#Like how can your mind not go there how do you not see the blatant option there

[foggysirens]

love the jedi to bits but uhhhh they and their teachings are not infallible and having characters question and contemplate those innate truths of the star wars universe does not mean you hate them!

[maipareshaan]

I don't post really about s10 sam blood drinking cuz i don't have anything to say but damn truly just prime fucked up content, also yes its pretty wincesty and rapey.

[hanaruri-tunes]

The demons’ reactions to Y/N asking them to fuck them (headcanons/short scenarios)

⚠️ As usual MDNI!!!

The MC can be whichever gender you want in this one. (Pretty sure I managed to keep it ambiguous?)

What follows are individual scenarios btw, it’s not MC asking every single one of them at the same time haha (I could write one like that as well though if people like this one? Not sure of how well it would turn out but I could.)

Anyway, enjoy 👇

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Lucifer

He could tell something was different right away. You’re not the type to be shy with them and particularly not him. Sometimes your blatant disrespect towards him is refreshing… sometimes it’s infuriating, and yet here you are now, shifting in place, fiddling with your hands and looking down nervously. It catches his attention right away.

"Is something wrong? Y/N, if something is troubling you, you can tell me. In fact, please do so freely."

"...lease …uck me."

"...Excuse me?"

Surely he heard wrong, no matter how honest you are, there’s no way you would ask something like that with no build up-

"Please, fuck me…"

"..."

Lucifer puts his hand over his mouth, trying to hide his delight in vain. He has always wondered how to go about it, what to plan, how to charm you and get you in the palm of his hands. To think that you would come marching right ahead, falling into his hands on your own just like that. He approaches you, taking you into his arms, feeling up your body against his.

"But of course, no need to be so shy about it. Shall we go upstairs Dear?"

Mammon

Mammon felt like something was a bit different about you tonight. You kept coming closer to him, more than usual, brushing over him, smiling at him in a special way. Were you seducing him? Because if you were, it was 100% effective! But well, wouldn't it be rude to point it out? What if you stop? What if it wasn’t on purpose? So he keeps quiet and you get more and more frustrated with his inaction until it explodes.

"...Don’t you want to fuck me?!"

"Wha- Yes?!?"

Thinking twice? He didn’t even think once. He was surprised for sure but when you ask for something like this, there’s only one correct answer to give. In a flash, he pounces on you.

"Anytime, anyday, whenever you want. Please only come to me Y/N…"

Leviathan

You were harder to handle today than you usually are. Leviathan is used to holding his breath when you hug him or kiss him on the cheek. He’s used to looking away when you bend down or shutting his eyes tight when your face gets too close. But today? Today was different. You kept clinging to him, not giving him any personal space. Constantly praising and teasing him. His heart had skipped at least eleven beats in total, and even that might still be an understatement. Levi ends up breaking, asking you outright if something is wrong.

"C-Could it be that you want something from me? Sorry, I really don’t know um, if uh. Well I just don’t understand where you're getting at."

You hold back the urge to facepalm, well, it’s not like you didn’t see it coming. Leviathan thinks that he’s so unattractive that no one, and especially not you, could ever want him.

You press yourself against him, circling your fingertips on his chest.

"Jeez, you really are an idiot sometimes Leviathan… I want to fuck you. You get it now?"

His third member rises immediately at the request while his mind is still buffering.

"Uhh?? Um, y-yeah? I mean, errr. Are you like, 100- no, 1000% sure? O-Out of all my brothers me??? Isn’t that um, of course I’m not judging but maybe I’m not-"

You kiss him on the corner of his lips, shutting him up.

"I only want you to fuck me, can you do that?"

"Y-Yes. Anything you want...! ♡"

Satan

There he was again, nose stuck in his books. However your perfume caught his attention right away. You always smell nice but this fragrance was different from your usual scent. It was more mature, more seductive, more… He looks up to you, even your clothes show more than usual. Your hairstyle is different as well. Are you going out? So then why did you come to him? He coughs.

"Excuse me for staring. You look very good. Is there a soirée tonight that I’m not aware of?"

You look to the side, a bit flustered. Without a word you sit next to him on the sofa, then you slide your hand on his knee, not daring to go up to his thigh yet.

"...Would you like to fuck me?"

"..."

Silence.

He’s processing your request, making sure he understands your intentions. After a couple of seconds that seemed to go on forever, Satan closes his book and leaves it on the table. Then he leans over you, encouraging your hand to go higher on his thighs.

"Well, since you asked so politely how could I ever turn you down, hm?"

Asmo

He can tell right away what you really want since he is the avatar of lust. However he lets it play out, curious to see how you’ll go about it. Will you be all shy and cute or will you be more confident? He enjoys seeing the gears turning in your head as you’re awkwardly holding your hands together, sweating from the pressure. However he doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable when asking for something as wonderful as sex, especially with him since he is quite the fanatic.

"Relax your shoulders and breathe Y/N♡"

He places his hands on your shoulders, sliding them down your arms then going back up only to fall down again, on your back this time. He starts massaging you, whispering sweet nothings in your ears, making you comfortable and eager rather than nervous and scared.

"...Asmo?"

"Mh-hm?~"

"I’d like you to fuck me, is that okay?"

He stops, then pulls you over. Your back against his chest, he whispers his answer.

"What a coincidence, that’s what I’ve wanted to do to you since the very first time we met♡ How lucky that you asked for it first..."

Beel

Beel is devouring a rotisserie chicken in the kitchen… again. It seems like that’s all he does, everytime you want to find an appropriate moment to ask, well, it never is a good moment. You look at him, your spirits down, readying yourself to leave as usual. Surprisingly, he stops you and invites you to sit down.

"Y/N… Lately you always look sad when I see you. Would you like some? You know if you’re hungry you can always ask me to share."

"That’s not it Beel…"

You look down, discouraged from asking for it. All Beel always thinks and talks about is food anyway. Will he even care if you ask him something like that? Maybe he has no interest in such things, or in you.

Beel puts the food down, looking grim.

"Beel? What’s wrong…?"

"It’s difficult to enjoy the food when you look down, somehow even the taste turns foul when you’re sad."

Your chest feels tight at his words, maybe it would be good to just be honest and get it over with.

"Beel, truth is- Uhh. ... I want you to f-fuck me… But well, I can understand if you’re not interested in that sort of stuf-"

Beel’s eyes light up, his gaze stuck on you.

He takes you into his arms, carrying you out of the kitchen, heading up the stairs.

"B-Beel?!"

"That’s all you wanted? Should’ve said so earlier, I’ll finally be able to quench my hunger for a while."

Belphegor

You came to wake him as you do every morning, since you’re apparently the most skilled at this task according to the others. Still, some days it’s a challenge even for you. Like today for instance: he keeps complaining, bitching and moaning. You’d like to make this easy for the both of you but it’s complicated to keep finding different ways to encourage him to get up. Kisses, hugs, dates, and the exact same offers rarely work for over 3 times in a row. It pisses you off, could it be that he just got tired of you already?

You give up and lie down next to him, sulking and muttering.

"Asshole… What if I asked you to fuck me. Bet you wouldn’t even care, hm?"

Belphie’s eyes shot wide open, then he turned over to you. Extremely attentive to your every move and word.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Only good boys who get up at reasonable times have a right to have a go at me."

He clings onto you greedily, begging you to repeat.

"Come on, pleeease? I’ll get up right away if you ask for it."

"Nope, too late to smother me now."

He puts his hand on your waist, grabbing it firmly and pulling you towards him into the bed.

"...Please? I’ll make you feel so good you’ll be the one to ask to stay in bed."

You ponder it for a bit… Well. Truthfully, you do want him so- Shyly, you ask him.

"Mh. Then um. Will you fuck me good…?"

You feel him smile against your neck, and he answers.

"I promise I won’t let you go until you’re completely satisfied with me. ♡"

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Doneee.

And my askbox is open just so y’all know, no promises on anything but do know that anything you send will definitely be seen/read even if I might not be able to answer to everything! I don’t know if I can say that my "commissions" are open but if you send me ideas and I like them, there is a chance I might write some stuff based on them 🫰

[atyourmerci]

To think I’d know it all

Therapist!ellie (read pt.1 here)

X

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, power imbalance don’t fuck your therapist, talks of degradation, lots of praise, Ellie watches r! masturbate, thigh riding, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: this is for @catfern if she likes it I die happy. Sorry this took so long I got a little overzealous, yet still it feels rushed so I’m dropping this and disappearing! I promise I’ll be going back to working on reqs now.

X

You think you know yourself, your highs, desires, triggers, your inner most depravities. but you don’t. Maybe it wasn’t your fault- the bliss that came from blatant ignorance so bitter sweet on your tongue. So comfortable in your own escaped reality, why would you try to face it now?

Half of the time you were lying to Dr. Williams. A white lie here, slipping through the cracks of reality by omitting the truth there. It’s not like she couldn’t read you like a book- she knew everything. Things you had never thought of, mysteries to you, solved in seconds by her.

You never gave her much of your true issues, deadbeat mommy leaving you at six for her new boyfriend that could be your brother. Never feeling academically competent, body issues, all the bullshit troubles any girl could dream of beating herself down over.

Thats what you told yourself she knew, the surface, pretty, palpable, easy to swallow, desirable.

But Ellie didn’t want palpable, she craved the chaos of your destruction. She wanted to watch the rage play out, dangerously close to her integrity. She wanted to pull the dirty guts out to feast on. Every last piece of you, torn out, then you would be easy enough to swallow for her.

-

The air only grew thicker. Suffocating your windpipes to choke on, making sure you felt every particle of desperation.

The session after she had cancelled. You thought she’d keep this up, realizing she had taken it too far, falling into her desires you had coaxed her into.

But yet there you were, back in your usual seat, legs crossed, throat dry as it eats at the hot pressure in the air. The buzz of a ring in your ear as you sit there silently. To talk of it, to progress, to regress back into the unknown- the lies, the omissions.

Would she guide you- like she did last time? would she make you do it yourself, pathetic and begging, longing for the validation that she did it for herself, even if only for a little bit.

“How have you been?” A formality, a principle, a greeting. She had to say it- what would she say outside the four walls of this prison?

“Alright,” came out as an unwanted sigh, subconscious as your body tells the truth before you can cut it off at the source.

“No witty comeback? did something happen with the girl?” Ellie furrows her brows at your change of body language. She takes note of how closed off it is, not desiring of visitors. You watch as the veins in her muscles twitch in her tank. rid of the cover of her modest blazer, shoulders now under the impression of your gaze.

“I stopped seeing her, Im seeing an ex,” you didn’t have to say that, could have left it at the end of your farce of a hookup ending. But this time it wasn’t a lie, you truly were fucking that cunt.

“Oh. Anything serious?” Ellie tenses, eager to unpack the dichotomy of the new woman. Why did you start seeing your ex again, what was she tied to, what did you have to gain from anyone but her?

“Just sex.” you shrug off. This was the truth.

“What drove you back to her specifically?” Ellie goes to write it down but once again find herself unable to find the words- lost in the craving the understanding of your mind selfishly.

“Comfortability- is that what you want to hear?” you taunt her, driving your eyes into a squint. What was her motive- what was your own?

“Well something in particular brought you back to her, no?” she pries, not letting you take control of the conversation. If she had to drag it out of you herself she would.

“She knows how I like it,” your attempt at intimidation, confidence in your own pleasure. Nothing but another beautiful farce covered in thorns. A hint of a smirk paints the doctor’s lips, mean and tortured.

‘Oh you think you know yourself so well you beautiful fool’ Ellie thinks to herself. You wouldn’t know satisfaction if it hit you in the face, but she was to help you- that was her job right? “And what is it…that you like?” Shrinking her face into a scowl, head tilted to the side, watching how your body twitches at nothing. How pliable could she diminish you to without touching you- she couldn’t, of course.

“She gets rough with me,” so knowing, as if you were breed for it. A toy of sorts, helpless under the hands of a predator.

“What entails rough?” Ellie probes, getting her scalpel out, ready to dissect your oblivion. Her flesh scorching with fervor as she coaxes more out of you. She had found her vessel.

“I dunno… hitting, tying me up, stuff of that nature.”

“What else?” You’d never know how eager she was, calm in her disposition, from what the eye can make out. Inside she pulses, her mind eating away at itself. To bite is still to touch- Instinctual and destructive. A morbid curiosity to drown herself in, held at the bottom of your mind with the weights of her own scrutiny.

“You wanna know that she calls me a fuckin’ whore?”

“Why do you think you like the degradation?” Ellie shifts forward, getting to the edge of her seat, splaying her forearms onto her thighs. A pissing contest, cruel and depraved.

“Probably my godforsaken mother- what are you get-“ you begin to question before you’re interrupted.

