no bark in him—Bucky kept things polite, classy, and elegant most of the time.

He never cursed. Always smiled in contained ways—his jokes were never crude, and your father loved him. “So good, that kid,” he said, multiple times over that first year. Bucky quickly made his way into your father’s small and annoying little circle of men that often showed up at the mansion for their gin or bourbon, pool games and Cuba cigars.

The first time his mask slipped, you knew it had been the alcohol.

Just like tonight.

Bucky kept it cool, at first.

He smiled in your direction, but soon was back at talking in his melodic and pleasing tone with your mother and a few of her work colleagues about the intricate but delicate state of modern art work creation in the rooms of Hollywood; entertaining enough for her circle of friends, and interesting enough for you to stick around.

It was her birthday. You couldn’t be mad at Bucky for giving her attention.

But damn it, you hoped for more.

The dress received looks when you walked in.

It reminded you of the feeling of putting it the first time in that Valentino store in Paris. The secret gateway weekend with Bucky where you were finally allowed to hold his hand somewhere, and where he let out his inner lion.

The image of Bucky with a champagne glass in hand in that enormous leather cream couch, with his legs spread wide open in the most douchebag pose you had ever seen—it suited him. It fucking clicked with his expensive suit and shoes, and that smug corner-of-the-lip smile that only you seemed to see, it burned behind your eyelids.

Dreams ever since you came back from that fortnight in a parisian dream molded themselves around the crinkle in his eyes, and were often painted in hues of light, sapphire, and royal blue.

If those all complimented his eyes and the way they glowed like starlight when looking at you… well. That was between you and the four walls of your bedroom.

“Darling,” your mother called your attention.

Right.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, and ripped your eyes away from his black suit. “I’m sorry—I’m trying to remember all the good movies he wrote, but I’m coming up empty,” you joke.

The circle around you laughs, and your mother rolled her eyes fondly. “I don’t know why I ask an Art graduate and expert her opinion. Honestly—it’s impossible to please you.”

“You know what they say about apples and trees,” you sing song.

With a kiss to your temple, your mother laughed some more, and then launched on back on her opinionated rant of the director you had barely heard the name, and that’s when you first saw—

the first slip.

Bucky wasn’t looking at your face.

Instead, his eyes were glued to your exposed thigh. The slit of the dress was high, very high, and according to him on the store, one of the main reasons why he loved the design on you so much.

His love for your whole body had been noted, written, painted, and marked by him. With his lips, his fingers on piano keys, his hands tracing all over your naked body while he sat almost fully clothed inside his art studio.

Of course it would be the leg.

Feeling boldened by his eyes on you, the leg does it on its own—a slight and gentle tilt upwards, and his eyes snap in your direction.

His gaze holds yours for just one second, and you can feel the heat taking over you.

That’s when the game starts.

Forbidden, as much as it can be, but a dance that you two have grown great at: the subtle art of threading silk-thin lines connecting you two until an entire conversation existed without a word being said. Looks that went on all night, revoking each other’s attentions from conversations all the other way from across a room, until the first one has lost all focus, all notion of where the conversation went, lost.

He did it better than you.

Bucky could keep his composure for longer, which is why you had brought in the big guns.

You wanted to see him lost in desire, if only for once.

Wanted to see him blushing, in the same way you were left many times just by the sheer presence of him standing behind you.

Only when you see him swallowing thickly the bourbon in his hands is that you note that the dress is working.

Not once before was Bucky so… adamant, about looking at you.

But there he is—with his eyes fixed on you from across the pool.

Staring at you from inside the kitchen while you speak with friends outside.

Finding a way to always be in your line of sight, somehow—or better yet, a way for you to be in his.

It takes a little over an hour before he disappears, and ten minutes more after that for you to finish your way in the conversation you are to go and look for him.

With the party in full swing, it’s easy for you to lose other people, but with the size of your goddamn house, you’re roaming aimlessly for a while.

He must sense it, because a message arrives.

Him 🖤 Your favorite hiding spot, missy…

Laundry room.

You try to keep composure as you walk there, but it’s hard.

It’s been a while, and you’re still wondering, day after day, how is it that Bucky has this type of control over you. Whether it’s normal to be this attracted to another person; a pull that seems to have its own magnetic field. Its own North.

Between you and Bucky there is gravity—unique, intense, and solid. It has its own life. It pulls and calls to you. Just like always, you find him almost as if on instinct; this would be the next place you were going to after checking the cellar.

When you open the door, he’s standing right there.

Hands in his blazer pocket. The bourbon glass empty, placed right next to him.

Bucky looks up when you open the door, and smile.

Storms could start breaking the skies at this moment, and you would hear nothing. The room is filled in one second; it goes from empty to a box of pure electricity in the span of a second, and both of you are to blame.

What seconds ago smelled like fabric softener of the best kind — something aprhodisiac, sweet, and yet comforting — starts smelling like lust.

Bucky’s eyes finish drinking you in, and then chuckles. “What?” His voice is low, as always. “I don’t bite, duchess.” A lie.

His right hand exists the pocket, and his fingers make a ‘come hither’ motion.

North, meet South. Like gravity happens when an object is dropping mid-air, his fingers create the invisible thread, and your body waltzes inside. The door is closed with the heel of your shoe, and the sound of the door clicking is comforting.

In a few steps, you’re standing right in front of him, and the first thing you do is breathe.

A deep, steadying breath. His eyes are on the cleavage of your dress when his arms wrap around your waist. “God, this was the best thing I’ve ever purchased,” he whispers, pulling you closer to him.

Your hands come up to his chest, soothing the silky smooth fabric. “Was it?”

“A hundred per cent.”

