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fayes-fics · 8 months

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A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.”

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.”

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic.

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade.

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision.

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him.

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction.

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.”

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman.

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first.

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?”

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now….

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his.

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together.

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.”

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly.

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk.

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member.

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip.

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!”

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense.

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race.

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside.

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently.

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing.

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body.

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever.

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

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lovelybluebirdie · 3 months

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What is yours

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: A stroll through the market evokes an unpleasant sensation in Astarion.

Word Count: 3,1k

hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff

[ AO3 ]

The warm rays of the midday sun bathed the markets’ goods in a marvellous light. The place was bustling, a scent of spices lingering in the air and hurried voices brimming.

If someone had told Astarion that one day he’d be able to move around Baldur’s Gate so freely again, he’d probably huffed merely a dry laugh – and yet here he was, following you through the narrow streets of his city, admiring how much colour the world had to offer.

Of course it was you who had dragged him along for the mundane task to gather some food for your companions back at camp. Astarion couldn't care less to fill up their bellies, as his own appetite was perfectly stilled from your generosity when it came to offer him your blood, but one blink from your doe eyes had been enough to convince him to accompany you.

Well, that, and perhaps that warm feeling that refused to leave his chest when he was with you.

It was obvious that you loved to stroll around the market, savouring the colourful impressions while taking a break from all the fighting and gore your journey to rid yourself from the tadpoles held for you.

Astarion had never watched you spending your coin so lightly before. You probably thought it was time to treat yourself once in a while, and who was he to deny you this little pleasure? He had to admit that he actually adored seeing your face light up over the different trinkets you bought, eagerly filling your bags and pouches with your newest additions.

“Let's get some fruit for the others while we’re at it,” you suggested, pointing towards a merchant presenting an inviting range of fresh goods. “Something nutritious seems much needed after we fed mostly on leftovers for the past weeks.”

Your shoulders were loaded with the various goods you had already bought – dyes, herbs, some new toys for Scratch and the owlbear cub and a bunch of flasks to fill with potions.

“As you wish,” Astarion replied, when a display of weapons caught his eye. His last pair of daggers had become rather blunt from the Goblin throats he’d cut, so maybe it was time to treat himself as well, he thought and gently grabbed your wrist.

“On second thought, why don't you go ahead while I'll have another look around here, my love?” he asked and came to a stop. “I haven't much expertise to add when it comes to your culinary needs, and those daggers look rather appealing.”

“Sounds fine with me, but try not to spend all of our gold at once,” you teased and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hah, you're one to talk. Please remind me, who was it again that just bought five new toys for Scratch, so he had a set of different colours to choose from?”

“He needs some variety,” you muttered, trying to keep up a serious expression. “But nevermind, see you in a minute then.”

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and waved, already on your way to spend some more of your coin.

Astarion couldn’t help but smile over your excitement for the market, before he picked up a dagger from the display in front of him. The handle appeared to be of higher quality than his current ones, and the blade looked sharp enough to inflict some hurt.

As he gazed further through the wares, pondering which one would fit him best, he spared a glance to check on you.

He spotted you a few stalls away at the fruit stand you had mentioned. The vendor you were talking to gesticulated wildly while presenting his wares, leading you to laugh.

Astarion frowned and put the dagger away to take a closer look.

The vendor was young, an elf with blond curls, and Astarion noticed that he wasn’t an unpleasant sight.

He was immediately bothered by the smile you gave the other man, the way he touched your hands as he started to offer you bite-sized pieces of fruit to taste.

His fingers lingered too long against yours for Astarion’s liking.

As he continued to watch you from afar, something inside his belly started to seethe – hot and ugly.

A feeling he experienced before when it came to you, but couldn't quite grasp.

Well, whatever this was, Astarion certainly wasn’t jealous. Not of some random street vendor at least – and why should he be? Because you had smiled so sweetly at him? Or because you were laughing again as you took another piece of fruit from his filthy hands?

What in the nine hells could be so entertaining about buying fruit anyway?

It was ridiculous, really, and yet Astarion imagined how it would feel to rip the vendor's throat as punishment for daring to touch you.

Would he bleed out quickly? Would he scream?

Astarion shook his head, shoving the violent image aside.

He remembered the previous occasions when that unpleasant burning inside his stomach had appeared. It was the moment Gale decided it was appropriate to show you his so-called magical weave, or the other day when Wyll proposed a dance to you. You had kindly rejected both of them, but Astarion was still not particularly impressed by their interest in you.

He knew what others would seek from you. Why they wanted you. For the same reasons he enjoyed being with you: your compassion, the kindness you spread. Your special talent to make him feel seen.

There was also your wit, the way you would crack a joke even in the most maddening situations, making him feel light. And not to mention, you were a beautiful vision if Astarion had ever seen one.

Of course there would be others who saw those qualities as well, aiming to claim you.

A sudden wave of anxiety flooded his mind, moulding an appaling image in his skull.

He wondered if one day you would prefer someone else over him.

Someone who would match your kindness – acting all selfless and heroic, indulging in activities he found little pleasure in.

Providing you with something Astarion might be unable to give you, ever, no matter how much he cared about you.

Hells, what if you were already seeking someone like that?

His stomach dropped.

The dreadful notion spread its relentless claws past his ribs, tearing holes in his dead heart.

Blood rushed to his ears.

Before he even realised, his feet were already dragging him towards you.

He needed to be close to you – doing anything to make this feeling stop.

When he arrived next to you, he placed a hand on the small of your back and grasped your tunic, a little tighter than he'd intended.

He tried his best to keep his composure.

“Are we all done here, my love?” he asked, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, Astarion!” You smiled when you noticed him, unaware of his musings. Your pouch was filled to the brink with fresh fruits. “Yes, I guess that would be all.”

Astarion felt the need to pull you away, but before he came up with an excuse to leave immediately, the merchant was already addressing you again.

“Think about it, will you?” A smug grin plastered that man’s face as he spoke to you, casually bending over his counter.

Astarion gave you a confused look.

Think about what?

“Unfortunately there’s no time to join the tavern tonight, but thank you for the offer. Maybe next time,” you said amicably and packed up your wares.

What was that?

Astarion thought he must have misheard.

“What a shame. Perhaps you can give it a second thought.” The vendor was still beaming at you, before he turned to Astarion. “Your friend can come too, of course.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid. We will think about it, will we, darling?”

Astarion bit his tongue, swallowing the impulse to spit a cutting remark on top of his obvious sarcasm.

What in the nine hells was this mongrel thinking, inviting you to the tavern? And how he was speaking to him – as if he was some irrelevant bystander.

“Let's see what we can do,” you said politely, already on your way to move on. “Have a nice day. And thank you again.”

“You as well,” replied the salesman and waved.

Astarion gritted his teeth as he followed you through the busy alleyways, still processing what just happened.

The vendor's words appeared in his mind.

That man had obviously desired to fuck you, and wasn’t even trying to hide his advances.

How could he have dared.

Astarion regretted that he had acted so passive in that moment. Usually he wasn’t one to hesitate, always a sharp comment dancing on his tongue, and yet… the thought of losing you to someone else had shifted something in him, turning him small.

His fury grew.

Oh, how he would love to grab that despicable pig by his throat, banishing that filthy grin of his face. Making him bleed. But he knew that unlike him, you would gladly refrain from a public bloodbath, so he shoved away those violent fantasies, even if the fire continued to seeth in him – unpleasant and hot.

He tried to fathom what posed the worst about this whole ordeal: The way in which the man had aimed to claim you, or his fear that you enjoyed those cheap advances – possibly were fond of it even.

Astarion's mood couldn't have been more sour as you arrived at a secluded area, away from the markets bustling.

“Can you believe it? That seller insisted on giving me a discount,” you broke the silence and pointed proudly at the wares you had gathered. “And they say there are no kind people left in Baldur's Gate.”

And just as the words had left your throat, Astarion finally snapped.

“Is that so?” he hissed, baring his fangs. “How generous. What a nice, handsome gentleman he is, also inviting you to the tavern with him.” He spoke harsh – his tone cold and venomous.

You came to an abrupt stop, resting the groceries on the ground and fixating your gaze on his, a furrow between your eyebrows.

“What are you implying?” You sounded puzzled.

“Oh, don't act so naive, darling, you know what I'm implying. That man wanted to bed you, everyone could see it from the way he treated you. And by the laughs you offered him, you seemed to enjoy his attention as well, did you not? What a flirt you are.”

His accusations left a taste of ash in his mouth. Moments before his anger seemed directed at the man’s advances, and now his bottled-up wrath was boiling onto you.

The bewildered look on your face turned into something else, something sad, your eyes losing their shine. He sensed that he must’ve hurt you, and it tugged at his heartstrings.

“So, you’re jealous of that man, is that what this is about?”

“Me? Being jealous of some filthy street vendor?” Astarion scoffed, immediately falling back to his dramatics, gesticulating defensively with his hands. “Don't insult me, darling. I find it amusing that he thinks he can have you, and I didn’t fail to miss your interest in him,” he bit, almost choking on the dry chuckle that spilled from his lips.

“There was no interest from my side, other than purchasing some of his wares,” you explained. Then you opened your mouth again, sharply sucking air between your teeth, before your gaze softened. Your voice was calm, without spite or anger. “He recognized me, Astarion. From the article in the gazette. Slayer of the evil Ketheric Thorm and all that fuss. Does that ring a bell?”