“Good girl.” Ellie coos, shifting her weight back into the seat, her forearms resting on the armrests as her legs are lazily parted. A test she knew she’d win- she knew you best didn’t she? Playing you like a puppet, taking matters into her own hands, unethical as it may be.

So abrupt you’re taken out of a haze. An uncalculated whine coming out of your throat, you attempt to cover it with a halfass cough but the damage was done- you were caught. Ellie just watches as you squirm, skin growing hot as she watches you knowingly, smug and cunning as you tip toe the ledge. “w-what?”

Ellie’s grin only widens, “that was a fair assumption, aware… you’re doing so well already.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, fire blazing in your chest ready to burst into ashes laid out like puzzle pieces neatly for her. A new sensation, uncharted and dense. Immensely ridged to obtain- the feeling of worth, accomplishment at its peak. Would you ever be able to fulfill the demand?

Ignore it, lie, get out of it.

“I like getting when she treats me like shit- gets me off…” you attempt, eyes casted downwards to your sweaty palms soaked from the heat of the air.

“No you don’t.”

“How would you know,” you laugh her off. You’ve built your wall, so high that not even you could see over it.

“Sure you want to be told what to do. But you also want to be acknowledged for your work. How pretty you look opened up. How good you are for taking more, taken whats asked of you. Don’t you?” Ellie doesn’t skip a beat, like shes rehearsed it, dwelled on your inner most necessities. The doctor asks but you both know it’s not a question, rather an admission of verity.

“Doctor Williams, please-“ the impending doom of your fate- the tip of the iceberg chiseling down each second. A ticking time bomb sure to go off. Your body pulses, heart racing. How much more could you take?

“It’s okay…tell me whats wrong” Ellie coos doe eyed, so forgiving in a breeding ground for destruction. A flower blooming in the midst of a tornado. To talk, to proceed, to regress.

“I cant control myself- listening to you…like that,” fist turning white grappling onto the armrests, breath shaky and wavering. Your hips subconsciously rocking into the thick leather of the doctor’s chair- a taste of salvation at any cost.

“Be a good girl and show me the mess you made on my seat,” a reckless invitation- one with grave consequences. Nonetheless too sweet not to bite, sink her teeth into and rip the flesh.

Shameful, degrading enticement. Shaky hands grasping the button of your jeans. How much time did you have left? What if someone walks in? Both your jeans and panties come off in one fowl swoop- fallen to the warm carpet on her floor. You wince as the naked, seeping flesh of your cunt reaches the leather, “Fuck.��

Ellie just watches, amused, stone faced as she understands the specimen. The way you hips rut without you letting them says more than your words, “Give yourself what you need.”

Your body comes back into consciousness with the approval for more. Give her whats shes asked of you. Nimble fingers beginning to circle the swell of your clit- the reoccurring ache of disappointment- the fate of inadequacy.

“Atta girl- just like that. Does it feel good?” the doctor mutters so sweetly- so proud of her specimen. She knew you needed it- the approval, the praise of accomplishment.

Your breath shortens and you pulse around nothing. Driving aimless circles around the bud as your head cocks back. Your cunt begs of her, pleads to be full of her- if shed ever let you have it. “n-need you, please Ellie.”

The doctor had never heard you speak of her name. Too casual for barriers, too comfortable for the tension. Something in her own mind switches at the words- the way they rolled off your tongue like you had said it many times before. Where had you said it, to whom? If not anyone at all. “I cant help you…but I cant stop you from helping yourself.”

Lust was a sin, but gluttony was a mere punishment. Overzealous in nature, depraved and lawless in practice. A reckless invitation- one with grave consequences. A walk of shame, magnets finding their match. She had made your bed, you were to lie in it.

Ellies hands on her armrest, sure to not budge- to uphold her ethics, principles responsible of her own will. She lets you climb her body, mount yourself up top her lap, positioning your cunt on her thigh.

The air. Thick, all consuming- so close, breathing her air, the breath of someone wiser, more understanding of your own mind. What a dangerous game, everything you need right there, yet taboo to drain every last bit of her. An inch given, a mile lacking. She keeps her eyes trained on you, her subject in testing.

“It’s okay, fuck yourself on me. You’ve been so good.” letting your cunt rake up and down the scratchy fabric of her slacks, hands pinned behind your back on your own accord.

The bubble in your stomach already ready to overflow, choking back whimpers drown in by your teeth. She made it so easy- she didn’t even have to fucking touch you.

“Let go. Let yourself come,” the doctor demands, she knew what you were doing. Ellie didn’t care how pathetic it was.

“I can-t not, not yet,” sweat dripping down your flustered face as your sticky white slick coats her covered thigh. The sight was so vulgar in Ellie’s eyes, watching you panting as you fuck yourself on her thigh. Thoughts of what she’d do in another world without laws.

“Do what you’re told.”

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

folie à deux

or: the toxic ex boyfriend Ghost AU

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader 

WARNINGS: || 18+ only MDNI || Toxic masculinity || Possessive & obsessive behaviour || Slut shaming || Groping || Gaslighting || Implied & referenced cheating || Mildly dubious consent

w/c: 5.7k (Read on AO3)

a/n: this was supposed to be like 5 paragraphs, so PLEASE if y'all hate it i dont want to know

It starts with a knock on your front door when you’re only half expecting to see Simon Riley.

He even knocks with a sense of entitlement, and it enrages you.  Three hard raps, and that’s it.  He won’t knock again.  If you don’t open the door, he’ll kick it down to get to you—those were rules you’d learnt the hard way.  

You mentally reinforce your motivation when you fling the door open: You’re scared he’ll break your door down, again, and this time, when they try to evict you, Simon won’t be around to terrify them into letting you stay.

How on earth you’d ever found the prick attractive is beyond you in that minute.  Except, no sooner does the thought enter your mind do you dismiss it.  Of course you had—and still—found him attractive.  That had never been the problem.  

He wore his military career on his face, much easier to see than the chest candy he bragged about but no less attractive to you–scars and burns, healing and the not-quite healed bruises plain to see on his face, a cacophony of yellows and purples.  A nose that had spent more time broken than not, its slight curve most likely a combination of never having been set by a professional nor the opportunity to heal without being broken again.  A thin scar dissected his lip, went all the way up the side of his face to his brow, almost like someone had taken a knife to him, carved him up like a piece of meat.  You’d never asked, and it’s not like he’d ever volunteered the information.  

It just sat there along with the three thousand other things he’d deposited in the chasm that stretched between the two of you. 

“You…Jesus,” he breathes, and slams the door shut behind him, making you wince.  “Where are you off to, then?”

“N’ wearin’ that?” He prompts again when you don’t answer, motions to your body with his chin.  

You roll your eyes when he pulls you into him and plants a hard kiss on your mouth, ignoring your squirming.  “Fuckin’ about to spill out, little dove.” 

“Spill?  Simon, I’m sewn into this dress.”  You pluck at his shirt that has deliciously little give where it sits on his hard chest, leaving your palm there as a little treat for yourself.  “You would know.  You capable of wearing shirts your own size, or does the SAS make it mandatory to have your tits straining against them?”

When he doesn’t respond, you push away from him, and step back, crossing your arms against your chest, definitely not pushing your tits up slightly, and he mirrors your movement.  He’s leaning against the wall by the front door now, blocking your exit, and you can only roll your eyes at the foreseeable display of machismo.  

“Your stuff’s in the front room.  Grab it and go, I have to finish getting dressed.  I have plans.” 

“With a pimp?”

Back when you were blissfully ignorant of Simon’s penchant for keeping you destabilised at all times, unconditionally wanting the last word, his crass words would have made you sputter and struggle to respond.  Oh but you know him so much better now.

Now, the blatant transparency in his delivery just makes you laugh.  

You interrupt his next words with a wave of your hand and turn to retreat to your room.  “Get your shit and leave, baby.”  

You hear his harsh exhale at the dismissal, and once upon a time, the repercussions of dismissing Simon in the middle of a conversation would have excited you.  You used to do it to get a rise out of him, instigate him into chasing you around, fucking you silly when he caught you.  Now, you just do it because you can. 

“No need to be a bitch.  I’ll be on my way in a second, just wanted to check on you, little dove.”

Your laugh is breathy, and you have to pull your mascara wand away from your eyes so you don’t end up stabbing yourself with it.  “‘No need to be a bitch’ says the man currently being a bitch about me not telling him my plans.”  Your laugh is mocking when you turn back to the mirror.  “You ever tire of this routine, Simon?  Because it’s tiring to me.”

Your words only make Simon’s eyes soften, and he looks at you almost indulgently, patronisingly, as though you were a child throwing a tantrum to get an adult’s attention.  “Could never tire of you, little dove.”

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, but he only snorts in response.  

It’s all a game to him, you know that.  He makes it very clear how much amusement he derives from watching you fumble and fall, how much he gets off on the stress he gives you.

And yet, you’re drawn to him, every single time.  Every single time, you play mental gymnastics to find a reason to write off his bad behaviour because, well, it’s Simon.  He’s…like no one else you’ve ever known.  

Your choices have always been limited between a cruel, mercurial god and inane, paltry men.  

Except today.  Today you hold your response back, try not to rise to the obvious challenge.

“Come on then, I’ll drive ya.”

“Are you insane?” you screech.  “You’re not driving me to my date, you’re not driving me anywhere, what the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?”

A glimpse of his Adonis belt as he stretches his arms above his shoulders and cranes his neck from side to side briefly grabs your attention. 

“Don’t be difficult, little dove,” he gently scolds you, and your eyes snap back to his—yours wide with incredulity, his calm and collected in that beautiful, honey brown.  “What were y’gonna do, take the Tube with y’tits out like that?  If the prick ain’t pickin’ you up, I’ll take ya to him.”  He jerks his chin in your vanity’s direction and plops himself on your bed to watch.  “Come on, love, finish yer preenin’ then.”

“Preening,” you mutter under your breath as you turn back to the mirror.  “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

It’s only when you’re dabbing perfume behind your ears do you catch his eye just as he brings a cigarette up to his mouth, and you squeal.  “Simon!  The fuck are yo—don’t smoke in my bedroom!”

“Our bedroom—”

“What?!”

“—’n ya didn’t care before.  Y’wanna share, ‘s that it, little dove?”

“Oh my god.”  You turn around slowly, your hands against your lips, joined together as though in prayer.  “Simon.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“You don’t live here anymore.  This isn’t your flat, it’s mine.  This isn’t your bedroom, it’s mine.”

Simon just continues to smoke as though he hadn’t heard you, dark eyes taking the slow, leisurely route back to meet yours. “Y’look good, baby.”  His voice is hoarse, the words slow and deliberate and raspy, and…you can’t deny it.  The pull he’s always exerted on you, the undeniably ruinous sirens call—you burn hotter and brighter than accretion, you’re a helpless sailor caught up in his thrall 

“Simon” 

“Did’ya always look so good?”  The way he looks at you as though in a trance…you know he’s not listening, seeming to just be thinking out loud.  When he stands up, you take an automatic step back, then cringe when the vanity hits the back of your legs.  Nowhere to go to escape his looming presence.  “No…not like this. Somethin’s changed.”  He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around so you’re both facing the mirror.  

The back of your neck feels particularly warm as he pushes his entire front to your back, and you can feel him there, hard and insistent against your lower back.  When eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you like you’re a puzzle for him to solve.  “Nothing’s changed,” you whisper.  “You’re still a dick.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, then lifts your face up with one hand around your neck, and brings his cigarette around to your lips with the other. 

Your instinctive inhale makes him shift against you slightly, and your eye twitches from how good he feels pressed up against you like this.  How he smells to you—that familiar mix of aniseed and icy menthol, fingers eking that potent hit of nicotine straight into you from where his fingers dig into your skin.  “Definitely somethin’ different.”  He pulls one strap of your dress down, and you exhale as he places one warm, lingering kiss on your exposed shoulder.  “‘S good.  Whatever’s different is good, little dove.”

“We can’t—,” you whisper, and his eyes glint at you with interest and arrogance through the mirror.  “We can’t do this.”  

“You’re so pretty all dressed up like this.  Always were so pretty.  So soft, and—” he inhales deeply at the spot just under your ear “—always smell so fuckin’ good.”

“You can’t,” you moan in response, but press yourself closer to him, anyway.

“But I can,” he responds gruffly.  “‘Nythin’ I like, little dove.  And I know y’like it too.”

“Fuck, just—”  He interrupts you by giving you another hit, and this time you turn around in his arms to exhale in his face.  He doesn’t even flinch.  “What are you playing at, Simon?  What do you want from me this time?”

Simon continues to look at your mouth as you speak, and almost as if on auto-pilot, slips his thumb into your mouth.  You want to bite him for his audacity, you almost kick him in the shin, almost almost almost…  But what you really end up doing is accepting it, licking the pad of his thumb and letting him push it into your mouth.  