That’s a bold statement. You giggle, rising your body slowly to get your face closer to his. “You’re a multi-millionaire investor who owns property from California, to Tokyo, to Dubai… and this is your peak?” The smell of his aftershave is intoxicating. How the fuck can that be? One deep inhale and you’re no longer here; you’re in Bucky Land, where everything about his existence is amplified and everything else is background noise.

His hands are spread wide on your lower back, massaging in a gracious touch wherever they go. “Affirmative.” Sometimes, Bucky’s old military comes out to play. Without a fail, you shiver every time. “Look at this,” he whispers back, hand continuing on its infinite mission.

“My hands have a mission, Duchess.”

“Do they?”

“They do.”

“And what would that be, hm?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Hmmm… not really.”

“This… right here.”

“Touching me?”

“Precisely.”

“Oh…”

“Touching all of you. For as long as you let me. In every possible way that can make you smile. In every way that can bring you pleasure.”

Pointing out that looking at yourself right now is the last thing you want would be rude, so instead, you nuzzle against his neck, pleased with the attention you’re finally receiving. His hands caress your ass without groping, touch on the side of your waist, and he seems to be as lost on your body as you are on his cologne.

“I thought we had a deal,” Bucky’s tone was so even.

You, on the other hand, could already feel the effects of his presence. “What deal?”

His next hum preceded the condescending tone of his, “Playing the act of dumb kitty, are you?”

You giggled. “I didn’t do anything to break our deal.” No more sex at your parents’ house, Duchess. This… this is the last time. Deal? “I behaved. All night long.”

“I’d spank you if I didn’t know how loud you get.”

That alone pulled out a whimper. Made your inner thighs clench together.

“See?” Bucky chuckled, sounding already so evil. “You’re already running hotter than a Californian summer afternoon. How can you have been behaving?”

“I didn’t—” his hand on your dress slides to the exposed thigh, and when they make contact with the skin, your breath hitches. “I didn’t do anything,” you insist, albeit a little more breathless.

Against your will, your body’s already pushing closer to his.

Bucky plays along. He caresses your inner thigh, and his eyes close when he feels your breathing spiking. When he asks you next, his voice is an octave lower. “This dress isn’t you doing something?” The question is rhetorical. When his fingers are tracing lines that lead to your inner thigh, anything is rhetorical because all you can think about is what you feel—him. He pushes on, “‘Cause I could swear it was you doing something, very clearly,” and then he grips. His whole hand squeezes around your thigh, making you clench once more.

If there was a game — there was —, then Bucky wins. (He always did.) If there was a game, this is the point where you forget if there are rules or not, because his hand that was on your lower back climbs through your back until it lands on your nape, and the firm grip it puts in there grounds you to Earth again. You’re thankful for him, even if your mouth feels like cotton candy. “You bought it for me,” is your weak excuse.

His laugh in your ear means he buys it, to some degree. “I did.” Finally, finally, he seems to get enough of looking. Bucky’s head dips lower until his lips are hovering over yours. “But you also remember what I did that night.”

Another whimper, and much louder this time.

“Put on the dress, Duchess. Only the dress. I’m gonna fuck you with it still on, just like you wanted me to do at that store, right on that balcony. For the entire city to hear. And they’ll hear you, right? They’ll hear how fucking good Daddy makes you feel.”

“I guess you do remember,” Bucky smiles.

“It wasn’t that long ago.”

His hand in your thigh pinches you skin, making you whine, and his smile turns wicked. Turns into a Chesire cat grin. “She’s so smart tonight.” Bucky leans until only a breath separates you two. “Smart mouth.” His hand dips lower, higher, and your legs spread apart almost as if on command. “Smartypants…” they go searching.

They find the panties, but Bucky knows his way around them with eyes closed and hands tied behind his back at this point.

When he pushes them to the side, you all but melt against his weight.

It’s a testament to how much you two have done this, to all the positions and situations that he’s placed you in that your body knows that he’ll catch you without even asking. Your eyes close when his fingers make a slow path between your folds.

They find what they always do—a river, a waterfall, the sticky sweet fact that he’s been affecting you all night long.

He groans, and at last closes the space between your lips.

It’s in his mouth you muffle the obscene sounds you want to let out. Bucky’s middle and ring finger are spreading the lips of your pussy apart to spread your slick on your clit, and his kiss has the languid and expert patience of someone who knows the precise way to melt you with his mouth. He pushes and pull until you two are in the same rhythm, and then sucks on them until your mouth opens up for him.

Your arms cling around his neck.

Kissing Bucky while he makes slow work of your clitoris is the best kind of torture. He’s patient, his hands have enough skilled dexterity for him to make a pool of wetness between your legs before slowly pushing his fingers in while the other massages the neck that holds you pinned to him, and if it weren’t for his weight pressed on one of the washing machines behind him, you’d be on the ground.

So slow. He moves like a jaguar that has spot its prey and is only making its way to it—eyes fixed, fingers buried in deep, mouth swallowing down all the noises. When air is needed and both of you pull back for it, Bucky’s pink lips are connected to yours by a string of saliva, and he’s massaging the spot he’s already found inside of you.

Each groan next becomes a silent scream.

He seems to hear them either way. “God, duchess…”

“Buck—”

“Shhhh.”

Bastard. “Too good—Buck—fuck—”

“I know, I know. Shhhh.” He laughs again, pushing his fingers deeper this time. “I know just how you like it, hm?”

“Yes.”

“Good. But you gotta remember… there are still people outside.” Your whine means that reminder is the last fucking thing you need. “Don’t worry… Nobody will know if you’re quiet.”

Does that mean he’ll let you cum? God, you hope yes. Bucky’s pressing your spot repeatedly, and your legs already feel weaker. You never have any clue how his hands never hurt from doing this, but Bucky will sometimes make you cum two times just like this before fucking you at last, and if you had never seen him work out, you’d be scared for his wrists.