Of course he remembered. It was him that had to sneak past those giant steel watchers back at the gazette’s building, convincing the magical press to print an article in your favour. An article that wouldn’t taint your reputation, unlike the one Gortash had commissioned to derogate you.

Astarion couldn’t deny that after the praising piece was published, you were indeed met with an unusual kindness from the people of Baldur's Gate.

“Well, how could I forget?” Astarion's face twisted. “But that doesn't mean he didn't have something else in mind with you. Some people certainly would love to bury their blade inside a true hero for once, I can imagine.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Even if he did want to bed me, what does it matter?”

An icy grip twisted Astarion's chest. The image of you with someone else stung in his eyes, making him sick.

Before he could growl another reply, you rested your hand on his arm, catching his fuming. “Hey – look at me, you silly goose.”

Your tender touch was enough to quell the blazing flame in his belly.

You spoke so warmly to him. So... loving.

Astarion rested his eyes on you and was met with an affectionate smile that disarmed him completely.

“Astarion, don’t you realise that I couldn't care less if thousands of people felt the sudden need to bed me?”

He bit his cheek, remaining silent.

“You’re the only one I want, you jealous fool. No one else – not now, not ever, and certainly not some random street vendor that throws a discount at me because he thinks of me as some kind of hero.”

Astarion’s features involuntarily softened as he took in your words. The fury that was about to overwhelm him dissolved into a flutter, engulfing his chest, washing away the seething that hooked at his ribcage.

“Really?” Only one word left his mouth, before he cleared his throat. “I mean – I'm not surprised of course, as you seem to literally cling to my side these days.” A poor attempt to cover his insecurity, but the best he could muster.

“Really,” you assured and gently tapped on his temple, “I vow on the tadpole flooding inside our brains.” You chuckled as you rested your hands on the back of his neck and shifted closer to him.

“Well, but those might be gone someday,” Astarion mumbled.

“And even then, I will remain at your side. Only if you want me to, of course.”

Astarion didn’t have to think of his answer, the words spilling from his lips like a reflex.

“Yes, I would want that,” he whispered sincerely, his flamboyant mask crumbling. “Look, it's not that I don't trust you. It’s just… Well, I guess I'm used to losing what I hold dear. And the thought of losing you to someone else… I don’t know, apparently it woke something in me.”

He felt almost ashamed over his sudden lack of eloquence, being so raw with you, but there was a sense of relief in opening up. To his surprise, it was even more soothing than losing himself in violence.

You looked at him with affection and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. He closed his eyes and sunk against your palm.

“It's alright, Astarion, you don't have to explain. I promise you, you won’t lose me to someone else. As you said, I tend to cling to your side these days, and truth be told, I have no intention to stop.”

“I hope you won’t,” Astarion replied and took your hand in his to press a kiss to your fingertips. “But honestly, I have to apologise for doubting your intentions with me. With us.”

“I forgive you, lover,” you replied tenderly. “I didn't take you for the overly jealous type, though,” you added with a smirk.

Astarion offered you a wry smile. “Let's not dwell on it, shall we?”

Then he reached for your face, softly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger and rested his lips on your forehead, followed by a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him into a close embrace. He could sense your heartbeat against his cold body, your pulse drumming in a comforting rhythm.

For a moment you were just holding each other, your head against his chest, Astarion relishing your warmth and kissing your hair. Your touch was relieving. Assuring.

You were with him, and had promised not to leave.

Your affirmations repeated in his mind: You wanted him. Only him alone.

This was all new territory and Astarion sensed it would take some time for him to fully adjust, yes, but right now… this was all he could wish for.

“Somehow I don't want to let go of you, little love,” he hummed to your ear.

“Then don't,” you breathed and kissed along his neck, brushing his bite marks with your lips, sending a shiver down his spine. A particularly sensible spot, but you were allowed to touch him there.

Gods, how deeply he had fallen for you.

Astarion drew you even closer and sighed, your hands grasping the fabric of his shirt.

When he gently peeled away from your hug, you looked up to him and bit your lip.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” you asked sheepishly.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“Well... I think that merchant truly wanted to bed me.”

Astarion laughed – deep, coming from his belly – surprised by his own lightness. The idea of fuming over your obvious admirer seemed almost ridiculous all of a sudden.

“I told you so. But now that you see it too, I guess you wouldn't mind if we turn back for a quick chat? I would love to take care of that dear fellow,” he replied mischievously. While his fury was gone, he still wouldn’t mind some misdemeanour.

“Astarion!” you scolded, but joined his laughter. “Please spare that innocent man.”

“Relax darling, I will. For now at least. And only because you asked so nicely.” His fangs poked from the grin that adorned his lips.

“Good boy,” you teased and brushed one of his white curls behind his ear, his grin widening from your touch.

As you walked back to camp, hands softly entwined, Astarion noticed that probably for the first time in his life someone truly belonged to him – willingly, out of love.

You belonged to him.

The thought grew in his chest, wandered up to his eyes, spreading affection through his entire body, and for the remaining way back to camp he didn’t let go of your hand.

Masterlist

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greyhoundone · 5 months

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Some things I found interesting from Rachel Talalay's live commentary of Heaven Sent at Chicago TARDIS:

- The story was originally set in a haunted house with weeping angels.

- Sometimes a single line would be shot across a mix of three locations: two actual castles and a set.

- The script was clear that the castle should have no interior lighting except for the fireplace where The Doctor dries their clothes. Rachel got some pushback from the crew on a shaft of light coming at an angle from outside, asking where the light came from. Her response was, "It doesn't have to come from anywhere. It comes from 'It looks good.'"

- Rachel worked to give more of a horror vibe to certain scenes. She did things like add a spooky wind, have Peter play the tone more for horror, and even consult with Murray Gold to keep the tone consistent. She also pushed for a “creepy garden” as opposed to the formal garden Moffat had scripted.

- Jenna wasn’t available for most of the shots where Clara is writing on the TARDIS chalkboards. They originally used a double, but the double was too obviously not Jenna. It was actually the person who did the colour grading who found other usable shots of Jenna from behind and put them in the final episode.

- Everyone was very worried about Peter hurting his hand punching the wall, especially since he had hurt his hand punching the TARDIS console in "Death in Heaven." They were going to have Peter just fake the punch and get a stunt person for close-ups, but Peter insisted on doing the punches himself because of the importance of the moment for his character. Rachel agreed on the condition that, "If you hurt yourself, you're the one who tells your wife." (He did not hurt himself again.)

- When the Doctor burns themselves and their hand dissolves away to nothing, the hand was sculpted out of Lush bath bombs. Rachel had the idea and suggested it as a cost-effective solution. So they just sculpted Peter's hand out of bath bombs and poured some water on it.

- When the Doctor breaks through the wall and the Veil collapses, the collapse was achieved by filling the Veil costume with helium balloons and then popping them.

#Doctor Who #Heaven Sent #Rachel Talalay #Chicago TARDIS #Peter Capaldi #Steven Moffat #New Who #Twelve #Twelfth Doctor #The Doctor #The Veil #Doctor Who behind the scenes #Dr. Who #Doctor Who cast #Doctor Who conventions #Jenna Coleman #Clara Oswald

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bweirdart · 2 months

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#mARTch 2024

text version (with more info!) under the readmore! please check it out if you're confused about anything <3

F.A.Q

do i have to draw every day? no!!!! there are skippable days built into the event, please use them whenever you need them! i really don't want anyone getting a wrist injury!

can you share my art? yep! i try to share entries to @bweirdevents daily during the event!! the tags can get busy tho so i might miss some posts OTL sorry

what are the tags? #mARTch is the main tag, but this year you might find posts in #mARTch2024 too!

wait, i'm confused about a prompt... full breakdown of all the prompts below ↓ with helpful hints if you're stuck!

_____

INTRO WEEK

this week is all about your artistic identity ... technically, you don't have to draw anything new this week if you have some art that already fits. the starter days are:

1 ⭐ self portrait who are you? it doesn't have to be you IRL .. if you feel more comfortable drawing a fursona or mascot, that's fine too! if you don't wanna draw, you can also just share old self portraits today and talk about why you drew yourself that way!

2 🤍 inspirations see how this day doesn't have a star? that means it's optional and you don't have to do it at all! but if you really wanna- tell us all about what inspires you to create art! this could be anything from the people that inspire you, the shows you like, the pins on your big messy pinterest board, or concepts that you're drawn to! you can draw something about it, talk about it, or just post your inspirations! anything is fine

3 ⭐ fav thing to draw what do you like drawing most? backgrounds? animals? one specific animal? bust of your oc facing left? cars? the same anime boy over and over and over? no judgement!! show us :)

_____

STUDY WEEK

this is the week we actually start drawing from reference! polished art is not required at all, quick sketch studies are fine! please don't burn yourself out

4 🤍 plant

5 🤍 body

6 ⭐ animal

7 🤍 object

8 🤍 food

9 🤍 face

10 ⭐ hand

these ones are pretty self explanatory! you can do them as realistic studies, or adapt them into your own art style, it's all fine! you can reference from your own photos or from resources on the web.. have fun!

_____

COLOUR WEEK

this is the week for playing with palettes and working on your colour theory skills! if you're really struggling with these ones, don't worry about drawing scenes or characters, you can just have fun splashing colours around on an abstract canvas!