Your initials on the space between the base of his thumb and index finger catch your eye—it’s a new tattoo, and you know this entire game is a ruse to draw your attention to it—but you don’t react.  You may be stupid horny for him, but you’re not stupid.

“Always such a good girl for me,” he praises, and it brightens you up on the inside, sparks hot and bright under your spine.  “Tell me, love…still me you think about when you touch your pussy?”

Your harsh exhale and slightly narrowed eyes are the only indication you give of having heard him at all.  In response, his thumb moves slightly deeper, sitting heavy on your tongue, and you let him.  

Your stubborn silence makes him chuckle, and he stubs out his cigarette on the ashtray you (still) keep on your vanity, pushing your dress up over your ass so he can grab your cheeks possessively.  The movement is so quick, so fluid that your protest turns to ash on your tongue when he finds bare skin and squeezes hard.

“Forgot somethin, did ya?”    

“No.”

“No?”  His hands grip you tighter and pull you harshly into him.  The angle makes you grind into his cock, and you know that he’s not even half as unaffected as he pretends.  “Gonna put out on the first date, then, like a slut?  Don’t remember you givin’ me any the first time I—”

“It’s not my first date with him.”

Simon pulls back to look into your eyes, and you’re graced by the first genuine smile on his face all evening—the most brilliant of Rayleigh scatterings put to shame.    “It is your first date, love.”

The blunt, matter-of-factness in his words gives you pause, your mind still coming to terms with what he’s just said, your heart starting to race at the barely concealed confidence about your whereabouts.  “How do you—what are you saying to me right now?”

“Truth, little dove.  Like I promised.”

The casual, off hand remark to one of the most devastating conversations in your life gives you whiplash and you have to physically shake your head to get rid of the feeling of something crawling up the back of your neck.  You put your hands firmly on his chest and push him away, and he steps back easily.  

“Are you…Simon.  Are you having me followed?” 

“Don’t need to.  I know you, little dove.”  He takes another step back from you and cocks his head at your dazed expression.  “Put some knickers on.  The white ones, y’know ‘em.”  When you don’t move, he motions towards your underwear drawer with an expectant expression—as though you’re frozen because you’ve forgotten where they are rather than because you’ve just learnt that your ex boyfriend’s stalking you.

When he crosses his arms, you’re jolted to action.  In a daze, you pick up the first pair your hands grab and pull them on.  He thrusts your purse at you, and leads you out your front door with his hand clasped tight around yours.   

You wish you could say that your ex boyfriend driving you to a date with another man is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, but that’s not realistic for a life lived around Simon Riley. 

***

The drive is silent, but one big hand remains on your inner thigh.  His fingers are so long that they almost touch the seat on either side of your leg.  It feels invasive but it’s also familiar, so you don’t say anything.  Classic— he never had to try hard to get what he wanted from you.

When he asks you for a smoke, you light one up for him and stick it into the corner of his waiting mouth, and he kisses your fingertips as they retreat.  You still don’t say anything.  Instead, your eyes stay determinedly on your initials tattooed on his skin, his warm hand almost a brand on your thigh, and you think about your life with him in the .

The implication that things were normal in the before is wildly misleading, and a genuine disservice to the shit he’d put you through.   

Once upon a time, you’d been delusional about your place in Simon’s world; now it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth.  He threw special forces and taskforce and lads need me in your face every opportunity he’d gotten, and worse. Simon Riley was not a man who did or could be convinced to do something he didn’t want to—and you’d hardly ever asked for any explanations from him but still, the excuses were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flung at you at Mach speed.

You’d bargained with yourself for weeks—oscillating between wanting to proactively end the relationship yourself or allowing its inevitable heat death.  He was one of a kind.  No one had ever made you feel like he had.  No one had fucked you like he had.

No one had fucked you over like he had either, but on good days, you show yourself some grace and let that thought slide.

***

You find yourself falling into old bad habits easily—you wait inside the car until he’s on your side, opening your door for you and practically lifting you out of his car.  

The warmth of his hands seeps through the material of your dress, through the skin on your hips, superheating the bones underneath.  He squeezes the flesh there appreciatively, and though his expression remains hidden to you, you can safely guess the smirking just by the creased skin by his eyes.  

“I never want to see you again.”

The words make Simon pause.  He considers you for a second, the smirk never dropping.  “Go’n, give us a kiss, then, if this is the last time.” 

“I would never,” you insist, finger poking at his hard chest, and he retreats from you, puts his hands up in mock-surrender.   “You’re a manipulative bastard, Simon,” you hiss at him.  “And I’m going on this date.”  With your piece said, you walk away from him.

“Never stopped ya, little dove,” he calls out, a hint of an aggravating laugh in his words.    

 You flip him off without even turning around.  “Drop dead, Simon.”

To your great disappointment, your words don’t inspire the heavens to smite him where he stands immediately, and when you quickly shoot one last look back at him over your shoulder, he stands against his car, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Asshole.

It wasn’t even that Simon was a bad boyfriend to you—though he was certainly the fucking worst—it was the fact that a) he was a bad person and b) you’d become a bad person by osmosis.

Case in point: you wanted to leave your date mid-meal, battling the intrusive thought of just putting your drink down and walking out the front door, but you couldn’t even say why.  Your date had kindly acquiesced when you’d insisted on the worst table on the floor.  The one overlooking the car park.  The window overlooking the only car parked there—the massive black one, with illegally tinted windows and a suspiciously missing owner.

At least the bar was nice.  Great ambience, dim lighting and pretty interiors, it should have been the perfect first date.  Your date himself was fine too—nice enough with a sweet smile he flashed at you, politely having taken to talking at you when you’d made it clear with your apathy that talking with you wasn’t going to happen.  

After just two drinks, you start to have flashbacks—even an hour spent in Simon’s company clearly manifesting as literal madness—which was disconcerting by itself, but the uncharacteristic subject matter has you really worried.  Every time you blink, you see Simon’s face…or his cock…and when your date asks if you’d like to share dessert, you answer, “Simon…” before hearing yourself, and feeling the heat of shame dance on your cheeks.  Your date just looks confused.

A quick glance outside the window shows the empty car park and…nothing else.  No car.

Had he fuckin’ left?

The thought incenses you, and the irrational nature of the anger makes you feel even more shame.  Why should you care?  When had he ever done what you’d expected of him?  And when had he ever been there for you when you’d needed it.

Fuck it, you think.    

Maybe you were finally free of Simon and his toxic, shameless, unbreakable hold on your life.  Maybe it was time to move on.

You allow yourself a satisfied smile when, in what feels like divine approval of your plan, your date offers to take you home.

***

There are cracks in your ceiling that you’d never noticed before.

You resist the urge to wince, then try to moan but give up when it gets stuck in your throat, and your date misinterprets your sigh of boredom and discomfort as one of pleasure, choosing to go down on you with more enthusiasm than before.  Things could not be worse for you—the man between your legs is clearly in need of a compass and a map and trying so hard that you feel guilty about the whole thing—but you’re determined to tolerate it.  So that the point is made.     

When your date finally leaves, your shaky smile and poorly concealed look of relief convinces neither of you of a second date.  You suppose you should be grateful that he left without a fuss, but you’re just relieved that he’s gone.  You’re contemplating—holding your head in your hands while your elbows rest on the kitchen counter—when you hear him.

“This is pathetic, even for you.”  You turn around, and yep.  It’s him alright.  Sitting at your dinner table, your flimsy chair all but invisible behind his massive frame.  “Breaking in, Simon?  Seriously?”

“Y’gave me a key, little dove.”

“Yeah.  When we were dating.  A key that you’d returned?”  

When there is neither a response, nor any change to his posture, you turn around and start to pour yourself a glass of water.  Then change your mind and grab two whiskey tumblers and your decanter.  “Pathetic,” you repeat.  “How long were you planning this?”

His sudden breath on the back of your neck makes you exhale harshly, and he steadies your trembling hands by placing his on yours.  Together, you pour two glasses of whiskey, but his hands don’t leave yours even when you’re done.

“How was the date?”

“You tell me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t invited, was I?”

“It didn’t stop you.”

He places a small kiss behind your ear in response.  “No.”   His hands knead at your breasts and your head falls back to his shoulder with a sigh, and he grinds into you.  “Feel that?  What even your fake little noises do to me?”

“You were listening?”  The thought is…unbearably hot, and you stubbornly refuse  to examine it any further in your mind.  

“You belong with me, little dove, you know this.  You’ve always belonged to me.  All of you.  Every single inch.  Where would I go?”  

You reach behind you to touch him, and he’s thick and warm to the touch, even through the layers of fabric, and it’s familiar, it’s all so familiar to you..  “This is fucked up.  You were here listening when another man fucked me?”

In a quick succession of lithe, almost impossibly quick movements, he’s picked you up and placed you on your kitchen counter, one glass of whiskey shattering on the floor.  “Made your point, baby?”  

Your robe is off your shoulders and pooling around your waist in a second, and Simon doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk when he pulls off your panties and pockets them.  You don’t bother protesting.  It even feels like trouble when he runs a single finger over the seams of your cunt—you’re damningly wet and if you had enough withal to curse your body out for it, you would.

“You've got such a pretty pussy, little dove,” Ghost says as he fingers you, his voice half-muffled because he's pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead.  “And so wet baby, you’re dripping on my fingers.  All of it fo' me?  Or was it that twat, hm?” 

You're seething inside, raging that your plan backfired like this.  “It was him,” you say, before you can help yourself.  “You heard him fuck me, yeah?”  

“Fuck you?” Simon’s chuckle is dark and ruinous.  “He didn’t fuck you, baby.  He just stretched you out for me.  Good man. Saves me the work, innit.”

Before you can react, before you can breathe, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, picks up his glass of whiskey in his other hand, and brings you to your bedroom.  Fuck, your sheets are still rumpled, dress and bra strewn on the floor, sandals sitting like a death trap of heel and straps by the foot of your bed.  The room even smells of sex and the cologne your date had worn—it’s disorienting.  You almost feel bad.  Almost.

But…Simon’s presence is all over your bedroom too.  The smell of his aftershave lingered in the air, noticeable if you closed your eyes and breathed in deep.  Other signs too—the faint bitterness of his cigarette from earlier that evening, it’s corpse in the ashtray on your vanity.  When he sets his drink down on your nightstand, he sets it on the coaster you keep there—they’re strewn on almost every surface on your flat.  Mementoes from Simon from different countries he’d go to on deployment.  

“Told you he fucked me,” you say, cheekily—trying to dissuade your mind from leading you towards sentiment—and get a smack on you ass for your trouble.

“‘Course, little dove,” Simon drawls in response.  “‘N you enjoyed it too, yeah?  Tryin’ t’make me jealous.  Took him to the same place we used to go, huh?”  Another smack on your backside, this one hard enough to make you gasp.  “Think I’d forgotten, baby?  Fucked you in that car park, didn’t I?”

“Were you jealous?”

“Why should I be?”  He sets you down gently on the bed so you’re sitting upright, then takes a sip of his whiskey.  “Y’want this.”  

“I didn’t think you were giving me much of a choice.”

“I’m not.”  He takes another sip, and when he leans forward to kiss you, the whiskey floods into your mouth, rich and smoky and bitter.  He continues to kiss you and you have to swallow around his tongue, which makes him kiss you harder.  He’s a bully in every aspect of his life, and kissing you is no different.  His fingers clamp around your cheeks and you have no choice but to kiss him back.  Even in this he dominates you, trying to win even where there is no fight to be fought.

When he pulls away, your heart throbs at how he looks through the lights of the street outside pouring in through your window.  You’ve seen his face before, you’re one of the trusted few that can say they know what Simon Riley looks like, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this.  The harsh lights from outside almost soften where they kiss the harsh angles of his face, where the sharp line of his clenched jaw disappears behind his ears, accentuating his thick neck.

He’s beautiful and cruel and bad for you and every adjective you can think of under the sun.

“Y’want this,” he repeats.  

“I want this.”

And then Simon moves so suddenly.  There’s no preparing for it, no accounting for speed that has no build up—one second you’re sitting upright looking up at him the next you’re on your back and he’s hovering over you, fingers making quick work of his zipper before, in one push, he’s buried in you.  Your breath feels like it’s literally been punched out of your chest.  He’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat—he allows you one deep breath before he’s got a large hand wrapped around your throat.  The one with your tattoo on it.

The thought of it incites something foreign deep in your belly, low and simmering hot—you can’t believe he’s tattooed your name on his hand after telling you that he didn’t think you were what he’d wanted.  