Being quiet is a task.

But the edge is so close, and everything feels so good, that you ignore everything.

“Fuck,” you can feel a single drop of sweat forming underneath his palm at the back of your neck. The air around you two is hotter as well, and you can feel the snap of your orgasm approaching with each deep thrust of his fingers. “Daddy…”

As if you had said the magical word, Bucky does the last thing you’d expect.

He pulls his hand out, leaving you feeling empty and burning.

Your gasp of shock makes your eyes snap open, and there he is, sucking his slicked fingers into his mouth, and closing his eyes in pleasure.

What the—”Bucky.”

“That’s for wearing this without giving me any warning.” The statement comes out sharp, but not unkind. Fuck. Punishments are so rare that you almost forgot they’re a thing, and your next whine sounds like a choked sob. “Don’t gimme those sad eyes.” Bucky leans closer to your face. “Do you know what you did to me?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“I almost got hard, right there in the middle of the party. You put highlighter on your collarbones, Duchess. You’re wearing my favorite perfume on you, and god…” he holds you by your arms to pull you back so he can look at you again, from head to toe.

You imagine what a sight you must be.

The things he’s seeing right now.

Your hair must be frizzly—static, and everywhere. Your cheeks are on fire, for certain. As red as your chest, and as warm as the inside of your legs.

Bucky’s eyes are almost all black, no blue.

“Do you know what I left to do?” he asks.

You shake your head, trying both to answer you and clear your mind to ask him for something, for please, some mercy. For him to do anything; take whatever he needs, but just give you one bit of release, when he puts his hands in his pocket again and—

a condom.

Bucky left the party to go to his car, and retrieve a condom.

Your eyes widen, and he laughs at you.

“Yeah.” He sounds as in disbelief as he looks. “Even though this is the last thing you deserve—fuck, I should edge you ten more times before doing this, but you win. Okay? Tonight, you fuckin’ win.” Bucky rips the packet open with his teeth, and that’s when you look down.

When you notice that all this time when you leaned against his torso and rubbed yourself back on his hand, shamelessly searching for your own pleasure, Bucky had been rock hard. The tent in his pants made you almost lose every inch of composure you had—you almost drop to your knees right there and then, but you know he has other plans.

Instead, you turn around, and lean forward against the nearest surface.

You hear him curse in the back. Hear him take off his blazer, and with a side glance, see him place it next to the glass. You observe him roll up his sleeves, and for a second, your gazes meet. Bucky smiles at you, and you try your best not to wiggle your ass. When you hear the sound of his zipper, and the sound of Bucky putting on the rubber before his broad frame is clouding behind you again, you sigh, content.

It’s a hasty dream after that.

An usual song for you. The way Bucky slicks himself up with you is your bourbon, and your pussy all but sucks him in. He bottoms out with a soft grunt, and his levarage is gained by taking hold of all of your hair in one hand.

He leans in closer until his face is on the crook of your neck, and it’s with lips pressed on your earlobe that he asks, “Slow or fast, Duchess?”

You’re so close. “Fast. And deep.” You’re already half gone. “Please.”

He never fails at delivering.

This time, Bucky doesn’t stop.

When he starts, it takes only a minute for Bucky to gain momentum. He takes his time at first, angling his hips in a slightly different position at each thrusts until he finds the one that makes you clasp your hands around his with nails and all��that’s when he puts a hand over your mouth, pulls you like that until you’re half-facing him, and starts a fast, deep, and brutal pace.

He fucks you until you’re both closing your eyes at the feeling, drunk in lust and the nasty, wet sounds filling the room. Bucky snaps his hips until your eyes are rolling at the back of your head; the rhythm is everything you needed, craved for all night long.

It was your goal when you put on the dress.

The dream you had when you first saw it on a window in an unknown street.

Bucky fucks you until you’re shaking, spasming and cumming all over his dick. That’s when he finally grunts and lets it go; when he buries his face in your neck and whispers your name, his hips finally slowing down inside of you.

It takes a while before either one of you is back to reality.

He speaks up first.

“I should buy you more stuff.”

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nanamistiee · 3 months

Text

valentine's day dates with the jjk characters

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ where the boys would take you for valentine's day! pt 1 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ i might be a few days late

━━━ ( ⋆｡°✩ satoru: ) ✧ i don't care what anyone says, my boy is a ROMANTIC !!! satoru is caring and very observant. he knows your likes, your dislikes -- everything about you down to the different ways your eyes light up in correspondance to your favorite foods. he knows your favorite flowers & chocolates and while he's happy giving that to you, that's not enough. nowhere near enough, actually.

as a matter of fact, he lets you know pretty quick that you two are gonna go somewhere. satoru won't tell you where -- he thinks it's funny to be all mysterious and get you so worked up like this. but, before you know it, you're being pulled into the car and dragged off somewhere against your will.

satoru takes you to the park. he pulls out a basket and an iconic red gingham blanket. a picnic. it's cheesy and silly but incredibly romantic. of course, you two sit somewhere nice and in the shade. he's packed a ton of different things, a lunch, chocolate covered strawberries, a nice bottle of wine or champagne for you two to share -- the whole nine yards.

"aren't i just the best boyfriend ever?" he'd have to ask and tease the hell out of you. but, honestly, moments like this remind you that that's entirely true.