11 🤍 RGB a set or primary colours typically used in digital/screen art - red, green and blue!

12 🤍 CMYK a set of primary colours typically used in traditional/print art - cyan, magenta, yellow ... and key (black!)

for both of these days ↑ you can add in black and white. and feel free to combine the two days into one, if you're struggling with a three-colour palette! use all six!

13 ⭐ WARM COLOURS the warm side of the colour wheel, reds oranges and yellows!

14 🤍 MONOCHROME monochrome doesn't mean black and white ... it means one colour! that can be any colour at all- shades of red, shades of purple, shades of green .. or yeah, grey if you really want!

15 🤍 COMPLIMENTARY complimentary colours are the ones opposite each other on the colour wheel! they're kinda married

16 🤍 YOUR FAV COLOURS pick any palette that works for you! where's your comfort zone? what looks nice to you? what colour combos do you always go back to?

17 ⭐ COOL COLOURS the cool side of the colour wheel, purples, blues and greens!

_____

CREATIVITY WEEK

this week is all about vibes! try to create something that matches the mood of the prompt .. they're vague on purpose! don't overthink it, just draw from the heart!

18 🤍 SMALL you could draw something that's really small, like an ant .. or draw on a canvas that's really small .. or use a really small brush .. get creative with it!

19 🤍 DANGER try to capture the adrenaline .. the rush .. the fear that you associate with the word danger!

20 ⭐ SOFT soft colours, soft textures, soft vibes ... whatever makes you comfy!

21 🤍 MIDNIGHT darkness and secrecy .. spooky witchy vibes .. the tranquility of a forest at night .. the fun of a late-night party .. there's lots of ways you can take this!

22 🤍 POWER what does this word make you think about? superpowers? control and oppression? literal electrical power? something else?

23 🤍 CHILL chill as in calm? or chill as in cold? who knows .. it's up to YOU!

24 ⭐ LOUD try to draw something that feels LOUD! BRASH! IN YOUR FACE! how can you convey sound through art?

_____

FUN + GAMES WEEK

this week is just for enjoying yourself! take it easy and have fun! also .. another reminder! there are skippable prompts! if you're tired and struggling to get to the finish line, please don't hesitate to skip a day!!! or multiple days!! as many as you need!!!

25 🤍 TRY A NEW ART STYLE copy the art style of a show you like, ask a friend if you can try their style, draw the eyes a new way, develop a totally new style on the spot... whatever you want!

26 🤍 DRAW WITH YOUR NON-DOMINANT HAND righties, draw with your left! lefties, draw with your right! ambidextrous nation ... our time to show off!

27 ⭐ DRAW WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED don't peek! try to draw something without looking! if you really want, you can colour it with your eyes open after you draw the lines/sketch with your eyes closed... but please try not to cheat with the actual drawing part!

28 🤍 RE-DRAW SOMETHING OLD find some old artwork you like, or something you feel like you can do better on now, and give it another go!

29 🤍 RE-DRAW A MEME find a silly picture on the internet to redraw .. do you have any in-jokes with your besties?

30 🤍 DRAW A GIFT FOR A FRIEND create something for someone you love <3

31 ⭐ FREE CHOICE final day! you can draw anything you want today! show off your skills! draw something you've been meaning to draw! whatever!

_____

please refrain from reblogging this post after march ends - next year's prompts will be different, thank you! if you have any additional questions, don't hesitate to shoot me an ask!

#🎨#mARTch #mARTch2024 #events #art meme #art prompt #art prompts #art challenge #drawing prompt #drawing prompts #drawing challenge #march

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crystalliumdaisy · 30 days

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redesigning star dresses part 1!

notes and individual pieces below <3

keep this in mind i love the og stardresses! i just wanted to challenge myself and i’m an inspiring fashion designer!!! my goal was to create dresses that reflect the spirits and u could easily match them up.

these were my initial sketches, i wanted every dress/outfit to have a different colour and silhouette to make them more recognisable.

aries ~

- pink was the obvious choice for a colour. I didn’t want to use any major black like in the og design because aries design is so light and bright!

- i really think the og stardress hair is lacking. A fun fluffy 80s hair adds to the whole sheep aesthetic and creates a different silhouette to other designs.

- the 80s hair also inspired a more 80s look with fluffy legwarmers and big hoop earrings.

- i also wanted to bring in those pink pompoms on the side of aries dress so i made them star shaped and put them in lucy’s hair

taurus ~

- why put her in a bikini if she’s a cowboy??? this haunts me everyday.

- I couldn’t put her in mainly black and white cos that’s virgo i comprised and landed on a brown.

- for inspiration it was pretty obvious to go with a cowboys and the wild west! i always disliked the one leg pants her og design has so i modified it to a cut out.

- her og design was a mix of the aquarius and scorpio one and it always didn’t stand out to me, so i think by exaggerating the cowboy aesthetic it stands out much more.

gemini ~

- her og design is actually one my favs. so i really only made minor changes

- the colours stood out against other dresses and were easily identified as gemini. the dual colour symmetrical dress is a great way to reflect the double spirit.

- Gemini is a pretty symbol spirit so to reflect them i used circular shapes and organic lines. i changed the head piece mainly because i struggled drawing it but i realised it made the design too top heavy anyways.

- i extended the dress width and length mainly for silhouette reasons (she wears so many skin tight dresses) as well as to give a nod to the dresses the alternate geminis wear.

cancer ~

- my issue with cancer star dress isn’t the dress itself. I actually love the dress in the manga. it’s the colour. WHY IS GREEN?!?

- if it weren’t for the symbol i wouldn’t be able to match this dress with cancers design, so it had to change.

- other than that there’s no major differences, the ribbon tie is meant to resemble scissors, i love the claw shape hair ties in the og design so i brought them back and i brought the stripes in cancers top to her bow.

leo ~

- i was inspired by beauty and the beast, in the movie the beast kinda looks like lion.

- i swapped the yellow and black in the og design since it has a pretty similar colour story to virgos dress. The og kinda gets lost next to leo since the black doesn’t have variation and leo is in a deep black too.

- i wanted to make her hair bigger like a lions mane and curled around her face.

#fairy tail lucy #lucy fairy tail #fairy tail fanart #fairytail redesign #redesign #fairytail #fairy tail #lucy star dress #lucy heartfilia #i did this for funsies and i actually love the results #fashion and fairytail two of my fav things #part 2 will come soon i have so many thoughts about the sag design #don’t take this seriously i love the og designs lols #daisy art

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ts-witchy-archive · 7 months

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ADHD Witch Tips

We need more adhd witch tips so here, have these. These are the things I have learned and seen done over the past 3 and a bit years of practicing witchcraft. As always, if you have anything to add, please comment them and I'll add them to the list with credit to you and a link to your blog!

Make witchy playlists with intention. Music is the most accessible way of doing magic in my opinion, especially if you're using spells that already exist. You can listen to these while working, traveling or just doing things around the house. If you sing along then you're adding to the manifesting power of the playlist!

Use really large spell candles so that you don't have to make a new one everytime you want to do a spell. I used to have 1 really big protection spell candle that I would light daily. Not having to make a new candle every time made me so much more likely to practice

Learn to meditate. I know, I know, hear me out. This is less of a witch tip and more of a mental health thing. You can meditate while colouring in, listening to music, cleaning, going for a walk. You don't have to sit down with your legs crossed. Mediation is an important skill that none of us do regularly enough.

stop caring about aesthetics. Are they nice? yes! absolutely! but unless it makes you more likely to practice then it's not worth it. caring too much about how your craft looks can also lead to burn out.

Be aware of your energy levels. Burn out is a serious issue among the neurodivergent witch community. Rest and pacing yourself is just as important as actually practicing.

Audio books <3333333

Try to combine your hyperfixation and witchcraft practice. This could mean using sigils in fanart or dedicate your writing to a deity.

Use hearth craft as a way to motivate you to clean your home or to cook meals/eat.

Have affirmations on your phones home screen so whenever you unlock your phone you reminded of your intentions

1K notes · View notes

lovifie · 2 months

Text

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 7: Price’s Date

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

W: Price x Reader, inaccuracies around gun-related stuff, use of Sir (like a brat), something with cameras.

Not too far away, at the base, a phone rings inside Price's office. His eyebrow furrows for a second at the unknown ringtone, until he remembers is the burner phone he has with only your number on it, the same case for all the 141 task force. An extra security step he is more than willing to take.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asks, once he picks up the phone, worry clear in his voice.

“Nothing!” You quickly reassure him. “I was just wondering… are you busy tomorrow?”

Price looks at his agenda, it is filled to the brim with meetings and things to do. “I could move some things, why?”

“I thought you would like to go on a date… with me?”

“Are you… are you asking me out on a date, doll?”

You remain silent for a second. “Maybe… Only if you want…”

“I do!” He quickly says before you can step back. “I just thought it would be me asking you out.”

“So do it.”

Price chuckles, the sound travelling through to your ears making you smile. “Do you wanna go on a date with me tomorrow, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” You quickly answer. “I would like it very much, John.”

The sound of his name leaving your mouth travelling straight to his dick. “Sounds like a date then, love. I’ll drop by the house tomorrow morning, I’ll tell you then the time, sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect.” You mutter back. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, love.”

After another beat of silence, the beep beep beep indicates one of you hung up.

Price claps his hands as if his football team just scored a goal before quickly collecting himself and getting back to work wanting to get done as much as possible.