You can’t imagine your expression right now, but he tightens his fingers around your throat and it drags your attention back to him.  He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw clamped tightly shut while he grinds his pelvis into yours, each thrust driving you further and further away from him and towards the centre of the bed.  You don’t even understand the movement of his hips—you’re displaced and jostled from the sheer power of his thrusts—but the motion itself feels like it’s more of an up and down motion, dragging against your walls, punching into your G spot.  When your head falls back on a low moan, he jerks your body to alertness just by your throat, and you clench at the feat of strength even when he’s buried in you as far as he can go.  

Simon groans in response, the noise sounding like it tears through his throat on its way out, but you’re helpless to do anything at all, just trying to breathe through the foreign sensations inside you right now, clamp tighter and tighter around him, threatening to break.  You’ve given up trying to look up at him anymore, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut, one hand intertwined with his by your head, the other clawing at his forearm.  

“Shit, baby, hold on, fuck, jus’ let me—” He moves to adjust you, grabbing one thigh to spread you open, push himself deeper inside you, when he freezes.  

“Wha—Simon, what—”

“The fuck is this?” His voice is pitched lower than usual, dark and dangerous.  You follow his line of sight and he’s transfixed, eyes unblinking, looking at a spot on your inner thigh.  You know what he’s seeing, and in the midst of everything that’s happened, everything that’s about to happen, you wonder if you’re seeing the evidence of the existence of a just God.

“You weren’t…you weren’t meant to see it.  It’s from ages ago…”  He reaches out a slightly trembling hand towards it, stops inches away from it—and oh this is better than anything you could’ve imagined—before he brushes two reverent fingers over the little skull you have tattooed there.  “Simon?”

When Simon looks back at you, he seems more determined, somehow.  Like the final part of a puzzle has clicked into place, somehow, and a decision has been made.

This time when he moves, it’s deeper, more powerful but equally as deliberate.  The hand around your throat moves to your face, brushing sweaty strands away from it, and framing the entire side of your face where it rests.  “Got my mark on you, yeah?  Want t’keep me, is that it?”

“I want…want to keep you,” you nearly whine at him, and his hips kick up, hammer into you, in and out, in and out— “Want to keep you Simon.  Want to be yours.”

He bends over you, his grip on your thigh unyielding, long fingers digging into the tattoo on your skin.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I—” He uses your neck to muffle his own sounds for a second and then leans to kiss you.  But it’s more than that.  You feel Simon’s surrender in that kiss—the acceptance of the inevitable, your months of torturous longing for your torturer finding release—and when you come, you bite down hard on his lip.

It feels like your body is hot enough to melt the world into soft, sepia tones around you, and you don’t even understand what he’s doing to your body right now as he fucks you through your orgasm.  He readjusts your hips as you come, and the slightest brush of the coarse hair at the base of his cock against your clit makes you vibrate from the shock of what feels like your second orgasm bleeding into your first.

And when he comes, he slams his hips into you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you.  His groan is long and tortured, and for a man who’s usually silent when he fucks, the sound is delicious.  You never want him to stop.  “Fuckin’ shit,” he murmurs, and traps you as he collapses on top of you.

In the aftermath, there is quiet.  

Simon lifts his head, once, to try to feel his way to the glass of whiskey on your nightstand, all while kissing you deeply.  Turns out, fucked out of his mind Simon is clumsy as hell, and so you grab it for him, draining it yourself before offering him the empty glass.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he mutters, unimpressed, before burying his face in your neck.  

“Says the man who slept with the entire British army in a matter of six months.”  You kiss his sweaty hair and his grip on your hips tightens.  “Bunch of slags.” 

“Don’t call my sergeant a slag.”

“Your serg—” you gasp, feeling your restart its pounding in its cage.   “Not Johnny!  You slept with MacTavish?  He fuckin—he fuckin’ offered to meet me for coffee so many times when we were broken up!  I thought he was being nice!”

“Was bein’ nice, innit.  Lookin’ out for his CO’s girl.”

Your head falls back to the bed as you stare up at the ceiling again.  “This is messed up.”  His casual tone feels like a barb, reopens old wounds and threatens to ignite a fresh wave of hostility inside you.  But before you can stew in your bitterness any longer, he kisses the side of your neck and moves off of you.

“Can’t keep doing this, little dove.”  He says, gathering your clothes from where they’re strewn all over your room.  

You get up on your elbows and cock your head, feigning innocent confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“Gonna have twats all over town stretchin’ you out fo’ me before I fuck you?”

“Why?  You offering to put the graft in yourself?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, and when he stands up to face you, he’s got a cig hanging off the corner of his mouth.  “Y’got a light around here somewhere, can’t find mine.”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to the nightstand to grab one and throwing it at him.  He catches it deftly, and lights up his cigarette.  “What’s next for you then, Simon Riley?  Off to the pub to find the next victim for the evening?  Send me a recording of when you fuck her in the disgusting toilet?”

“Victim?  Shit baby, give me ten, we’ll go again,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.    

“You’re staying?”

He leans forward, smushes your face with his large hand.  “You got me inked on you.”  You squirm away from him and he lets you go.

“It’s just a skull, Simon.  Not my initials on your hand.”  When his eyes narrow, you gasp theatrically and your hand flies up to your chest.   “Or was I not meant to see that?”  You lean up to pluck the cigarette from his fingers and take a long drag.  “Obnoxious, by the way.”

He leans forward and kisses you, hard.  You inadvertently end up blowing smoke in his mouth, but he doesn’t move, kissing you until you melt.  “Love you, little dove.  You're a massive bitch, though.”

“Pot meet kettle,” you whisper against his mouth.

You know what they say about history repeating itself.  You’ve been through this cycle before, you and Simon.  And you know what he promised you when he fucked you—he may have asked you if you’d wanted to keep him, but you hear what Simon doesn’t say.  And what he doesn’t say is that you don’t have a choice in any of this.  Simon operates like a bully, thinks like a bully because he is one.  Like with most other things, Simon brute forces your relationship, moulds and bends and twists to his liking, does not care if anything breaks.  You have no doubt that in two or three weeks’ time he’ll be across the world from you, bouncing someone else on his cock but it hardly matters.  You’ll get your lick back.  It’s what he’s taught you, afterall.        

[holymusicalmothman]

I Can See You - Live Action!Sanji x Reader

Saw a post about wanting a fic with Sanji and this song that @its-a-show-stoppin-number posted and I knew I wasn't gonna get anything done until I wrote this. I've never written anything like this before to be honest. I kinda word vomited in a sense. The story just exited my fingers and here it is.

Warnings: Suggestive, kissing, secret relationship, nothing explicit, only implied, objectification of Taz Skylar's jawline, like. Why’s it so fine. Like. Dear lord.

No use of y/n, or those weird descriptor things, reader is gender neutral. Reader is however you imagine them

Word Count: 1.5K

Main Masterlist

It wasn’t something you had seen coming. It wasn’t like you, to be honest.

But he was just so damn charming. How were you supposed to resist?

Sanji hadn’t been part of the crew for long. A few weeks at most. But you had been watching him from the moment the crew walked into the Baratie. 

Tall. Strong. Nicely dressed. Polite. Respectful. Suave. Not to mention good looking. That jawline–in your defense, you HAD tried to ignore the blatant attraction.

Fleeting glances for almost a week, brushing past each other in the ship’s hallways. Fantasies filling your head. One specific dream of exchanging heated kisses in a dark corner had your mind racing whenever you were in the same room as the chef. 

It was impossible to function properly. 

Your job aboard the Going Merry was to document the events that occurred. Luffy thought it would be perfect to write down all of the adventures that would eventually lead to him becoming King of the Pirates.

And writing anything was impossible.

Blond hair and grey blue eyes kept your mind far too distracted.

So you decided to do something about it. 

Especially since you had caught his eyes on you repeatedly throughout dinner. 

So you took your time eating. A phrase which here means wasting your time until Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, and Nami had vacated the kitchen for the evening. Leaving you alone with Sanji.

As he stood to clear the dishes, your hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve and stopping him in his tracks.

You looked up into his eyes, your own wide with adrenaline. 

"Please tell me it's not all in my head." You said softly. "If it is, I promise, it'll be like this never happened."

"And if I say it's not all in your head?" He murmured the words, the tension so thick someone could have cut it with a knife. 

"Then I'd ask if you'd worry what the others thought. I'm not sure if relationships between crewmembers are allowed here. They weren't on my last crew. And I'm not too keen on asking Luffy if I'm entirely honest." You took a deep breath. "But I can't get you out of my head. It's like I'm addicted."

Sanji moved to rest his hands on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. "So more like a secret mission. Just the two of us." He bit his lip and watched your eyes zero in on the action, a smirk spreading on his face instead.

You nodded, knowing you were in too deep to back out now.

Sanji continued, despite the fact that his eyes flicked down to your lips every few moments. "Everything professional, except when it's just the two of us."

You nodded again, your heart racing and palms sweating as the object of your desire leaned forward a little more, waiting for you to reach across that last gap separating the two of you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as that gap closed. 

As your lips careened into the chef's, he exhaled heavily through his nose, pulling you up to stand and then closer so you were pressed to his chest, your hands flying to tangle in his hair. 

The world around the two of you was a blur as you lost yourselves in each other. Clothes were shoved unceremoniously to the floor as you each tried to pull the other closer. You barely registered Sanji lifting you to sit on the kitchen counter, much less registering when the two of you had even moved from the table to the counter.

"You sure you want me sitting here?" You asked breathlessly, your newfound lover placing kisses down the length of your throat.

His laugh was husky against your throat. "It's a kitchen, darling. All the best meals happen in a kitchen."

That moment was the first of many. You had never regretted sharing a room with Nami more. While there were many kitchen escapades after that first one, the two of you still found a little thrill in having your secret. 

You spent time talking as well. You learned about each other. Likes and dislikes, pasts, dreams of the future. Sanji told you about his childhood with Zeff and his quest for the All Blue. You told him of your dream to be a famous poet one day and of your life on the sea. 

Something changed along those talking sessions. Something you liked. You wouldn’t call it a friends with benefits situation. You both knew it was something else, something deeper. 

Those words were just waiting to be said.

You two would lock eyes at random moments throughout the days and his eyebrow would quirk and you'd look away.

Nights would be spent with each other, sometimes words weren’t even exchanged. 

It was bliss.

One afternoon caught the two of you on the lower decks, encased by shadows. You had originally been working on writing down events in the logbook, but your lover had sought you out. 

Sanji had you caged up against the wall, kissing you with a fervor. As if you were the last meal he'd ever receive. 

He always kissed you like a starving man. 

However, you heard Usopp's voice getting closer to your hiding spot, calling for Sanji, and the two of you quickly separated and righted yourselves. 

He winked at you as you adjusted your skewed shirt. "You'll tell me more about how that dream of yours went later, right, darling?"

You smirked. "You wouldn't believe half the things I see inside my head." 

Sanji grinned, unable to resist capturing your lips in another kiss before slowly pulling away and heading down the hallway.

Nami cornered you later that day. 

"You've been hard to find lately." She stated. 

You shrugged. "I've been hiding away trying to find a quiet place to work on the log." This was the go to excuse. 

And Nami wasn't buying it. "It's been hard to find Sanji too."

Your eyes met her brown ones in questioning silence.

"I knew it." She muttered. "Sanji left his jacket on the floor in the hallway the other night. You do know we're not like other pirates, right? Nobody's gonna care if you two get together. 'Sides, pretty sure the only ones who haven't figured it out are Luffy and Usopp. But that's just a matter of time."

You were flabbergasted. "How in the--"

"You guys aren't very sneaky. Zorro found you two the other day. Plus the jacket."

Of course Zorro would find out first. But knowing that a relationship would be fine was also a relief to hear. 

You had just finished telling Nami about your's and the chef's so-called "secret mission" when Sanji brought lunch around a few minutes later. When he got to you, he handed you your food and your logbook. "You left this in the kitchen." And with a wink he walked away. 

"He's not even subtle about it." Nami stated.

You laughed. Sanji hadn't been subtle from the moment you met him at the Baratie. He had only stopped calling you 'madame' because you told him it made you feel old. 

He had immediately switched to darling, being far too suave and charming for his own good. 

You opened up your logbook. It had gotten easier to get back to your job lately. Apparently the dark hallway meetings and late night rendezvous worked perfectly in helping your focus.

You immediately noticed his note. 

"Meet me tonight"

You snapped the notebook shut, grinning like a schoolgirl,and Nami only rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You two are the weirdest." 

It was late when you began to make your way to the kitchen that night.

He must have been impatient, because you found him waiting down the hallway, still dressed in his suit and necktie. 

You never knew blue could feel like fire, but his eyes were smoldering as they met yours. He had you up against the wall in moments, his lips on your own.