━━━ ( ⋆｡°✩ suguru: ) ✧ suguru is determined to make memories with you. taking you to a restaraunt or somewhere flashy is a little bit too cheesy and cliche for his taste. honestly, he's really not that big on the traditional idea of valentine's day, anyway. he thinks teddy bears and flowers that're gonna go dead in a couple days are kinda stupid. so, he always takes it upon himself to do something a hell of a lot better.

of course, you're getting the sappiest text message as soon as you wake up, though. (yes, he's had this written for ages and he's been staring anxiously at the send button, he's the type to send this at 12:01 in the morning) he's letting you know you're the most beautiful girl he's ever laid eyes on, that there's no one that could ever be as perfect as you, how lucky he is to have you, etc. you will not get out of today without hearing this a million times.

suguru's taking you somewhere special. at first, you two probably stop somewhere like an art gallery or a museum. he's got a couple "you're the prettiest thing in the room" type cheesy pickup lines up his sleeves (but coming from him they're somehow oh-so-smooth!) but afterwards? he's taking you somewhere like a couple's cooking class or wine painting. it sounds stupid, but it's somewhere you make memories of you two that you can actually cherish.

━━━ ( ⋆｡°✩ kento: ) ✧ kento is all things traditional. you're getting roses delivered to your job with the absolute sweetest note about how much he loves and cherishes you. they've gotta be red roses, too. he's a complete sucker for the idea of a classic valentine's day -- red roses, a teddy bear, heart-shaped chocolates, etc. he's a true romantic at heart.

kento's doing the absolute most. when you get home, you're definitely walking into rose petals all over the floor, leading you to your shared bedroom. on your bed, of course, is none other than a pretty lil dress and some nice new jewelry wrapped up in an elegant giftbox. he's got everything planned down to the last detail. pretty tea light candles illuminate your room, in your favorite scent, of course. you've got some more chocolates and sweet things he thought you'd like -- maybe some new makeup or skincare, or even a silly little plushy that he knew you'd like.

with that being said, kento's gotta take you to dinner. you're going to the nicest & fanciest place he could find. after all, you've gotta wear that dress somewhere (:

━━━ ( ⋆｡°✩ toji: ) ✧ toji might not be as showy as some of the other people *cough cough* on this list, but he still knows how to show you just how much he loves you. after a long and stressful day at work, you know he knows how to take care of you and treat a lady right. he's the type of guy to spend all day preparing. yeah, he might be standing there like an idiot at lush trying to ask the employee what bath bomb he should get. yeah, he might think the one called 'sex bomb' is funny (that's totally not the only reason he'd buy it, too!) but, deep down, it's pretty clear he's got a goal in mind. to make you happy.

as soon as you get home, toji's whisking you off your feet and probably suffocating you with kisses. like a true gentleman, he's taking your coat and your bag before he's practically shoving you toward the bathroom and not giving you a real say in anything. before you can even question what the hell he's doing, you're gonna realize he's actually drawn a bath for you. like i'm talking full on candles for the ambiance, a glass of wine, that stupid little bathbomb he bought, etc. he might try to steal a few glances under the guise of wanting to see what the bathbomb does, but it doesn't make you feel any less loved.

while you're enjoying your bath, he picks up some take out from your favorite restaraunt so the two of you can cuddle up on the couch, eat some good-ass food & watch a movie or two. it's a quiet night, but absolutely perfect.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ i will eventually make more of these to make up for how late i am with posting this dskfnsdgk let me know what characters u'd like to see in pt 2 !! ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk fanfiction #jjk imagines #kento nanami x reader #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #yuji idatori x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #choso x reader

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xetswan · 9 months

Text

Seth Clearwater Imagine!-

Flustered Flirt

Warnings: None really

Requested!

“Seth’s here, Mom!” I called out as I excitedly put my shoes on. She comes out from the living room with a smirk on her face. “Alright, have fun. I better not get another call from anyone on the rez or Chief Swan like last time.” She tells me, reminding me of what happened a few weeks ago when he and I were being loud and got kicked out of a store. My face warms up. “Yes, I know.” I swung my bag onto my shoulder, exiting the house. “Love you!” My mom shouts just as I shut the door.

I speed walk over to Seth who was on an old dirt bike he and Jacob worked on together. He hands me his helmet. I grin, taking it. “Where’s yours?” I poke him, swinging my leg over the side. “You’re more important.” He simply tells me, and my heart quickens. Ever since my mom became good friends with Billy Black and Charlie Swan I have been going to the reservation. It was quite often, it was inevitable for Seth and I to meet.

And first glance, it was something weird. The whole world shifted to something brighter, and in Forks, that’s saying a lot.

I learned later on that he had imprinted on me. He’s a werewolf. It was strange to take in and have to act like it was normal but Billy had explained the stories to me.

I knew what they believed in, even if they called it myths, after the imprint thing and then actually being shown everything there was no way I couldn’t believe in it. That would make me plain stupid.

“[Name]?” I snap out of my thoughts. “Hm?”

“Hold on.” He snickers, “Oh, right.” I say, wrapping my arms around his upper waist, he starts the bike and it jolts forward before going smoothly. Today we are going shopping for Bella and Edward’s wedding, it’s this weekend and I realized I had nothing to wear so we decided to go today. He already had his outfit so it was really for me.

Seth is pretty excited about it too, he didn’t expect to be invited so since he was he’s been non-stop talking about it. It’s cute.

Once we got to the little strip mall, he patiently waits for me to get off before following after me. I take my helmet off, placing it down. He starts laughing and I look up at him confused. “Your hair,” He points, I look at the window of the store in front of us and I realized it was super messy. “I’ll help you.” He smiles sweetly, flattening down my hair, I stare up at him, and watch his face turn a little red. “And you look as beautiful as ever.” He backs away like I’m an art piece. I roll my eyes, shoving him playfully. “Was I not beautiful with messy hair?” I cross my arms and his face drops.