On the other side of the line, Johnny keeps teasing you about how you looked like a teenager asking his crush out while Simon laughs at the both of you.

“You are just teasing me ‘cause you are jealous you were not the first one.” You say sticking your tongue to him as you sit on Simon’s lap like a kid hiding behind his parent.

Johnny looks at you offended while Simon laughs at him before adding. “She got you there, mate”

“Good morning, lovie.” Price says smiling when you open the door for him in the morning, stepping aside to let him in. “Good morning, John. I’m still having breakfast, want to join me?” You ask smiling.

“I’ll join you to the end of the world, love. Breakfast is just a plus.” He says dropping a kiss to your forehead as he walks in. “I brought you this.” He adds, raising his hand and letting you see the bag he is holding.

“And what is that?” You ask taking the bag from his hand when he lends it to you. You leave it on the table as you fill a second cup with coffee for him, both of you sitting down before you take the bag again to check what's inside. “Oh! This is mine!” You say surprised.

Price smiles back at your surprised expression and says: “We went back to your apartment, picked up everything that we left the last time. It is mostly bathroom stuff, and some clothes we were able to find.”

“Aw, John… Thank you, really.” You say looking through your stuff, until you come across an unfamiliar red colour. “John?”

“Yes, doll?”

“How many women being followed by terrorists do you know?

“Hm, a couple actually. You are the only one I'm hiding, though.”

“Johnathan!” You exclaim slapping his arms when he laughs. He grabs your hands, kissing your knuckles and keeps your hand on his.

“Keep saying my name and we will not be leaving the house today, love.” He says looking at your eyes with a smirk on his face.

“Another chance, John. How many?” You ask, raising a finger keeping the rest interlocked with his, raising an eyebrow.

“Only you, love. I promise.” He says smiling softly, no teasing left in his voice. “I bought you that dress, for tonight, you silly girl. You could get me on my knees in your pyjama, but I assumed you would rather wear something fancier.”

“Oh.” You say a little bit embarrassed, but accepting the compliment. “Okay.”

He chuckles softly at you, drinking his coffee and standing up, he cups your face with both his hands before kissing your lips harshly before pulling away. “I'll pick you up at seven, love. Be ready by then.”

You nod quickly, he gives you one more kiss and he says goodbye before heading out to work.

You basically start getting ready after lunch, you don't have much to do anyway. So you run yourself a bath, taking your time, not a rush in you.

It makes you think about how your life was just a couple of days ago, you didn't even have a bathtub and now? Two baths in two days!

The dress Price brought you fits you like a glove, and you make a mental note to ask about it. Almost your whole back is exposed, the dress almost reaching the floor with the heels on. You choose a red lipstick that luckily matches the red colour of the dress and decide to do your hair up so it doesn't cover your back.

You look at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom, happy with the result. And if there was any bit of self-doubt left in you, it quickly dissipates the moment you walk into the living room where the other three men are currently at. Laughing when their mouth falls open like in the cartoons.

“Fuckin' hell, bonnie.” Johnny groans looking at you.

“Alright, is she ready?” Price asks entering the flat, a small bouquet of roses in his hand and a suit that could be tailored by how well it fits him. You walk up to him smiling, bending down a bit to smell the flower. “For me?” You ask softly.

He nods, unable to find words to answer and helps you take the bouquet taking care that you won't touch any thorn. Once on your hands, you walk to the kitchen to put them in water. Price looks at you up and down when he sees the dress flow with every movement of your hips. He definitely needs to send a good bottle of wine to Laswell for her help choosing the dress.

“Ready?” You ask looking at him once you are back and you find him with his eyes still staring at where they were before you entered the kitchen. He quickly looks up at your face and smiles. “And waiting, love. Let's go.” He finally says, lending you his arm which you gladly grab. He turns back to the three massive scary military men in your living room who look like kids who have gotten their desert stolen. “Good night, boys. Be nice, we'll see you tomorrow.” You chuckle blowing them a kiss and getting out first, what you don't see behind your back is the way Price raises his hand with his middle finger out and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Fuckin' bastard” Soap chuckles once the door closes.

Once on the street, you take a deep breath, savouring finally being out of the house. And Price must take notice because when both of you are sitting in the car (he opened the door for you, of course), he pulls your window down slightly letting the night air hit you.

“I’m definitely making all of you take me out more often.” You say looking out the window.

“And we will do it gladly, love.” He says resting a hand on your thigh. “You just gotta ask.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” You say smiling resting your hand on top of his.

The street air flows through the open window taking with it the last worries on your mind, it is easy being with him. With the four of them to be honest.

“Are you hungry, love?” He asks, moving his hand from your thigh to the gearstick to switch gears as he gets closer to the restaurant.

“I'm starving, Captain.” You say smiling when he side eyes after you talk. Chuckling softly at the double meaning of your words. Once the car is parked, he exits the car to open your door, holding his hand out for you.

The restaurant must be the fanciest you have ever set foot inside of, as soon as you enter a waiter comes to walk the both of you to your table. The other guests are calmly eating at their table, the decorations of the plans and folding screens making it feel like a separate room for each couple.

Price pulls your chair back to allow you to sit and then push you closer to the table. A waiter comes after a while to take note, and not much later comes back with a bottle of wine. He pours the glasses and Price and you are left alone.

“Can I ask you something, John?” You ask, resting your hand on top of his, caressing it with your fingertips. He quickly nods, and you add: “How… how did the relationship between the four of you work?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It's a bit blurry how it started to be completely honest… As a team we expend so much time together, we must trust each other with our lives, and sometimes these things just… happen?” He ask, just to check if you understand. He continues when you nod. “It was not the four of us at first, Soap and Simon were the closest and as far as I know, the ones who did it first. Then Gaz and I were sent on a mission together for a couple of months and it simply happened. Then Gaz and Soap talked about it, they got drunk and did it too. After that, we realised we were not hurting anybody so… we continued.”

“And now there is me…” You add, looking down at his hand. There is an underlying question, about how exactly do you fit in a relationship that seems to have been built around a web of trust and years of knowing each other. And now you appear, and in 48 hours, you are in the centre of it all.

“And now there is you.” Price answers, interlacing his fingers with yours. “And we are really happy you are, you know that right?” He asks, and he squeezes your hand when you don't answer him. “Look at me, birdie.”

“I'm sorry.” You mutter looking up at him. “I'm sorry, I know we talked about it, but I can't help it, I'm sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey, easy now, love. Don't apologise.” He says, extending his arm easily reaching the other side of the table to cup your face. “What is it, love?”

“It's just… you are like… bigger than the CIA.” You whisper, unsure of how much you can say. “And it's not only like, the name. The four of you are just… so big, and cool, and handsome, and nice, and kind, and strong, and you can fight, and people respect all of you… and me… I'm a fucking loser.”

“Now, that's where I'm going to stop you. Because I'm not letting you shit talk about my girl, birdie.” He says, bopping your nose with his finger as he does. “You are not a loser. You are breathtaking, you have a job, you have a house, you have a car, you are smart, you are kind and for god's sake, birdie, you have an entire SAS task force begging you to even look at them. Take pride in that, love.”

“But that's not the same, Price. What if… what if my apartment didn't have the hiding spot on top of the closet?” You ask, and you can see his expression change, disliking to even think of the possibilities. “I would have been at their mercy so fucking easy, you remember how easy it was for Soap and Ghost to pick me up and handcuff me to Gaz. They'll raise their voice at me a bit too much and they'll have me at my knees begging for forgiveness because that's the only thing I know how to do. Fucking useless…”

“And if you knew how to fight back?” He asks, looking directly at your eyes. “Would it help you feel better?”

“I don't want to be even a bigger burden, Price.” You sigh, unconsciously pouting slightly.

“That's not what I asked, birdie. Would it help if you knew how to fight back? How to defend yourself?” He asks, and when you nod, he nods back, thinking to himself. “All right, luckily for you, I know just the Captain to teach you a couple of tricks.” He says, making you smile. At that moment, the food arrives at the table and when the waiter walks back, he says; “So eat up, we have things to do tonight, love.

Dinner turns out to be delicious, nothing that you didn't expect. And after enjoying each other company through it, he pays for the food and walks along you back to the car.

You still don't know what's his plan, and he won't tell you any more information than what he has already. It's not until later, when he is already driving that you start to recognise the road and you ask: “Are we going to the base?”

He nods. “I'm gonna train you. Is as good as any time to start doing it, right?” He asks, smiling at you.

“Is it?” You ask, looking at the clothes the both of you are wearing. “Aren't we dressed a little bit too fancy?”

“Well, you never know when you are going to be attacked, it'll add to the realism.” He answers chuckling, and you look at him with a raised eyebrow before shaking your head and smiling as well.

Once he parks in the base, he opens your door again and the both of you walk hand in hand to the shooting range. He turns on the lights to illuminate the empty room and walks to one of the cupboards on the side. He opens it, taking a gun, some bullets and a pair of glasses for eye protection from the inside. He puts the glasses on you, smiling for himself and hands you the gun.

You pick it up, a bit surprised by the weight and look up at him. “Straight to shooting? I was expecting maybe some sparring for my first class, John.”

He chuckles nodding before saying: “I know, but it's really weird to find the shooting range empty. So let's take advantage of it, shall we? First lesson, how to reload the gun.”