He never did anything halfway, it was all or nothing. That thought crossed your mind as you began to lose yourself in the way he kissed you. In the way it was tender and yet passionate. In the way he caught your lip with his own. In the way he would sort of nudge his jaw forward in little movements. In the way his tongue always seemed to ask permission by gently touching your own lips and leading you into deeper and deeper kisses. 

You could drown in this man. 

The words slipped out in between kisses before you could stop them. 

"I love you."

But he just grinned. A smile so bright, were the sun out it would have felt threatened. Remarkably sweet for the heated exchange that had been occuring only seconds prior.

"I love you, too, darling."

And the heat was back. His hands, which had been holding you gently at your hips, slipped to lift you and press you harder into the wall as the passion returned. 

Only to come to a screeching halt as someone cleared their throat. 

Luffy stood a few feet away, struggling to mask his shock.

"While I'm happy for the two of you, maybe the hallways are not the best for such...activities?" he said.

You both nodded, mildly embarrassed to have been caught. 

As your captain disappeared further down the hallway, a laugh bubbled out of you.

Sanji turned to look at you, bewildered. 

Grabbing his hand, you led him away. "You heard our captain, gotta go somewhere other than a hallway."

Understanding spread across his face in the way of a knowing smirk. "I completely understand, darling."

I can see you, waiting down the hall for me, I can see you, up against the wall with me.

I can see you, throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you, make me want you even more

[hannieehaee]

Can you please make a seventeen reaction if a saesang hurt their s/o? lysm btw💙

a sasaeng hurting their s/o

content: mentions of an ambiguous attack on the reader (u can assume it was something like pulling at reader's arm/hair or a simple slap/punch), anger from the members, angst, fluff (kinda??), etc.

wc: 829

a/n: ily <33 i was kinda conflicted on this bc im not sure whether theyd react in an idol fashion in which they just kind of let their managers handle it or if theyd handle it themselves so i went for a mixture

masterlist

seungcheol -

he's super protective over his members, which also translates over to all his loved ones. i think he would get immediately exasperated and get all up on whoever dared hurt you, fan or not. if things got physical, he'd get physical too. however, he'd try to keep things civilized.

jeonghan -

he'd let his managers handle the sasaeng, knowing that despite how much he'd like to protect you on his own, head on, he had a lot of limitations as an idol. he'd feel extremely guilty about it and would beat himself up over it for a while. would do everything he could to make you feel protected and taken care of (even more than he already did) from then on.

joshua -

he'd be unfiltered in his arguing and his anger towards the aggressor. he wouldnt get aggressive or anything, but the venom in his eyes would be enough for a person to drop dead. would go as far as try to get the authorities involved right in that moment, promising that he'd be pressing charges on your behalf. when it came to you, he'd need you to calm him down lol.

jun -

he's so used to being mobbed and to people injuring themselves due to this that he wouldn't even be surprised at this happening. this wouldnt mean that he wouldn't be insanely angry though lmao. he'd curse them out in chinese and start a whole scene if necessary. this person was not going to leave this situation unscathed.

soonyoung -

his emotions usually take over him very easily and i believe in such an instance anger would show clearly in his demeanor. he'd protectively hold you behind him as he cursed and antagonized the sasaeng while his managers attempted to alleviate the situation. there would be anger in his eyes that you'd never seen before, but it'd turn into worry and regret as soon as he met your eyes.

wonwoo -

usually when he's being crowded or fans are too close, his body language seems closed off and unwelcoming to all the unwarranted attention, but in this instance i think his fight or flight mode would activate, making him physically place himself between you and the aggressor. rare instance in which anyone would see wonwoo genuinely angry.

jihoon -

he'd be too shocked to react, only realizing what had happened after the fact. kinda out of character, but i think he'd have to be held back from taking matters into his own hands. would be furious at the blatant disrespect to both you and him. how could a fan ever lay hand on you? he'd remain disappointed in his fandom for a while, keeping himself (and you) away from the limelight for a short period of time.

seokmin -

for once in his life, the only emotion taking over him was pure unfiltered anger. BUT he would 100% prioritize checking in on you and keeping his hands and eyes on you to make sure you were okay. would let his managers take care of the situation and simply stare down the perpetrator with venom in his eyes. would be extremely apologetic to you afterwards and express guilt over and over.

mingyu -

he's shown many times before he's not afraid to tell fans to mind their boundaries before, so i think that in a serious situation in which you were being put in danger, he'd become extremely serious to a scary extent. he would not get physical or anything like that, but he'd use his words and stance to intimidate the crazed fan.

minghao -

extremely serious and put off. the moment someone laid hands on you, his body would take control of itself and put himself between you and any danger. he'd yell and curse at whoever dared cross such a boundary and disrespect both you and him in such a way. he'd hold certain disdain for fans crossing boundaries from then on.

seungkwan -

he's too polite and media trained to actually participate in the altercation, but anyone could see the genuine anger trying to filter out of him as he and his body guards tried to deal with the situation. his first priority would be you and making sure you weren't too hurt.

vernon -

he wouldve been too shocked in the moment to do anything, but as soon as the short-lived attack ended and his managers were already apprehending the perpetrator, he'd scoff and curse at whoever hurt you. there would be this unknown craze in his eyes indicating uncharacteristic anger that could only ever be provoked by such a situation.

chan -

insanely angry and frustrated at the situation. in an ideal world, he'd take care of this situation on his own, proving to you that he'd never let anyone hurt you. however, he knew that the appropriate thing to do would be to let his managers apprehend the aggressor while he checked in on you and made sure you were okay and as far away from the situation as possible.

[horrorartsworld]

Hi. Here a thought experimen. I'm not sure if this can be considered a request or a prompt or something. Just wondering what do you think about an Overlord reader who is insulted by Velvet's 'blatant vulgar display' at the overlords letting and wants to put the Vees in their place. And for start she would like to the get THE VALENTINO to rent him. To show him that he may be a pimp now but he was not always so high and mighty. This has been in my head for days now. It's a dark femmdom idea just rotting my brain. Giving old moth boy a taste of his own Poison.

i think this is juicy asf 🤭 AND I PURPOSELY MADE SURE TO HAVE THIS DONE BY VALENTINE’s DAy! ! so you sexy bitches eat up, mwah!

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺

RENT-A-PIMP

valentino/overlord dom f!reader

warnings: 18+ nsfw, valentino getting domed FINALLY, cum denial, pussy drunk/eating

Scowling from your seat next to Zestial, your eyes never stopped following her every move…

The most incompetent, egotistical, annoying back-bone of the Vee’s, Velvette, was stomping around the table top in front of you spouting about some nonsense of fighting against the exorcists.

Making your blood boil at the site of someone with the same status as you having her way amongst some of the most powerful overlords in all of Hell, that were basically just gawking at her disrespectful behavior without lifting a single finger.

Your nails make a loud screeching noise while digging into the wood surface of the table with your frustration in which Zestial takes notice and nudges you to snap out of it. His glowing green eyes instantly calming with just a friendly look.

Huffing annoyed you slump in your chair as the little brat finishes up her last few pointless words and then finally exits throwing a middle finger up to the whole room with the door slamming behind her not shortly after.

There’s a moment of silence amongst the group as they all look over at Carmilla at the head of the table, who had already called for the meeting to be adjourned during her argument with Velvet, but everyone still sat waiting for proper direction. Until the silence was finally broken by the infamous radio demon stating in a rather chipper tone, “What a productive meeting!”

You attempt at holding in a laugh at this while everyone else finally takes that as a cue to disperse or mingle amongst the other overlords for a moment.

Stretching from your slump in your chair you can’t help but look over at Carmilla who had a somewhat pissed yet worried look on her face. “You alright Carmilla?” you ask softly tilting your head as she looks up at you with a small smile creeping on her lips.

“Yeah Y/n i’m fine…those Vee’s are just always looking for trouble..” she sighs shaking her head in disappointment.

“I’ll never understand why we don’t put them in their place…and why we even keep inviting them to shit when they don’t give a fuck about it.” you grumble with furrowed brows, Carmilla chuckles seeing how serious you looked when you spoke of revenge.

“It would make this whole empire crumble if we went after the Vee’s right now with the state we’re in…besides I would’ve already if I could..i don’t advise you to though..” her chuckles dying down as she gives you a more warning look, not wanting you to go after them yourself, but it was already too late.

The wheels in your mind were turning with a plan. “Oh noooooo i would never! Anywho i gotta go take care of something’s, cya!” you quickly replied, lying straight through your teeth as you scooted out of the room.

Carmilla watched you leave but she knew you all too well, she just hoped you knew what you were doing.

————————————

Valentino was immersed in the party life at the moment.

Iridescent lights flashing, deafening music blaring, sitting in his king pin like booth with two demon women at his side. Nursing on his usual intoxicating cigarette, the red smoke clouding above him while one of the females tugged on his coat with needy eyes.

“What is it doll?” he says with a sickening sweet draw, she then leans in close whispering a few naughty suggestions in the moth man’s ear, a pleased smirk forming on his face as he then picks her up in his arms about to take her somewhere private until he’s stopped mid stride.

“FUCK kitty…kind of trying to do something here..” he says with an impatient squeak, watching his little robo fizz stand in his way with that same toothy smile it always has, then it gestures eagerly for Valentino to follow it.

Valentino grumbles rolling his eyes, he roughly sets the demon girl down on the booth causing a yelp to escape her lips. “This better be good…” he stocks off following Kitty absentmindedly to his office.

Once there the door is already open, Val looks down suspiciously at the bot before entering. A sense of a different aura lingered in the air as the door suddenly shuts and locks behind him.

“Kitty, what the fuck! Open this damn door..” he seethes slamming his fist against it, only stopping when he hears a low seductive voice beckon him from behind, “There’s no need for that Valentino~”

The moth man’s wings twitch turning to investigate where that voice was coming from, which he then noticed out of the dark corner of the room a nice pair of legs sitting crossed on one of his plush pink arm chairs, delicious stockings working up to the upper thigh and adorned with laced up boots.

He scoffs with an eyebrow raised though he was slightly turned on by the sight. “Who the hell are you?”

“Not important..now come sit~” you say softly with a hint of demand behind it, gesturing towards a chair beside you that was waiting for him.

He scoffs crossing his arms over his chest, unmoving, “Oh yes it is…i’m not going to sit until you tell me who you are and what the fuck your doing in my office.”

You snicker seeing him become more sassy towards you, shaking your head as a bright purple chain appears in your grasp, lighting up bits of your face in the process. His red eyes widening behind his heart framed sunglasses at the realization of what was going on, you suddenly tug it forward with a giggle causing Valentino’s tall build to stumble toward you and fall to the ground with a loud thud.

You walk over to him, heels clicking threateningly amongst the floor until you stop where his face had planted, taking a clawed finger under his chin lifting it up to make his eyes meet your seductive yet powerful ones. “I own you for the next 24 hours mothy baby, which means you’ll have to do anything and everything I say~” a contract for a rental then appears in your opposite hand with his signature somehow on it. He looks at it baffled at how that possibly could’ve happened, not knowing you had one of those women in his booth from earlier trick him into signing it without realizing, leading him right to where he is now.

A wordless mess at your feet with his sunglasses now crooked on his face. You almost felt bad for him but you weren’t gonna feel bad for what you were about to do.

————————

Before Valentino could wrap his mind around anything he was already drunk off your pussy…You had stood over top of him while he held your hips in place, long pointed tongue plunging in and out of your hole. You kept your moans to a dull roar as you began to hear his pitiful whines against your now seeping cunt.

Wanting so badly to be tended to with his cock like he was to you, to the point he was so riled up that it was hurting .

“Shhh don’t be too loud baby…” you coo down at him, seeing how much of a mess he was making with your juices and his red salvia dripping down his chin.

“You don’t want the rest of the Vee’s or your workers realizing that their pimp daddy is just a bitch boy in heat, hmm?” you chuckle throwing your head back when his tongue finally brought you to your release, thighs squeezing against his face with your cum spilling into his mouth.

“Good boy…” you purr as he quiets down a bit while cleaning you up.

You stand up properly looking down at his dazed expression, eyes racking down to see his hard-on straining against his pants, snickering you part his legs settling yourself between them where he sat on the floor, unbuckling his big heart belt, setting his cock free. Val then lets out a hopeful sigh that was quickly replaced with a moan that sounded more like a wounded animal once you squeezed his cock in your fist playfully, his head throwing back as the sudden pressure overwhelmed him.

“T-too sensitive-” he musters through shaky breaths, you only give him a half pout smearing his pre over the tip slowly, letting your thumb linger over his slit.

“Awww when did you start caring about sensitivity?” you couldn’t help but jab at him as you were loving this a little too much. He glares at you for a moment that didn’t go unnoticed making you start jerking him with a rather quickened pace.