“No, I mean yes- I mean- you’re always beautiful. I was just saying that-” I cut him off with laughter. “I’m messing with you.” I take his hand in mine, and we both walk into a dress store.

“Oh, right.” He sighs outloud, I smile to myself.

Once we go in there’s a few looks here and there. Watching the both of us as we go through all of the dresses I thought were pretty. “How about this one.” I hold up a light pink dress that stops right before the knees. He stands back, thinking about it. “It’s pretty but I think you’re pretty without the dress.” He tries to flirt, and my eyes widen at his words. I look around to see if anyone heard but no one was near us. “Seth!” I whisper, hitting his arm. “What?” He seems surprised I hit him. “You just said I look better naked!” I again whisper to him, his eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head. “No, I meant that you’re pretty out of the dress like you’re pretty- ugh, I’m an idiot.” He hides his face in his hands and I quietly chuckle, placing the dress back before holding his wrists, pushing them away from his face forcing him to look at me.

“You’re not an idiot you just need to work on your flirting.” I tease him, and he squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I mean it’s not like you aren’t pretty naked, I wouldn’t know but gosh I just made this weirder.” He groans, throwing his head back as I laugh again, I pull him into a hug. “It’s okay, Seth. I know how you are.” I let him go and then moved on to the next dress.

It was a dark purple which goes into the color palate that they gave us for what to wear. It was another short dress too.

“I think I’ll go try this one on.” I kiss his cheek, going towards the dressing rooms.

After getting changed, I turn to face the mirror, looking at myself in the dress. I sway my hips to see how it goes out. Approving how it looks I step outside of the room, “Seth!” I call out for him, he was looking at another dress but once I got his attention he jumps and then comes over. “Need help?”

“No, I think this is the one.” I grin, fully coming out to show him, twirling around. He stares quietly at me. “Seth? What do you think?” I take the sides into my hands as I become self-conscious of his silence.

“You look beautiful.” He tells me, my face grows warm and I look away from him.

“Hey, I’m serious.” He says, “As beautiful as when my hair was messy.” I joke, he scoffs. “I don’t know if you can beat that look.”

I gasp, and he laughs. “I’m kidding, you look gorgeous, [Name].” He takes my hands in his.

“You’re cute.” I step up on my tiptoes to peck him on the lips. I then step back. “Unzip me?” I turn around. “Uh, are you- are you sure you want me to?” He nervously asks.

I look back at him. “If you’re not comfortable I can ask a worker,” I assure him and he shakes his head. “I can do it.” He puts a hand on my hip then the other one unzips my dress. Once he’s done I turn around and smile. “Thank you.”

I go back into the dressing room and shut the door. Getting dressed back into my regular clothes. Luckily the dress wasn’t super expensive.

Bonus!

The three werewolves phase back to their human forms, Leah and Embry laughing uncontrollably as Seth hides his face like before from embarrassment. “You unzipped her dress, it’s not like you saw anything.” Embry cackles, Leah holding herself as she tries to calm her laughter.

“Okay, I get it!” He cries out angrily at the two for teasing him. “Hey, it’s okay. She’s your first girlfriend.” Leah tries to hold in her laugh, but Seth can immediately tell.

“I hate being a werewolf.” He steps away from the two, storming off.

#bella swan #jacob black #twilight #twilight x reader #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #jasper whitlock #seth clearwater #seth clearwater x reader #embry call #leah clearwater #twilight imagine #twilight saga

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strangemagicc · 6 months

Text

Muse | Part Two

masterlist | <prev

pairings: modern!artist!Eddie x fem!Reader, classmates to lovers

summary: Eddie invited you to his studio for a private session.

warnings: smut, oral (reader and Eddie receiving), fingering, p in v, creampie, ass play (no penetration), slight dom!Eddie

author's note: I know this is shorter but, hear me out, there's going to be a part three! this particular part had been on my mind since I wrote part one and I was really excited when it came together. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Comments / reblogs are always appreciated (seriously) 🖤

w/c: 3.3k

Rain cascaded against the windows, fat drops that hit the glass windows in small thuds. Eddie’s studio was cold, autumn air creeping through the cracks of the walls in the renovated warehouse he rented. His breath was warm against your skin coming out in even exhales as he blew against your flesh.

“You know when I said to paint me like one of your French girls I didn’t quite mean this,” he smirked at your comment, face trained on the lines he traced against your skin. You watched him, his face etched in stern lines that made him look older.

“You’re so serious,” you dropped your voice low, mocking and silly. He stilled, brown eyes looking up at you from where he knelt and you chuckled at him, reaching out to rub against his jaw. He nipped at your hand, a playful smile painting his features.

“You need to stay still,” he chided softly, voice even. Professional. You withdrew your hand and relaxed your face into neutrality, breath held as he brushed paint against your thigh. A mix of scarlet and lavender bright against your flesh. Your eyes roamed around the room, to the exposed brick walls and the canvases that lined them, some were blank and others completed works. Eddie’s style varied from abstract to expressionist. Frenzied lines and vivid colors. The painting of you, the lines of your hips and the curve of your breasts, was bordering fauvism. The colors were vibrant and beautiful. Unnatural in their depiction of your frame. They spoke of the feelings Eddie had when he saw you and painted you for the first time. You wanted to ask him about it, what he was thinking, and what the varying hues were meant to represent. If your interpretation of the piece was what he was trying to convey but you held your tongue, it still felt too soon to ask how he felt. Even as the weeks passed and your worlds meshed, nights spent at your place or his, whole days spent in bed. Innocent kisses turned urgent, his hips slotted between yours working you over the edge.

Being open with your feelings felt more exposing than standing bare in his studio while he practiced painting your body for the Living Art Exhibition he was going to be part of in less than a week.

