#it's very difficult to paint them angled like that let me tell you
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An 'In the Mood for Love' study with details
#in the mood for love#film study#I'm proud of how the flowers turned out on this#it's very difficult to paint them angled like that let me tell you
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you bet I'm sending you a ⭐ for the fanfic asks :-)
well, i hope you don't mind me using this as an excuse to continue talking about the second fic in the series. once again horribly long, once again under the cut, once again i am talking too much.
i. intro
this one originally began life as 'blood stains when you fall' but that was… slightly too melodramatic, and didn’t really fit. but i had no clue what other kind of stains you could incur from hardcourts. eventually i decided, okay, the paint isn’t totally dry, you can get blue stains. great, top-notch reasoning there.
from the start, there’s something different - it’s novak’s pov. and this is for a number of reasons. hardcourts, of course, are his territory, and based on the original plan of big 3 surfaces plus side fedal, he would be next. but more than that, i am an absolute sucker for pov outsider fics, so. this was inevitable.
ii. Afterwards, he watches Rafa drop to the ground, exhausted, maybe-grinning, maybe-crying, damp hair falling into his face; when he gets to his feet Novak pulls him in for a hug, and doesn’t let go until he has to.
this was a really difficult line for me, believe it or not. and that’s because for the longest time, i didn’t think i was going to carry over the “afterwards” from pt 1. i thought i would come up with a new passage of time motif and weave that throughout this story, but that was really, really difficult. when i gave up and chose to use this again, it kickstarted my progress on the fic.
this starts at uso ‘10, which is an interesting place because i mean. we all know about novak’s 2011 season, but right before that, he’s still reasonably friendly with rafa. and that’s the angle we’re coming at this whole thing from - a deteriorating friendship alongside a relationship that needs fixing.
iii. Novak doesn’t really believe in the idea of next time.
once again, something i didn’t expect to become important - or at least, not in the way that it did. i wrote this line intending to set up strongly for the ideas of “next times” and certainty, and i did that - but it also set up an even stronger theme, which is “belief.”
iv. It’s something like certainty.
this is maybe the only true character study out of the fics in this series; it really focuses on novak’s outlook and the way that changes throughout the 2011 season as he wins, and keeps on winning. because he did, at some point, doubt himself here, and then he won this slam and it only went uphill.
so what kind of effect does that have on this character, a guy who doesn’t really believe in guarantees or tomorrows? how does that change him, how does he stay the same? these are just very interesting questions, and i didn’t know i was answering them until far later in this fic.
v. Here is a lie, and one most people think is true…[]
i added the reprise of “here is a lie” about… i’d say halfway through the writing of this fic. i was toying around with the idea, but having already carried over the “afterwards” motif, i didn’t know about this one. then i tested it out here and it just fit perfectly.
this section is an absolute ball of contradictions, which is probably fair, because novak is nothing if not contradictory. belief really solidified as a major theme around this point, so we have a guy who believes in everything and nothing, who is really struggling to know what to believe when his past tells him one thing, and his success tells him another.
even though i pulled the same structure of truths and lies here, they ended up saying something much different than in the first fic. whereas in that one it mattered what was true and what wasn’t, here it’s just a framing device for something that matters more: what you believe to be true or not.
vi. Afterwards, something settles in his chest; it feels a lot like certainty.
and then certainty comes back, the idea that as he keeps winning more, he gets more sure of his place in tennis. even though this is outsider pov of fedal's Sad Era, a lot of how it starts is novak's attention being split between that and his own life, because it's 2011 and everything is changing.
at this point i feel like i could talk for a few million years about the first half of this fic, the pure introspection part, and never get to the second bit, which is the one with fedal.
vii. It’s unbelievable.
belief, again. i don't think i quite realized how repetitive some of these elements are until i did this commentary. the repetition makes it stronger, of course, ties it together more closely, but there was more variation on the anaphora in pt 1 for sure. that's probably a huge part of the reason i don't like this one as much.
but this line does have significance; until now, it's been all about how success leads to belief, but at the same time so much success almost defies belief, rises you up so high that all you know to do is fall into it, but someone like this novak - wary, wire-edged - stays on the edges of that belief instead.
viii. Here is the truth one more time: Novak Djokovic believes in everything, some days - but even on those days, he has never believed in such a thing as forever.
okay, this is it! i swear, this is the last thing before we actually talk about the interesting parts of this fic. the truth refrain comes back, but as is the case through most of this second part, it doesn't give us much of an answer.
this line in particular is my attempt at reckoning with novak as we know him, his contradictions and oddities and beliefs and disbeliefs and the fact that, despite everything, he is still my favourite player. it is, in many ways, a self-justification.
ix. Rafa has the same look in his eyes that he’d had for all of two years ago, half-wrecked with pain and near heartbreak, and back then he’d refused to say a word about it, and Novak had thought it was just his knees, but he’s starting to think maybe it was something else too, even back then.
alternatively: the paragraph where novak gets a Clue. he can be… very dense, which is why he didn't figure this out at any point in the preceding four years, and also gets easily caught up in his own life, which is why the fic takes such a long span of time.
but at the end of the day, he really does care because he just wants everyone to go back to being happy. it's a contradictory sort of motivation, but he's a contradictory sort of person. something like that; i don't think i explained this very well.
x. Love, maybe, and people. And tennis, always.
this is where, after far too long, the belief motif gets broken down. a lot of things change, but these are the things that haven't changed in an entire lifetime, and never will. that's what you can really, truly believe in, always, and it won't let you down.
as soon as i wrote this, i began to work off this as the fundamental essence of the belief motif, and changed it as needed in the sections i pulled it into.
xi. it doesn’t even matter that Rafa won’t look him in the eye because he’s done it, he’s won Wimbledon.
in between the themes of belief and actually reaching your dreams and the complexities of love and people being people, it’s important to remember this: a friendship, falling apart.
it makes me sad, it really does. there's almost an air of unrequited love to it. i didn't love writing this aspect of the fic because of that, but, well. it needed to be done, y'know?
xii. "Fuck you," is Roger's first response…[]
so finally, a literal year after he first notices that something is off, novak finds out. this seems sort of contrary to the way i wrote him - do everything now, because you don't know if you'll get any kind of tomorrow - but really, it just means this was pretty low on his priority list. now he's won just about everything, so he has time to ask.
this also highlights the difference in the way roger and rafa reacted after the mess that was the first fic ending. rafa got sad, and then got injured, and then got sadder. roger got sad, and then he got angry, and he stays angry through the time of this conversation.
xiii. Afterwards, Novak thinks if he doesn't find out now, he might never get the chance.
didn't i just say he doesn't feel the "no tomorrows” pressure when it comes to talking about this? so why is this line there? there wouldn't be any reason for him to worry about this normally. but he's just beaten rafa for the nth time in a row, and remember: a friendship, fraying, almost worn away completely by this point. if he doesn't find out now, he might not have enough of it left to try again.
xiv. “So,” he says as they walk into the locker room…[]
my favourite scene in the entire fic, and maybe the entire series, is also the first one i wrote. i was having a tricky time with writer's block, but i forced myself to start this conversation, and then i just kept going.
one of the most difficult things about the anaphora and motif-heavy style that this is written in is that i have no space for my sense of humour. so i pretty much poured the entire thing into this scene, and i love how it turned out. the best one-liner is definitely the "love advice at 40-15.” i'm also pretty fond of the line that got used as the fic summary.
special thanks to @boockaroo for giving me dozens of spanish insults to choose from. i was originally going to just use one, but then they were so good that i added a couple more.
xv. The thing about sadness is this…[]
it's easy to say: rafa is sad. he's been sad since before the beginning of this fic, and continues to be sad part way through the next one. and, because he's not built for this kind of sadness, that becomes really obvious.
i'm more interested in this, though: who are the people that are built for sadness? i implied an answer, but i want to know what y'all think. that's really what this section is about.
xvi. Do not meddle in the affairs of your rivals wizards, for they are not at all subtle and none of your business quick to anger.
was this me panicking upon realising i didn't have strikethrough text for this fic, and adding one at the last possible minute? oh, absolutely. do i still like this line? yes, because it's lord of the rings.
xvii. final scene
unique among the final scenes because of two things: it's over a phone, and it doesn't take place on the court. although it does take place before a hardcourt tournament final (miami 2012, which novak and andy played in reality. it was more convenient for me this way.)
this is a lot more typical of my writing style, this kind of character interaction, banter, nonsense, people solving problems by talking to each other. that's why all the final scenes are conversations. that, and i like to think i have a good handle on voices, which lets me give weight to the dialogue without it feeling ooc.
as one relationship is getting counseling - roger and rafa's, courtesy novak - the other one, rafole's friendship, finally finishes falling apart. i don't think i intended for the perpendicular storylines to be there when i started out, but it heightens both themes.
i brought back most of the most important lines as parentheses in this one, even if i hadn't previously established them as motifs. that change in method is something i took through into pt 3.
xviii. Afterwards…[]
there are a couple of really important "afterwards" in this section, which is why i highlighted the entire section, and not just one part. first, there's the one where rafa says he's going to try - he looks in pain, because this is the point when his knees are starting to flare up, but he's also happy. it's a juxtaposition of pain, which happens a lot more in pt 3.
the other important one is the very last line. it completes what i think is the binding thread of the fic, which is an outside view of a relationship, and a friendship falling apart. by saying novak "thinks they'll figure it out" he's removing himself from the equation of rafa&roger, and accepting the end of a friendship.
this is the end of his viewpoint, and of his involvement in the story. at the same time, by separating him from the other two, it does justice to the fact that this is also very much his fic.
xix. random stuff
this fic defied all my best attempts at finding music, so i will just say that its soundtrack is silence. but if you listen to anything with this, make it "don't" by eAeon.
xx. final thoughts
this part was. a lot.
it took the longest time, because writer's block hit me hard through all parts of it. it's my least favourite, because of how repetitive it seems at times, without ever reaching poetic prose. it was the one i was most uncertain about, because novak is… controversial at best.
i thought a lot about not posting it, just keeping the series to two parts. i thought, even after i finished it, about deleting the whole thing. it felt self-indulgent and unnecessary.
but now it is what it is. i probably won't look back at this one as much as i will the others, but i'm proud. not really of it, but of myself, for overcoming all of that and still writing, in my eyes, a decent fic.
so, yeah. that was blue stains.
#fisherkings fic#tennis rpf#fedal#and a lot of#novak djokovic#the right questions#series: stained in your colours#fic: blue stains when you fall
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Look man-
just wanna say your art is literally gorgeous bro-
It's very catchy and cool-
but uh- that aside-
I hope ya don't mind the question-
but would ya mind giving some few tips on how to draw anatomy and how you color?
because your art is so pleasing to look at- like bruh it's so pretty-
first of all THANK UUUUU!!!! im sososos happy u like my art!!!!!!!!!💕🌺🌷💕🌺🌷💕🌺🌷❤️♥️💕🌺🌷💕♥️❤️🌹🌹❤️♥️🌺💕!!!!!
i dont mind the question at all!! ill give u some tips on how i draw!!
BTW! these are just some tips ab what i do to draw the way i do, this is not an universal rule let alone mandatory!!
NOW ONTO THE STUFF U CAME FOR! under a read more so i dont clog ur dash bc i got kinda tecnical w some of it..! IT GOT WAY TOO LONG IM SORRY!!!
lets start with color then!! 🎨
i always see ppl saying that color theory is rlly hard and they never understand it, and tbh u dont need to learn it in depth at all!!
to make colors look good you need to think them as a group instead of choosing them individually...
though what i do is different, theres a post going around that says tinting all the colors w one brings the drawing together, and it does!! its a p good tip if u dont want to eyeball it like i do!!
but heres my process; lets say u have a sketch and an idea of what colors you want; your character is in a forest walking through the trees! what i do is choose background color and start from there
if you chose a cool color, when you start painting the rest of the picture drag the hue a little closer to blue or purple! if you chose a warm one, closer to yellow or red! if you want your drawing to have a greenish tint drag it closer to green or yellow! you get the gist of it, bring the colors closer! if theyre on opposite sides of the wheel it might be difficult, but usually bringing them closer to gray does a good job!!
also unless youre trying to get contrast on purpose, choosing colors w similar saturation(intensity!) helps unify the drawing!
say you want a drawing that is mostly grayish tones, make sure all your colors are desaturated (less intense, pigmented)
-
now say you have an existing character w a set color palette (we'll take my character elias as an example) and want to draw him in green and yellow or bright magenta and blue
i saw this explanation on a tiktok long ago but i literally cannot word it better and found it real useful
to translate the colors properly u need to think them on a scale, which ones are the darkest, lightest, and where does the rest sit?? Once you have that you can make ur own scale w the colors you want to use, and as long as the difference between the colors stay mostly the same u will be able to translate them p much to whatever!!
my drawing was done quickly so its not the best example but u get me
i think thats it for color now, but if i think of something else ill add it and tell u!!
now onto anatomy 🧍🧍♀️🧍♂️
and ill be honest w u here, i have no clue how i learned anatomy, let alone how to teach u but ill try my best here!!
and tbh, learning every bone, muscle, etc is smth rlly tedious to me so i cannot assist u there bc i dont know
ALSOO references are ur best buddy, use them!! even if its not the exact pose or angle ur wanting to draw it can help u visualize what u want and tell u what goes where!!
even if its not for the pose or angle, a skeleton can help u see how the body part works!! i look at animal skeleton legs all the time to help me draw my ocs!!!
but yeah!! i think anatomy is smth that u shouldnt take very seriously bc most of what gives personality to characters is exageration!! or made up parts!!
but like, if u want to know my way of drawing smth specific u can tell me!! i have no problem showing u how i do things!!
but since i wasnt very helpful when it comes to anatomy, im taking the liberty of adding an extra bullet point to the post
composition!! 🌇🌃🌆🏙️
composition is the way you show the image, how you place things in your drawing!!
in school they make us take audio-visual production classes, which truly isnt as interesting as it sounds but they taught us some p cool photography tips that also apply to drawings!!
one of them is the rule of thirds! basically, you divide the canvas in 9 equal parts, and the places where the lines join are the places where the eyes are most drawn to!! heres an example i found on the internet
so if you place something on those spots it will get the attention, bc the brain is used to the focus being on the center so taking it out of there makes u want to look why (or at least thats the explanation they gave me!)
also, to draw even more attention to those spots u can make a visual path that leads there!! here some crude examples by yours truly
the first one traces a path up to his head, the second one all start from there outwards
they also gave us tips for cropping images though these dont rlly matter that much, but like for example it looks better if u dont crop it at the joints, and if a character is looking somewhere you should leave some space in the direction they are looking to! heres some doodles to show u what i mean
i used to have a document full of things like that for photography but i cant find it rn, if i do ill tell u!!
moving onto the final thing, this is not quite a composition thing but rather something to give characters more personality: make them interact w their enviroment!
rather than standing looking at the camera make them use, touch, see whats around them, even if u draw them in a blank space the way they take it up shows u a lot ab them
for ex, if theres a wall they can lean on it, if theres a window they can be looking through it(maybe u can see them from the outside! framing inside framing was also smth that they taught us in that class!) if theyre standing they can be fixing their sleeves, holding their hands behind their back, tucking a strand of hair behind their ear, scratching their neck, etc!
AND YEAH!! thats what i keep in thought when i draw!! i hope u find it at least a little useful or interesting ahdhjska ill admit i got a little carried away but i love drawing and these are topics that interest me
ty for the ask!!! 💕 👋
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Welcome to my blog!
To start off this travel blog it's probably useful to introduce myself, as everything I describe in the next few weeks relating to my tip to Reykjavik, Iceland, will be observed through my own eyes, and it's always beneficial to have some level of understanding of your narrator. Hopefully through reading my blog and sharing my experiences from Iceland, I can inspire you to visit the amazing destination, and start a new, or fuel your already existing, passion for travel!
So, Hello!
I'm Megan, and I'm currently in my second year of Uni studying Event Management. I'm not sure how I ended up where I am, but I'm certainly glad for it, as it has given me the opportunity of a lifetime – to visit the beautiful and elusive, Reykjavik, Iceland. Through conducting my own research in my spare time and in my classes, I continue to become more and more fascinated with the destination; its stunning landscapes and natural environments draw me in like no country ever has before, and I simply cannot wait to see its amazing sights with my own eyes.
Ever since I found out I would be going on this trip; I've been stuck trying to answer the question “What is drawing me in so strongly?��. As far as I'm aware I've never travelled to a cold destination before, nor have I ever had a particular interest in it, as my idea of a holiday involves wasting my day around a pool and enjoying the sun, and I assume I'm not the only one who has that preference. However, something about Iceland makes it stand out in my mind, and something within me is telling me I must go!
Maybe it’s the alluring waterfalls which paint the country as being a beacon of natural beauty, or perhaps the spectacle of the Aurora Borealis, that illuminates the dark Icelandic skies at night. On the other hand, maybe it's more of a feeling that I'm hoping Iceland can offer to me. It's easy to feel stuck when you live in such a modernized and commercialized place like England, but Iceland seems to be more freeing, fulfilling and packed with adventure. I'm hoping my experiences in Reykjavik will be eye-opening and make me see life in a different way. Perhaps viewing the world from a different angle will make it seem a little less gloomy and remind me that there is still natural beauty around - you just have to find it!
Then let the good citizen here find natural marvels:
the horse-shoe ravine, the issue of steam from a cleft
in the rock, and rocks, and waterfalls brushing the
rocks, and among the rocks birds …
For Europe is absent. This is an island and therefore unreal.
- Auden and MacNeice, “Journey to Iceland”
I'm a natural planner. I love having lists and layouts in my mind, so of course, I have a decent sized Bucket containing a myriad of different countries I wish to visit during my life, along with specific experiences I wish to embark on while in those places. And of course, Reykjavik, Iceland is on that list. To me, Iceland seems like one of those destinations that people always plan on visiting, yet never make actual arrangements to go to, so I'm very lucky to have had this opportunity offered to me and I cannot wait to tick this one off my list!