“W-Wait! Wait! Wait!” he squeaks loudly with his legs thrashing next to you. You didn’t listen waiting till you hear his breathing get faster and cock twitch in your hand till you halted your motions right before he was about to cum.

Valentino looks down at his cock confused, seeing it was now a dark purple leaking with pre droplets.

Crying not shortly after figuring out your ulterior motivates, bucking his hips into nothing as he practically threw a tantrum, cock bouncing with his weakened thrusts as he babbled on about why he needed to cum. Tears streaking his face.

You waited patiently watching this all unfold, until the whining turned into small sniffles and his bucking slowed down, looking at you with the most glossy eyes you’ve ever seen on a moth. If only you had a camera right now to video this.

“Are you done now you big baby?” he nods, while you hesitate for a moment seeing if he was truly done before you went at it once more only to deny his release again and again.

Until it comes to one point, when he can't seem to take it anymore. His orgasm hits before you can even notice it, and his cum squirts out of his cock in thick, heavy streams. Some getting on your face and the rest on his nice dress pants. He sobs finally feeling euphoric though he begged you to let him cum again, this time inside you.

You lick off the cum on your face before you hover over him once more.

“I should punish you for that you know…”

Valentino pouts about to plea for forgiveness until you sink down onto him. His mind going crazed with the feeling of you enveloping him with your warm insides.

“Just shut the fuck up and let me fuck you”

In which he did just that surprisingly enough.

A pimp who wasn’t so tough anymore, now mere mush in your hands.

The one thing you couldn’t wait for is to see the looks on the other two’s faces when they find that one of their Vee’s have flown way too close to the lamp light.

And got his shit ROCKED.

[loveinhawkins]

Sprawled across Steve’s couch, apropos of nothing, Robin says, “They’d be good Halloween costumes. Like, there’s three of us.”

Eddie blinks at her.

Robin blinks back, as if she’s being perfectly reasonable, as if she’s just continuing an ongoing conversation—when in reality, she’s been silently staring into space for the past minute.

“Buckley. Y’know I can’t actually read your mind, right?”

“Uh, no excuse,” Robin says disapprovingly. “Steve can do it just fine.”

“That’s a completely different—you do see how that’s—”

“It’s ‘cause Molly Pritchard,” Steve begins, in his honestly, catch up, Munson tone, “kept annoying the shit out of Robin—”

“Excuse me, that’s a blatant mischaracterisation and you know—”

“Annoying the shit out of you,” Steve repeats, undeterred.

Robin scoffs. “She kept going on, like, okay, we get it, you saw a Broadway show, whoop-de-doo—”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy, Buckley?” Eddie says, and hurriedly avoids Robin kicking him in the shin.

“No, she’s just completely detached from real life! Like, yeah, I’m sure Singin’ in the Rain was just wonderful, and oh, at the Gershwin, you say? Lucky you. Not all of us were having a positively darling Spring Break in New York, some of us were—” Robin breaks off, gesturing uncertainly before settling on, “Busy.”

“That’s one word for it,” Eddie says.

“Anyway, that wasn’t the—Molly Pritchard rambling on was just the, like, catalyst for—she wasn’t the point. The point is—” Robin stops again, flounders, then whacks Steve on the shoulder. “Steve, I had a point, where is it?”

“Halloween costumes,” Steve says patiently.

“Right! She reminded me, there’s, like, three leads right there. Sort of. We should do it, I’ve never really done group costumes before—”

“For the hypothetical Halloween party we haven’t been invited to,” Eddie points out.

“Shh, details. And they’re not, like, ridiculously complicated—Steve, you’ve definitely got a couple suits just lying around—”

“Why does that feel like an insult?” Steve asks the ceiling.

“But uh, Robin,” Eddie says, “I thought you hated wearing heels?”

A deafening silence.

“Well,” Robin replies eventually. “I don’t know what bright idea you’ve got going on in your head, Eddie Munson, but I’m gonna be Gene Kelly.”

Steve chuckles. “Attagirl,” he says, raising his drink in approval.

He’s drinking coke out of a wine glass—according to Steve, it suits him. Eddie half-hates the fact that he’s right.

“And then the only thing we’d have to really look out for would be tap shoes, and we could—”

“Woah, hold your horses,” Steve says. “We’re definitely getting kicked outta the hypothetical party.”

“Why?” Eddie says. “Does Hawkins hate musicals now, too?”

“Tap shoes,” Steve says, as if Eddie’s being particularly dense. “Dude, we’re gonna, like, immediately scratch up the floor. We could only walk on carpet, and then what’s the point of wearing tap shoes in the first—”

“That’s… a very specific problem,” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Robin says with narrowed eyes. “Very specific.”

Steve shifts in his seat. “No, it’s not. I just—I just know things, sometimes. Sue me.”

“Yeah, you do,” Robin says. Her eyes are still narrowed. “You know many things, Steve. But why do you know this particular—”

“I just do! There’s no—”

“I think,” Robin declares, “we should all put on our deerstalkers—”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, I regret ever introducing you to Dustin.”

“—to figure out exactly why you know that.”

Robin looks at Eddie pointedly.

Eddie assesses Steve, then shrugs. “Uh, he’s really protective over floorboards?”

Steve’s veneer of exasperation completely melts away; he snorts, and Eddie pretends he doesn’t feel the achievement flutter in his chest.

“Hopeless,” Robin says, stretching out languidly. “Completely and utterly—”

She sprints out of the room.

“Wha—Robin,” Steve says indignantly, but he’s laughing, jumps up from the couch and grins at Eddie as if to say come on, then. “Get back here!”

Eddie laughs too, following Steve up the stairs, into his bedroom, where Robin’s pulling things out of the closet with gleeful abandon.

“if my theory is correct…” she says, head barely visible.

“You really have been spending too much time with Dustin,” Steve mutters.

“Aha!”

And Robin emerges with a shoebox in her hands, and she’s opening it up, tossing out tissue paper, and then—

Steve groans.

Eddie’s lips twitch. “Oh.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve says entirely without heat.

“I was right,” Robin crows. She holds the little pair of tap shoes as if they’re made of glass. “Steve. Steve.”

“Oh, you can shut up, too.”

“They’re precious.”

“No, they’re not—”

“Eddie’ll back me up, won’t you, Eddie?” Robin says sweetly.

Steve gives him a faux warning look. “Don’t encourage her, man.”

And Eddie has a joke right on the tip of his tongue, he swears he does, but his eyes are fixed on the goddamn shoes, and he can’t stop his fond smile from showing; his heart does a weird but not unpleasant skip in his chest, and what comes out is—

“You were tiny.”

Steve flushes. “What, did you think I just popped into existence at school?”

“Sometimes,” Eddie says, tongue-in-cheek.

Steve chuckles, face still red; Eddie’s heart sings.

Robin’s placing the tap shoes back into their box, oh so carefully. “Steve, please tell me there’re photos of—oh, there are,” she says triumphantly, as Steve groans again. “You gonna show us? Please?” “Uh, no,” Steve says firmly—and oh, Eddie thinks, that absolutely means he’s gonna cave by the time dawn peeks through the curtains and show them a whole damn album.

Robin seems to know this too, because she beams before setting off again, this time beckoning them, “Come on, come on! We can practice in our socks so we won’t scratch the precious floor, Steve.”

“Uh, practice?” Eddie asks.

“The choreography, duh.”

“Wait,” Steve says, “how do you even remember the—”

“The Hawk showed it once. They did a whole classic movies theme sometimes.”

Eddie vaguely remembers that: the theme ended with a showing of It’s A Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve.

And they give a hilariously bad attempt at the choreography, laughing at their socks muffling the sound of their heavy footsteps.

They wobble precariously on the top of the couch, spill coke all down the back of it. Every so often, Eddie notices that Steve’s hand is holding onto his shoulder for balance, for a little longer than is strictly necessary.

And he feels…

Light. Giddy.

God, it’s the most fun he’s had in years.

[hellsenthero]

Hot Under the Collar

Written by: hellsenthero

Azriel X Fem!Reader

A mandatory visit to the Illyrian war-camp takes a turn for the worst when three hot-headed males decide they want to send their High Lord a message.

Warnings/themes: Swearing, violence, blood, angst, fluff, sexist war camp.

MASTERLIST

-----

Azriel held you securely in his arms as he flew. The view of the trees and mountains was always breathtaking to you, so much so that you didn't mind the biting chill in the air that nipped at your hands and cheeks.

“I wish you could've stayed home.” Azriel spoke for the first time since you'd taken off from the House of Wind. It was a comment that had you peering up at him with furrowed brows.

“You don't want me with you?”

“God's no,” he breathed, his hazel eyes met yours and you could see the stress he was holding back. “Illyria is no place for females, Y/N, no place I want my mate near.”

“But you grew up there.” Azriel's hold on you tightened.

“Exactly.”

The rest of the flight to the war-camp was spent in silence. Azriel's Shadows twisted around the two of you in such an unsettled manner that you could practically taste his anxiety. When the camp came into view you gave Azriel a quick kiss on his cheek. “It'll be okay, Az, don't worry too much.”

You could feel the tension in the camp the second you landed. It had your nerves flaring like a spooked creature, but you knew as one of the Night Court's best healers you had a job to do here. Check the females, make sure their wings are intact, give them any remedies they require, be it for their cycles, pain relief, contraception, or anything else. Azriel was here to speak with Devlon to ensure he was sticking to the new training rules and as your protection as he all but refused to drop you off like Rhysand had originally suggested.

“Would you just drop Feyre off there and leave, Rhys?” Azriel had bit out when Rhysand called the meeting. Rhys looked pissed at just the thought of leaving his mate in the Illyrian war-camp.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then don't expect me to leave Y/N's side for a fucking second in that shit hole.”

“Shadowsinger,” Devlon greeted. His sharp eyes looked you over but he didn't bother to greet you. Azriel grit his teeth at the blatant disrespect towards his mate.

“Devlon,” Azriel said coolly, “this is Y/N, one of our Court's best healers,” he placed his left hand over his right, making sure his mating band was visible for Devlon and the other gathering fae. “She's also my mate. I expect there to be no issues with her checking on the health of the females here?” At the mention of mate the other fae backed up with wide steps, all but three males who stood side by side, glaring between the shadowsinger and you. You quickly committed their looks to memory before focusing back on Azriel. “We'll be staying at our usual cabin.” You caught Azriel saying.

“How long will you be staying?” Devlon asked.

You knew Azriel wanted to leave as soon as possible, but he instead answered with, “as long as it takes to ensure the females are healthy and cared for and that things are running smoothly.”

“We can care for our females ourselves.” Devlon bit out.

Azriel's hazel eyes narrowed. “You say that, but you've proven that to be untrue in the past.” Before Devlon could respond with a nasty remark of his own, Azriel slipped his arm behind your back and began leading you towards the cabin he more or less grew up in. “I'll meet with you just before dinner to go over specifics, Devlon.” Azriel called out without looking back.

“What a prick.” You hissed out as Azriel shut the cabin door behind the two of you.

Azriel let out a low hum of agreement. “He's the nicest male here.”

“I'll try to be quick,” you say in order to placate both him and yourself, “thorough, but quick.”

“Good,” Azriel breathed out.

—--

The next morning found you doing much the same as you had the evening before. Going cabin to cabin and checking on the females. You preferred to check on them in the comfort of their own homes, it made everyone more at ease and always allowed for the females to speak to you more freely about their health. By the afternoon you had to go back to your own cabin to make up more tonics for the female's cycles. You found out that when their cycle hit none of the males in the camp bothered to help get them soothing tonics for the pain they went through. Instead, they were told to deal with it.

With a grunt you slammed the cabin door shut out of anger as you got to brewing up more tonics. Azriel was in another meeting with Devlon and you were glad he wasn't there to see you fuming with anger. The treatment of the females in the camp made you want to scream and cry and you knew it would take a long while to decompress after leaving the Gods forsaken war-camp. Yes, Devlon had the females training and yes, they stopped the wing clipping, but the lack of equality within the camp had you nearly shaking.

You didn't bother turning around when the cabin door opened. Otherwise, you would have seen the three males standing in the doorway. Instead, you called out to who you thought was your mate. “If I'm seeing the improved version of the camp, then I can't imagine the horrors that went on here before.”

“I wouldn't say that this place has improved at all,” answered a deep voice. You shot up and out of your seat and faced the three winged males that you'd had your eyes on the day prior, the only three males who didn't seem to care that you were Azriel's mate and therefore, untouchable. “In fact, I think the camp’s gone to shit ever since your little mate and his High Lord introduced the new rules. I think we need to send them a message.”

“Get the fuck out of here.” You hissed as you scrambled to pull on the invisible golden thread tethering you to Azriel.

“Make us.” The second male hissed.

You looked to the ceiling and muttered a prayer.