He explains to you how to do it, stirring something in you as he uses a different from what you are used to. You assume that's how he talks to his soldier when instructing them, and even though a part of you is curious about what he must sound like when he is pissed at them, you follow the instructions earning yourself a “Good girl” that has you smiling and blushing like an idiot.

He steps behind you, separating your feet with his foot and telling you what's the best position. His chest is pressed to your back and his hands are around your hands. He points to a little relief on the end of the barrel and says: “This is the front sight, and this is the rear sight.” He says pointing to a second one on the back. “Align them, and then you'll know where you are aiming. Once you have done that, take the safety back and pull the trigger. Careful with the recoil, I'll help you with this one.”

You follow his instructions, grabbing the gun with steady hands so it doesn't fly away once you press the trigger and when you can see the target through the align sight, you shoot. Price's hands over yours keep the gun in place, and he looks up to the screen on top of you to see where the bullet hit and he whistles looking back at you. “You hit the target, birdie. Quite impressive, love.”

“Thank you, Sir.” You say and chuckle when he looks at you with a face. “What? You don't like it when I call you sir?”

“You have a gun on your hands, birdie. Behave.” He says sternly but still gently. “Shoot again.”

“Yes, Sir.” You say smiling and going back to aiming the gun. Just when you are about to shoot, Price presses his growing boner against your arse, completely distracting you and sending the bullet out or the target.

“Birdie! That was worse.” Price says behind you, with a fake worrying tone.

“What did you expect?” You exclaim, looking back at him offended.

“Now, now. It's part of the training, love. You need to work through the distractions.” He says chuckling.

“Yeah, I'm sure all of the boys went through it.” You reply.

“Gaz did.” He says simply. “And he didn't complain, so back to work.”

You groan, clearly knowing what he planning on doing and getting ready for the teasing he is about to put you through. You close one eye to be able to focus more clearly, and position the gun to shoot and again, just before you pull the trigger, he rubs against you making you miss the target. He laughs softly behind you and you groan pulling your head back “John!” you whine

“What is it, love?” He asks nonchalantly. “I am not going to learn like this.” You answer looking back at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He says peppering your exposed shoulder with kisses. “You are right, I’m sorry, birdie, you just make me lose my mind so easily. Get back at it, I’ll try my best to not eat you up for now.”

You shake your head at his dramatism and raise the gun again. Once Price is back in Captain's mood it is fairly easy to get the hang of it, after a while letting you hold the gun on your own, the recoil shaking your whole body the first couple of shots. Not that Price shamelessly ogles your whole body when it jiggled because of the shoot. At the end, and actually fairly soon you get more and more clean shots, getting closer and closer to the bullseye earning yourself a pat on the back by Price. “You’re a natural, birdie. I’ll keep you in mind if we get an opening.” He jokes making you laugh.

“Sure, I’m sure I’ll be at you guys level in a week.” You joke back and then look at him. “You can go back now.”

“Sorry?” He asks raising an eyebrow.

“You know, back to that… distraction training thing.” You say, struggling to keep the eye contact and when he gets what you are talking about he laughs loudly before going back to hugging you from behind. “Does my sweet girl want a bit more extra training?” He says grinding against your arse, his boner more prominent now than on his last try. You nod breathless, unable to speak. “Words, birdie.”

“Yes, Sir”

A groan is everything you hear before he grabs your hips pushing you flush against him. He kisses your neck leaving a wet trail as he goes up to your ear. “Shoot the gun, birdie. Don’t miss.”

You try to focus as hard as you can with his warm mouth against the skin of your neck and his hard dick in between your ass cheeks; when you shoot it goes terribly out of the target and when he realizes a slap lands on your clothed cunt making you shake a whine escaping your mouth. “Again, birdie.”

As you adjust the gun, you feel his hand find its way under your dress beginning to rub your cunt over your underwear. When you are about to shoot, he presses his index finger against your clit making you miss again and another slap land on you, harder with the loss of the dress in the way. “You are getting these underwear ruined, birdie. Such a nasty girl. Try again, and I'll give you something.”

Once again, you raise the gun, closing your eyes for a second when he circles your clit with his fingertips. He gets his hand under your underwear, slipping his finger back and forth from your hole to your clit. You can feel your whole body shake, but somehow your hand remain steady and when you shoot this time you feel his finger enter your cunt forcing you to close your eyes. You leave the gun on the table, not trusting yourself with your eyes closes and whole body shaking again once Price begins to piston his finger in and out of your cunt making you moan his name.

His other arm finds his way around your neck, pushing you up and keeping you in a headlock only able to moan his name and take his finger in your cunt. “Look at the screen, birdie.” He whispers in your ear, and when you look up you notice the bullet hit straight into the bullseye, a weak smile appearing on your face.

“Such a good fucking girl, birdie. Shooting so good so soon.” He whispers against your skin as he enters a second finger into you making you whine at the stretch. “Now I need to give you something, right?” He asks and you quickly nod moaning. “How about I give you a good fuck, birdie? Hm? Almost my whole team has already got a taste of fucking your sweet little cunt, and here I am, waiting for you to let me get inside, love. You want that, birdie? Are you gonna let the Captain fuck you stupid, hm?”

You eagerly nod earning a chuckle from him, but his fingers don't stop fucking your cunt the ball of his hand hitting your clit with every thrust sending a shock up your spine. You can only whine and moan at his mercy as you feel your orgasm approach, for a second you fear he might leave you wanting but you quickly realize that he much rather have you crying from overstimulation. You come with a loud moan of his name as you whip your head back on his shoulder unable to stay still as he keeps going not slowing down making your juices lazily drip down his hand.

“Ask for it, birdie. Please, I want to hear you ask for it.” He says, moving the arm from your neck letting you hold yourself up holding onto the table, slowing his fingers but still slowly fucking you.

“Please… Fuck me, please, John.” You half moan, looking back at him from over your shoulder. Price groans letting his forehead rest on your back, laughing to himself. “Birdie, you are going to kill me one of these days.” He says before dropping a kiss to where your exposed back begins and dragging his tongue up to your nape making you whine and arc your back onto him.

You hear the unmistakable sound of his belt getting undone, and you feel his fingers slip from your cunt only to appear right on your lips. “Taste yourself, birdie. Taste how fucking delicious you are.” You take his finger on your mouth, making him groan as you hear him fist himself; his tip grazing your wet cunt once he moves your underwear to the side. He pushes his finger down on your tongue, forcing you to open your mouth and a loud moan leaves your mouth as his dick enters your pussy stretching you out.

And then, a series of praises and compliments begin to fall from Price’s mouth as he fucks you that takes your mind to a blissful state where the only thing you can do is moan and take in the love Price is pouring onto you. “My sweet fucking girl… taking my dick so fucking good, the best fucking pussy I have ever had, love. You just fucking ruined me for everyone else, gonna keep you with me forever, hm? You’ll like that, birdie? Keeping you with me forever, and with the boys. Oh, birdie, if you have heard them… fuck… fucking obsessed with you, birdie. Stay with us, birdie. We’ll be good, I promised. We’ll take care of you, of everything you want, everything you need.”

To hear the respectable Captain Price practically whine in your ear, begging you to stay with him has you weak on your knees and you fear you may collapse when the hand on your hips disappear for a moment. It quickly comes back, and the hand inside your mouth goes out grabbing your jaw instead and forcing you to look at the screen, and the sight makes your eyes widen.

On the screen is the clear image of you getting your gut rearranged by the 141 Captain, being livestream by the security camera of the shooting range. Price goes back to whispering filth in your ear when he feels you clench. “Look how good you fucking look, birdie. Going to fucking steal the footage, watch it every night. How about we let the boys see it, hm? How good you take my cock on this tight fucking pussy, hm? Like a fucking champ.”

You whine clenching again earning a groan from him, unable to peel your eyes away both by his hand and by the hypnotic image on the screen. The mental image of Price or any of the boys pleasuring themselves with the ongoing images has you getting closer and closer to the edge, and Price must be able to tell because he gets a hand down to your clit rubbing quick circles in it making you cum with a loud moan as you clench on him like a vice. He groans behind you, your hands find their way back to the edge of the table when he takes back the hand from your jaw, just to slap your ass making you whine and grabs your hips fucking you hard, the sound of his hips hitting the meat of your ass filling the room. You wouldn't be surprised if you woke up to bruises on your body, Price chasing his own release like a madman moaning your name when he finally reaches it releasing his hot cum inside of you.

Still buried inside of you, he hugs you from behind his forehead resting on your shoulder, groaning when he feels you clench around him from the aftershock of your orgasm. He raises, grabbing your leg in the process and raising it, leaving you spread-legged directly to the camera. “Show the boys, doll. Did I fuck you nice, birdie?” He asks, and when you nod without talking he gives you a quick thrust with his softening dick making you moan of overstimulation. “Words, birdie.”

“Yes, Sir.” You moan softly, and whine when Price bends down biting the joint of your shoulder and neck hard, possessiveness taking over him and urging him to leave a mark on you as if his cum leaking from your cunt around his dick wasn't enough. “Good fucking girl, birdie. So fucking good.” He says licking the mark of his teeth he just left. He leaves your leg down, dropping kisses around your shoulder before asking: “Can you hold still for a minute, birdie? I’m gonna be back in just a minute, I promise.” You nod, leaning more of your weight onto the table making him chuckle and you hear him walk away.