As I said, my bucket list doesn’t only contain the destinations I wish to visit, but also the things I hope to do while I'm there. And for Iceland, there are a variety of sights I wish to see, The Northern Lights are one of them. The Aurora is a classic bucket list experience for many, and I'm praying that they will be visible on the nights I'm in Iceland. there are many different beliefs surrounding the Northern Lights and their cause; some believe it’s the God’s showing themselves through dancing lights in the sky, others believe it's an extra-terrestrial happening; however, the scientific explanation is simply atomic particles hitting the earth's atmosphere and emitting lights while they return to their original state. And due to the cause being astronomical and unreliable, it's difficult to determine whether they will be visible, but it's possible!
Another bucket list experience mine is seeing the Hallgrímskirkja Church. The Hallgrimskirkja is such a fantastic piece of architecture and an important piece in the history of Iceland, and its distinctive curved design makes it a popular tourist attraction. I have been researching the Hallgrímskirkja for a few weeks now and I'm truly fascinated by it, I think it's such a beautifully made cathedral, and although it is relatively new, being built in 1986, it’s simple and clean interior makes it true to Icelandic nature, and the lack of stained glass windows and eccentric paintings, make it stand out from the majority of famous catholic churches, and that gives the Hallgrímskirkja have a unique reputation. I hope I will get a chance to explore it and finally see it for myself, and ticking the Hallgrimskirkja off my bucket list will be an amazing feeling.
“The weather and climate of most parts of Iceland is characterized by strong winds, frequent precipitation, mild winters and cool summers” (Ólfasson et al, 2007), And since Iceland is such a cold and unique country, I've had to make a lot of preparations for my visit. This includes buying new clothes appropriate for colder temperatures than what I'm used to, researching tips for tourists to avoid making any rookie mistakes, and trying to understand the Icelandic culture and way of life. And although England can be chilly for the majority of the year, its temperatures are nothing compared to that of Iceland, and it will certainly be a shock to live in such a glacial environment for a few days. I'm excited to experience that shock though, it will be interesting to get a glimpse of what life looks like through the eyes of native Icelanders, and I'm looking forward to comparing it to my own life back home in England.
Reykjavik, Iceland has so much to offer – not only with its unique and breathtaking sights and natural environments, but also with its manmade attractions, which accumulate thousands of passionate tourists each year. It's truly a place like no other, and I'm sure I will have an amazing time while I'm there, and hopefully soon you will too!
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Review: June 2022 Infinity Releases
Welcome to Infinity Review, a blog where I review new Infinity miniatures releases. I’ve been playing Infinity and collecting and painting the miniatures for about 10 years, and I love talking about them! I started this blog both to share my thoughts and encourage more discussion about this great miniatures line.
If you’re interested you can find my review criteria here.
Today I’m reviewing the new Infinity June releases. Illness followed by an injury kept me from completing this post last month, but I’m recovering and finally feel up to it. This month we have new models for Yujing, Ariadna, PanOceana and a Wulver character that shows up in multiple armies! Lets take a look!
Wolfgang Amadeus Wolff (Ariadna/Nomads/NA2)
Javi Ureña
Design (8): I talked about this guy a little when we first saw the renders a few months ago. I thought he looked pretty good, but seeing him painted up really brings him to life and changes my opinion. He’s great! Amadeus seems to be wearing a standard Nomad suit, complimented by a sleeveless jacket and a bulky right shoulder pad. The lack of sleeves shows off his big hairy arms along with some interesting arm bands. His bald head and sideburns, along with that huge scar, really stand out both among other characters and other Wulvers.
Its a little unfortunate that his big claw weapon is kind of lost in the bot, and the bot itself is pretty difficult to read.
Sculpt (8): Wolfgang’s face is really worth drawing attention too. We see a lot of great faces in Infinity, but so often those are limited to a small range of human expressions. This model presented the opportunity to show a snarling bestial face and the sculptor really embraced it! The over-sized exaggerated mouth, with it’s huge teeth, contrasts with the furrowed brow, scrunched nose and huge plain of the forehead to create a face that is unforgettable. Wolfgang’s fury and rage is palatable! I love the creases of the cheek and brow, details that so often aren’t so exaggerated on other models. They make Wolfgang’s expression both believable and subtly beyond human.
The hair on the arms really stands out as another nice detail which gives Wolfgang a distinctly non-human look. This is more than just hair, its fur! The only detail I don't care for is the wrecked remote at the base. While I appreciate scenic base elements that aren’t just rocks, its really hard to tell what the remote is, even from multiple angles. In fact, the only reason I’m guessing its a remote is that it’s painted in 0-12 colors and has mechanical parts. This element might be more recognizable to people who own this particular remote or play against it a lot, but to me it looks like Wolfgang is smashing a random pile of junk.
Pose (8): A very nice pose which really contains a lot of energy. Even though I’m having trouble reading the details of the remote, Wolfgang’s movements here are very clear and easy to see.
Overall score: 8/10
Tiāngǒu Orbital Activity Squad (Yujing)
Sculpted by Javi Ureña and Raúl Tavares
Design (8): These are neat! Yujing has always had great looking AD units, going back to the original Tiger Soldiers. The Tiangaou are probably the most complicated looking Yujing AD unit, with an abundance of hoses, straps and plates that give it a unique look but also make it visually difficult to read. The Hacker is the more cluttered of the two sculpts, and shares a problem with the recent Morat Hackers. Its absolutely covered in extra parts, and that abundance of parts comes very close to looking jumbled. Thankfully the symmetry of of the tubes helps preserve the model’s shape and silhouette. The Boarding Shotgun version is much easier to read, with a very clean helmet. Overall I like these designs quite a bit, but I also feel like less might have been more.
As a side note, I absolutely hate the Jammer. It looks so goofy! Why is it bigger than a human torso? In the far future of Infinity when you can record a human brain into a cube and hacking devices fit in the palm of your hand, why does the Jammer look like something out of an 80′s action film? Does Ariandna manufacture them?
The Madcows are cute little bots with a fun design. Its always seemed a little weird to me that they don’t have hands. What’s the point of building a humanoid robot without hands or some other kind of functional manipulator? I guess that's not so important when clearly the goal is cuteness over effectiveness. I'm fine with that!
Sculpt (9): The very nice sculpting is doing a lot to keep this complicated design from looking messy. The under suit is really clear and well rendered, which gives the complicated gear sitting on top of it a solid base. I really like the details of the collar of the Boarding Shotgun model, which reminds me of something from a diving suit or space suit. This is obscured on the Hacker model by tubes protruding from the helmet, but the alternate helmet itself is finally detailed. The smooth surfaces of the helmet provide a nice focal point for the otherwise busy models
Pose (7): Neither pose is particularly exciting, but both are completely functional. I really like the way the Boarding Shotgun model’s weight is on it’s right foot, with it’s gun tucked across the body. This really gives a sense of hesitation and caution, as if it just noticed an enemy. Unfortunately the enormous Jammer mars the whole pose, obscuring too much of the model. The Hacker has a completely acceptable hacking pose that isn’t too exciting but also isn’t too overdone. The Madcows are, of course, cute.
Overall score: 8/10
Uxía McNeill again (Ariadna)
Sculpted by Antonio Moreira
Design (5): Another Uxia. Jesus. From what I remember this is the 6th Uxia? Or 7th? She’s a fine looking model, but so was the one before that. And the one before that. And the one before that. And the one before that. Did we really need another?
Design wise, Uxia is pretty boring. Like most of Ariadna, she looks like she escaped from a toy line for a late 80′s action movie. Her GI Joe aesthetic isn’t particularly eye catching or exciting, but I do like the design of her pants, with the harder fabric giving away in favor of softer and more flexible material around the knees.
Sculpt (9): As boring as her design is, her sculpt is very nice. Her face is fantastic, with a characterful expression. We’ve had a lot of Uxias, but this one’s expression is probably my favorite. Other details to note are her boot laces, shotgun grip, the corded texture of her sweater and her really nice hair. This is a good example of how a dull design can still result in a very nice looking model.
Pose (8): Suitably aggressive for a stealthy model making their way toward the fight! I think the previous Uxia was holding her shotgun in both hands in a firing position, so this is at least a new pose for her. I can’t wait to see what they do with the next Uxia.
Overall score: 7.3/10
PanOceania Headquarters Pack (PanOceania)
Sculpted by Javi Ureña, Antonio Moreira and Raúl Tavares
I’m going to do two separate reviews here. The first is for Kyle Hawkins.
Design (7): Kyle is a pretty generic PanO Knight, and most of what is cool about him is what's already cool about all Knights. He has that trademark great looking super smooth PanO armor wrapped in a anachronistic tabard. As for unique features, I love his gun, and I appreciate that he has his helmet slung on a strap. That's always a nice touch. Otherwise Kyle seems pretty generic. He looks like a normal Knight who just happened to take off his helmet. At a time when we have SO MANY amazing knight models (many out of print), did we really need another that doesn’t stand out at all?
Sculpt (7): While the detail of the armor looks just fine, the head look very off to me. Kyle has a constipated blandness that I'm more sued to seeing in Games Workshop models.
Pose (6): A very 90′s Games Workshop pose to go with the Games Workshop face. Waving around a sword while shooting with one hand often looks awkward, but doing it with one foot placed triumphantly on a rock is peak 2nd edition 40K. As silly as this pose is, at least its well done. The weight distribution is very believable, and it does look better from other angles. I know some people like exactly this kind of pose, but I think in combination with the super bland character design and weird face it comes off looking very poor.
Overall score: 6.6/10
Now lets talk about the Curator and Grand Master!
Design (9): Wow! I didn’t love all of the recent Military Orders models, and in some cases I felt like they veered into a semi-fantasy area that looked out of place in Infinity. These two models live in that same space as well, but I absolutely love their design. I think it helps knowing that neither of these are traditional combatants. One is a commander, meant to be used as an HVT, who likely never leads troops into battle (at least dressed like that). The other is a support technician who seems (at least to me) to spend more time behind the lines than on them. Both have a ceremonial look that I really like, with distinct cloth elements that are different from anything we’ve seen in military Orders but clearly attach them to the sectorial. In fact, they would look out of place in any other part of Infinity, but fit perfectly along side the Knights!
Sculpt (7): I love the design, but some of the details are... not great. In particular, the cord fastening the Grand Master’s cape around her neck is just comically thick, and the pointy elements along the trim of her tabard look straight off a Dark Eldar model. The capes and robes of both models also look VERY thick. I know there are casting limitations at play and the sculptors are probably doing the best they can, but the Grand Master especially looks like her robes are made out of cosplay foam. On the other hand, both faces are very well done, and I love the Curator’s hair.
Pose (8): Neither pose is particularly eye catching, but both are subtly dynamic and speak to each model’s character. The Grand Master’s raised glass, supported by her left arm, and her posture that puts her weight on her left leg gives her a distinct look of bored arrogance (which matches her great expression). The Curator’s walking pose is calm but attentive. She doesn’t appear to be in the heat of battle. Instead, she’s looking for a problem and on her way to fix it!
Overall score: 8/10
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Content Warning: Death in childbirth, transphobia
Gone.
"I'm sorry I left you with such a burden. Your life is a miracle, and if you're reading this, it was one I never got to witness. I have so much I want to say to you. So much I want you to know. The thought alone for me is painful. I'm sorry."
Olive sat on the bench on the front porch, and their uncle brought them out a cup of tea. A wagtail flew down, poked at the grass growing through the cracks in the bricks, and then flew off again as Olive sipped.
"So... yeah," Olive said, "I want to know about my mother."
It was the 40's. I was in Sweden, I was on my way to see a doctor who said he could help me. The laws had only recently been changed, and I'd been on a waiting list for far too long. I had some trouble getting around; I always wanted to go, but I never learned the language. I mean, I tried learning Japanese once, and god damn was the Kanji difficult. But yeah, I went in and they told me they could do it, and I cried, I cried for days I was so happy. Sorry this isn't very informative. I'd hoped to tell you in person, but I was always a rambler anyway so I hope this catches some of that energy.
"We didn't hang out a lot. She was a bit of a shut-in, you know, she was basically teetotal, she never drank, she never smoked, she didn't even like coffee or tea that much. I don't know if there's much to tell."
Olive nodded, "She wrote me about that. She said she didn't like the thought of things that altered her mental state. That she needed a bit of control."
Olive's uncle laughed, "God, she was too much like mum. That's not a good thing, by the way... Don't talk to your grandma."
"She said that too. Though she said it's because she'd be a jerk."
"Yeah, that's mum for you."
It was all over the news, the entire planet was outraged. The religious crowd really had it out for me, we'd get protests every day. Calling me a sinner, calling me a crime against god. I wasn't religious. Don't be religious. I mean, you can be if you want, I'm not going to stop you, I support whatever decisions you make, but throughout my life I've seen no reason to believe in a higher power. Well, except maybe you, though, and I'm gonna be totally clear with you here, if you turn out to be some arsehole who goes around spreading hate all the time, I will disown you from the grave. Be better than that. Learn all the angles, don't rush in, figure people out. Then, when you're good and ready, don't make accusations, don't make assumptions, make deductions and keep them to yourself until they matter. Let them change with new information. Don't... I'm rambling again aren't I. The church wanted me dead. Mum wanted me... well, she wanted you dead, she stayed bitter. Don't talk to mum.
Olive put their tea down by their foot.
"Do you think she'd like me?"
Their uncle sighed.
"I think she'd find you annoying. Every time I visit you, you do something that would make her cringe. You love dogs, you love the zoo, you hate cats. You put tomato sauce on everything, you hug people after you paint, you play shrill, loud instruments in the morning, and you like sophisticated dramas she'd never watch."
Olive bowed their head, "Oh..."
"She'd love you. She'd fucking adore you. She would make you her entire world and then some. I think she proved that when she had you. Trans women don't just give birth, you know. It still rarely happens today."
I think Elon Musk tweeted about me. He was some shithead, you don't have to worry about him -- don't look him up he's gross -- but he was like some famous billionaire transphobic piece of crap. I got so many phone calls from mum being like "you're going to die, I don't want my baby to die, I don't want you to do this"... She deadnamed me in all of them. I'd been on estrogen twenty odd years. I'd known who I was even longer. I don't even know how she got my number. But, yeah. I want you to be happy. I don't want that for you. I can't guarantee it, but I want you in a place where you can grow into yourself. It's gonna take a long time for the world to change. If you end up any flavour of trans, things are gonna be especially difficult. I don't want to put you in danger but I have just by existing. I'm really sorry for that.
Olive gathered the mugs and headed back inside with their uncle.
"I feel like every time I read what she wrote, I don't really learn much about her," They said, "Thanks. This has been kind of helpful."
Their uncle laughed, "I barely knew anything. We just bonded over cartoons and video games. She'd be proud of you though."
"What, because I was non-binary?"
"No, idiot, she'd be proud of you for living your life."
Olive smiled.
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161
Sometimes I just text myself the words “you have all your ducks in a row” when I’m anxious about life’s admin: tax stuff, prescriptions, bills, sending stems to engineers. And this is before any actual creative output. A stranger dms me on Tuesday in response to mine and E’s music video release asking “how do u do it alllllll” and I feel seen on a deep level, because I do a lot and it takes a lot to do a lot. Every so often I live on the brink of hiring an assistant to help with the duller parts of existence, but I also believe in picking up one’s own slack. Life can’t just be making art and leaving others to clean up the mess that making art makes. Also I fear learned helplessness, the kind I see in old rich men who fall apart when someone on the payroll takes maternity leave. And lastly I have let some of V’s deep-seated mistrust rub off on me, and believe it’s just a matter of time until an employee of any kind embezzles company money. V still does all the gallery’s bookkeeping for exactly this reason. God bless her
On Tuesday afternoon I fuck and then un-fuck a painting, working past my usual hours until I feel satisfied enough to leave it overnight. I meditate before I go, and for every repetition of my mantra are three thoughts of D, who I don’t know if I’ve written about before. A self-appointed cultural critic, he fled London (where he was little more than a mediocre writer and drug user) for New York, to infiltrate a downtown scene that nobody outside of downtown New York itself cares about. His one gift is an ability to make people cringe both sides of the pond at the very mention of his name. He dated a girl who looks like his young teenage sister hoping she’ll buy him beer. He went to N’s birthday party this weekend and told her, with fake concern, that the turnout was both more scant and less high-caliber than her last birthday. As well as this unsolicited party analysis, he has also tasked himself with art market analysis. He takes a special interest, creepily enough, in the auction prices of young female painters. Not a quarter goes by where I’m not tagged in some story or post, based on a tweet by D, detailing how either my secondary market is flagging or my burgeoning secondary market is undeserved. Other bitter commentators weigh in, naturally, because their art careers didn’t work out. And D is right at home among them, commenting on women and their jobs and their birthdays. Envy’s a sin, D, you asshole
A calls twice in between his day’s appointments, angling his phone upwards to torture me with LA’s perfect blue sky. He just got his newest of four classic cars back from the shop, an 80s Range Rover from the U.K. now fitted with a Bluetooth speaker. He puts me on the seat while he drives to tennis and I tell him I miss him even though he is a petrol head and even though he has a gun. He explains a difficult professional relationship with a musician who recently took what they’d made together to another producer. It is the first time I’ve had an ounce of sympathy for anybody with A’s job title, and begin to wonder whether I should apply some of this sympathy to W while he works on my songs. Because music producers are people too! Allegedly
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Another installment in my yandere pov series, and inspired by a few anon requests I got to paint dabi.
Below the cut, as customary, is a one-shot I wrote for the backstory behind the portrait (Dabi x reader, 3k, dark themes). Hope y’all enjoy 🖤
Tws: nsfw, noncon, hinted kidnapping, inner turmoil. Overall nastiness.
Staring at the marred back of the man lying beside you, eyes following the billowing pattern of his scars, it was easy to pretend you two were just another couple sleeping side by side. Pretend that you weren’t in a ratty motel room hidden away from the world, on a mattress that creaked with any slight shift of movement, and with the bitter taste of fear resting below your tongue.
Pretend that he loved you, just like you loved him. Fantasize that it wasn’t the type of complicated infatuation corroded by trauma filled pasts, by bitterness and the phantom of brokered trusts.