“Praying won't get you out of this,” said the first male, a tall male with dark brown eyes.

You looked back down and locked eyes with him. “Oh, I'm not praying for myself.”

You threw yourself at the male just as the door burst open again on a shadow swept wind. Azriel had his hands around the third male's neck, snapping in with one quick movement before the male could draw his weapon. Azriel's shadows helped subdue the second male, keeping him in place as he took out Truth-Teller and stabbed in through the male's chest. The bond had Azriel wanting to carve his eyes out and slit his neck slowly for even thinking of hurting his mate, but now was not the time for a slow and painful death. As Azriel went to advance on the last male, he stopped. He stopped because before him, on the ground, was his mate, straddling the screaming male. Azriel watched as you clawed the eyes out of the first male. His screams of pain like music to Azriel's ears as you dug your sharp nails in further and further and further, until finally, the male grew quiet, and he stopped moving. You brought bloody fingers to the male's neck, checking for a pulse, and after a moment, you breathed a sigh of relief. “He's dead.”

Azriel looked at you with a mix of love, shock, pride, his many emotions flowing down the bond to you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you answered as he helped you off the floor, he didn't mind the warm blood that slipped from your fingers onto his own. “Needed to get my anger out, that really helped.”

Azriel was speechless for a moment as he looked you over.

“Fuck baby, remind me to never get you angry.”

You laughed, a sweet sound that was out of place in a cabin full of bodies. “You know I can get a bit hot under the collar, baby.”

“Right,” Azriel answered with a small uptilt of his lips, “I'm going to go tell Devlon his three best fighters are dead. Once you're done here we're going straight home and I'm not letting you leave the bedroom for a fucking week. Got it?”

Your smile was enough of an answer, but you still nodded to Azriel. “Got it.”

[morganbritton132]

I love the newer teachers not knowing who Eddie is and visiting Steve at his house and wondering how they can afford such a nice house. I can imagine that they live in a house way above a teachers salary, much less a teacher with presumably, a lot of medical bills. They see gold records hanging on the walls and all of Eddie’s awards on a bookshelf and they are trying to connect the dots to who Eddie is.

David’s first impression of Steve is, admittedly, not great.

He was hired as a long-term substitute halfway through the school year and technically, Mr. Harrington was the only teacher on their floor not to introduce himself to him. They’re supposed to cover the eighth grade lunch period together, but Steve hasn’t shown up once since David was started three days ago.

Instead, the principal covered for him.

Cindy McCullen, the gossipy history teacher across the hall from him, says that it’s because of favoritism. She says that Principal Moreno always lets her favorites run rampant around the school and lets them do whatever they want, especially if they’re tenured. Steve Harrington is the most egregious example of blatant favoritism.

David starts to form an opinion about Mr. Harrington in his mind that only gets worse with every story he hears from Cindy. So, it’s a bit of a shock when Steve shows up for lunch duty the next day with a whole ass service dog.

He feels like an asshole.

Especially because Steve is so apologetic about missing the last three days and leaving David to ‘the wolves’ during his first week, “Is this your first teaching job? I’ve heard from the kids that you’re doing great!”  

He makes a conscious effort after that to get to know Steve and to stop letting other people form his opinions for him. Though, admittedly. He kinda fucks that up too.

The first time David meets Eddie, he thinks that he’s Steve’s brother.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t talk about his life outside of work. It’s just that he doesn’t go into a lot a detail. David knows that he’s married to a man, that he’s from Indiana originally, and he might have a kid. Maybe? A girl name Erica that tells him what a brony is and how they ruin everything.

Hell, David’s not even entirely sure he knows what Ozzy is in service of. Steve just said that he bumped his head one too many times and now he has a dog so his husband stops worrying so much.

The only surefire thing that David knows is that Steve has a brother that’s a bit of a dork. He has great hair and is really smart, but lacks tact. Steve loves him. You can tell by the way that he talks about the guy.

So one day, David is in the teacher’s lounge heating up a cup of Easy Mac while Steve is sitting with his head down at one of the tables. He’s about to suggest that Steve go home and sleep off whatever cold he has when a guy with long hair and a leather jacket sticks his head in the room and declares, “You look like shit.”

Steve doesn’t even lift his head when he flips him off which is – whoa, not something that David would expect from Mr. Harrington. He makes himself busy with stirring his mac and cheese while the two bicker with each other which is, admittedly, childish.

Leather Jacket’s main argument for why Steve has to listen to him and go home is because he’s older. Steve croaks out that that is bullshit and Leather Jacket threatens to call their Uncle Wayne if Steve doesn’t listen. He eventually agrees.

Before they leave, Leather Jacket sticks his hand out to David and introduces himself as the cooler Mr. Harrington (that gets a laugh out of Steve).

So, color him shocked when Steve invites their event committee over to his house.

David hasn’t even fully gotten over how nice of a neighborhood Steve lives in on a teacher and retiree’s salary when Leather Jacket gets introduced as Eddie, the husband Steve has mentioned. Then he just casually mentions a red carpet like, what?

And the craziest part is that he’s asked about his husband before!

Steve mentioned once that his husband was out of town and when David asked what he did for work, Steve said that he was retired. He said that his husband can play guitar and that one of their friends (James Hetfield) needed a last minute guitarist for some kind of fair (Coachella) so Eddie went to help out.

He definitely worded it like playing guitar was just a hobby that his husband has, not like. Not like platinum records lining the hallway to their bathroom or the picture of Steve and Eddie in Vegas with KISS stuck to the fridge. He swears the note on the dry erase board by the garage entrance signed ‘Dave’ is in Dave Grohl’s handwriting.

There’s an Grammy on the bookshelf by the fireplace.

Who the hell is Steve Harrington?

Better question: Who the hell is Eddie Munson?

Kathy laughs the entire drive to her house and she is still laughing when he drops her off. The only thing she says that could even be considered an answer is, “I think he’s on Tiktok. Start there.” 

[tearskillstardust]

; HOW DID THESE GENSHIN MEN AROUSE YOU SO MUCH?

NSFW; 18+ content and themes ahead, minors DO NOT INTERACT.

all legally aged genshin men; gender-neutral reader. interacting with the following content is a free choice for all readers. the author does not take any responsibility for the repercussions

— GENSHIN MEN WHO JUST WANT THEIR CLOTHES. who are freezing and dying in the cold and don't really want to go all the way to their own room for some clothes when your room was right next to the bathroom. who barely have their body covered with a towel wrapped around their waist and water dripping down their hair as they ruffle it half sleepily. who think you must be busy with work and have your back towards them and they'd quickly excuse themselves and pick a pair of trousers out of the cupboard. who don't mind being seen naked, not when they're fully aware of how much you adore them, but still don't expect your gaze to pin on them as soon as they open the door and your neck shades red.

— men who would love to tease or apologize as per your leisure but when you simply cough and turn back to your work, they are left to believe that you're quite alright with this casualness between you two. who are picking out some tops for themselves when they feel your gaze on their back and have to resist laughing. who pout quietly when you turn back again, and they're left wondering how you really feel. who end up staring at you the whole time they wear the clothes and find themselves disappointed upon finding no hint of arousal at their blatant expression, but shrug it off thinking you may not be into stuff like these.

— who busy themselves with cooking when you enter the shower and don't have to wonder so much about your thoughts on the matter anymore. who lower the flame and strain their ears to hear you crying their name out in the shower with a tone that clearly indicates you're having fun. who smirk then and try not to enter there with you, turning the flame back up as they hum a song happily. who pass you a casual wink and a smile that you gracefully return with a smile when you enter the kitchen.

'tell me,' he says, handing you the utensil as he leaned against the table top picking an apple from the counter behind him. 'yup?' you ask, busy turning the pancake this way and that with a nonchalant look on your features. 'just who do you think of when you moan like that?"

— and men who have to patiently rub your back after you choked on the water you were drinking, red from head to toe. who try not to laugh at your embarrassed state but can barely contain themselves from kissing your nape when you shy away like that, chuckling at your innocent self who thought they wouldn't have heard you from the kitchen. who decide whether or not to indulge your desire from early in the morning as they find themselves on the bed at night, and always find themselves saying yes when you pass them that twinkling smile.

childe, thoma, itto, dottore, cyno, wriothesley

— GENSHIN MEN WHO ARE BUSY WORKING. who barely have any time for anything else, any form of distraction from anywhere. who are ready to snap at anyone who may disturb their work, and do not appreciate it when the secretary keeps knocking and questioning them. who are so indulged in their work they do not see when the morning sun dies to the late evening's shining charm. who did not move from their desk the whole day. who have their hair framing their features in an adorable way, pen smudged accidentally against their chin. who have their eyebrows drawn together, and lips sewn shut as they nibble on it thoughtfully. who do not seem to understand simply how ethereal they look when they smile at you as you enter the office, the sun enhancing the bright of their beauty.

— men who despite however busy at the moment, simply must have their food with you, in fact, especially because they were busy and everything else was giving them a headache. who unpack the lunches with you and laugh quietly when you softly rub against the soft of their skin, informing them about the ink stain. who speak to you non-stop about how tired they are and how much they were looking forward to this and entirely shut up when you start speaking, telling them funny anecdotes from your day that you know they'll like. who comment from time to time, amused smile gracing their features at every new thing you have to tell them about. who tilt their head innocently, almost devilishly, when you go quiet for a moment and then admit how beautiful they look in that moment.

— men who blush indefinitely at your direct comment and find themselves for a loss of words for a few moments. who never expected you to find them beautiful in such a messy state—hair sticking everywhere, ink mark on their chin, gaze hazy with reading thousands of words the whole day, but then again, they never expected you to find them pretty in the first place and simply end up gracefully accepting the softly stated compliment.

— the real fun begins when they find you blushing too—clearing your throat and obvious shyness coating your gestures and they end up teasing you about it. so far do they go that you have to personally shut them up with a kiss, and while normally it would have been as far as it went, it won't end just with that when they are so stressed out. after all, their darling will help them, won't he/she? who pull you by the collar and suddenly you're the one on the seat and they're the one staring down on you—gaze ravenous as they lick their lips, desire obvious by the way they touch you, desperation festering in their gestures. and before either of you know it, both of your clothes lay discarded on the floor—room clicked shut, dark gazes fixed upon each other, playful smiles never finding rest.

ayato, neuvillette, al haitham, capitano, gorou, heizou

— GENSHIN MEN WHO LOVE SPENDING TIME WITH THEIR BELOVEDS. who would gladly come home to their lovely pet and pat their head and feed them treats first thing when they return. who don't really mean to offend you, but hope that you understand their love for their puppy. who love to take care of them when they have a day off and gladly clean them up and shampoo them like a most responsible father and ascertain that you're never troubled by them.

— men who, just as well, take excellent care of their younger siblings and friends' children. who simply know how to work with them, making them laugh or calm down with their gentle, loving warmth. who know how to convince a crying child into answering them and how to make them laugh and smile. who adore their innocence and enjoy narrating tales to little children, or even tell them of random anecdotes from life. who love to take care of others and attend to their needs, however tired they may themselves be and find comfort in the act of giving.

— men who you can't get enough of. who you would gladly tell how much you adore theme for their kind and giving nature. who you love for their caring self, and their altruism; who you appreciate infinitely for their positive aura and optimistic disposition, always smiling, however tough may the situation be.

'oh?' he asked, teasing smile pulling at his lips when he heard those words of adoration leave your lips, turning towards you with sparkling eyes. you chuckled softly, nodding happily. 'i'm being honest, though.' he hummed thoughtfully, nodding as he reached out to solemnly twirling the hair falling off from behind your ear, kissing the end of it as he met your eyes. 'i wouldn't imagine you saying a lie, love.'

— men who you find so loving you can't help but pepper kisses all over their face, often rubbing them the wrong way so that they end up pulling your lips downwards instead, caught amidst their own. who love seeing you get all flustered and shy, but turn just as red when you're quick to pin them down and chose to take control instead. who adore being adored by you and would gladly sing your praise from underneath you, pleased infinitely by your playful charm. in spite of that, they never fall short on passion, always pulling you into their lap when you do something scandalous, ready to tease you endlessly, or play around, should you express such desire.

kaveh, tighnari, aether, albedo, xiao, diluc

— GENSHIN MEN WHO HAVE THESE SMALL HABITS. who have their hand on resting on your thigh, both intentional and unintentional. you learnt over time that this specific form of physical touch comforted them, made them feel at ease, grounded them whenever they were stuck in their own head. the touch comforted you too and you didn't have any problem with it, but it was the strokes of their fingers and the grabbing of your flesh that turned a sweet moment into a moment of want and need.