Being true to his word, he comes back just a minute later, a pen drive in his hand and two hours' worth of footage deleted from the security system. He lifts you bridal style and he starts to walk to his room, turning the lights off on his way out.

Once inside his room, he takes your clothes off as well as his own and gets in the shower with him. A warm innocent shower, just him washing the sweat and saliva of your body. Once the both of you are cleaned, he covers you with a towel sitting you on the toilet and uses a wet towel to clean the make-up off your face. The both of you brush your teeth in comfortable silence and then he dries you up. Neither of you bothers to put on any clothes before getting under the cover, the heat of each other body keeping you warm.

Price cups your face, finally kissing you for the first time in the whole night, sealing the deal of all the promises and feelings he professed for you. He lets you readjust your position against him before hugging you and whispers before falling asleep. “Sleep nice, birdie.”

Hii 💗

Hope you liked the first date with the boys, Price won the poll like, with a huge difference 🤣 so I hope I met the expectations.

I already have most of the other dates planned, but let me know if you would like for something to happen hehe.

Thank you so much for the support, make sure to leave a comment if you liked it so I can see, really I love to read the comments so don't be worried about writing.

If you want to be added to the permanent link it is on my masterlist, and I love you guys ❤️❤️❤️

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764 notes · View notes

finelinevogue · 2 months

Note

okay what about something with fiancerry about wedding planning? like putting stuff together/looking at inspo/etc ??

a/n - again… something small <3

word count - ~1k

wedding planning mahem

.’•*,.’>*,~<\*•,.-:’•.~_,*^;-.•*

“I hate that colour.” You frowned at the potential colour of napkins.

“It’s beige. How is that not good?” Your fiancé, Harry, asked.

You were both sitting on the lounge floor, binders, folders, photos and bits of paper laid out everywhere in front of you. No space on the floor was untouched.

“It’s just.. bleh. I’m thinking sage green, to match the bridesmaids dresses.”

“Ooh that reminds me. Gem said her dress needs altering again.”

“Again?” You ran a stressed hand after your forehead and back over your head. “Anything else I should know?”

“Aunty Carole isn’t sitting on the same table as Uncle Graham, she said. Actually, she kind of threatened me to make sure it didn’t happen.” Harry gulped.

“Oh.. for fu– okay, okay.”

You take out a piece of paper from a binder and add these tasks to your never ending list. There were currently 67 tasks on your list to do and increasing in length too.

“And I should probably let you know that the cake decorator cancelled this morning saying the design was too complicated.”

Your eyes felt like they bugged out of their sockets. “Too complicated? Are you kidding me? It’s a bloody white cake with some green ivy on it.”

You groaned and collapsed on your back. You covered your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“C’mon, baby. It’ll all be okay.” Harry said, rustling with some paper.

You shook your head. You breathed out a deep breath, knowing what was coming next. Your shoulders and chest started to shake as you started to cry.

Your hands stayed over your eyes as the tears flowed down onto your cheeks.

Harry must have noticed, even though you weren’t being vocal about crying, because the next thing you knew he was on his way over to you.

“Woah, baby. Hey, hey. What’s up?” Harry pulled your hands away from your eyes and just let you cry without restraint. He stayed sat by your side, holding one of your hands with his.

“This is so shit.” You tried to talk through your sobs.

“What is? The wedding? The planning?”

“Everything!” You exclaimed, but Harry knew you didn’t mean it.

“Talk to me. What’s actually wrong?”

Harry pulled on your arms to sit you up. He sat with manspread legs and you sat in between them, sitting sideways to his body.

“I just.. I just wanted this wedding to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect and now everything’s falling apart left, right and centre.” You blew out a deep breath as you tried to calm your tears.

“Why does it need to be perfect? It’s not worth being perfect if you’re this upset, honey.” Harry explained, which you understood.

“For you.” You said softly.

“For me? Wha– baby…” Harry struggled to understand.

“You have done and still do so much for me, H. I just can’t even begin to explain just how much. This was supposed to be my way of showing you how much it all meant to me.. how much you loving me has meant to me.”

Harry pulled your chin so your face faced his. “Baby, hey. I know how much I mean to you. I see it everyday, from the little moments to the big. Like, this morning, you knew I wanted a green tea instead of a breakfast tea. I don’t know how you did, but you did. Or last week, I asked you if I could go out and see some friends and next thing I know you’ve organised a barbecue for me and them here. I-I don’t know how you could ever think that you don’t already show me how much you love me.”

“I know, I know. M’sorry.”

“It’s okay, lovie. It’s all going to work out, I promise.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fiance #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic rec

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bruisedboys · 1 year

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ok so i think about eddie ordering food for shy reader 😭like he so so would. i know it’s a simple thing but he’s be so sweet about like “i got you sweet thing don’t worry about it” 🥹

I want someone to order food for me tbh. like I’d probably start crying

shy!fem!reader 0.7k words

You’re anxious about it before you even get inside the diner.

Talking to strangers is not your strong suit, and waitresses are no exception. You’ll do anything to avoid ordering your own food, even if it means going without something you actually want, because you’re always so scared of messing up, of making a fool of yourself. It’s silly, really. But you can’t help yourself.

Eddie notices your discomfort not long after it begins.

“Y/N.” Eddie’s ringed finger taps your hand where it’s curled around a menu. “What’s up? You feeling okay?”

You look up from your menu, where you’d been scoring it for the option that’s easiest to get your clumsy tongue around, and meet Eddie’s eyes. He’s a mirror of you, gazing right back with his own menu propped up in front of him.

“I feel fine,” you say. It’s half true.

Eddie scrutinises you for a second. He’s gotten very good at reading you and knowing what you’re thinking without you even opening your mouth.

You try not to look like you’re a bubble of anxiety right now. You’re sure it doesn’t work, but after a moment Eddie shrugs.

“If you say so, babe.” His eyes fall to your menu and he tilts his forehead towards it. “What looks good, hm? What d’you feel like?”

You turn back to your menu. “Maybe the waffles?” You say unsurely. “I don’t know. There’s so much to choose from.”

Eddie hums, his fingers tap tap tapping on the shiny table surface. You watch him put his chin in one hand, elbow propped up in front of him, a dangly bracelet hanging from his wrist. He’s so pretty, so effortlessly cool. You sometimes wish you had his level of coolness. If you ever told him that he’d first, get a huge ego boost and second, tell you you’re way cooler than him and totally out of his league. So not true, you think.

“Waffles sounds good,” Eddie’s saying thoughtfully. “Did you want to get a milkshake, too?” He grins suddenly and meets your eyes. “They have Oreo.”

Your heart does a little stutter at the fact that he always remembers your favourites of everything. Favourite colour, favourite place for takeout, favourite milkshake flavour.

“Yeah, okay,” you agree, smiling big. He’s maybe the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. You forget all about your predicament for a moment.

The moment doesn’t last long. A waitress appears at your table, ready to take your orders.

“What can I get you two today?” She asks sweetly.

There’s no reason to be nervous, there really isn’t, but you can’t help it. Your heart starts pounding like crazy. You’re hastily going through your order in your head, trying to memorise it so you don’t get tongue-twisted, when Eddie beats you to it.

“Uh, okay, I’ll have the hot fudge cake, please,” he says casually, lifting his chin from where it was resting in his hand. Then he gestures to you, elbow braced on the table. “And she’ll have … the waffles, right, babe?”

He’s looking at you, smiling softly. His brown eyes all sweet and understanding. You’re stunned, but not surprised. Because of course he’s figured out what’s bothering you and saved you from it, without even having to ask. You nod soundlessly and offer the waitress a weak smile.

She jots down the orders and smiles at both of you. “Anything else?”

“Oh yeah, one Oreo milkshake, please,” Eddie adds with a grin, winking at you across the table. “Thanks a lot.”

The waitress takes your menus and you watch her go. Your heart’s still thumping, but you’re not sure if it’s the lingering anxiety or your complete and utter infatuation with your boyfriend. You’d put your bets on the second.

You turn back to said boyfriend and give him your best, most grateful smile.

“Thanks, Eds,” you say quietly. You try to sound as grateful as you feel. It makes your words all sticky and sweet. Lovesick, almost. You can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.

Eddie grins and reaches across the table to take your hand in his. His rings are warm against your skin, his thumb warmer as it rubs over the back of your hand.

“Don’t worry about it, sweet thing,” he says. He pushes his fingers between yours, the heels of your hand pressing together on the table. “I got you.”

#★ mal writes!#ღ eds #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x shy!reader #✉️

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steveshairychest · 1 year

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Eddie gets Steve for the party's secret santa and instead of just going out and buying him a present, Eddie spends the whole month making something personal for him, something to remind Steve that he is absolutely adored by the people around him. He's seen the way Steve dismisses any and all comments from the kids about how awesome he is, he's seen the way Steve curls in on himself whenever he's complimented or praised and it hurts to see.

No matter what they say, Steve doesn't seem to get it through his thick skull that he is the party's centre of gravity. Everyone, including Eddie, finds themselves pulled in by Steve's overwhelming love and care. He is their sun. He drops anything and everything the second he's needed by anyone but if they offer the same to him, he shies away from it, brushes it off and says he can handle it. Eddie can't remember a time where Steve actually willingly accepted his help; he usually has to forcefully grab a grocery bag from Steve to stop him from trying to take them all inside himself.