But then Dabi turned, the hitch in his breath warning you of his now alert state, and when his cobalt eyes held your stare all illusions were promptly shattered. Wishful words died on your lips before they even had the chance of being born, the frown on his face deepening as his arms circled around you, drawing you close.
You tried to leave your mind blank then as he pressed your face into his chest, wishing it was easier to tune him out while he muttered lazy words against the shell of your ear.
“What happened, Princess?”, Dabi’s sluggish smile dragged the corner of his mouth upwards, making you feel the unmistakably texture of his metallic staples digging into the side of your face, “Are you lonely?”, He was mocking you, of course, and yet it was hard to not identify the hopefulness that hid behind his jest.
A hopefulness that went hand to hand with his need, with the sharp line of his body enveloping you and a rapidly hardening length heating up your lower abdomen.
A tremble shook you, prompting you to curse beneath your breath as a low chuckle was drawn from the man holding you.
“Or were you cold?”, and he was still teasing you, elated in your humiliation.
Because you were naked in his grasp, without even a blanket to aid you or any other heating present in the musty motel room. He had refused you any covers from day one, taking away what little you owned in terms of clothing and citing the fact that you needed not hide away from his glare. But you knew the truth behind his meager explanations, the reasons why he so rejoiced in seeing you exposed and trembling.
In the death of winter, with the cold biting at your skin and the air feeling suffocating in its humidity, he was your only source of warmth.
It became impossible not to let out a reluctant sound of relief as he dragged his palm through your sides, heating up your skin with languid movements. Although you were luckily way past the point of feeling any embarrassment at your own willingness to stop the cold, past the point of blaming your body for reacting in the way your captor had conditioned it to do so.
“Want me to warm you up, then”, Dabi muttered now at the base of your neck, his breath hot and almost painful as it grazed your nearly frozen skin, “Princess was so cold she couldn't even wait for me to wake up on my own, is that it?”
He wasn’t even expecting an answer at that point, just talking for his own sake as your shaking became even more pronounced, getting off on forcing you to hear whatever sadistic taunts his mind provided. Unwittingly pressing yourself against him as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp (dumb girl, should’ve known better than to think you would ever get away), by the time you felt the twitching of his bulge against your stomach it was too late to try and pull back.
His hands were pressing you down from the small of your back before you had a chance to think of voicing any discomfort, his sarcastic laughter turned into a low rumble as he proceeded to roll his own hips into you, angling you with ease so that he was pushing against a much more sensible spot lower down.
With your face away from him, it was too late for you to trick yourself into zoning things out. All you could see was the dirty mattress you were forced to lay on as he continued to mutter against your pulse, the rough texture of nails diving into your flesh as he coaxed you into following his movements, setting a cadence for you both as he continued to rut into you through the thin fabric of his boxers.
All you could feel was the disgust climbing from your gut, the burning sensation of tears you hadn’t been able to shed since your very first few weeks with Dabi.
“I’ll warm you up, baby”, he was whispering as one of his hands crept up your stomach, tickling your ribs with its blazing touch and making you wonder if you were about to get marked again. He sounded so utterly pleased with himself, so absolutely content, that your mind was quick to conjure up images of blue flames licking at your flesh, of the barely fading scars that littered your entire body.
He took one of your breasts into his grasp then and snapped you away from your lingering memories, kneading it slowly, almost carefully, before his fingers made contact with the sensible bud of your nipple. Again, it would’ve been so easy to get lost in that sensation, in that revering touch, if your circumstances didn’t make it anything short of horrifying.
(But you were warming up already, weren’t you? Your cunt reacting despite the disgust and horror you proclaimed, slick gathering as it greedily prepared for the impending intrusion. What a liar you were, Princess.)
He continued his lethargic rhythm as his fingers toyed with your chest, teasing himself (teasing you both), before taking his other hand away from your lower back. You were trained enough not to try getting away from Dabi by that point, knowing better than to fight the inevitable, but it was still hard not to feel shame bubbling back up as you found your own hips stuttering down to meet his out of reflex.
In his hands, your own body became the deadliest weapon he could wield against you.
(Yet you’re enjoying this, you like this. Therefore, you must like him too, right?)
His now vacant arm slid up until he was roughly grasping your jaw. He angled your face down to stare into his gaze, into his scarred face and parted lips that morphed into a perfect picture of lust riddled reverence. And seeing the longing in those orbs was far crueler than all of his jests, all of the degradation and threats. Far scarier, too.
“Kiss me, Princess”, he commanded then, his stern voice almost succeeding at hiding away an eagerness you knew lurked beneath.
And you did, because you knew the consequences you’d otherwise face. You dived down to capture his lips in a mechanical way, moving dispassionately (or that’s what you tried telling yourself, as in denial as you were) until he took over. Much in the same way he had coached your hips earlier, the hand in your jaw instructed you with light movements until a pleased sound left the back of his throat.
“So willing for me”, he praised in a hushed tone as he briefly broke away, voice grave and dripping with desire.
And just like before, it wasn’t long before he decided you were well enough accustomed to the action, and then the grip holding your jaw was once more moving downwards, his scorching touch now merely tickling you as a palm pressed against your stomach, massaging your flesh as it continued its path to the same place his thrusts were directed at.
Your breath caught in your throat then, eyes closing as you tried to preemptively contain your emotions.
Dabi did not appreciate that.
“Look at me”, he uttered with a dark edge, a heavy order to loom over your quivering shoulders.
But you kept your eyes tightly shut, feeling fingers snaking between your legs and tracing the outside of your cunt as they quickly became dampened by the wetness gathering there. The squelching sound of his digits dipping inside your folds only made you cringe further, so focused as you were into keeping immobile and quiet.
You wanted to disappear. (You wanted to open your eyes and moan).
Confronted with your tenacious refusals to comply, one of his fingers made its way to your hidden nub as a response, proceeding to mercilessly rub against it before he gave you any time to become accustomed. The spiralling stimulation made it difficult not to visibly shake. There was nothing teasing or slow about his movements, unrefined and harsh, yet you thought you could feel Dabi’s frustration at your stubbornness through that touch alone.
“Look at me before I decide that just humping your needy cunt won’t do”, he threatened, his own words breathless and hoarse.
Which did give you a moment of trepidation as you tried and failed at ignoring his assault on your body. Your hands were now clenched into fists against his chest, nails digging into your own flesh while his fingers delved deeper inside you. They stretched you in a way which felt uncomfortably pleasant, quickly finding your tender spots in a practiced manner.
“C'mon, you don't have to make it harder. You've been so good for me lately, so sweet", and despite the terrible nature of his words, the slight softening of his tone had a terrible effect on you.
His words scared you, terrified you, and yet the backhanded compliment only made you more lightheaded, helping the unwilling pressure steadily building up due to his quick and nimble fingers.
You didn't notice his face getting closer, his breaths coming in hot puffs against the skin of your tender neck, but you did feel his lips as they closed against the crook of it, his teeth as they scrapped carelessly before claiming that same spot in a painful show of dominance.
You were trembling now despite a part of you still commanding your eyes shut. Inside you, his digits felt warm, so filling already, and you couldn’t help clasping around them despite your attempts at ignoring any unwanted excitement.
(Were you seriously going to cum on the fingers of your captor? Of the man whose face now plagued your nightmares, whose voice never left your conscious mind? My, my, what a hypocrite of a whore you were.)
“Mine”, you thought you heard Dabi whisper as his love bites continued littering your skin “My princess.”
And wasn't it fitting, how his awful nickname for you was the last thing you heard before his fingers achieved their goal. Two of them were slamming in and out of you, filling the room with horrible wet noises that you had unsuccessfully been trying to tune out, and a third one still insistently toyed with your clit.
It was fast, it was relentless, and your eyes were shooting open without your permission as a choked moan finally escaped your tightly shut mouth. You shook while you came, opening your fists against your assailant's chest and trying to ignore the pungent taste of shame as you found purchase on his shoulders instead.
From the back of your conscience, still overwhelmed by the shots of pleasure shaking your core (by his fingers that hadn't stopped for a second, insisting on accompanying you through your orgasm), you thought you heard a satisfied hum coming from the man holding you.
And as the pleasure numbed slowly, as the sensations turned painful while he refused to leave your oversensitive sex, Dabi was finally exiting the cover of your neck and his cerulean eyes were finding yours again.
There was a satisfied smirk in his lips, his expression almost soft if it weren’t for the hidden glimmer you had learned to tell apart.
“Now, now”, he cooed at you as he continued to force your body into overstimulation, sobs fighting to exit your throat now instead of the unsolicited moan from earlier, “I knew you’d be good. You always listen to me now after all, don't you, Princess", his other hand had started kneading your other breast, left neglected until now, and your body was so unbearably hot by that point that you would have gladly welcomed back the terrible winter cold, “You'd do whatever I ask of you, wouldn’t you?”
It was hard to think, hard to respond as the last vestiges of your pride still leaked out of you and facilitated his relentless attack on your flesh. Your nipple was being pinched roughly, only adding to the pain of being overstimulated.
(But you were feeling It again, right? The tell-tales of your arousal awakening for a second time. So eager to please him, to be obedient despite whatever objections you claimed to harbor).
Another tug at your chest, this time nails lightly digging in, and you were slapped out of your dazed state into answering with rushed words.
“I'll do whatever you ask, Dabi”, your voice felt foreign to you, so small, so docile, “but make it stop. Don’t...”, a sound resembling a cry fought its way out through your sentence, one which neither of you knew if it was from discomfort or a pleasure quickly gearing its head back up, “make it stop, please.”
He was so fucking satisfied to hear your meek little pleads again then, relishing on them like a man starved after so long of your stubborn refusals to speak. To his ears, it sounded like the chorus of heavenly angels descending from the heavens to reach him. He, who if there even was such a thing as Heaven, would be better fit for the scorching flames down below.
And that's when you felt it again, the threat of his now bare cock coming to rest against your pussy. It was a tentative probe, almost clumsy without hands to aid him in his search, and his fingers did not ease their assaults for even a second as you tried not to feel betrayed.
(But did you really believe he would keep his word? That he'd just hump you like an eager virgin when he knew the alluring slickness waiting to hug him, to welcome him back? You were even dumber than you looked.)
“I know I promised", he admitted while you felt his warm erection pressing slightly, teasingly, against your slit, your own body starting to reach its second cusp without the time to even completely get down from the first, “but you took too long this time, Princess. You were being such a brat…”
And it was almost poetically ironic, how your second orgasm hit as his fingers relented and his cock finally entered you in their place. It stretched you in a way which was no longer painful but filling (it didn’t make you cry, having you fruitlessly trying to find anything to ground yourself to as it tore you apart. Not anymore anyways). You sighed and moaned while being stuffed full, finally giving in despite any apprehension, and your pussy took him in and hugged him tight as a response. It distracted you from the shame, the guilt, the remorse, and before long your keening was filling the room with its eagerness.
“Maybe next time”, he kept groaning against your ear, now both hands going down to grab at the supple globes of your ass, persuading your pliant body into follow the rhythm he was easily setting, “if you're better then, if you…”, even for him it was becoming harder to talk, entranced as he was by the welcoming hold of your inner walls, “if you don't wake me up, if you aren’t so needy. Maybe then, fuck.”
You were still cumming as his halfhearted promises mingled with his excuses, as he became lost in his own pleasure, in using you as he saw fit. And, lost as you were in the sensations, you were foolish enough to think them true for a moment.
Maybe next time, you repeated to yourself as his thrust become frantic. His grip on your ass turned painful as he lost sight of the force he was using, his palms heating inadvertently and your skin sizzling below them. You'd have more marks once all was said and done, more patterns to add to your growing collection.
Maybe next time he woke up he'd let you go. Maybe he'd finally understand love was not a prison nor a leash. Maybe next time he would ask for your forgiveness, understanding all the trauma and horror he was forcing you to endure.
(Or maybe you'd be the one asking for penance, kneeling in front of him and finally seeing him in the way he so desired. Maybe you would start understanding the dimension of his efforts then, of his love for you that he knew not how to show otherwise. A love that scared him as much as it damaged you.)
As his hoarse moans mingled with your own, you were too drunk on your own fantasies to even attempt to squirm away before he was filling you up with his seed, your walls still convulsing around him as your body stayed attentive, pliant and tender. His lips were kissing you, licking you in poor attempt at providing comfort, and yet you felt a hopeful smile turning the corners of your lips ever so slightly.
So many things could happen next time. And anything would be better than this, right? Feeling his cum coating your insides as a litany of nonsense left Dabi's mouth, his softening cock refusing to leave and allow any drop to leak out. Anything had to be better than being owned, being conquered.
(So naïve you were, the only person you had gotten good at convincing was your damn self.)
“Love you, princess", his head was buried in your neck again, his favorite place in your body to hide in while he slowly rocked you both, “so fucking much.”
And in his own twisted way, as much as you wanted to fight and argue, you didn't doubt his words. Such a twisted love it was, but unquestionable in his burning desire.
Even as it charred you to a crisp, leaving nothing but ashes behind and deadlier than anything his quirk might subject you to.
Dabi loved you, his sweet little princess, and maybe if you weren't so stubborn you could start loving him back.
****
Probably the longest one-shot I've posted alongside a portrait so far, since I'm still getting comfortable with the length of my writings (still cant believe people read and enjoy these lol). And special thanks to my pals @reinawritesbnha, @coyambition and @snappysnapo for lending me a pair of eyes before posting 🖤 love y'all !
🥀 Requests/Suggestions OPEN 🥀
#bnha fanart#dabi#yandere dabi#dabi x reader#yandere bnha#bnha imagines#mha fanart#bnha x reader#dabi fanart#dabi smut#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#anime fanart#dabi bnha#bnha art#artists on tumblr#just art tingz
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Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity
Three months, two days and seven hours.
That is how long you’ve been in Dimitrescu castle for. If rumor is to be believed, you are well on your way to setting the year’s record for longest living maid. Well. ‘Maid’, according to their perception. Your mind always automatically corrects it to something more fitting:
Prisoner.
You did not choose to work for them. You did not choose to be in this godforsaken place, cleaning crimson stains off the floors, trying to convince yourself the wailing that sometimes reaches your ears is simply the wind. You never would have imagined your life’s end like this, serving wine –no, who are you kidding, it’s too crimson for that— to the Dimitrescus at dinner until one of them snaps and drives the nearest blade into your throat.
Probably Daniela.
It’s not unheard of. And stories of other maids’ murders are plenty.
Daniela has bitten one’s throat off for the crime of addressing her wrongly. Cassandra has left increasingly deep gashes, some of which resulted in deaths, for random offenses, like staring at her for too long. Bela, arguably the more merciful of the three, has snapped necks only when the staff disrespected her sisters’ names, or her mother’s.
You aren’t sure if you want to thank the older maids for this information or yell at them for the nightmares it has caused you. You are lucky to not be in the village, they say –everyone there must already be dead. You are even luckier to have been taken from the dungeon by the Lady herself. It means the daughters don’t know you and the castle is big enough that they may never spare you a glance.
You hadn’t believed it, at first.
Yet in the three months of your stay, you have never come across anyone other than Bela in the sections you were assigned to clean and polish. She passed you by the hallway like she did the decorations and the furniture –and you couldn’t be happier about it. You have caught scarce glimpses of Alcina Dimitrescu, too. Never the other two residents.
Not until the fateful day another maid disappears and the staff’s assigned posts change. You have no say in it and no power to object.
May as well keep my head down and continue to work as carefully as I have. That is the idea. Not to look too much, or think too much, or feel too much. Avoid mistakes because those in the castle are fatal.
It is a little difficult to remain utterly calm when the sound of swarming insects comes from far behind you, though.
Your blood starts to kick in your veins. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest and make a run for it. You lock your muscles down and summon all the willpower you possess to stay focused on your task.
Please be Bela, please, please, be Bela—
The buzzing dies down. Steps approach you in the otherwise silent hallway. They are too light to be Bela’s. You’re probably screwed, you think, but you keep cleaning the surface in front of you until it’s practically a mirror with how it shines.
The steps halt too close to you for comfort. Out of the corner of your eye, you realize they’ve left bloody imprints on the floor you’ve been polishing for hours now. Dainty, pale fingers are wrapped loosely, almost lazily, around a sickle dripping crimson.
“Never seen you around, before.” the sound of her voice makes you freeze.
You stop and turn— to face none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her hood is down, brunette waves on point, the dried blood at her chin a terrible contrast to her otherwise attractive face. You… didn’t know she was that pretty, up close.
“I… I have been here for three months. On the opposite wing.” you say. Was I even supposed to reply? You’ll find out soon enough, if your tongue is still attached to your body.
Her eyes give you a quick once-over. “Bela’s been keeping you a secret, huh.” she tsks. Her free hand goes to the handle of the door next to you… and only then do you realize it must be her bedroom. You’re literally assigned to clean the wolf’s den. “Come wake me up when the sun has set, completely.” she emphasizes.
What.
“Uh—”
The crimson-dyed sickle moves until its blade rests underneath your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet hers. From this angle, under the pale lighting of dawn, they look more –stunning— blue than inhuman gold. “No loud sounds. No lights. Got it?”
How can you not, when your life depends on it?
“Yes, my lady.” you reply. You don’t even dare draw breath.
“Good.” In one swift movement, the sickle is gone, the handle turned and she’s already shedding her robe.
You catch a glimpse of a black corset and a narrow waist before you avert your eyes.
The door shuts.
...
Waking Cassandra up can be… tricky, the other maids tell you.
She detests light when she opens her eyes but she also doesn’t want it to be pitch black. You’re not supposed to talk but you can’t shake her, either. Which brings you to the very logical question:
“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”
To which they have no answer.
They have no answer, you realize with a start… because there’s nobody alive to tell the tale of how to actually wake the brunette sleeping beauty up without simultaneously signing their own death sentence.
The hours pass both too slow and too fast. The sun sets over the horizon.
And you stand, riddled with nerves, outside Cassandra’s room.