“Almost done,” Eddie muttered softly against your thigh, brush strokes soft along your calf. You didn’t know what exactly he was painting, could only see the colors that he chose and he was not keen on letting you into the loop. It was going to be just as much a surprise to you as those visiting the exhibit.

“Do I get a prize for being a good canvas?” You questioned, eyes now focused on the lights of the city. He chuckled, dropping his brush into a jar of water situated on a small stand near his drafting table. Sketches scattered along the surface. His sketchbook that he wouldn’t let you open nearby. He stood in front of you, eyes lingering on yours from where he towered. A sly grin slotting into place, dimple popping out on his cheek.

“What kind of prize were you angling for?” He asked, chest brushing your breasts as he moved closer. You looked to where you were connected, where the paint covering your nipple pasties rubbed against his white muscle shirt. You swallowed hard and looked up at him. His gaze had turned hungry, wanting. The way it always did when his thoughts had turned far from innocent. His nose brushed yours, lips inching closer as he ran his fingertips along your abdomen. Up up up until he brushed against the heavy flesh of your breast. You gasped at the contact, eyes still trained on his brown ones.

“Are you going to answer me, sweetheart?” You could feel the warmth of his exhale against your pout. His tone was mocking as he watched you, noticed the way your chest heaved as he continued to run his knuckles back and forth across your hidden nipple. You tilted your gaze down as you bit your lip and debated, thighs clenching. You thought of the way his fingers would feel if only he’d dip them lower, underneath the cotton of your panties that were now painted over. Vivid blue to compliment the lavender. Eddie slowly removed one of your pasties, your breath sharp as it slid against your sensitive nipple and you watched the way he rubbed it soft. His eyes were still trained on you as he worked the other pasty off leaving your pebbled breasts blossoming in the outline of where the pasties once rested. He pinched and pulled on one and your knees buckled at the sensation. The need was overwhelming as he continued to tease. Eddie wanted to hear your whine as you begged for him, to enjoy the way his name sounded on your lips as you did. You looked up at him, watched his mouth, and traced the outline of his pink lips with your eyes. Drawing closer until you were pressed against him once more. You pressed your lips to his, soft and sweet until that wasn’t enough. Your kiss turned frenzied with want. Teeth pulling at Eddie’s bottom lip in a small tug until he groaned. You gave him a cheshire grin, looking up at him as though you had the upper hand. But of course, you never did. Eddie lifted you from where you stood, hands wide against the dough of your ass until you were pressed against his hard arousal. You wrapped your legs around him on instinct, mewling at the way his cock felt pressed into your clothed cunt. He gave you a knowing smirk, hands spreading your ass cheeks apart as he held onto you. You moved your hips slowly, grinding against him until the zipper of his jeans hit your clit just right.

“This is the prize you wanted?” His voice came out gruff, affected by the circle of your hips as you continued to grind against him. You nodded your head at him, a low moan escaping your lips as you continued. He smacked your ass, a sharp sting zipping through you and to your sensitive center. You moaned louder, needier.

“Let me hear you say it, pretty girl,” you bit your lip as you looked at him from under your lashes, faux coyness dripping from your gaze.

“I want you Eddie,” you keened. He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips and walked you to a couch nestled in the corner of his studio. Plopping you against the fabric, legs already spread wide for him. He didn’t waste time, kneeling in front of you and ripping your underwear off before tossing it to the side. He nestled his head between your legs, dark eyes watching you. You looked at the couch, at the paint that was leaving marks against its blue fabric.

“Eddie, I’m going to ruin your sofa,” you giggled as you knotted your fingers into his hair. He looked at you with a smirk.

“I don’t give a fuck,” and before you had time for a rebuttal his mouth was on you. Tongue flicking against your clit in a rapid pace making you buck against the sensation. Your back fell against the couch, moans growing louder as he continued to lap at your arousal. He pulled away to spread your lips apart, admiring the way your pussy looked for him. Sopping cunt and puffy clit. He teased your entrance, thick finger pushing in and stretching you until he was knuckle deep. He wrapped your legs around his shoulder and kissed your inner thigh. Mouth sucking against the sensitive skin as he began to slowly push his finger in and out of you. Your grip tightened in his hair, pulling slightly as he picked up pace and curled his digit inside of you. Warm kisses moving up your thigh until his lips were pressed against your sensitive bud. Eddie sucked at your clit, tongue swirling against you as he did.

“Oh Eddie,” you moaned, fingers pulling tighter at his hair. He groaned against you, pushing another finger into your entrance and picking up pace. You could feel the orgasm building, a delicious feeling growing at your center as he continued.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” The squelching of his fingers inside of you created a lewd echo reverberating against the walls. You nodded at Eddie, small moans escaping as you got closer to the edge.

“Let me hear you,” he demanded, fingers pushed into the spot only he could reach and you began grinding against his face.

“Oh, Eddie, I’m going to cum-“ you breathed, falling apart as the words escaped you. Your hand tangled into his wild curls, limbs buzzing and vision clouding as the orgasm coursed through you. You squeezed your eyes shut, legs closing around Eddie’s head as he brought you over the edge. His lips still wrapped around your sensitive clit, sucking until tears beaded in your eyes. Overstimulated, vision white with the intensity. Eddie lapped at your juices, moaning as the sweetness coated his tongue.