So, for his present, Eddie decides to make him a book, a book filled with everything the party loves about him and everything they appreciate him doing. It's a big book of love and all that love is for Steve. Some of the kids fill pages and pages of things they love and appreciate about Steve, Dustin draws a whole coloured comic that spreads over 5 pages and some of them just fill one page but that's okay. Eddie and Robin write enough to fill the whole book; they actually have to add more pages to the book because there's no room for anyone else to write after Robin goes full sap mode.

Nancy writes one page but forbids anyone else to read it, says it's only for Steve to see and they respect that. They leave the page next to her's blank so that no one sees it. Eddie's only mildly surprised when Jonathan asks to write in the book. He doesn't write a lot but from his sneaky glances, Eddie can tell Jonathan is extremely grateful for everything Steve's done for the kids.

When it comes time to actually give the gift to Steve, Eddie is extremely nervous. He's scared he's overstepped, that it's going to make Steve uncomfortable. Maybe he should have just gotten him that cute sweater or made him a mixtape.

Eddie opens his gift, it's a custom hellfire guitar pick and new strings; stuff he'd only talked about around Robin. He smiles knowingly at her but she acts the fool, pretends she has no idea who his secret santa was but her giant smile gives her away.

And then Steve is reaching for his present and Eddie feels like he's going to pass out. Everyone's smiling and shoving each other excitedly as Steve tears the wrapping paper off but all Eddie can do is nervously look between the present and Steve, watching for the slightest hint that it's too much, that Steve doesn't like it.

The room is so silent, the only sound is pages turning and Eddie's almost panicked breathing as Steve reads through every single page without looking at anyone in the room. He can't get a read on him, can't figure out if he loves it or hates it and then Steve's crying, his chest heaving as he gently closes the book and covers his face with his hands, tries to hide himself away from everyone. Oh, God he made Steve cry on Christmas. He feels like absolute shit.

"Steve, I'm sorry -" He doesn't get to finish because Steve pulls him into a hug so tight he can barely breathe. He feels Steve's tears soak through his shirt as he cries into Eddie's chest and Eddie can do nothing but hold him and try to read Robin's lips as she tries to communicate something to him from across the room. "Spoiler alert, I was your secret santa, but I can't tell if you hate or like your present. Just tell me straight up, I don't mind." Eddie whispers into his hair as he gently rocks them side to side. The book he made for Steve sits discarded beside them and from this angle, Eddie can see that Steve dog tagged a few of the pages. He'd been too focused on watching Steve's reaction to notice him do it.

Steve sniffs and pulls back, his eyes red and puffy. "I loved it." He moves away from Eddie and sits back in his original spot so that he can see all his friends, see all the people that filled a book with words he never thought he deserved to hear. "I really loved it. Thank you. I especially love the comic where I fight 40 demodogs even though I'm pretty sure it was only like 4." He says this while smiling at Dustin, who puffs his chest out with pride and boasts about being Steve's favourite part of the book.

"I think I wrote a whole novel in there." Robin says while scooting closer to Steve so that she can rest her head on her best friend's shoulder. "Did you even read all of it?"

Steve rests his head against hers and points to the dog tagged page in the book. "I've saved it for later. I didn't want to get snot and tears all over the page."

"Ew, you're disgusting." She shoves at him playfully but Steve catches her arm and pulls her into a hug, a hug that they both relax into, a hug that says a million things no one but them will understand.

Eddie feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that he knows the present wasn't one big mistake. He doesn't know if Steve read the pages he wrote, doesn't know if Steve will feel the same, doesn't know if confessing his feelings in a secret santa present was the right way to go but he can't bring himself to regret it. Seeing the way Steve pulls all of his friends into a hug and whispers something to all of them, something only meant for that person to hear, brings a warmth to his chest.

He hopes that Steve understands now. He hopes that having all of their love for him in physical form helps him realise that he is more than just a babysitter, more than a human shield, more than a bad ex boyfriend.

And to Eddie, he's more than a friend. He poured his entire heart into that book and he hopes that Steve will handle the pages carefully and that when he's ready, he'll answer the question Eddie wrote on the last page of the book.

'Will you let me love you?'

#RAHH ITS CHRISTMAS IN A WEEK #THIS WASNT MEANT TO BE THIS LONG #CHRISTMASSSS!!!!#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #st4 vol2 #steveddie #stranger things s4

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mitsuyeaah · 1 year

Text

PRETTY THINGS

RAN HAITANI x f! reader

“if someone were to warn me that this was gonna happen, that you would walk into my life and ruin it, i would still let you.”

cw: cheater! ran, toxic relationship, slight angst, smut, nsfw (mdni), edging, unprotected sex, oral, cheating, degradation, pet names (baby, princess), swearing

word count: 3.2k

He promised. Ran Haitani promised to you that he’d never do it again. Of course you knew it was all a lie, just a pretty little lie that had you believing he was actually going to change for the better.

What a foolish thought.

There he sat in front of you, his collarbones peppered with red and purple bruises, not from fighting. Ran didn’t even bother hiding it from you, the least he could’ve done was to button his white polo all the way up and seal those marks that didn’t belong to you—love bites that never came from you—at least that way it would be out of sight and out of mind. Like it always was.

Your eyes were boring holes onto his lower neck, thinking that staring at them hard enough would make them completely disappear from your thoughts and your sight. But it didn’t. It was still there, freshly painted due to its vibrant colour.

“Was she as good as you thought?” your eyes travelled up to meet his amethyst ones. It held everything but regret. The short-haired man across from you furrowed his brows and he looked at you like you were some kind of freak, like you had just told him the most outrageous fact to ever exist.

Ah, here comes the gaslighting, you thought.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?… Are you going to eat that?” He dropped the topic faster than the speed of light and pointed his fork at the tasty dessert sitting on a plate, untouched. Mont blanc, his favourite.

You closed your eyes, letting out a deep sigh before shaking your head and pushing the small plate towards your boyfriend. “Ran, please. Can we just talk this out? I know you’ve been cheating on me.” Again, you wanted to add but figured it wouldn’t even make a difference.

You already knew what was going to come out of his mouth next, you always did. It was like some kind of routine at this point and you were getting tired. Tired of it all.

“I’m sorry I won’t do it again. You know you’re the only one I love, right?” he replied like he’d been practising the line since this morning. Ran didn’t even bother looking at you, he was too focused on the delicious treat in front of him, eagerly digging into it and savouring every bite.

The first time he said those words to you, you believed it. The second time he did, you swore you were going to leave if he did it again. But you didn’t leave by the third time. Now, you’ve lost count but you couldn’t blame this all on Ran. You had the liberty to leave him and walk out of his life to never return again.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t know if it was because of the failed relationships you’ve had in the past or simply the luxuries of life that Ran was able to provide you. And he provided splendidly. Ran was a man of his words, you tell him you want something? You’ll get it the next day. A big box that sat on your shared bed, topped with a red ribbon.

You always got what you wanted with him. Apparently, this didn’t apply when asking for his faithfulness and for the sake of your relationship.

The first few months were completely different with Ran, he treated you like you were the only thing that mattered to him, he looked at you like you were this precious jewel that he somehow managed to get his hands on.

He didn’t only shower you with gifts but with love as well but things changed as your relationship progressed and you didn’t know what happened to him.

Maybe it was also because Ran knew that you would never leave him. He was too good to be broken up with and you hated it because it was true. No other relationships in the past could provide you with luxuries this well, and they also weren't any different from Ran, you caught your past boyfriends with other women too.

So you thought, if I’m going to be with a cheater then why not a rich one?

At the very least, Ran provided endlessly unlike the other men you had in the past. Plus, the pleasure he gave you was… unforgettable. It was different. It felt like there was actually some kind of love laced with it despite him barely showing you any.

You knew you deserved better than to be treated like someone with no feelings but the hold Ran had on you was tight.

“Do you want Saint Laurent? We can drop by after this.”

You hated yourself for being so easy, you hated how easily he can buy back your love with pretty things and just the simple swipe of his card. It felt dirty and disrespectful to yourself but deep down you liked his materialistic approach. You always had a keen eye for the luxuries and something in you just couldn’t resist them.

Sighing, you looked away and tightly nodded. Ran smirked to himself, once again he was reassured that you weren’t going anywhere any time soon.

“I forgot to tell you, Rindou is hosting at our club tonight, did you want to go? He’d been working on some new mixes so I think he’d appreciate us being there.” he looked at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze but you never did as you nodded again.

—

A sea of bodies moved to the beat of the music blasting from the speakers, strobe lights occasionally illuminating their dancing bodies. The club was packed, as you expected, after all, it was Rindou who was DJing tonight’s club that he and Ran owned. He was good at what he did, that's why people kept coming back for more.

You and Ran sat in one of the VIP booths which had a nice view of Rindou manning the controller up on the stage, he clearly enjoyed what he did and looked so passionate up there. A small smile formed on your lips, you felt proud of him, it felt like watching a little brother grow up.

“I’ll go get us drinks.” Ran leaned close to your ear, speaking louder due to the blasting music. You nodded at your boyfriend, you didn’t need to tell him what you wanted, he already knew.

Your eyes trailed Ran’s tall figure as he strategically made his way through the crowd, some of them greeting him. Clubs weren’t really your thing but your boyfriend was very fond of the nightlife, to the point where he and his younger brother built a club. It was truly amazing.

Your fingers tapped against your lap to the beat of the music as you waited for Ran to come back with your drinks. You were about to pull your phone out from your new Saint Laurent purse to distract yourself from waiting until someone sat next to you, their arm resting on the backrest behind you and legs crossing.