A deep inhale later, you turn the handle. The door is left half-open so a bit of light comes in from the hallway. Her bedroom smells like shampoo, bath salts and spices. She must have taken a shower before she went to sleep. You approach the figure tucked under the silken sheets of the queen-sized bed…
Cassandra is lying on her side, one hand underneath her pillow, the other extended loosely towards the edge of the mattress. She probably sleeps naked, at least from the waist up, but thankfully the covers are wrapped around her chest. Their royal red color makes a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.
Her face is so… serene.
She is a monster and a sadistic killer, yet right there you can’t deny she looks more like a renaissance painting.
Now onto the hard part.
“My lady… the sun has set.” you whisper, kneeled on the floor beside her. No movement comes. “Hey… I’m here to wake you up?” you try again. Still nothing. Shakily, you bring your hand up to the bed. Not daring to touch her, you leave it beside hers, over the covers. “Cassandra?”
She turns her face deeper into her pillow –no, no, you don’t think it’s cute, what’s wrong with you— but at least she’s finally reacting. You call her name one more time.
Her nose scrunches up a little. Long fingers flex –and they touch yours. She’s cold. A pair of blueish ambers blink open to regard you. Not with malice, or with annoyance.
“Good evening.” you speak, unsure of what else to say.
A smirk slowly curves her lips. She looks like a lazy cat pondering whether or not it’s worth it to pounce and that’s not good. It’s not good, not ‘hot’ like your mind suggests. God, you’ve been in this castle so long you are starting to get messed up.
“Mm, breakfast in bed.” she grins and licks her lower lip sexily. Your eyes fly wide open, but her hand is already gripping the front of your black shirt, trapping you there.
How could you ever find this psycho attractive?! you get mad at yourself. Is she hot now that she’s going to kill you?
But Cassandra only lets out an airy laugh and releases you. You fall backwards on your behind. “Breathe, darling, I’m joking.” She rolls onto her back and seems to wince from it. Her smile vanishes.
“…does… your back hurt?” you ask when you finally find your voice again.
“Ugh, a Lycan landed a hit on me. He’s pieces now, of course, but my muscles still pull.” she says it casually, like it’s a thing that happens.
Silence falls over the room. You take it as your cue to leave. You stand and bow while she’s looking blankly at the ceiling—
But she stops you.
“Wait. Come here.” you don’t like it when she gets that tone, like she came up with something she cannot wait to try. You’re already close to the bed, you’re not sure what she means. Until she pats the spot right next to her. “Don’t make me say it again.”
You won’t. You know what’s good for you.
Hesitantly, you take a seat on the –admittedly very comfortable— mattress. “Yes, lady?”
“Give me a massage.” she says like it’s your job, like she’s the rich woman in a spa and it’s what’s expected. She turns onto her front, bearing her naked back to you and you have less than five seconds to come to terms with the thought of straddling her.
Carefully, you bring your knees on either side of her thighs and pull the sheets so they rest low at her waist. You feel warmer than you should given the temperature of the castle. If she knows the fine teasing line she’s walking, she is loving every inch of it.
Cassandra loves being the center of attention and she loves being pampered, you realize.
It’s probably amusing to her to make you fluster, but this is also an opportunity for you to get on her good graces. She is a dangerous one and it’ll be a great asset for your survival if she’s leaning favorably towards you. Win-win situation. You just have to be good at your job. Like always.
By some miracle of God, you do know how to work the tension out of muscles.
The first time you touch her, you simply rest your hands on her back to warm it. She doesn’t seem to object, from the way lean muscle stretches out under your fingers. Cassandra feels cool, but not hard like marble. Her skin yields under your touch, soft and smooth.
As you apply more pressure to your stokes, she starts to let out little sighs that you have to mute in your mind before they start to affect you. You’ve been high-strung and without sex for too long. Your body all too eagerly intercepts this death-trap as foreplay.
Minutes roll by.
You alternate between all the methods you know. The one that really seems to get her is when you drive your thumb into the knots and end with a little circle.
Cassandra is –God help you— openly moaning every time you press more. It is a bit too much pressure you’re applying though and you don’t know if you’re hurting her and she’s just into it.
“Is this too much…?” you ask. Fuck, why do you sound so breathless?
“No, it’s good.” she husks back.
“Harder?” You don’t know what innocent means, anymore.
Cassandra sends that little smirk again over her shoulder. “Harder.” she replies and the extra flair she puts into it is enough to nearly fry your brain. And other parts of you.
You’re pretty sure you need a cold shower by the time you leave her room.
...
At diner, you hang back in the shadows, gaze downcast.
You do not need to know what the Dimitrescu family is eating, nor what they’re drinking. You do not need to see Cassandra or risk catching Daniela’s gaze. You love your anonymity in the castle. It has kept you alive.
But it is shattered like frail glass when you bring another bottle of Sanguis Virginis to the table. You’ve almost retreated back to your place, when Daniela’s eyes zero in on you.
“She’s the human!” she exclaims like she’s made the world’s most startling discovery. Bela seems to understand, but the Lady and Cassandra frown over their glasses.
“I am almost afraid to ask, love.” Lady Alcina says…
And she’s right.
“The one who made Cassandra go ‘harder’ and ‘yes, yes!’ earlier this evening.” she impersonates in her sluttiest voice and then breaks into a fit of cackles. Bela’s lip twists into a withheld chuckle.
Lady Dimitrescu nearly chokes on her wine.
Cassandra slaps the back of Daniela’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Girls.” Alcina warns and glares until the table calms again.
Then, her eyes curiously fall upon you.
So much for your anonymity.
Ko-Fi
#Cassandra Dimitrescu#bela dimitrescu#daniela dimitrescu#alcina dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu's daughters#cassandra x oc#resident evil village#resident evil 8#fanfiction#cass kills with her hair and nails on point she's the murder-princess type#you can't change my mind#I love her
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43 & 42 & 82 with our love puppy Jensen? 😂 I sometimes really miss his somewhat innocent-but-not-really happy puppy energy.
42) “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.”
43) “Don’t you want to play with me?
82) “Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that.”
Yes!!!! I haven’t written for Jake in so long!!! I miss that big puppy!
It’s smut guys, eighteen and over!!!
“Jake. Hey Jensen!”
“Hmm? What’s up babe?” He said, his eyes fuzzy as he looked at you his laptop screen.
“You’ve been staring at that damn laptop for five hours. It’s 10 pm, come to bed already.” You groaned, leaning against the door frame to the kitchen.
“Honey, I’ve got to get through this firewall, it’s being such a massive bitch and I’m almost done.” He said as he gave you an apologetic smile before turning back to the screen. “You don’t hear me complaining when you spend all day... doing shit with knives.”
“Doing shit with knives? What exactly do you think my ops involve?” You asked as you rolled your eyes at him.
“St... stabbing?” He said, barely paying attention to you as he started working again.
“Right, stabbing.” You huffed. “C’mon Jake, it’s time for bed. Don’t you want to play with me?”
“Yeah, just a minute.” He murmured, and you could tell he was tuning you out as you let out a sigh.
“I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.” You whined loudly as you turned towards the bedroom.
“Ok sweetie.” He called after you. “Wait, what?!?!”
The only sound that answered him was a low vibrating hum and an obscene moan.
“Aww, man.” He muttered, chewing his lip as he tried to focus on his work.
He found it very difficult to concentrate as you started making small whimpering noises, the pitch of the vibration going up slightly and he could’ve sworn he could hear soft wet sounds accompanying it.
“Just focus, Jensen.” He told himself. “You’re a goddamn professional man.”
The cry you let out next did it for him. He stood up so fast he knocked his chair over as he made a beeline for the bedroom, removing items of clothing on the way.
He arrived to find you fucking yourself with your favorite rabbit vibrator, your thighs spread wide open and giving him a perfect view of you plunging it into your perfect pussy. The insides of your thighs were coated in slick that was still seeping out of you with every thrust as you arched your back into your hand.
“Fuck baby.” He whined as he watched you shiver, your body convulsing as your orgasm wracked you and left you breathless.
“Oh, you’re here?” You said teasingly. “Turns out I didn’t even need you, Jensen. I’ve already come three times.”
“Now, that’s just mean.” He pouted as you stared at him, propping yourself on your elbows and pulling the toy out of yourself. He groaned as he watched the thick cream of your release leak out of your swollen cunt.
“Sorry, Jakey.” You tutted at him. “Now, are you here to apologize for ignoring me all day or did you just wanna watch me fuck myself some more?”
You yelped when he pounced on top you, his fingers digging into your waist as he smashed his mouth against yours desperately.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He mumbled into your hair as he started to trace your jaw with his lips, his hands moving to press against your ass while he started to grind his cock against your mound through his boxer briefs.
“Jesus, you break so easy, Jensen.” You purred as he sucked a bruise against your shoulder.
“Not my fault, you know all my buttons.” He pouted, pulling off his underwear and tossing them aside.
“Jake, the only button you have is ‘barest implication of the possibility of sex’.” You teased as he nuzzled himself between your breasts.
“Yeah, and you know just how to push it.” He said as he gave you a stupid grin.
He gave you no warning before he flipped you over and shoved himself inside you, his knees keeping your thighs wide open as he pressed his chest to your back and wound his fingers through yours. He started to slowly plunge in and out of you, his cock dragging over each sweet spot inside you as he fucked you in long smoothe strokes.
“Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that.” He murmured as he brushed his lips over the back of your neck, grinning as you let out a wanton moan and tried to press your ass into him.
He was driving you crazy. The slow rocking of his hips was just enough to keep you on the edge, and from this angle his cock was hitting every spot that made your eyes roll back in your skull. His hips would grind against you at the end of each thrust, making your pussy clench around him as he barely nudged your cervix.
“Jake, I need more.” You whined, wriggling underneath him as you begged him. “Just fuck me already.”
“God, you’re so bossy.” He grumbled into your shoulder before he thrust his hips forward violently.
You were lucky he was pinning you down or the force of his hips would have bounced you off the headboard. He kept his hands wrapped around yours, his grip tight as he turned you into a whimpering mess, your pussy fluttering wildly around him as he chased his own pleasure.
“Fuck! Jake I’m gonna come!” You groaned as his hips slapped against your ass, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his cock twitched inside you.
“Shit, me too.” He groaned.
You came at the same time. You let out a shriek as your body went rigid before every muscle started spasming wildly, your cunt milking Jake’s cock as it fluttered in your release. His entire body rolled on top of you as he filled you with his seed, his hips stuttering as he painted your canal in warm white ropes.
He collapsed on top of you when you both were finished, panting into your hair. You just grinned underneath him as he smothered you.
“Run a remote program next time, Jensen.” You told him. “We could’ve been doing this all afternoon.”
#natalie answers#smut prompts#jake jensen fluff#jake jensen one shot#jake jensen smut#jake jensen imagines#jake jensen fanfiction#jake jensen x reader#jake jensen#chris evans#chris evans character#chris evans smut#smut#eighteen and over#eighteen plus#do not interact if you are a minor
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an artist’s eye // Benedict Bridgerton
Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was an artist, even if his inspiration had no idea of what he feels.
A/N: I promise to slow down with the fics! I go back to work in a couple of days anyway so I’ll definitely slow down. I hope you all like! It’s shorter than my last few fics so I’m sorry for that!! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on it, let me know and I am considering opening my requests for Bridgerton fics... considering.
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Warnings: mentions of food and drink, pining, mutual pining, sketching, art, drawing (I am not an artist, I cannot draw a stick man so I apologise in advance), kissing.
Word count: 1.8k
The graphite point sits heavy in his hand as Benedict struggles to remember the lines he needs. With only his memory to aid him, Benedict struggled more with the portraits he preferred to draw than the landscapes that were growing increasingly popular among the highest of London society.
Sighing, Benedict presses his fingers to his eyes as if it will help jumpstart his memory to bring forward the correct image he needs. He regrets the action as quick as he had done it when he thinks of the mixture of graphite and charcoal coating his fingers.
Rubbing his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he feels a moment of pity for the servants who would no doubt grumble and complain at the state of it. However, as he glances down at the sketch – the arch of his subject’s smile, the depths of their eyes – he cannot bring himself to care too much.
It wouldn’t see the light of day. Once complete, the sketchbook would be tucked away in the drawer in his desk. If it was to fall into the wrong hands, then as much as he is confident of his artistic talent, he would not recover from the fallout. Benedict worries for the day that the look in your eyes changes; once you realise the extent of his feelings for you.
He hadn’t meant to fall in love with you, but he had. There were a lot of things in Benedict’s life that he hadn’t meant to do and has regretted completing such an action once done. However, he cannot find it in himself to feel bad about falling in love with you even when he had not meant to.
As much as he puts on airs and graces, he would not approach you with his feelings. He wasn’t ready though you made his heart sing like no other.
One day, he tells himself as he finally remembers the swoop of your neckline. One day he will tell you as he picks up his graphite point and charcoal once more.
Not yet, however.
------------
The drawing room remains quiet as Benedict silently adds to his sketch collection. His mother sits across the room, content with a stitching pattern for the arrival of Daphne’s new baby. Eloise lounges on the couch, a book in her hand and a box of chocolates on her stomach, eyes pouring over the pages hungrily.
The only sound in the room is the roughness of his pencil on the paper. It didn’t matter what angle he approached this drawing at, he could not get it to look right. It was going to vex him until he had bested it.
“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has arrived,” The Butler announces to which Benedict suddenly sits up straighter, closing his sketchbook, leaving it on the table.
“Wonderful,” Violet Bridgerton smiles, “Show them up, please.”
“I didn’t know (Y/N) was calling today,” Benedict comments lightly as the Butler disappears from the room, trying to sound as if his heart isn’t currently pounding in his chest.
“(Y/N) always calls on a Thursday,” Eloise states, voice puzzled. She shares a look of confusion with her mother when Benedict suddenly stands, announcing to them both, “I shall clean myself up a bit, make myself look presentable for our guest.”
The look of confusion soon turns into one of understanding as both women watch their son and brother dash from the room. As if at the same time, a smile crosses both their faces when they realise that their beloved son and brother has fallen in love and with a dear friend of the family too.
They do not get to discuss the topic, however, for you are shown to the drawing room, greeting both women with a large smile and buoyant conversation.
“Help yourself to tea and biscuits, dear,” Violet invites, gesturing to the tea service now being laid on the table. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the biscuits, unable to turn down the buttery goodness.
“Thank you,” You reply, taking a seat at the table, reaching for a biscuit and the teapot.
It’s then that you see it. A leatherbound book left on the other side of the table, barely hidden by the cake stand of treats.
Curiosity being your besetting sin, you reach for the leatherbound book on the table and begin to flick through the pages. A sketch of a pair of hands at the beginning; they hold a single flower – a rose, though what colour is impossible to tell since the sketch remains firmly in shades of greys and blacks. Enraptured, you turn the page to find a detailed image of a parasol, still sketched in the same greys and blacks as the previous picture. The artist has captured the lace trimming perfectly. The longer you stare at it, you come to realise that the parasol is being held by someone, but it isn’t clear who.
It isn’t until you reach a sketch of your side portrait that you come to realise that the previous sketches – the hands, the parasol with just a hint of a shadow under it – they’re of you.
They’re all of you. Each stunning sketch is of you.
Your breath quickens in your chest when you see who the sketchbook belongs to; when you spy the initials written on the inside sleeve of the front cover. ‘B.B.’ written in his elegant script – an artist in every aspect of his life. Whilst you had observed that Benedict sometimes appeared with smudges to his fingers and paint stains on the cuffs of his tailored white shirt, you had never seen a sketch or a painting until now. He truly had a gift; a talent worthy of being displayed in Somerset House.
You hadn’t been aware of his feelings for you though, but you would not be the first to admit that you found yourself attracted to the Bridgerton. Taught at a young age, you knew it was not wise to share such feelings with others. Instead, you dampened them down, hiding them away where they grew unattended – they rooted in your heart, making it very difficult to find another love worthy.
Bringing a hand to your mouth, you hide your smile, not wanting to give too much away to ever observant Bridgerton matriarch. You turn page after page, letting yourself fall deeper into your feelings for Benedict now that you find there is hope of them being requited.
------------
Benedict’s breath leaves his body in one fell swoop when he returns to the drawing room and he realises exactly what you hold in your hand. He hadn’t moved it upon your announcement; he thought he had, but instead, like a fool, he left it sitting there on the table.
A fool. He was a fool. How quick, Benedict thinks to himself, how quick a life can change – mere minutes he had been gone and now he was to have his love for you outed.
You haven’t noticed his presence yet, and for that Benedict is thankful. It gives him time to come up with something – anything – to explain the numerous sketches of you. His mind is running too fast; he cannot come up with a thought good enough to excuse the sketches in his book. His heart continues to pound in his chest; it had not slowed down since your announcement though at this point it reminds him that is, indeed, alive and not suffering from a night terror.
As if finally sensing the extra person in the room, you glance up. Your eyes meeting the deep blue of Benedict’s, and you freeze in your spot. Violet and Eloise glance between the two of you. Violet, not one to usually ignore tradition, hurries her daughter from the room – knowing the conversation that was about to take place.
“I’m sorry,” You whisper at the click of the door shutting. You close the sketchbook, placing it on the table as far away from you as possible to keep your temptation at bay.
“I think I should be the one apologising,” Benedict confesses, taking one more step into the room. He tucks his hands behind his back, ever the picture of grace and elegance as he thinks of how long he has left without before your opinion of him changes forever – artistic talent or not.
“I knew you were an artist; I had seen the smudges on your hands, but I didn’t think…”
“What?”
“I didn’t think you were drawing me.”
“Surely you know?” He asks, voice loud in the quiet room. When you remain silent, he continues, “Surely you know of my feelings for you?”
You shake your head, eyes glancing between the taller Bridgerton and the leatherbound sketchbook lying on the table. “I didn’t know,” You whisper, voice breaking as you take in the distraught look on his face.
“Well,” Benedict murmurs, clearing his throat, “You know of them now.”
“I do,” You murmur,
“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Benedict remarks, “Those sketches were not meant to be seen by anyone else.”
“Only if I haven’t offended you by looking through them.”