“Fuck baby, I’ll never get over how sweet you are,” he hummed, warm breath fanning your pussy. You loosened your grip on his hair, vision becoming clearer. Chest heaving as your cunt continued to flutter around his fingers. He slowly withdrew them, fingers slick with you. You sat on your elbows, watching him with a satisfied grin. Breaths coming out in short spurts as your heart hammered against your chest. You watched his face as you grabbed his hand and wrapped your lips around his digits, pulling them into your mouth. Licking them clean. Eddie’s eyes grew darker, jaw-dropping with a small gasp as he watched you suck your arousal from his fingers and hum in delight. He was on you, fingers wrapping in your hair as he held your mouth to his. Kiss rough and animalistic in its need. Tongues darting against each other as it deepened. You pulled at the hem of his muscle shirt, pushing the material up and over his head until his naked torso was revealed. You rubbed your fingers along his abdomen, nails gliding against his happy trail until you were tugging at the button of his jeans. Eddie helped you push them, kicking the denim to the side until he was left in his boxers. Cock straining against the material, precum leaving a dark circle where his head rested. You palmed at his length, stroking from base to tip as you bit your lip and thought about how he’d feel stretching you around his cock.

“I need you,” you whined and pushed his boxers down. His dick stood at attention, tip leaking sticky and slick. You moved closer to him, running his tip against your lips until they were coated. Eddie watched as you licked your lips, savoring the taste of him. You dragged your tongue against the vein that led to his tip, swirling your tongue when you got to his pink head. Pulling him inch by inch into your mouth with a teasing glint in your eye. He was heavy against your tongue as he slipped further into your mouth until he brushed against your throat. You watched from under your lashes as Eddie threw his head back, fingers wrapped in your hair as you began to bob against him. Saliva dripping from your mouth and coating his thick length. You wrapped your hand around him, grip firm as you dragged it up with your mouth. Other hand massaging his balls. You listened as he groaned, knees buckling with the way you milked him. Chest heaving as you picked up pace until the only sound you could hear was the mixture of you slurping and gagging as you deep-throated him. God, he loved the way you looked with your mouth around his cock. The image etched behind his eyes when the pleasure was overwhelming and he had to close them.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, hips bucking as you continued. Your eyes tearing up as his length pushed against the back of your throat. You wanted to taste him, to feel his hot cum coat your throat and focused on his tip. Sucking it mean as he groaned louder.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he pulled away from you, teeth sinking into his lip as he got a good look at you. Tears ran down your cheeks, leaving streaks in the paint that had been brushed there. The same effect captured around your mouth where the saliva dripped from your lips.

“So fucking beautiful,” he breathed and ran his thumb along your pout. You brought his thumb into your mouth, sucking hard against him as you began to stroke him.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice raspy. You flipped onto your stomach and he grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him. Back arched and ass in the air. He slapped your doughy flesh. Once, twice until your cheeks stung with his touch. You mewled at the sensation, pussy dripping from your previous orgasm and the overwhelming arousal.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he muttered to himself, pulling your cheeks apart and exposing all of you to him. He ran a finger along your folds, soaking his thumb in your juices. You cocked your head and watched him, the way his jaw hung slack as he began to press against your asshole. You wiggled your ass, humming at the pressure of his thumb against the puckered entrance. He withdrew and slapped your ass once more before lining up the tip of his cock with your weeping cunt. You felt the pressure of his tip pushing into you, and the way he teased you inch by inch. Savoring the way you felt as you stretched over him until you were full. It already felt so good, the way he was already pushing against the spongy spot that sent you over the edge. Eddie spread your buttcheeks apart, dribbling spit onto your tight hole and rubbing his thumb over the entrance. Prodding until his thumb slipped inside.

“I feel so full,” you moaned and felt the way Eddie twitched inside you at your words. He pulled out of you slowly and thrust back into you with force. Watching the way your ass reverberated against him with the impact.

“Please, please, please,” you begged him, unable to stand the teasing. He smirked at the whine in your voice, hips pulling back and pushing forward sharply again.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Faster, Eddie please,” you whined again and he picked up his pace. Hips pushing into your ass and balls slapping against your swollen clit as he did. The feeling was euphoric, and overwhelming as the next orgasm was already beginning to build. Your moans filled his studio mixing with the sound of his, naked flesh pushing against naked flesh. Eddie chased his orgasm, removing his thumb from your ass and gripping your hips as he did.

“Holy shit, baby,” he moaned and you looked at him from over your shoulder. You loved hearing him, how affected he was by you and the way your pussy fluttered around him.

“Please fill me up, Eddie,” you breathed between moans. Rubber band tightening in your abdomen as he continued to thrust into you. His hips stuttered against yours, the effect of your words felt in the way his cock twitched inside you. Eddie’s grip on your hips tightened, fingers likely to leave marks against your skin. Your pussy fluttered, rubber band snapping at your center. The orgasm was more intense than the last leaving you breathless, moans spewing from you between gruff pants. His name escaped from your lips like a prayer. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

“Oh God, Eddie,” you whined out louder, limbs like jelly as he continued.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up,” he slapped your ass, his faltering pace letting you know he was closer. He pumped faster, nails digging into the dough of your ass until he came undone. A loud groan escaped his pretty lips, the warmth of his cum shooting into you. He moaned your name, nails still digging into you as his load coated your walls. You let out a breathy moan, eyes rolling at the feeling of his cock twitching inside you. Eddie loosened his grip on you, rubbing where his nails dug half-moons into your skin. Slowly he pulled his softening dick from you, a small sigh escaping him at the loss of you wrapped around him. You whined at the emptiness, unable to move from your position on the couch. He patted your ass, eying the way your pussy looked dripping with his cum.

“Made such a mess out of you sweetheart,” he mused and you wiggled your ass at him. He swatted at the fatty flesh and pushed on your hip to turn you onto your back. His cum dripped down your leg, taking the remainder of any paint with it. He nestled next to you on the couch, wrapping his arm around you as you buried your head into his chest. You played with his chest hair, drawing lines against his ribs and tracing the dark ink that stained his skin.