You knew it wasn’t Ran.

“We’ve met before.” It wasn’t a question, it was a fact.

You turned your head to the man sitting dangerously close to you, his slightly long white hair painted in different colours as the lights inside the club bounced around, changing hues, he wore his signature hanafuda earrings which danced with every movement. His lilac eyes held your uninterested gaze, the glint in them showing slight amusement.

“Izana.” you acknowledged the man before turning to the dancing crowd, trying to spot your amethyst haired boyfriend. Where the fuck was he? You thought. Izana was Ran and Rindou’s friend, you figured he was also here to support the younger Haitani.

He tilted his head to the side, earrings swaying with the movement, “Where’s Ran? Did he abandon you?” his voice was laced with amusement and it took all your willpower not to physically roll your eyes at him. “He’s just getting us drinks…” you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. You didn’t miss the way Izana glanced down at your chest before meeting your gaze again.

Izana rested his chin on the hand that lay on the backrest, giving you a saccharine smile, “Hmm, then why do I see his arm around a pretty stranger? That doesn’t look like ‘getting drinks’ to me.” he teased, placing his hands in the air for make-shift quotation marks.

He almost laughed at the way your brows shot up and your head snapping back to the crowd to look for your boyfriend. You saw his familiar tall figure and signature streaked purple hair, he was indeed with another woman and was getting too comfortable for your liking. You didn’t like how his hand snaked down her back, resting just above her ass.

The fucking audacity.

You were about to get up from the leather seat, anger and disappointment bubbling up but Izana swiftly grabbed your wrist, “Why don’t you come play with me instead?” you looked back at Ran, who was still conversing with the woman and back at Izana, giving you an expectant gaze.

Sighing, you slowly sat back down, earning a sly smirk from the man next to you. Two can play at this game, you thought. If Ran wasn’t going to learn to drop his bad habits then you would just have to give him the taste of his own medicine.

“Good girl.” Izana purred, the grip on your wrist slid down to your exposed leg and encased your inner thigh, his pinky dangerously close to the apex of your legs. You sucked in a breath at his brazenness, your breaths becoming shallow as he started massaging your inner thigh, “You know… I’ve always been fond of you since your boyfriend introduced us to each other. Sucks that he got to you first.”

Izana’s hand started running up and down your inner thighs, each time getting closer and closer to your panties, “Always wondered how sweet you taste. Ran, that lucky bastard.” he chuckled against your ear, hot breath fanning down the side of your neck, earning a small whine from you.

Before Izana could escalate the situation further, he was stopped by a sudden loud voice, “What the fuck are you doing to my girlfriend?!” Ran angrily set the drinks down on the table in front of you and pulled his friend by the collar. You tried to get Ran to let go of the shorter man but your pleas fell deaf to his ears.

Izana met Ran’s cold stare, challenging it with a smirk on his lips before putting his palms up in defeat. Your boyfriend forcefully shoved Izana away and watched him leave before turning to you, “I leave you for how many minutes and you’re already slutting yourself out for my friends.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, standing up to challenge him but Ran towered over your figure, looking down at you, “And? You were practically eye fucking that woman down there! You told me you wouldn’t do it anymore, Ran.” you pointed at the general direction of where your boyfriend previously was, not backing down despite his looming figure.

“I’m so fucking tired of this! Don’t be surprised if I leave you for Izana.” you rolled your eyes, trying to get past him but your attempt was halted as he grabbed your wrist.

Ran let out an unamused laugh, “You think that’s a threat to me? Baby, I know you’d never leave me. I think we both know that. Izana cannot and never will give you as much as I do.” he stepped closer to you, removing strands of stray hair from your face.

“I’m taking you home. Clearly you’ve forgotten who you belong to.”

—

Ran was merciless.

He put you in several different positions that had your eyes rolling back and lungs screaming out for him but never did he let you cum once. How cruel. The two of you didn’t even reach your shared bedroom before you started sucking each other’s face since Ran was restless on the drive home.

There was an evident tent in his pants as he manoeuvred the car which made him shift uncomfortably against the smooth leather seat. One hand gripped the steering wheel while the other was stuffed into your cunt, his slender fingers already pleasuring you. His middle and ring finger relentlessly thrusting in and out while occasionally rubbing your clit with his palm.

Of course he never let you cum then.

“Ah—fuck! Please, Ran!” your nails scraped against the marbled countertop of your kitchen as you braced yourself with your arms, head bowing forward in pleasure as your boyfriend slipped his long cock inside your cunt once again. Tears were rolling down your cheeks—some already dried—as your body was engulfed in pleasure, again.

He was so mean. Ran fucked you until you were almost cumming before pulling out and changing your position, leaving you clenching around nothing but pure disappointment.

“Hm? Please w-what, baby?” he let out a raspy chuckle against your ear, bare chest pressing against your back. Ran sped up his thrusts which caused your shaky arms give out against the cold marble surface, you were now chest flat against the countertop, arms splayed on either side of you, he used your bent torso as a leverage by circling one hand on your nape and thrusting even deeper.

You swore you could feel him in your throat.

Your moans became higher and louder as Ran pressed his chest to your back again, while reaching for a leg, and propping it on the countertop allowing him to reach even deeper, which you didn’t even know was possible until tonight. He supported your leg with one hand while the other snaked up to your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, his palm making contact with the back of your hand.

You bit your lip, whining at how deep he was inside you, your forehead making contact with the cold marbled surface, you slightly felt the friction on your forehead as you bounced forward due to Ran’s unrelentless pounding but you couldn’t care less, he was giving it to you so good and you were taking it so well.

Skin slapping and squelching sounds filled the whole house along with erotic sounds that Ran pulled from you, the tension hung thick in the air as you were nearing your high.

“Please let me—mhm! Let me cum, please baby.”

Ran breathily laughed at your desperation to cum around his cock but he wasn’t done with you. He was going to break the stubborn walls of your attitude until you knew who you belonged to.

“I’ll think about it. Fuck!” he gasped, burying his face into your hair, occasionally sucking and licking at your nape.

You clenched around his length, vision slowly turning white and head spinning from pleasure, you were about to cum. Ran knew you were close with the way your breaths came out very shallow and with a slight moan at the end, he also didn’t miss the way your cunt gripped his cock like a vice which had him clenching his teeth, eyes slightly rolling back.

With that, Ran pulled out once again, earning a desperate cry from you.

“Who do you belong to? Me or Izana?” he stayed pressed against your back, while he panted the question into your ear, his hot breath making you shiver and giving you goosebumps.

You were too fucked out to even reply. Your mind housed only one thing, to cum. So when he asked you the question, you couldn’t properly get a response out no matter how much you tried. You stayed panting against the countertop, condensation forming from your repeated shallow breaths.

“I asked a question, slut.” he forcefully shoved two fingers into your cunt which earned a whine from you. “Y-you! Only you, Ran.” you sobbed, you just wanted to chase your own high.

Ran positioned his dick to your entrance and entered in one thrust, causing you to curse out loud, “That’s right you belong to me and only me. You wanna know why? Cause I’m the only one who can dick you down this good.” He started thrusting, immediately returning to the previous pace he’d set before, balls harshly slapping against you.

“I know you’d never fucking leave me because you’ll always come back for this expensive dick. Such a whore for my dick and all the things I buy you, huh?” he laughed. You couldn’t even reply to any of his mockery at this point, all you wanted to do was cum so you just nodded at everything he said, giving him occasional ‘yesses’.

Ran’s hips didn’t falter once which immediately brought you close again, a fresh set of tears rolling down your wet cheeks, “Ran, baby, I’m cumming. Please let me cum.” you whispered, voice hoarse and throat sore from all the screams he forcefully pulled from you earlier.

“Fuck! Cum for me princess. Cum for this dick that you love so much.” he groaned against your neck, he was also nearing his climax. The way your walls clenched down on his dick had him rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

You came with a loud moan, hands balling into fists against the marbled surface and toes curling, pleasure engulfing your whole body. A familiar intense sensation shot up your spine which caused your legs to shake and back to arch against Ran’s torso.

Ran bit the skin on your shoulder, cock buried deep inside as his hips stilled right against your ass, he clenched his hands around your hand and the leg that he was holding up, knees almost buckling from the intense pleasure he felt as hot thick ropes of cum shot inside you, making you shiver.

He rode out your orgasm by quickly pulling out and getting on his knees to attach his mouth to your exposed cunt, earning a surprised yelp from you. Ran lapped up all your juices before sucking at your clit, his tongue rubbing tight circles on it which had you practically pushing him away due to overstimulation.

Your boyfriend got up from his knees, legs slightly shaking as he pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around your front and burying his face in your hair, “I love you.” he whispered.

He didn’t mean that.

You knew he didn’t mean those three words. But you closed your eyes and convinced yourself that he did, even if it was just this moment because you still love him despite what he’s openly done.

And it was foolish. You knew that but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him.

Maybe someday you’ll be free from your clouded senses and finally leave Ran but as of now, you remain indifferent.

You were young and blinded by the pretty things he had to offer, things you’ve never seen before and if you were to meet him again for the first time, you’d welcome him with open arms and let him ruin your life.

After all, there wasn’t quite anyone like him.

#ran haitani #ran smut #ran angst #ran x y/n #ran x you #ran x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #izana kurokawa #rindou haitani

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