Benedict shakes his head, “You could never offend me.”
“Then I am not offended either. I’m quite flattered, you’re very talented.”
“Thank you,” Benedict says graciously, nodding his head slightly.
“You need to know that your feelings are returned, Benedict,” You declare suddenly and plainly, displaying your feelings for all to see.
“They are?” Benedict asks, voice awed as if he didn’t take into account this reaction.
“They are,” You state firmly, meeting his gaze proudly as if you could ever be ashamed of your feelings for the brunette.
Benedict stalks across the room; tradition and etiquette be damned as he reaches for your hand to pull you from your chair. His hands settle on your waist as you tilt your head back to look at him. A silent question reflects in his eyes to which you answer with a nod of your head.
His hands move from your waist to cradle your face as he dips down, pressing his lips to yours. It isn’t hurried; it’s perfect as Benedict takes control of the kiss, groaning softly at the feel of your mouth and your body pressed against him. You smile into the kiss as your arms wrap around Benedict’s neck, pulling him ever closer to you.
Benedict’s mouth brushes against yours as he asks, “Would you like to accompany me to Lady Danbury’s ball next week?”
“As in you would court me?”
Benedict chuckles softly, “Yes. I would like to court you, is that okay?”
“More than okay,” You smile before pressing a kiss to the corner of Benedict’s mouth and stepping away.
Turning back to the sketchbook, you open it to image that had kickstarted your heart into an irregular rhythm. Benedict stands by your side as your eyes pour over his sketch; each line and angle, each section of shading. “You truly have an artist’s eye,” You say quietly, tangling your hands together.
“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, bringing your entwined hands up to his mouth whereupon he lays a gentle kiss to the back of your gloved hand.
“Will you show me more?” You ask, turning to face the man that had turned you into a work of art.
“Darling, I’ll show you them all.”
***********
Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict x reader#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton imagines#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton#bridgerton imagines
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1 with jeongin please! ❤️
thank you for requesting sweetheart
『 1. “go change, or I’m ripping that off you” 💦
pairing — jeongin x reader
genre — smut, department store fitting room sex + jeongin with a lingerie kink
word count —- 852 』
smut under the cut !
your hands rattled the door rather obnoxiously, you held onto it as tight as you could and refused to let go no matter how much noise it made. if this was what it took to keep you from fully face planting into the powder coated panel of a door then you’d be gripping it for as long as jeongin was fucking into you.
you made a mistake trying on lingerie in front of him knowing exactly how it was going to end. he warned you of course, telling you to change before he tore the threads to pieces because he never could control himself with you in it and it unleashed every seed of dominance he held within him. his dick was fucking you so hard and deep it was difficult to decipher where you ended and where he began. you hoped to god that no one heard you two throughout the department store, at the very last fitting room at the end of the hallway fucking as if you hadn’t saw each other in months.
jeongin groans, entering you for what it felt like the umpteenth time, threading his fingers in between the strings of the dark red lacey and frail bralette that you wore and with the strength that he possessed you grew nervous at the thought of him ripping it right down the middle. and this wasn’t counting how hard his veiny hands were also gripping the waist strings of the thin stringed panties that matched. they barely covered the entirety of your lady parts and sat snug in between the cheeks of your ass. the only thing that provided coverage was the short and ruffled sheer skirt it came with. The rest of the set was practically strings.
“oh god you look so fucking hot in this baby”. he grunts loving the way your ass looked from this angle. your back was perfectly arched against the door and it made your ass look pretty and plump, jiggling every time he thrusted into your dripping pussy from behind, the pretty ruffled hem of the skirt was bouncing against your cheeks in the midst of his brutal fucking. you sucked in numerous breaths trying to withhold the tiny whimpers while your hips were hiked up, jeongin pulling you to the tips of your toes while landing a painful smack on your ass. “jeongie”, you whimper in a tone so pathetic it almost sounded like you were sobbing. “jeongie please”. you begged not knowing how much longer of the forced silence you could take.
“please what? you did this to yourself”. he snarls whilst pulling on the threads harder and stretching them tightly across your body. you could already feel them ripping at the seams. “you wanted to put this outfit on to rile me up didn’t you? you know what these clothes do to me and you wanted to mess with me anyway?”. he asked in a dialect so harsh and dark you thought he cursed at you in a different language. your eyes rolled up at the sound, breath coming out in harsh pants while you clutched the door for dear life. you whimpered a tiny “no” that came out in half a syllable, jeongin did one particular thrust that took the breath straight from your mouth. he chuckles, enjoying how helpless you were, enjoying how submissive and weak you were at his disposal.
“look at you. you can’t even talk. am I really fucking you that good?”. he ridiculed with arrogance dripping from his voice. he was forcing himself into the deepest places inside you and all you could do was take it. even though you were standing on the tips of your toes you could still feel your toes curl beneath you. your mouth hung low and you wanted to wipe the drool that gathered at the corner of your mouth but each time you thought about it your mind resorted to cumming. his dick was throbbing harshly inside you and you knew he was set to cum at any moment. but jeongin already had the preconceived notion that he wasn’t going to pull out. instead he lifts your leg against the door, hitting a particular angle that had his cum painting your insides. your chest heaved while you were trembling in his grip, the grip that finally ripped your lingerie into two pieces—while he resumed his thrusts. you finally release a throaty whine eventually not giving a damn if a customer or salesperson heard you.
jeongin leans forward to kiss your neck and your cheeks, layering his hands right on top of yours on the bustling door. “so shameless. moan like that again for me baby”. he pleads whole hastening his pace to leave you with no other option. you did it and you did it well, moaning as if you were a pornstar yourself. your fluids met his fluids as he came inside you for the second time, making your pussy a sticky disaster.
“do you have anymore lingerie that you want to try on baby?”.
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i was gonna draw tonight but i dropped my tablet pen and the barrel of the pen broke off and flew somewhere underneath (??) my bed (?) and now i cant find it so I’m just gonna answer asks before bed instead. just some art asks and more mentions of infinity train LOL
What program and brushes do you use when making your art?
@ravki hi! part of this is in my FAQ but i’ll say it again anyways LOL: I use photoshop CC and have used photoshop for pretty much....my whole art career. I’ve dabbled in clip and paint tool sai in the past but photoshop is my true wife, we eloped away from her awful father adobe many years ago and are very happy together.
as for brushes... I should prob put this info in my FAQ too lol,... my default brush set is actually free to download here! Tho I will say I also use steve ahn’s storyboarding brush sometimes and lately i’ve been using shiyoon kim’s brushes A TON. Shiyoon’s cost a couple bucks but they’re super worth it imo
How do you choose colors?
This is kind of a difficult one to describe from scratch but hmm.... I’ll put it this way. Generally when I go into coloring or painting something I already have some colors in mind. Like for a certain piece I know I want a bright green, or a magenta, or a dark blue in certain areas. A lot of the time I know a mood I want. So I’ll start with that core color tone and build around it. I’ll use an example from a recent piece
So you can see here that the first color I accessed was that bright cyan. So I start with that bright cyan and then bring in its “friends” in the form of analogous colors (shown below on the far left)
greens greys etc. THEN I know I want the characters to stand out against all the blue so I start laying down warm contrasting colors for them (middle group). the mat under them is orange, skin tones are warm, ryans flannel is red etc. then to get them to work together I work more cool colors into the shadows and slightly warmer (not too warm because its a cool img overall so in this case, greener LOL) colors into highlights.
hope that makes sense? for me choosing colors is a lot about story and composition. If you know what you want to say, the mood you want to create, where you want to go, the path to get there becomes a lot clearer imo.
Have you ever considered making an art book?
I have! But I don’t think I currently have enough...original illustrations for one LOL? Not that an art book has to be all original work but if I were putting fanart in an art book...at that point I’d just make a fanzine. I’m making more original work lately though so maybe this year....? Who knows. For now, I do have a sketchbook up on gumroad. Hoping to do one of those next year too.
Any tips for keeping background drawings from getting super stiff, especially since things like interiors have a lot of straight lines?
This is a really interesting ask. Really great question that I don’t think gets asked enough - forgive me if I get a bit art school here but I drew up some examples.
First I think we have to investigate the assumption that straight lines make things stiff. That seems true on an instinctual level and certainly proves to be true very often But I don’t think its actually the straight lines themselves but the sort of arrangements and compositions they tend to dictate. Take this for instance.
pretty big difference, right? there’s a couple things that make a composition feel stiff and one of the most significant is lines that are perpendicular and parallel to the frame. it feels locked in and solid, like bricks. but the moment you shift these angles even a little the composition instantly becomes more dynamic because our innate senses of weight, gravity, and directionality can sense movement.
But it’s not just diagonals let’s take this one step further
when lines meet and terminate together those tangents can flatten and lock space so the best way to solve this is with overlap and complete intersection, forms continuing past or behind each other feel more layered and less like a flat mosaic... again, even in the simplest line drawings. So how do we apply this to a background?
ok I drew this really fast so its potentially not the best example but I think the idea is there. This space isn’t even particularly deep, it’s basically a room, a doorway, and a hallway behind it, and we’re not seeing that much of any of those things LOL. but when you draw an environmental object like a doorway in a way that lines up with the perpendicular and parallel lines of the canvas you’re automatically flattening it and making it look rigid.
and when you create tangents with objects and characters you flatten the space around them and make it difficult to tell what is actually in front or behind or if they’re on the same plane.
GOD I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE. Anyways. avoid those things and you’ll instantly have less stiff bgs no matter what kind of bg you’re depicting.
I wanna mention however that this isn’t to say a stiff bg with flat space doesn’t have its purposes.
sometimes you want to create parallels and tangents. it can make characters feel closed in, trapped, regimented, part of a routine, etc. it’s also great for making a composition look ornamental (especially combined with symmetry).
directors like wes anderson can even use these compositional elements to make images feel uncanny or harrowing! its very versatile. I think the important thing is to just be aware of when you are making something rigid and when that’s the last thing you want to do. conscious choices.
Can you speak Tagalog?
@lemuelzero101 I can! BUT NOT VERY WELL LOL ;;; both my parents are from Visayas! but they met and had me in the states lol so I’m pretty American born and raised. We go back to visit family on occasion but not regularly. My tagalog is mostly absorbed from listening to relatives at parties lol and my parents speak bisaya at home so I’m marginally better at that. Sorry to any filipinos out there hoping I’d be better educated, I’m like a little baby...
I do love meeting and talking to other filipinos online though, I grew up in an area that was relatively diverse but the asian population was small and the filipino population basically non-existent. I was like one of maybe 2 filipino kids in my highschool of 2000.
Apart from infinity train what shows are you watching now? Have you seen jujitsu kaisen?
Man this is gonna sound so boring but I haven’t watched a lot of tv lately. It’s not really part of my daily routine. Let’s see... I was sort of watching Amphibia, Craig of the Creek, and the new Digimon Adventure 2020 but I keep falling off watching those for one reason or another. Also there’s a lot of episodes, it doesn’t feel like something I can just binge and be done with.
The last thing I binged was Succession. I want that show and Euphoria back so bad, when I’m done forcing all my friends to watch Infinity Train im cancelling my HBO subscription until Succession and Euphoria return so they know exactly what I’m on their list for LOL.
I have not watched jujitsu kaisen but I’ve kept up with some of the sakuga news (I keep up with anime industry news and production info like x5 the amt i keep up with actual anime) for it and their compositing/editing looks dope. I’ve read the manga actually LOL or at least part of the beginning. I wasn’t super keen on the whole finger eating thing. Also to be honest I kinda feel like its the new Bleach and I never particularly cared about Bleach. Characters look nice enough tho. I wholeheartedly support jjk fans.
Thank you! Thank you @keznodzieja! <3
And thank you anons who don’t watch infinity train LOL...it’s always nice to hear when people enjoy my fanart despite not knowing the source material because it lifts a little bit of the “oh god am I being annoying???” fear off my chest. But also I think you should watch infinity train because it’s really good I have no reservations recommending it.
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Third Wheeling
CEO!Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Chapter 6.
Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Asshole!Yoongi
A/N: As always, my loves @ppersonna, @ladyartemesia, @xjoonchildx consistently support me and make me feel better about how I’m writing. I’m so fucking grateful to them! I really wouldn’t be here without them and of course without all of you <3
Hospitals have always frightened you. They always smelled a little too much like cleaning supplies and for some odd reason they always had an underlying scent of sickness. Not that you could equate the smell of sickness to anything in particular-- but it just had that scent.
You can remember when your mother got her appendectomy and your dad told you to bring her doshirak while he went off to work, it scared the ever living hell out of you.
It's not that you were a hypochondriac or at least you didn't think you were. But now, as you stand beneath the large entrance to the VIP admittance area, your skin begins to crawl.
Maybe it’s the fear of entering the hospital and getting sick from others or maybe it’s the fact that you’ll be in a small space with the father of your child quite like that fateful night.
You hear a car quickly approaching behind you as you stare up at the gold trimmed sign of the entrance and you can practically feel him. You choose not to turn around, memories of your shopping trip still stuck in your mind like superglue.
Shopping with Yoongi was like a very failed, fucked up montage. You would try something on, come out of the dressing room and he would grimace and wave his hand while sipping champagne telling you to go put on something else.
Namjoon told you that he is a good person, and his life has been hard so being a dick is how he compensates. You want to believe him, but it’s just so hard.
“Little dove. Good morning,” you hear from behind you.
Angling your head to the voice, you take in his appearance. His black hair was combed back, a few odd hairs landing on his forehead. His eyes were fierce and piercing as always. And, his voice is as smooth as silk. For the first time, you notice two piercings on his left ear as he approaches. One is a small hoop made of diamonds and the other just a diamond stud. They look good on him, really fucking good.
“Hi.” you say, lifting your arm awkwardly to wave.
“You ready to see the Kisung heir?” he asks as he looks down at his Rolex.
Just the thought has a lump forming in your throat. Are you ready? This is all so fast and so fucked up.
“I think so,” you reply, earning half of a smirk from him.
“Let’s go up. We have other things to do today.” he tells you as he walks off to the entrance without you.
He makes you feel like such an intrusion. You really are a pauper in his lifestyle.
He holds the door open for you and you’re immediately hit with the smell that can only be akin to a hospital. It makes your stomach churn and suddenly you feel flush. Your skin prickles with heat, a thin layer of nervous sweat beginning to build up on your body.
Stopping at the entrance, you watch as nurses and doctors pass by without a second glance. The simple sight of scrubs and surgical caps is enough to have you leaning against the large potted plant that sits adjacent to the door.
Yoongi begins talking and the sound starts to drown out as you focus on the marble floor.
“Hey. Y/N.” you hear him call impatiently.
“Water,” you whisper softly as your vision begins to tunnel.
“Y/N?” he asks again, softer this time.
“I-I need water.”
Your mouth is going dry and it’s starting to become hard to swallow.
Your shaky hand reaches out for the lip of the planter beside you to hold you steady.
“Oh fuck!” Yoongi yelps out, he catches your arm as you begin to fall.
“Can I get some water over here?!” he calls to the receptionist and they’re quick to do his bidding.
“I-I’m sorry,” you feel your eyelids getting heavy as you speak.
“Just relax. Calm down. What is it? Is it the kid?” he asks softly in your ear as he hauls you up. Tugging your arm just enough, he’s able to slide his body behind yours. You can feel the hard plains of his abs through his crisp shirt as he molds your body to his.
A receptionist rushes over with the bottle of water and he cracks it open quickly before handing it to you.
“Let’s sit down for a second. Come on,” he whispers in your ear.
Your feet feel as heavy as bricks while he pulls you over to the seating area. Tying your hair up in a ponytail, you lean back into the plush couch with a sigh.
“Drink the water.” he commands, his voice is gruff but the tone is riddled with nervousness.
You sip the water slowly, the spots in your eyes beginning to diminish as he puts his hand on your knee.
“Look at me, just focus on my face,” he calls, tapping his index finger beneath your chin.
Slowly turning your head to him, you can see his eyebrows furrowing with nerves. He cards his fingers through his hair as his thumb rubs gentle strokes on your knee.
“Is it...morning sickness?” he sounds uncomfortable even saying it. You feel uncomfortable hearing it.
You shake your head to him and that seems to make him relax just a bit.
“I have an irrational fear of hospitals,” you reply as your heartbeat begins to slow down. He tilts his head curiously and he wonders to himself what you’ve been through to get a panic attack quite like this.
Was it something that’s happened to you in the past? You seem to be scared of almost anything.
Usually, Yoongi would be annoyed at the mention of anything irrational. But, he fights it for once. For once, maybe he should be honest too.
“I’m afraid of hospitals too,” he admits to you.
“Really?” you ask as you press your hand to your stomach, the feeling of nausea slowly settling away.
His eyes flicker to your hand and he swallows uncomfortably. He turns his head to the large painting on the wall, he traces the abstract lines and shapes on the canvas before nodding.
“Yeah. It always smells weird and the thought of getting even more sick makes me nervous,” he says.
“Me too.” you murmur hopelessly as you look down at his hand on your knee.
“But, this hospital is really good. My family owns it. It’s one of three that we own in Seoul. You’re safe here. I promise,” he swears as he turns his attention back to you.
It’s almost comforting to hear his words. Right now, in this moment, it’s almost difficult to remember how much of an asshole he is.
“When you’re ready, we’ll go up,” he says softly.
His eyes drift over others in the lobby. They’re all staring. His hand rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck and you follow his gaze.
He shouldn’t be down here with you like this. He’s married. It hits you all in one second.
“Let’s go.” you tell him as you stand up on shaky legs.
“No, Y/N. Wait. Sit down and relax. It’s okay.” he calls to you, but you’re already off to the elevators.
He watches as you slam the button for the elevator, his hands slide over the knees of his pants before he’s standing up to follow you.
Maybe you weren’t a leech. Maybe you were just kind.
You hold the door open for him and he brushes past people without an apology before stepping into the elevator.
“You have a fear of elevators too?” he quips but his joke is brisk and it makes you scowl.
“No.” you murmur as he pushes the fifth floor button.