“Should I call poison control?” You asked, thinking of how much paint each of you had just consumed.

“It’s all edible,” he laughed and you looked at him with a questioning raise of your brows. He rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I may have bought some intimate paint to use with you,” he elaborated with a tug of his lips. You traced his smile, pouting up at him.

“So you’re saying I could’ve painted you too?” You slapped his chest lightly, playfully, and he rubbed the spot as though you had mortally wounded him.

“You could’ve but what’s the fun in that?” He questioned.

“I could’ve made it worth your while, a repayment for your patience,” you crossed your arms and turned onto your back away from him. Eddie turned onto his side to face you, crowding your space with his lanky arms and naked chest pushing into your bare skin.

“What if I promised to let you take care of me next time,” he asked, grinning at your brattiness.

“Cross your heart?” You questioned and looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“And hope to die, beautiful,” and he drew an ‘x’ against his heart, leaning down to press his lips against yours. You pushed your palm against him, his chest flexing against your touch.

“I’m holding you to it, baby,” you said the nickname with a playful tone but didn’t miss the way it made eyes widen slightly in surprise. The first pet name you’d used on him. He kissed you slowly, savoring the way your lips molded to his and the way your breath shuddered when he pulled your lip between his to suck and then release. You turned and wrapped your arms around his neck, legs draped over his hips in an embrace. As close as possible, drawing him closer closer closer. You liked these moments the most, when hungry kisses turned sweet and you got to worship his body in a different way. Fingers dancing along the lines of his shoulders, down his trapezius muscles, and along his spine. Eddie wasn’t huge like the bodies captured in those wellness magazines, his muscle was lean. Contoured arms and hardened thighs. Fingers calloused from years of playing instruments and manual labor. His face was sharp lines and a strong jaw. And his neck. Beautiful muscled neck. You wanted to cover it in kisses and love bites. To leave your mark so everyone knew. It was a crush, an innocent crush, but God now it was bigger than the both of you.

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comicaurora · 1 year

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are you scared of the whole AI art thing? What do you think about it?

"Scared" is the wrong word, I think. "Pissed" is probably more accurate. The technology underlying the concept is interesting, but its current form transparently functions by mining data from artists who didn't consent to have their work used like that. Arguments over whether it's "real art" or whatever aside, that is unethical and gross and a class-action lawsuit waiting to happen.

I think the people scared that this is going to replace actual living artists are severely overestimating the technology at play here and possibly don't understand computers very much.

The reason why computers are a fascinating mix of very smart and very stupid is because they are only good at doing exactly what they are told. Human thought, communication and creation is based on a process of flexible interpretation. Our brains take in patterns of light and sound and interpret them into shapes and figures and speech - a process that is imperfect, messy and susceptible to any number of disruptions from minor chemical alterations to major brain injuries. We read text and subtext and emotional undertones into what we hear, we extrapolate assumptions from the things we see. It's an extremely messy process with a lot of room for error, as evinced by miscommunications, corner-of-the-eye shadow people, "are you mad at me I feel like you're mad at me", getting hangry, assigning personalities to car taillights, audio processing disorders, and about a million other human idiosyncrasies.

Art, down to its bones, is about interpretation - the artist interpreting a slice of the world and the audience interpreting that art. This is why no two people experience the same story the same way, and why no two artists create the same work.

Computers, in contrast, are not messy. Or, to be more accurate, they aren't naturally messy. They do exactly what they are told. They have no context, no axioms, no common sense and no rules except what they're given. A human told to write a sentence over and over again and never being told to stop will eventually get bored or tired or hungry or pissed and stop. A computer told to 'while 1: printf("Hello World!")' will do it forever until the power goes out or someone notices and forces it to stop. A person told "hey man can you go to the store and get me a mango, and if they have apples get five" will acquire a mango and possibly five apples. A computer told the same instruction may well turn up with five mangos. A computer won't do anything if you forget to close a parenthesis or put in a semicolon somewhere in a thousand lines of code because it's doing exactly what it's told. The eternal frustration of computer science is figuring out why the stupid computer isn't doing what you told it to do, and the answer is always "you didn't tell it what to do right. Find the missing parenthesis. Don't capitalize that one variable."

An artist told to paint a fantastical landscape might paint beautiful mountains or flying cities or the high, arching curves of Saturn-style rings or ancient ruins or massive skeletons or any number of things. A computer told to render a fantastical landscape will, as I understand it, comb through a database it's been given by a human, find works a human or a human-trained algorithm tagged with "fantastical" "landscape" (or, if it's been made a little more complex, a word-web of other tags commonly added by a human to things tagged with "fantastical" and "landscape") and use a very impressive program created by a human to recombine them into a mashup of "fantastical" "landscapes" that may or may not parse correctly to the human who looks at it. The computer doesn't know. The computer isn't thinking. It's just doing what it's been told to do.

If we stop thinking of computers like people that are going to take our jobs and start thinking of them like tools that people use, the whole situation becomes a lot clearer. The technology isn't the problem. The people who baked in stolen datasets and the people who are using the tool to be dicks to artists are the problem. I'm not scared of the tech and I'm not scared of the people - I just wish they'd stop being dicks.

And even if we do reach the theoretical point where a computer can create art that actually stands up to scrutiny - you know, where the hands don't look like calamari plates and the eyes and teeth don't blur together and sharp delineating lines between clothing and skin don't just sort of dissolve into shadowy vagueness - I think that'll be the point we just shift into the "holy shit! two cakes!!" zone. 3D animation didn't make 2D animation obsolete. 4K screens didn't kill pixel art. The printing press didn't kill painting. Video only killed the radio star until podcasts brought them back. People enjoy lots of things.

#asks #not aurora #art stuff

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