The silence is uncomfortable as the doors slide shut, the saxophone elevator music would be comical if your crippling embarrassment wasn’t beginning to swallow you whole. Now that your senses were returning to you, you just seized up as soon as you stepped inside the hospital.
You almost fell on the fucking floor like a flopping fish! How embarrassing!
Yoongi can practically sense your nervousness. He can see it in the way your knees knock together, and certainly how your hand grips the railing of the elevator. Your knuckles are practically white as you stare at the floor.
He should find a way to make you feel better, he thinks anyway.
“I like your dress. Looks not so homeless,” he says and he closes his eyes at how he sounds.
Maybe Maya is right, he needs to think before he speaks.
“Oh. Nice. Thanks.” you mutter as you pull at the fabric of the dress.
So much for trying.
“No. I mean-”
“I wear deliciously brown burlap sacks. I got it.” you retort as the doors open. He sighs to himself slightly as he watches you leave him alone in the elevator.
You walk off without him and he’s only a few steps behind but he feels as if he’s losing his ground.
Not only did he almost beat up Park Jimin at the mention of you, but now he’s starting to feel sorry for the things he says? Just what the hell is going on?
But, he can see a different personality almost peeking out of you every time he confronts you. It’s almost nice to see you being different then just nervous and scared.
“Oh! Mr. Min! Right on time, you can follow me!” a nurse calls to him from the reception desk.
“This is the VIP wing, only my family is taken care of up here,” he announces to you. You feel his hand press gently to your lower back and you pull away uncomfortably as you follow the nurse.
His hand feels too comfortable on your back for your liking.
The VIP room is gigantic, so far beyond what you originally had thought just a little while ago when you were downstairs.
The table with stirrups looks intimidating and uncomfortable.
“Just take off your underwear and the doctor will be right in,” the nurse says, her hand slides over Yoongi’s shoulder and you find yourself grimacing at how comfortable he is with it.
It’s like he doesn’t even register that to normal people, that would be uncomfortable.
“Thanks Mira.” he says as he folds his arms.
You watch the door shut and you shake your head in disbelief as he casually sits down in the chair beside the examination table.
“You fuck her too?” you ask him as he pulls out his phone.
“Just once. She wasn't into what I'm into,” he replies calmly and you roll your eyes.
Looking around for somewhere shielded to take off your underwear, his eyebrow quips up.
“I have seen all of you before, y’know. You can just take off your panties and give them to me,” he gives you a big smile as he holds his hand out and you scowl at the notion.
“Asshole.” you whisper, earning a chuckle from him as you walk into the bathroom.
Taking off your underwear, you stare at yourself in the mirror. This was just an out of body experience at this point. You were so far beyond the point of anything making sense. Your life has quite literally changed in a matter of weeks and today you’d be moving into a completely different home. You’d be seeing your child that was a surprise. Everything was moving so fast and it’s so terrifying.
You put your underwear in your purse, one that Yoongi has actually bought you instead of having to borrow Leenas.
Yoongi hasn’t moved an inch as he looks up from his phone, “Your room is ready. The kid’s too. Looks good.” He says as you walk over to the table.
You can only wonder what it looks like, did he buy cheaper things because he feels like that’s all you deserve? Or did he buy expensive furniture to really sell just how much money he actually has?
“I didn’t buy the kid furniture though. Thought you might want to do that. Maya said women go through something called nesting? Sounds like a bird,” he says as he looks back down at his phone.
He sounds really fond of Maya. You wonder what she must be like for him, the king of assholes, to be fond of her.
“Sounds fun!” you reply earnestly as you hop up on the table.
“Fun?”
You hum in agreement as you pull the dress down lower to your knees. “I think picking out furniture and stuff is fun. Leena let me pick out all of the furniture for the penthouse apartment. I like doing that stuff.”
He nods, his lips puffing out like he’s almost impressed before the door opens.
The white lab coat the doctor wears is almost enough to send you into a spiral once more but before your breathing can even hitch you hear the father of your child. “Drink your water. Now.” he calls to you.
He doesn't know where it came from but all he knew was that the water helped before and you should feel better with it. He seemed to get protective of you in that mere second.
“Min Yoongi. A pleasure,” the doctor says as they shake hands.
You practically chug the water, the cooling liquid seems to bring you a sense of peace as he approaches you.
“Y/N, I’m assuming. It’s so nice to meet you,” you shake his hand and out of the corner of your eye you watch Yoongi stand tall before taking his place beside you.
“Hold my hand,” he instructs briskly and you grimace at the thought. He rolls his eyes as he grasps your wrist before placing your hand in his.
You notice just how sweaty his hand is… or is it your hand that’s sweating? There’s moisture, for sure.
“Are you ready to see the Kisung heir? This must be exciting!” the doctor says as he sits down on the rolling stool before you.
Swallowing thickly, you give a small nod. Now, the nerves are really getting to you. Yoongi squeezes your hand tighter before looking down at his phone like this isn’t important to him. Or as if he was trying to avoid it.
“Okay, how are you feeling, Y/N? Any nausea? Tiredness?” the doctor asks as he puts on gloves.
“I’ve been really tired lately. Not so much nausea,” the doctor nods as he sets up the ultrasound equipment.
“Any breast tenderness? Are you in pain?” the question peaks Yoongi’s curiosity and he looks up from his phone to look at you as you nod.
“Yeah, they’re really painful,” you reply softly, almost embarrassed at the questions.
He had no idea. You hadn’t said anything about pain.
“That’s normal. Abdominal pain too? Getting mildly bad cramps?” you nod again and the father of your child blanches.
Jesus, you don’t make it seem like you’re going through a rough time. You really may just be stronger than you look.
Maybe this is what Maya meant about you going through a difficult time.
“So, the things you want to look out for are lightheadedness, cramps, very little vaginal bleeding, breast changes, food aversions, mood swings, and increased vaginal discharge,” you nod studiously as he grasps what looks like a wand in hand.
“You got all that, dad?” Yoongi’s eyes widen and he points to himself in confusion.
“Who? Me?” he asks aloud and you hide your smirk behind your hand as the doctor nods.
“Yeah, you. You got her into this mess, right?” yhe doctor jokes as he rolls a condom onto the end of the wand.
Yoongi scoffs gently. “Well it takes two to tango.” he mumbles to himself uncomfortably.
Your giggle makes him instantly relax. This isn’t the first time this has happened and it’s beginning to really freak him the fuck out. Sometimes, the things you do calm him so easily, set him into such a state of peace. It’s terrifying.
“This may be uncomfortable for you. I’m going to insert this and we’ll be able to see your baby,” the doctor says to you.
With a nod, you look at the black screen of the ultrasound machine. Yoongi buries his face farther into his phone at the mention of seeing his kid.
But, he’s pulled out almost instantaneously as you squeak out uncomfortably as the wand invades you. Your hand grips tighter in his and his eyes are on you in a second.
“You’re alright. Don’t worry,” he doesn’t know where the kind words came from but he doesn’t take them back.
The screen begins to shift to dark greys and whites, earning Yoongi’s attention.
“We may be able to hear a heartbeat, we’ll find out.” the doctor says happily.
You wriggle uncomfortably as the wand continues to invade you. Squeezing your hand a few times to try and set you right, Yoongi stares at the screen with a raised eyebrow.
“There!” the doctor says loudly and you both jump with nervousness as you see the small blip on the screen.
It’s so small.
You feel your throat clenching uncomfortably and you close your eyes for a second to make sure this is real.
For Yoongi, he feels his heart begin to beat faster. He can practically hear it in his ears as he squeezes your hand tighter.
This was his kid. He fucking made this. He has to become a parent to this small little thing.
“Oh my God.” he mumbles to himself, but in the large silent room you can hear him so clearly.
“Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat,” the doctor says before pushing a button on the machine.
The sound is voraciously loud in your ears. The heartbeat is strong and unwavering. It makes you smile. Although this isn’t what you had planned, it feels good to see your child.
Yoongi lets go of your hand quickly, as if you had burnt him. He pockets his phone and his hands before looking down at the ground uncomfortably.
“What do you think, dad?” the doctor asks him happily.
What the fuck does he think? That this is terrifying. That he made a child he has to take care of. He thinks that he’s not ready, at all!
But, it’s his child. That heartbeat -- he made that. He created something so small and so perfect.
His eyes begin to burn uncomfortably, as if he’s about to cry and he makes his way back to the seat before plopping down and taking in a deep breath.
“I think it looks like some sort of weird worm,” he replies to the doctor.
Snorting gently, you tilt your head at the screen.
“Like a sesame gremlin,” you say.
Just your words make him chuckle and he looks down at his shoes before closing his eyes once more.
“So the baby’s heartbeat is really strong which is great! From the size, it’s about five weeks and three days old. Everything looks great, but you’ll be coming back once a month to make sure things aren’t changing or getting out of hand. We’ll take a blood test now to see how your levels are but other than that, things look really good over here. Congratulations.”
That was the first time either of you have been congratulated on the news.
Yoongi can feel himself filling with something akin to pride.
It almost makes him respect you more. You’re carrying his child.
Looking over at you, he feels as if he’s never actually looked at you before. He’s always known how beautiful you are. But now something feels different. It feels explosive. Like something cosmic was coming into being.
“I’m going to give you some prenatal vitamins for you to take, no smoking, no drinking, no raw fish, no hot tubs or saunas, you should eat really well, drink a lot of water and make sure you just take it easy,” the doctor says as he pulls the wand from you.
You can feel a weight lifting off of you as you look at your child. You certainly aren’t ready. You would never begin to call yourself ready but just seeing the child within you makes you hopeful.
“That’s it?” Yoongi asks the doctor, ripping his gaze away from you.
“That’s it! We’ll take the blood in another room near the elevator before you leave. I’ll get Mira to take her blood,” the doctor takes off his gloves and throws them in the garbage before clapping his hands finitely.
He helps you down from the examination table and you excuse yourself to the restroom suddenly feeling the urge to pee.
While he waits, Yoongi can’t stop staring at the screen. While the heartbeat isn’t loud in his ears any longer, the image of his child is still staring him dead in the face.
“Do you print those pictures?” he asks softly, looking over at the closed bathroom door.
“I can if you want me to.” the doctor replies as he sanitizes the examination table.
Yoongi nods at the thought. “Yeah. Can you print two sets?”
Waiting for the elevator, you squeeze your arm tightly trying to stop the blood flow from when Mira took your blood. She was eyeing Yoongi the whole time like a five star meal and it only got more uncomfortable as the minutes ticked on.
“Here.” the CEO says as he hands you a white envelope.
You look down at the package before tilting your head as you both get on to the elevator.
“What is it?” you ask as you open it up.
“The kid’s pictures. Thought you would want some of our sesame gremlin.” his voice sounds distant but you begin to smile at the small black and white photos before you.
“Did you get some for yourself?” you ask happily as you put the pictures in your purse.
He hits the button for the ground floor before leaning back against the railing of the elevator as it descends.
“Why would I need pictures of a five week old kid?” he retorts.
You shrug with a smirk before looking down into your purse and staring at the pictures.
His hand brushes the pocket of his suit pants, feeling his wallet that secretly holds the picture of your child.
The drive to Yoongi’s mansion sends butterflies fluttering around in your gut. This is like going to a new school in the middle of the year and being awkward and uncomfortable. The silence in the Rolls Royce apart from the random gusts of wind that come through the window don’t help either.
Yoongi is completely comfortable, his legs are outstretched as he scrolls through his phone. You wonder if there’s ever a time where he doesn’t look like he stepped right out of Time magazine.
“Oh, here.” he says as he pulls out a credit card before handing it to you.
You hold the black card in your hand for a second, the weight is as light as paper but just the notion feels heavy.
You throw the card into your purse without a second thought and you miss how Yoongi smirks at your actions.
“You’ll also have a driver. I picked out Minho. But, if you don’t like him then I can get someone else.” his voice is flippant. He’s probably used to firing a bunch of people without wondering about their home life and how much they need their jobs.
The car pulls up to the gated community which Yoongi lives in. Now, you too.
“Welcome to my home. Well...our home.” He says as the car drives past a large fountain that is spurting water on all sides.
You take in a bunch of large mansions as the car drives down the large stretch of road that is lined by pretty cherry blossom trees. Everything about this is so picturesque. You can imagine just how gorgeous his house must be.
“Wow!” your voice is above a whisper as you look off into the distance. You can see a few people riding horses in the far off distance.
“Namjoon’s wife loves horses. She breeds them for contests.” Yoongi states as he follows your gaze.
Leena has told you so much about high profile life, but actually being here surrounded by what feels like billions of dollars is jarring. It’s almost difficult to put into words.
Every stone, every tree, even the flowers seem like they’re perfectly placed as you continue to drive.
“Don’t go into Sera’s wing please. I don’t want to hear her bitch,” he grumbles as he puts his fist beneath his chin.
You give a small nod to him understanding before looking ahead as his mansion comes into view.
“You got knocked up by the right person, huh?” he chuckles as your mouth opens slightly at the sight.
The face of the house is enough to make someone weep, it’s all marble with black quarts trimming and large perfectly clean windows. Each piece of marble is perfectly cut and precise. It’s almost too beautiful to look at.
“I had an architect from Greece come out and build my home. I used to live in it alone until y’know, the demon came.” he says as the car drives around the large marble fountain in front.
“Jeez.” you whisper as he gets out of the car first.
You follow behind him not knowing where to look and wanting to look at all of it. The house spreads out wide and surrounding it are gorgeously cut hedges and tall growing flowers that look perfectly taken care of.
“So. The first two wings on the bottom floor are the gallery. Don’t fucking touch anything. There’s millions of dollars in paintings and statues.” Yoongi says as he steps up the black quartz stairs.
There’s even a man at the front to open up the double doors for him. Which is ridiculously posh and so completely out of your element. Your eyes gaze upward taking the whole house in and you swallow at the sight.
“Little dove, I really don’t have all day. Get your pert ass inside.” Yoongi calls to you as he enters without you.
You follow behind him clumsily, thanking the doorman who gives you a smile in return.
Stepping into the entryway, you can all but marvel at how gorgeous everything is. You do not belong here.
“It’s like a museum,” you whisper and you jump at how loud your voice is in the quiet area.
“Whenever I go out of the country, I like to pick up art or a statue. They’re collectors pieces. Do not fucking touch anything.” he warns you.
Nodding quickly, you look down the large stretch of the front wings before following him as he continues into the house.
You'll definitely have to look at all of the beautiful art later.
His hands clasp behind his back and you grip tighter onto your purse afraid to touch anything.
None of this looks real, it’s so grandiose and so amazing that it feels like you’ve stepped into a movie.
“Both of these staircases lead up to either wing. Our wing is the right one.”
Walking past the staircases, you spot a sitting room filled with luxurious black furniture and so many throw pillows you have no idea how anyone would sit on them. They seem like they’ve never been touched before. A bar lines the wall behind it and your eyes widen at how fancy it looks. Mirrors line the back of the bar and the dark oak trimming really brings the room together.
“We don’t sit down here in the sitting room. It’s more for show. Doesn’t mean you can’t, it’s your house now too. But, you have your own living room upstairs in your room.” Yoongi says and you turn to him slowly as he leans against a carved marble pillar.
“I have a living room in my bedroom?” you ask softly to which he grins.
“Yeah. Doesn’t everyone?” he quips with a chuckle.
You blanch at the thought before rolling your eyes as he winks at you.
“Come.” he commands as he pushes off the pillar.
“Holy shit.” you mumble as you walk further into the house.
The kitchen is fully open, with two marble islands and top of the range equipment that make you gasp. There’s a long bar lined with chairs that barricades the kitchen from you so you can eat and it makes you blink rapidly at the sight. You can see people working in it, keeping the place tidy and at the mere sight of Yoongi they bow deeply before returning back to work.
“We have a chef from five in the morning to twelve at night.” Yoongi tells you as he leans against the long bar.
The chandeliers that line the place are absolutely beautiful and yet again, you have no idea where to look.
“This is the dining room, where we don’t eat because it’s for parties and I don’t host parties. The leech does.” Yoongi says as he slides open two cherry wood doors beside the kitchen. The table is long and beautiful bouquets of flowers line the cherry wood top.
“Jesus Christ.” you whisper as you clutch the purse tighter to your body.
He closes up the doors before putting his hand on your lower back and pushing you past the kitchen.
“This door right here leads to the maid’s quarters. You don’t have any reason to go there.”
You nod to him as a maid opens up the door before bowing to you both and heading towards the kitchen.
“This is the library slash poker room. Thursday nights are for poker. It’s one of my hobbies.” he says as he grips the gold handles before shoving open the doors.
You’ve always loved reading, maybe in here you can find some good books and take them to your bedroom to read.
“Do you like reading?” he asks softly as you step inside.
“I love reading!” you reply as your fingers graze the marble bookshelves that line the walls from top to bottom.
You then realize how rude it was of you to just barge in and start touching stuff. “Sorry.” you murmur as Yoongi walks over to the bar caddy.
He pours himself a glass of whisky before shaking his head at you.
“This is your home now too. You don’t have to be scared, little dove.” he says above the lip of his glass before downing the contents in one burning go.
Your eyes spot a few books that look interesting and you make a mental note to check them out later when you’re settled in.
“Past this room is the game room. There’s a pool table and some old fashioned pinball machines. Stuff for decoration mostly.”
It brings up a question that just bursts free from you.
“So you’re exorbitantly rich, you have all of these cool things inside of your home and you never use any of them?” you ask as he closes the library doors behind you.
“Well in order to be exorbitantly rich, you need to work hard. I don’t have time to just sit on my ass and play Pac Man all damn day, little dove.” he whispers in your ear. You blush at how insensitive it must have sounded.
“Through those glass doors is the indoor pool. It’s heated but not too hot for the baby,” he tells you as a maid opens the doors for you both.
He comes to realize that was the first time he hasn’t called your child ‘kid’ or ‘thing’ around you.
Maybe seeing the small sesame gremlin on the screen really did do something to him.
“Wow. This is amazing Yoongi. Your parents must be so proud of you.” you say as you walk along the heated floor of the pool. He chuckles to himself as you look at the marble recliners that are for relaxing on the side.
“Parents.” he snort at the notion.
He tilts his head cryptically as you look out the glass walls of the room. It’s almost as if you’re in a snow globe. Every wall is glass, there’s some stained glass pieces that fleck the floor with pretty colors as the sun comes out from behind a cloud.
“Shall we go up to our win-” his voice is cut off by screaming in the distance and you jump at the screeching noise.
“That’s the leech. She probably lost a follower on Instagram.” he says as his hand wraps around your arm before tugging you toward the noise.
While you haven’t been fully versed in just how evil Sera is, you’re positively nervous to see her. Leena told you to look her up on the Internet but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were too frightened for what you would find.
“Sir!” the voice is absolutely elated and so sweet sounding that it puts a small smile on your face.
Yoongi positively lights up as an older woman approaches the both of you from the maid’s quarters. Her hair is in a neat bun and her clothes are wrinkle free. She seems a bit older and has a tan to her skin as if she’s been out in the sun working.
“Y/N. This is Maya. Head maid.” you shake her hand happily as Yoongi begins to smile.
“It’s so nice to meet you! I've heard amazing things about you!” you say happily as she puts her hands on her hips.
“Well! Aren’t you just absolutely gorgeous! Welcome to the home Madam, I’m so happy to be of service to you!” Her words are so kind and she’s so sweet but it’s the intent of the words that make you feel uncomfortable.
“Oh, Maya. No. You can call me Y/N. You don’t have to treat me like Yo-”
“Nonsense! You’re a big part of the home just as much as the other two that live here! Don’t be silly!” you hum uncomfortably as Yoongi snorts.
“Please be as kind to Maya as you possibly can. She’s an angel.”
This is the first time that you’ve heard him speak so kindly about someone. It’s heartwarming, if you’re being honest.
“Let me take your purse.” Maya says softly, noticing how you clutch onto it for comfort.
“Oh no. It’s okay.”
“Give her the purse, little dove.” Yoongi retorts before snapping his fingers as you pass the kitchen.
“Yes, Sir?” a woman in the kitchen asks as he stops short.
“What do you like? Strawberry? Lemon?” he asks as he leans into the long marble bar.
“Both.” you reply curiously.
“Strawberry lemon sparkling water. And a vintage whisky. Now.” he calls out before turning back to you and Maya.
“Show Maya the pictures.” he says as his whisky is handed to him.
He must love her a lot. His demeanor seems to change when she’s around like no other.
Digging into your purse, you pull out the black and white pictures of your baby before handing them to her.
“Oh my goodness! Look at this! How amazing! With such a handsome father and a beautiful mother, your baby is going to be absolutely breathtaking!” Maya says and her voice seems to choke up as she stares at the picture. She turns thoughtful as her thumb swipes slowly over the picture in hand.
“I raised Yoongi from when he was very little, y’know.” Maya says proudly as she hands you back the pictures.
That’s news to you.
“Okay, Maya.” Yoongi mumbles uncomfortably.
“You did a great job,” you compliment her and her smile is megawatt as she rubs your arm comfortingly with her hand.
Yoongi smirks above the rim of his glass before tilting his head. Maybe you two would get along, you’re kind enough and Maya certainly is. Maybe there won’t be so much toxicity around the mansion anymore.
“Do you like to cook?” you ask her gently as Yoongi pulls the seat out of the bar for you to sit.
“I love cooking! Although Frederic is in the kitchen seven days a week, I hardly get to use it.” Maya says as she fixes Yoongi’s tie.
You watch how well she takes care of him, how she babies him and how he doesn’t move or feel uncomfortable at the notion. It’s like watching a rabid dog be kind only to his owner.
“Maybe soon, we can get in the kitchen together. I love cooking too. Give Frederic the night off.” you offer with a smile.
The smile lines by her eyes crease in delight at your suggestion. “That would be a lot of fun. I’d love that.”
“I would get a night off? That sounds amazing to me.” you hear a heavy French accent behind you and you turn to the chef as he hands you your water. He winks at you with a smile and you return it before sipping your water.
“Wow!” you whisper at the taste.
“Everything is better in the higher class.” Yoongi whispers.
“MAYA!” You hear scream throughout the mansion and you cringe at the sharp noise.
Jesus, she is loud.
Everyone in this house is so nice and kind. Even if you feel uncomfortable living here, the people may make up for it.
“Yes, Madam?” Maya calls sweetly as her thin frame peeks down from the second floor.
Even from far away Sera is blindingly beautiful. Her cheekbones are high and filled perfectly, her lips are the perfect pout and her eyes are big and doe-like. She’s absolutely stunning.
“Didn’t I fucking tell you to put a different fabric softener in the laundry? I don’t like my clothes smelling like a fucking flower field!” She barks out as she throws something off of the marble balcony onto the floor.
“I’m sorry, Madam. I must have forgotten. I won’t forget again.” Maya promises as she scurries over to the dropped shirt.
It’s almost a sin to watch the sweet woman fumble over herself to please her. While she may be beautiful, she’s a bitch. And, you’d hate to be confronted by her by any means.
“Bitch.” you and Yoongi mumble at the same time. He chuckles to himself as her gaze lands on you and you find yourself wanting to cower but the way Maya shifts nervously makes you angry. Really fucking angry.
“What the fuck is that? A new maid? Or a dig ditcher?” Sera barks out as she points her perfectly manicured finger at you.
Yoongi opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “I’m Y/N. The mother of Yoongi’s child.” you call to her.
Her face begins to flush pink before she’s scoffing. “Should have picked someone prettier Yoongi, ugly women make ugly kids!” she calls down to him as she retreats back to her wing.
“Ugly personalities make ugly people.” you retort softly, bringing your glass of water to your lips.
The father of your child chuckles softly beside you and your heart warms at the noise.
“That’s the leech. I’m sure you’re thrilled to have met her.” you hum playfully in agreement before hopping off the bar stool.
The only thing in Yoongi’s mind is just how right this all feels. How perfect you are as a person, to each and every person you see. You’re strong willed and stronger than he previously thought but he likes it. And, he wants to see you come out of your shell here. He wants to see you thrive like a flower.
Maybe he should ease up on being so downright negative around you.
“Let’s do the rest of the tour and then you can relax. Alright?” he asks as he guides you to the staircase.
“Madam!” Maya calls to you and you don’t register the word for a second before turning to her with a smile.
“I’m really happy you’re here.” Maya says sweetly and you giggle as she bows to you.
“Me too, Maya. Thank you for being so welcoming!” you reply happily as you ascend the steps with the CEO.
“One half is mine, the other half is yours. My side is the right side and yours is, well obviously, the left.” Yoongi says as his hand drifts over the black quartz wall.
At the end of the long wing, you can spot rushing waterfalls that come out of the walls and into the floor, the sound is comforting as you get closer.
“So the third floor of the mansion is for my hobbies in particular and my home office. I rarely use my home office but it’s up there if you ever need me and I work from home.” Hobbies? What kind of hobbies does he have?
“Taehyung told me that you like painting? Apparently Leena talks a lot about you in her post coital glow-” you laugh at his words as he swings the first door open, “- So I got you some painting supplies and turned this room into a studio for you. It’s really bright so you can work well.”
It’s so thoughtful. The studio is beautiful, canvases of all sizes line the walls and the amount of paints and brushes are almost too good to be true.
“Thank you, Yoongi. That’s so kind of you.” you say as you step into the room.
Your fingers gently graze over the fluffy heads of the brushes before turning to him in the doorway and smiling.
“I do love to paint.” you say happily as he leans against the door jamb with folded arms.
“I just won’t paint anything orange.” he rolls his eyes with a snort at your comment before pushing off of the doorway and moving on to the next room.
“This is your closet. I had all of your clothes moved in here, even the ones you insisted on bringing here. I’m a giver.”
You roll your eyes at how degrading he is and you don’t even open the doors to your closet as you walk past.
You don’t care about materialistic objects like clothes or bags. You think the mansion is gorgeous but it’s just all materialistic stuff! It shouldn’t mean that much to someone.
“This is the nursery. It’s pretty empty still. Maya thought it would be a good idea to put in the rocking chair she used with me so...that’s in there.”
The admission makes your eyebrows raise. She must have taken care of him from when he was so small. Maybe Maya is like his mother, that’s why he loves her so much.
“Then this room is your room,” he continues on, not wanting to stand in the nursery for longer than two minutes. Just looking into the room reminds him of the pictures that sit heavily in his wallet.
When you open the doors to your room, the wind is almost knocked out of you. This is not a room. This is a fucking house. A small living room and a television situate themselves before your eyes and you walk around the thin marble wall that shields your bedroom from view.
You have a balcony, sitting chairs, a fucking vanity and the bed is so gigantic it can probably hold four people comfortably with room to spare.
Even the sight of the en suite bathroom is enough to knock you on your ass.
“Jesus Christ. This is... Wow.” you say breathlessly as you sit down on your bed.
“Now do the finer objects in life hold weight?” Yoongi jokes as he sits down in the armchair by the balcony.
“Not everything is about money, Yoongi.” you retort as your hand skims over the plush black comforter.
“No. Not everything. But, it’s still nice.” he says as he lifts his whisky glass to his lips.
“There’s a television in the bench at the end of the bed.” he whispers loudly across the room to you.
“A...television in a bench?” you mutter pulling your legs off of the bench and onto the bed.
“Mmmhmmm.” he drolls with a chuckle.
You’re so absolutely stunned at all of this. This is where you live now. This is your home.
He can tell just how starry eyed you are by all of this. It must be overwhelming to be thrust into such money from out of nowhere.
“I’ll leave you to it then.” he says as he slaps his knee. Your mouth opens and your hand raises to wave goodbye but he doesn’t look back at you.
You look around your room once more taking in all of the new gadgets and toys before throwing yourself back on your bed. Your hair fans out around your head as you stare up at the silver chandelier above you.
“Jesus Christ.” You mumble before turning and pressing your face into a pillow.
Next Chapter --->
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Sam Holland - Don't Tell
A/N & WC - This is not meant to glorify or condone adultery in any way. I do not know Sam, nor do I claim to, this is a work of fiction. This was written before Sam posted about a new girlfriend: no disrespect is meant towards her. I do not believe Sam would do this: it is fictitious. 3.5k.
Warnings - Adultery, explicit smut, unprotected sex, swearing, reader is the other woman, swearing, brief allusions to SA. 18+.
Summary - When Sam booty calls you, you can't deny him, but will sexual satisfaction be enough? Or will you always want from him what you know you can't have?
THIS WASN’T HOW YOU’D PLANNED to spend your Saturday afternoon, but Sam called, and who were you to deny him?
‘Come over at 3.’ He texted you. ‘She’s leaving then.’
No kisses, no emojis, no frills, no sign off, nothing. You’re just a nameless number in his phone. You knew what it meant. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so you know the drill, it’s just not exactly pleasant.
With ample time, you left your house, your new place only a couple of streets over from the Holland household, and you walked as inconspicuously as possible. Your coat wrapped tightly around you, you refused to make eye contact with anyone on the whole walk there.
You know the drill so well by now that you know not to stick to the front of the house, but instead to head around the back—straight into his bedroom window—via the bins. Theoretically, with no one home and Sam in the living room, you could walk in the front door, but his room is safest since she has always refused to enter—’just in case.’
Your heart thuds against your chest while you hold your breath, praying not to be heard downstairs the second your feet land on his floor. You press yourself flat against the wall behind Sam’s door, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in your body clenched to the maximum. You’ve trained yourself to stay so quiet that the only sounds are your pounding, racing heart and the blood rushing in your ears.
Thankfully, before cramp can override you, you hear the words that give you the all clear.
“Bye, love!” he calls down the driveway, followed by a half hearted air kiss, a deafening crunching on the gravel driveway, and the front door at last clicking shut.
Your body finally relaxes, limbs falling loosely around you while you release one of the longest held breaths you’ve ever had.
You creak open Sam’s bedroom door, ready for him to meet you, and shrug your coat off, throwing it on the floor alongside your converse when you hear him coming upstairs. He gets like this, heavy steps and heaved breaths like they’re a strain on his body, and it usually means he’s extra horny.
“What took so long, lover boy?” you tease, standing scantily clad in his door frame, leaning against the painted wood.
His eyes darken with lust as he approaches you, his shadow from the landing already overpowering.
This isn’t like any sex or ‘relationship’ you’ve ever been in before. It’s risky, and that risk makes it so much hotter. Always leaving the door open just a crack so that the two of you could be found only by those closest to Sam, the chance of being caught together in the street on the off chance you go for drinks; after all, your reputation precedes you. But it’s the adulterous element of your relationship that makes it so fun. The fact that it’s usually after his girlfriend leaves that you’re called over to relieve his not-so-little ‘problem’, the little marks you trail across the hidden parts of his body, occasionally being risky enough to plant one on the juncture of his neck and shoulder just to test the waters.
After being together for over two years, she still refuses to do anything with him. Of course you respect such a thing: if she wants to wait till marriage and is able to resist Sam for that long, props to her. It’s just not always ideal for all party members. Sure, they’ve kissed, a little groping, but by this point, with how little Sam's lass has done with him, he’s immensely riled up.
He really likes his girlfriend, of course he does, and he’s spoken to her about this time and time again, asking why they couldn’t just do something more than a PG-12 touching session. She simply shook her head and smiled every time, “I’m saving myself for marriage, Sammy.” This infuriated him hugely. He’s been with a girl or two (or ten) before her, so is very expectant, but being twenty-two has its burdens. He isn’t anywhere near ready for marriage, but is increasingly sexually frustrated. So after an insane year of getting by with absolutely no action apart from the rare lap dance and make out, he knew he had to do something besides use his own hand to relieve the tension that was making him a complete prick.
He respects his girlfriend enough not to pressure her. Sam isn’t a bad person and so he isn’t going to coerce his girlfriend into sex she doesn’t want, seeing it as utterly immoral, so he did the only thing he could think of, and turned to the girl next door, quite literally. Not that it’s any more moral, but here you are.
As soon as he reaches you, the smirk etched upon his face is perfect, just what you expect, and his hands grip your waist tightly.
“You think you’re so cheeky,” he smirks, and his lips crash onto yours the next moment, his hands spanning your sides. His affection halts as he smacks the side of your ass. “I’ll show you cheeky.”
You don’t let him get another word in before you’re kissing him again, furiously this time, hooking one leg around his waist as the other flies to his neck, your clasp anything but gentle.
You’ve known of the Holland family for a while, living a street away, going to school with the boys and your mother having ‘neighbourhood meetings’ with the family. You, however, had had nothing to do with them, never getting involved in their ordeals, not really.
Keeping a resolutely ‘good girl’ demeanour all through school was difficult, especially when you wanted to rebel so earnestly. The first step was house parties, beginning when you were in year ten, everyone getting shit-faced and ending up giving sloppy hand-jobs in someone’s downstairs loo. That much you weren’t a fan of, so you waited until the end of school, A-Levels secured to be who you wanted to be. Trench coats, docs and chucks at every turn, short shorts and fishnets. Lots of hair dye came next, followed by a ‘scandalous’ collection of piercings, and a significant body count for someone your age, or so conservative old women perceived. Fuck them, your body your choice.
Times changed in a year and a half, though not that much. Mid way through your rebellion, you got a good job, your own place, and became a call girl, essentially. Sam’s call girl only, considering your regrettable soft spot for him.
You couldn’t care less though, even though it’s adulterous, Sam is incredible in bed. He frequently tells you the same.
“I think you’re rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, “even when she was kissing me I could only think of you.” His lips are inches from yours with your breath mingling in the confined space of his doorway as you pant.
He hasn’t touched you yet, or even moved you to the bed. You feel yourself blush a little, scared fractionally by what he’s saying but mostly flattered. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. It makes you feel like your old self is creeping in again, the girl next door that no one fell for.
“I like it when you get all shy on me, really naïve, shows me you’re a human and not just a sex goddess. My sex goddess.”
You pull his lips to yours with a burning passion, desperate to feel him up against you. Your palms settle this time on Sam's cheeks, angling his face to get the most out of the kiss, and your hold remains resolute so that he can’t pull away easily. This isn’t your dominance though, simply a ploy to hide your flushed cheeks from his prying eyes, the blush that’s been caused by his kind words. You want to keep him here long enough that you can claim the blush is from the breathlessness and the actions of his tongue slipping inside your mouth with an urgency you haven’t felt with him for a while. Is this the day that changes everything?
He backs you to the bed, walking unsteadily, and pushes you down onto the springy mattress. It pitches beneath you as he joins you, sitting by your side, his hand gravitating towards your thigh.
“Hey, what is it?” you ask, a slight hesitant stammer to your words.
“Nothing,” he sulks. “Just dunno how long I can keep doing this.”
His baleful eyes hover over your decolletage, and before you can protest and try to get him to open up about the whole situation, discussing the fact that maybe you should just quit while you’re ahead and come clean (because to be fair, it’s beginning to weight on your conscience too, even though you’ve never met said girlfriend), he kisses you, pinching your nipple through your bra until it forms a pebbled bud.
“Gonna take it all out on you,” he hisses, moving his kisses to your jaw. “All this pent up need from missing your body. God, feel so good beneath me.”
He swings a leg over to straddle your legs, and begins a ferocious attack on your neck with his teeth. You’ll have fun at work tomorrow, trying to hide them from your co-workers, one of them (on a temp basis, at least) being Sam’s twin. Harry cottoned on pretty easy, and won’t say a word, because he doesn’t want to deal with Sam’s temper when he’s been denied sex for too long. He likes Sam’s girlfriend, sure, but she doesn’t compromise on anything and looks down her nose at the lot of them, so he considers it fair play. And besides, with his track record, he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on.
Unwittingly, your hips buck up to meet his, feeling his throbbing need pressing against your pelvis, only for him to draw his body away from you, a bruising kiss being pressed to your lips the next moment. All in a flurry, your top is pulled down, your chest revealed to him.
“Bloody love your tits,” he purrs, a feral grin contorting his freckled face.
He rolls your pert bud between the rough pads of his fingers, palming at the other breast so as not to neglect it, only swapping when you’re beginning to writhe under him. His grin only increases.
“Sam… please.”
He knows what you want when you whine that way, so he sits up on his shins, and lets you tear his shirt open. Button by button, you watch as every inch of his pale chest is bared to you, his happy trail coaxing you lower.
“Get on with it, then,” he warns, clamping a hand around your hair in order to control your movements. He does this a lot, it’s his main power move. “They’re too damn tight now you’re around.”
You can definitely see that, the denim of his jeans pulled taut around his torso, the waistband of his boxers peeking above. He begins to pluck at your nipples again while you fumble with his buckle and zip, eventually tugging both items of clothing down at once. He stands, his lanky frame just a blur of white and freckles as he removes every last item, prowling back to you on the bed.
You, however, have other ideas, tugging him down with a grip on his shoulders until he’s helpless beneath you. In the time he was distracted with shucking his jeans off at last, you peeled your own shirt off and put your bra right. Sam’s a boob man, always has been, and takes great pleasure in fastening and unfastening your bras as much as he can, nestling into your chest for the time you spend together.
Since your last rodeo, you’ve gained some weight, and filled out a tad more, something Sam seems to notice right about now, especially as your chest hovers just inches from his face.
“Well? Are you gonna stare at them all day or take it off?”
This man… this man has the fucking audacity to lick his lips as one hand works on the hooks at the back of your bra, the other skimming the edges of the cups before it falls into his hands and he flings it across the room, knocking something off his dresser.
As soon as it's out of his way, he seems to forget everything apart from you, his eyes mesmerised by your chest, his mouth gaping a little, his eyes lingering on your hardened nipples for perhaps just a moment too long. You sigh to yourself, letting your knees dig into his navy comforter before your fingers wrap around his hand and place it onto your right breast. You know that, if you let him stare long enough, you’ll get nothing done. You need this release as much as he does. He takes the message, though, and begins kneading the flesh with a need you haven’t seen from him before. You even catch a wolfish grin when your face contorts into a silent ‘o’, overcome with pleasure. He tweaks your one nipple, and leans up to capture the other in his kiss-swollen lips, lavishing kisses around the sensitive area. You can’t help your nails leaving faint scratch marks in their wake over his freckled shoulders, tracing the silhouettes beneath his skin of muscle and bone, finding constellations within the freckles until he’s quaking beneath your delicate touch…
“Why’re you being such a tease?” he whines.
He has a point, you’re grinding down on his clothed cock in tandem with his playing with your boobs, your core hovering over his hard member, but it’s only fair with the stimulation he’s offering you. Just to shut him up, in one swift move you pull his boxers down and reach down to grasp him, stroking a couple of times before inching down, swallowing his aching length into your welcoming, warm walls.
Your moans create a heavenly sympathy, even as you stop for a moment to adjust to his size a little more, placing your hands on his pecs before grinding down on him. His hips begin to move, thrusting upwards and into you, finding a satisfying pace in tandem for you both as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.
“Baby…” he moans, reaching out with his lips puckered to wrap them around your exposed nipple, suckling viciously, hard enough to hurt just a little.
“Stand up,” you command authoritatively, with a softness to your tone despite.
He grows harder inside of you, barely suppressing a groan, but his plan fails from shock when you bend over, clenching the foot of his bed so tightly your knuckles begin to turn white.
Casting a sensual glance over your shoulder, you bat your lashes and coax him the only way you know how, a wiggle of your bum added to help convince him; “Fuck me, Sammy…”
Your gasp is shrill and loud when he enters your craving core from behind, your knees nearly buckling when a stream of expletives falls from his lips once he grabs your hips, settling there. You’re sure to have hand-shaped imprints there tomorrow, but you don’t care, and apparently neither does Sam as he continues to thrust into you at an inhuman pace.
Breathy moans escape your lips as your nails find purchase in the sheets, now crumpled in your clenched fists. The only thing that fills your ears other than skin slapping against skin is the myriad of colourful words spilling from Sam in a groan, right down your ear.
“y/n… please…” he hums nonsensically, his lips finding their way to your shoulder blade and neck, kissing you, suckling.
He’s such a hypocrite: one rule for him, one rule for you, just because he’s got a girlfriend and is too pussy to break up with her even though his needs aren’t being met. For a brief moment, your body being used for his pleasure—and bringing you simultaneous heavenly satisfaction—you’re able to forget the consequences of your fornications.
They slip your mind once again the second one of his rough hands slowly makes its way down your front, finding your clit as he begins to rub harsh circles on it.
“Fuck…” you cry out, only for the heel of that hand to press into your pelvis, the other snaking around to your neck, applying the faintest pressure. Your walls tighten around him at the double stimulation.
His hips begin to move faster, blissful moans filling the room in symphony as you both near your highs, his tip grazing your special spot on every single thrust.
“C’mon,” he purrs in your ear, “can feel how close you are…” the pressure on your engorged pearl becomes a constant, and your body begins to spasm with unbridled pleasure. “Come.”
You do, and fireworks spark behind your eyes, setting off a train reaction in your brain, your walls clenching and your body collapsing, chest first, onto the edge of the bed. You must’ve cried out at some point, but your scream became but a gasp with his hand snug around your throat.
His thrusts slow, and he aids you onto the bed by your waist, but you roll away from him, aware that he hasn’t climaxed yet. He follows you down as your fingers link around his neck, but he’s not satisfied with that—as the smirk playing on his lips, causing dimples in his freckles, tells you—so he hovers above you on his knees. The hairs on his shins grate against the duvet cover so he shifts, but your hands move from his neck to his cheeks, pulling him closer to tangle your tongues together. His erection teases your wet folds while you’re lost in the movements of your mouths, and before you know it, he’s entering you again, and your hands are getting lost in his dark, silky locks, his one hand roughly kneading your breast. His thrusts recommence at a slower pace than before, his heels digging into the mattress as his groans overpower yours in the otherwise silent room.
“Shit… oh my God—” he hisses.
He begins to move faster, so you tug at his hair, revelling in the praises he offers, eliciting various heavy moans from his preoccupied mouth in between kisses. His warm breath and the resverberation of the moan vibrate across your lips, causing your hips to rock further into his, your legs wrapping around his toned torso to give him better access to your eager core. His movements become deeper as your breathing becomes even more escalated with high pitched moans tearing from your throat each time he hits your g-spot so perfectly. The knock-on effect sends him into an even more euphoric state, and before you know it, he’s groaning your name down your ear, and painting your walls white.
“Yes, Sammy…”
Your nails leave scratch marks all over his back from the sheer height of pleasure you’re experiencing, and that seems to be what sent him over the edge, his cum seeping into you as you milk his cock. He throbs inside you, his pelvis hitting you perfectly as he thrusts lazily while emptying himself. With one final press of his long, skilled thumb and digits over your sensitive nipple and a harsh bite to your pulse point just below your ear, the bundle of lust in your stomach becomes undone as you finish once again.
Before you’re fully recovered, he’s pulling out and leaving you empty as you lie together for a moment on opposite sides of the bed, no contact other than your pinky fingers linked and overlapping in between you. Except… despite the pleasure, you’re not satisfied. Not at all. And you know, in your heart, that this can’t happen again.
“Don’t tell anyone, please.”
“As fucking if,” you mumble.
“You ok?” he asks after a moment.
“Yes, just fine,” you snap, and roll off the bed, beginning to ferret around for your clothes.
“y/n, no…” Sam moves to grapple for you, “why are you leaving?”
“Because I’m done being treated like shit by you. Used as your fuck-toy when you’re too much of a pussy to deal with your girlfriend… I’m done, Sam.”
He’s up and off the bed, shucking his jeans on with great force that causes him to trip back onto the bed as you adjust your top and zip your skirt back up.
“y/n!”
“What!” you bellow right back at him.
He shuffles his feet on the carpet, and moves to speak, but his jaw just hangs open like a fish, nothing coming out.
“Yeah, I’m done here, Sam. Don’t booty-call me again.”
A weary voice from behind you calls out, “Sam?”
Shit.
This is bad. This is very bad. But what can you do? You’re the other woman, he’s the one choosing to commit adultery: why is that your problem? He can deal with his (clearly very angry) girlfriend, so livid she’s shaking, once you’re gone.
“Yeah. Your ‘don’t tell’ plan worked real good, Sammy. Karma’s a bitch,” you spit, spinning on my heels and waltzing out the door.
You mean it: you’re done. At least until he breaks up with her and undoubtedly calls back. You want him, there's no question about that, but you want him all to yourself: and that's a secret you won't tell.
#sam holland#sam holland imagine#sam holland x reader#sam holland fic#sam holland angst#sam holland x y/n#sam holland fluff#sam holland x you#sam holland one shot#sam holland smut#sam holland blurb#sam holland x fem reader#sam holland x f reader#samuel holland
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Just as I was about to go to sleep last night, I got a brain flash that went basically "something something flashback episode thiefsome themes???" so now in the light of day let's re-examine. This still isn't anything too polished, but... I think there's some interesting stuff to be found here.
Putting it under a tag so it doesn't clog up peoples' dashes too much, but the gist is that their roles actually represent their relationships/desires at each respective point in canon quite well, and it's giving me some thoughts about what a possible flashback with Hardison/Eliot would look like.
In the van Gogh Job, we get flashback Parker/Hardison. Obviously it wasn't them and the names are different and all but I'm just gonna call them f!Hardison and f!Parker because it's easier.
f!Hardison is brave, clever, determined, and deeply in love
f!Parker is loyal, comfortable, just as deeply in love, but terrified
Their flashback story is a cautionary tale as much as it is a romance. F!Hardison shares so many traits with Hardison himself, and f!Parker is a clear representation of current Parker. They make no bones about it, the parallels are extremely obvious and are even what makes the guy start telling Parker his story in the first place. Parker loves Hardison but she has found a place to belong in the team (flashback town/roller rink) and is afraid of what will happen if she disturbs that status quo by getting into a relationship with him. She's too scared of losing him (flashback to her racist dad/his buddies killing or hurting him, modern to the possibility of death mostly) to take the step to actually be with him, even though they both know she wants to. I love that there isn't any hint of her doubting his feelings or that he will remain devoted in either flashback or modern; the focus is entirely on her own fears for him and how she would handle that, not ever of him in any way.
Regardless of the timeframe, it's clear that (f!)Hardison loves her and will respect what she is willing to give him, even if that means leaving her. In the flashback, f!Parker still loves him and saves his painting in his honor for the rest of her life, remaining loyal to him despite never seeing him again. None of the emotion is in question at all, and it's clear that if she is willing to give it, her faith in him will be completely justified.
The episode basically just acts out Parker's fears (puppet-style?) and demonstrates to her that even though she would be fine if she doesn't take the leap - she'll be so much happier if she does. There's no guarantee of a happy ending, but Hardison is still himself and that means that before that ending comes at the very least, she will be happy. (Much like Sophie's beautiful speech to her.) Parker was already beginning to ease into a relationship with him, and this episode doesn't exactly drive her to jump in headfirst, but it's clear when we watch her reaction to the story what she will choose. She's going to build up her courage, but she's going to take the risk.
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Now, given how transparent that episode is on their pairing, I kind of wondered what would happen if I look at the one that pairs Parker/Eliot's flashback selves: the D.B. Cooper Job.
f!Parker is understanding, supportive, loyal, and gives him a place to belong
f!Eliot starts out doing something bad for the sake of someone he loves, is drawn to her, and later feels wracked by guilt and seeks redemption by helping others
The focus in this one obviously isn't on the romance. It isn't even on either of these characters, so much as it is on Nate and his flashback self. But the parallels between modern and f!Eliot are still pretty apparent, if a bit watered down in that f!Eliot has no intentions to hurt anyone and in fact takes pains not to do so.
But as far as pairings go, I think what they do between these two is pretty interesting. Their flashback characters are drawn to one another, feel a kind of understanding and recognition that they can't quite explain. It's why f!Parker stops him before he jumps and never gives him up, it's why f!Eliot trusts her in the first place and why he shows up at her door after it is all over. I think this is a really nice parallel to the way Eliot and Parker understand one another and have this connection that is different from the rest of the team.
The other thing I like a lot is that in this episode, f!Parker is the steady support. She represents the home f!Eliot longs to have, even if she isn't the one who eventually offers him the chance to help others and make his own redemptive efforts. In fact, him working with f!Nate starts out for selfish reasons and only later evolves into a place where he feels he belongs. That's another obvious parallel to the Eliot we know, but the Parker in this episode is a little less immediately recognizable. Sure, she's an incredibly loyal person and will obviously not care overmuch about crime or whatever but mostly it's harder to see her as much in that role.
But I think she serves much the same role here as f!Hardison in the other episode. Though modern Eliot isn't hearing this story and making any resolutions based on it, the casting still represents their relationship. Parker is growing steadily into the position of leader/mastermind, and at this point she and Hardison are openly together. She is someone who understands Eliot on a very deep level, and she is coming to be the person who is his rock. While I'm not discounting Hardison's importance at all, Parker more closely fits the role of the person who encouraged him to take the job in this flashback. She's the one who, only three episodes later in Rundown, verbalizes a promise to change together. She (and also Hardison) represent the home Eliot craves to have, the belonging and support necessary for him to grow and to do good in the world. What's more, f!Parker is accurate in representing her side of things as someone who wants that for him. She wants to invite him in, wants to support him even if it's from a bit more of a distance at first (pre-relationship) but would absolutely welcome him inside as soon as he shows up at her door (once he's ready, she will bring him into the thiefsome).
And Rundown shows us that in action, again only three episodes later. Not in the sense of canon thiefsome, but Parker and Hardison are absolutely supporting Eliot leaving his darker past behind, changing with them for the better - and not just getting away with his own hands clean, but doing the extra work to help others (going after the guy who tried to hire him instead of just leaving town; again when they realize how serious the situation is but stay to fix it). The episode even ends with Eliot literally throwing away the crutch that would allow him to walk on his own, and pull them both in to support him instead. He's in the middle, he's deciding to join them even if he could get by alone, it's all representative for them welcoming him into the relationship too. (I headcanon something went down between them here but it isn't all cleared up relationship-wise until the Toy Job, but either way the themes are there!)
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So with this in mind... The flashback with Hardison/Parker focused on Parker and her fears/decision to enter into a relationship with Hardison. Similarly, the flashback with Eliot/Parker focuses more on him and his desire to join the relationship. For both of them, the episode represents a shift in their relationship with one another, something not entirely unknown before, but a step that is challenging for them personally. Still, this step leads to greater happiness and growth.
All that in mind... what would a Hardison/Eliot episode look like, if we got it in Redemption? I'm getting into slight spoiler territory here, so leave now if you haven't seen the first few episodes.
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Okay, so since we've had more focus on Parker, and on Eliot, this episode would focus most on Hardison. It makes sense as well for his role in the new series, because while Parker and Eliot are a little more stable, Hardison is the one entering a challenging new period of his life that is difficult but helping him grow.
I don't have any kind of full plot figured out, but here are some things I think we might see:
f!Eliot is supportive, confident, and believes deeply in him
f!Hardison is bold, struggles with self-doubt, and upends his own life in order to change the world for the better
I think Eliot's role in this flashback would be smaller, but he'd love f!Hardison deeply and the focus would not be on their relationship developing, but on the challenges it would face as f!Hardison embarks on... whatever it is. It has to be something f!Eliot knows he cannot do, and maybe even something that might mean the end of their relationship (though much like the van gogh job, the love between them is never in question).
I've seen people mentioning a Stonewall flashback episode for these two before, and that's possible. But another thing we could see is f!Hardison working against racist laws or something. Whatever the case, he needs to be doing something that benefits many, many other people, and it needs to put him at personal risk. I'm not entirely sure on what would be holding Eliot back from helping in the same way - it may just be as simple as f!Hardison gives amazing speeches and inspires so many people, while f!Eliot just doesn't have that skill. Maybe he is sick. Maybe, their relationship does end up attracting violence, and he gets hurt (doesn't even have to be their romantic relationship, if we're going a race angle and setting this episode further back, it could just be an open friendship with their romance kept secret. the themes would still be there). Whatever the case, f!Hardison has to leave Eliot behind.
And yeah, this has already happened in canon. We're already here. But if we wanted this episode to happen, I think it would be possible for the themes to still be relevant and the challenge to still be there for Hardison's character, if something brings him back to the team. If something goes down and he isn't there, and it terrifies him that he wasn't there, and he has trouble leaving again even though his work isn't done. Or if he organizes something on his end of the world that goes horribly wrong somehow. Sometimes it's not the first step that's hardest, it's keeping on even after the first big challenge. No road is free of bumps, after all, so Hardison might well think he's fine at first but start having doubts even after things have been going well for a while.
That is where you can bring this episode into play. That's where you start - f!Hardison is already getting involved in activism of some kind, but his own fame brings about negative consequences or something unrelated happens, and it scares him and makes him consider giving his work up. The episode can be bittersweet, with them never reuniting, or it can have a happier ending where he returns and f!Eliot is still waiting for him. But it's important for Eliot to represent a home that Hardison is already comfortable in, and one he has to leave in order to help others (however temporary the leaving is). And we need to see him away from the team, thriving and growing and improving so many peoples' lives in ways that never would have happened without him - both in the flashback, and in the modern part of the episode. In fact, Hardison doesn't even need to actually be physically with the team at all in the modern part of the episode. It can be more like the Broken Wing job, where we get hints at what they are doing but the focus is entirely on him and his struggle.
Of course, I have no idea how this would tie in to a modern heist. But maybe the format could be changed up, if we focus more on Hardison outside of the team. I'm sure there's some way this could be worked. And I think it would do really well in completing the trio of thiefsome episodes, and giving equal emphasis on all three of them in each one.
#leverage#leverage meta#leverage redemption#thiefsome#leverage ot3#leverage spoilers#my meta#do i ever expect to get this hardison/eliot flashback episode? no. but i can still dream#i have to go to dinner so i don't have time to read this over for spelling errors or messups of any kind really. sorry for any of those!
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