— men who take their position laying between your thighs, head resting on your belly as they watch something on their phones screen has you feeling weak in the knees. their breath fans against your skin, hair tickling you every time they move, the light pecks they give you randomly has you squeezing your thighs around their shoulders. and then they coo, taking it as a sign of you hugging them and they stoke you, delicate fingers tracing shapes on your skin, not realising the damage they're causing to you.

he paused for a moment, raising his head towards you in a questioning gesture. 'why are you moving so much?' your eyes widen slightly in surprise and you quickly shake your head, 'no, nothing it's just getting a bit sweaty in there, sorry.' he passes you a suspicious look before resting his head back in your lap, immersed back in his book.

— men who are very quick on catching your reactions, too. so congrats if you can manage to stay still and give simply no reaction at all, because even if you so much so as squirm a bit at your spot, they will ascertain to make it as hard for you as they now intentionally can, to the point it ends up breaking your resolve entirely and you're soaked in arousal, whining quietly to them to help you out with a problem. who take great pleasure in edging you like this, and love it when you're willing to play around with them too, entertaining their game innocently as though you can win, only to be pinned down when they finish their play.

baizhu, kaeya, wanderer, kazuha, venti, pantalone, zhongli, lyney

[cerise-on-top]

oh oh oh I’ve seen this going around (didn’t know it was a thing?) but 141 + König and Nikolai when their s/o has a strength kink?

Hey there! To anyone else reading this, only the ask has some NSFW elements to it, the rest of this post is entirely SFW! Again, I don't write NSFW, but I can write something watered down and SFW if that's okay with the person having sent it in, and that's what I did this time! So, this request has instead become something along the lines of the lads with an S/O who simply likes them being muscular!

TF141, Nikolai and König with an S/O who Likes Muscular People

Price: He’s a captain, so naturally he immediately takes notice of how you’re ogling him whenever you think he won’t notice. Though, sometimes you do have the audacity to stare at his chest and, especially, his arms. While he may have a bit of chub around his body as well, he’s by no means insecure. Quite the opposite, he’s well aware that it’s healthier for him to have some body fat. It’s kind of cute to him, in all honesty, and somewhat flattering too. Price knows he’s a strong and capable man, he could easily pick you up or manhandle you however he pleases, but the fact that that sort of gets to you as well, he likes that. You won’t have to outright tell him since he’ll know anyway, but expect to be carried a lot more, to have him be more conscious about what he wears so he can show off his muscles a bit. It won’t really affect too much of his routine, but if you ever want to watch him work out a bit so he can flex his muscles for you, he definitely won’t mind that either. It’s nice to have someone to talk to after all. If you’re ever brave enough to ask him if you could maybe touch his muscles, he’ll chuckle a bit and flex for you as well. He may be closer to 40 than 30, but it’s nice to know that you still think of him as attractive. One of his favorite ways of showing off his strength to you is by giving you a nice and warm hug to make you feel safe and protected.

Gaz: Gaz isn’t as muscular as the other members of the Task Force, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have quite some muscle to him as well. Like Price, he’ll notice when you stare at him a little too much, but unlike Price, chances are he’ll tease you about it. With his shirt lying on the arm of the couch, he’ll sit down next to you on a moderately warm day, claiming that it’s “too hot outside”. This is a blatant lie, he wants to watch you try your darndest to not stare at his abs too much. While it’s not particularly a concern of his that his teammates are more muscular than he is, it does sort of feed his ego to see you be this flustered about it. Is also capable of carrying you around just about anywhere, and don’t you ever dare to claim otherwise. He will do whatever he can to prove you wrong because, as your partner, he is always right about these sorts of things. And if he can’t carry you just yet he’ll call Soap and the two of them will train together. Gaz is still pretty young, so the way he looks to you does still matter to him more than it should, but if you’re a heated mess around him whenever he’s flexing a bit too hard, he knows he did something right after all. Biggest honor to him would be you asking if you could touch his arms. As mentioned before, he’ll pick you up, but will also spin you in circles until you’re dizzy before giving you a kiss.

Ghost: Ghost is tall and built like a brick house, you have an absolute field day with him because of it. Like Price, he has some chub to him. Again, it’s healthier that way, and he also doesn’t want to go to the gym every day, sometimes it’s just nice to sin and sleep in when you can. On a physical level, he’s the strongest out of his teammates, he has an easy time carrying just about anything. Even you weigh about as much as a bunch of grapes to him. While you liking him being muscular doesn’t particularly feed his ego, he’s too mature for that, he doesn’t resent that fact either. He had to become strong at many points in his life, physically and mentally, so he can protect the people he loves and himself. If that’s just something you can love him for, then he won’t say no to that. While he may not flex too much for you, he will occasionally when he remembers how much you love his muscles. Won’t be as cheeky about it as Gaz, but he’ll mention it every once in a while. Besides, if you’re a big fan of muscles and tattoos, then you’ve literally hit the jackpot with him. Tell him that to his face and he might blush a bit and start smiling. Not afraid to pick you up in private or squeeze you just the tiniest bit harder either while hugging you. It’s not very hard to feel small around someone like him, regardless of whether you’re 1,50m or 2m, he’s just a very big guy and has the dignity of one as well. If you’ve been together for long enough, he might show off a bit, but not too often.

Soap: Another guy who will actively seek you out just to show you how strong he is. He thrives on that sort of validation, especially from you, so please do stare at him just a bit longer whenever you want to. Not afraid of giving you a small show either where he simply picks up the heaviest things in the room just to show you how capable he is and how great of a partner he is as well. He tries to not have too much body fat and does his best to stay fit. No, he’s not really overdoing it either, he just has some good genes that allow him to eat literal trash and not put on too much weight. The more he can get you to stare and touch him, the better. Give him the positive attention, he’ll return it to you eventually as well. Will prompt you to touch his biceps just so you have your hands on him. He loves having you around while he works out because not only do you get to have a good show and see just how hot he is, he gets to just have you around. If you let him, he’ll do push-ups while you’re lying on his back. He knows he’s hot shit, having you reassure him is just another reason for him to keep going. Like Gaz, he’ll also be more prone to run around shirtless as soon as he figures it out, but he’ll also do so in the middle of winter. You dote on him, so even you telling him to put on a sweater is good attention to him.

Nikolai: Nikolai isn’t the youngest anymore either, but that doesn’t mean his body is deteriorating. Also has a bit of chub, but he thinks it looks better on him than having no body fat whatsoever. When it comes to strength, he’s a bit stronger than Price still, meaning he has few more muscles than he does as well, so it’s not like he’s weak either. If you come up to him and ask him to flex for you, he will like it’s nothing. He has had people fawning over him when he was younger, so you’re likely not the first. If you’re just sitting next to him, all flustered, then he’ll teasingly ask you if you want to touch them. Afterwards he goes back to whatever it was he was doing. He’s well aware you have a thing for muscular people, but won’t make a big deal out of it. He will wear shorter shirts if you explicitly ask him to, but whenever he can, he will wear one of his bomber jackets. You get a better view of him when he’s somewhere hot, with him slicking back his hair and you giving him all sorts of stares. Something along the lines of that will be the start of him starting to tease you more often. Need a hand opening the pickle jar? Need a strong guy to lift something? Want someone to carry you to bed? Look no further than him. As soon as he sees the chance to make you go quiet, he’ll take it. He might actually just pick you up when you aren’t expecting it either, just to show off in that way, and hold you up in the air. And if you’re taller than him, he’ll still pick you up, this is about his pride, after all.

König: He wasn’t always as muscular as he is right now, he used to be quite a bit softer when he was younger. While he, also has a layer of fat, he has plenty of muscles to spare as well. It’s sort of unlikely you’re taller than him, but on the off chance you do see eye to eye with him, he’ll still pick you up. This is about being the dominant person in the relationship, he needs to be the bigger person or else he won’t know what to do. It’s flattering to him, to know that you like him not only for his personality, but also his body, not everyone always has. He won’t particularly comply with you in public when you ask him to show off, he draws enough attention to himself as it is, but in private he’ll do just about anything you ask of him. He’ll flex for you, he’ll perform several exercises for you, just name it and he’ll do it. While he may not be an overly physically affectionate person, you can ask him to make you feel safer by having him wrap his arms around you. That’s another reason why he likes you: You’re independent enough, but you still allow yourself to be vulnerable around someone like him. Laughs a bit when you tell him you just wanted to feel his strong arms around you. However, in order for him to be able to be such eye candy and protect you, he’ll need lots of good meals too. Your agreement is thus that he’ll do just about anything you ask of him, even something stupid such as flexing for you, and in return you’ll make him a nice meal every once in a while, even if you just order takeout. Love goes through the stomach.

[bomber-grl]

New years kiss

Damian Wayne x Gn!reader

Now that the holidays were wrapping up there was just one more around the corner, new years.

You honestly spend such a good time with the Wayne family on Christmas, which is celebrated in the family more as a way to be with one another rather than religious purposes.

That day was spectacular, honestly more so since you got even closer to kissing your boyfriend.

Ok ok sure, it’s a bit weird to not have kissed earlier but you’ve only been dating for a little while, you should really cut yourself some slack.

Your train of thought was wiped away as soon as Damian called your name.

“Huh?” You look up from your seat at school.

“I said if you’d like to spend new years with my family” he said, more than obviously trying to seem nonchalant about it all.

“Ummm sure! I don’t mind” you said in response and Damian just shrugged and walked away once the bell rung.

-

It was so cold in Gotham and although you were initially reluctant at accepting Damian’s offer of having Alfred pick you up, you’re glad as hell you did.

The car soon stopped in front of Wayne manor and Alfred opened the door for you.

The sharp contrast of outside making you really want to just stay inside the car but you really shouldn’t keep Alfred, or Damian for the matter, waiting.

Once you stepped inside and removed your coat and scarf Damian approached you and took you into his arms.

“Your cheeks are cold” he said as he touched your cheek with his hand.

“Yea I guess so” you leaned your head against said hand that was then yanked away.

“Awww how cute” the voice said teasing the both of you

You whipped around and saw Tim.

“when’s the wedding?”

“Ugh shut up Tim” he took you by the hand and walked off into his room while you heard Tim laugh.

Damian quickly plopped down onto his bed and motioned you to lay besides him just as fast.

“What’s got you all worked up?” You asked, half teasing half genuine.

“Nothing” He turned around and had his back to you.

You probably would’ve been a bit upset at his reaction but his more than evident blush on his ears and neck just made you even more curious.

Well for now you’ll leave it, next time tho, you’ll definitely pry.

The next thing you knew you were being called down to dinner that you’d best describe as chaotic.

I mean sure, there was teasing from more than enough people but more than anything everyone was having a good time, yourself included.

Eventually though, the sun set and the sky darkened, the time that everyone had been waiting for finally arrived.

“Finally” cass said in passing as she stretched a bit and got some of the fireworks and passed them out amongst everyone with the help of Grayson.

You and Damian stayed with the group and lit fireworks for the majority of the night but eventually you two broke off from them and chose to sit on the roof.

Of course only after you were told to keep safe and not to do anything risky.

“Here take my hand” Damian offered you a hand at finally climbing to the top of the roof, a mission you successfully accomplished.

“Phew I was honestly kind of worried that while climbing up here things would go south” you said as you let out sigh and sat comfortably.

“Same but I’m glad we just got this view” Damian motioned to the fact you can see a good part of Gotham and it’s lights.

“Yea…” you said as you stared in awe and Damian was doing something else you didn’t quite register.

No! You had to focus, this was the night you were going to have your first kiss with Damian.

“Wow I can’t believe it’s almost 12” he said as he held his phone, finally breaking you out of your train of thought.

“Yea, it’s crazy how long it’s been since we met” you said reminiscing.

“Yea.. remember when -“ you were quickly shut up by Damian’s hand over your mouth, his head was hung low and spoke softly.

With obvious confusion blatant on your face he began to speak louder, “don’t… don’t say anything while we’re at the manor, anything we say can possibly be listened to and… I’d rather not have Tim or anyone else black mail me”.

With him saying this you’d assume he was angry, but it was difficult to take him seriously when there was blush from his ears to his cheeks.

“Pffffttt— haha! Seriously Damian you’re too cute!” You start laughing as you playfully push him.

“No I’m not!” Was what Damian said among other things that were lost to the sound of your laughter.

After you finally calmed down you looked at Damian and took note of his obvious pout.

“Hey” you placed both hands on his cheeks and gently moved his face to mirror that of your own.

“What?” He said trying his best to keep stoic

“What if… we kissed?” Immediately Damian’s eyes widened and his blush returned at full force.

“Like..right now?” He asked, clearly treading carefully with how it came out as a whisper.

“Yes, only if you want to though” you said bashfully but still giving him room to back away if he didn’t want to.

His eyes avoided yours but ultimately his body language told you all you needed to know .

The two of you calmed down and there was nothing but silence.

Then the two of you leaned in, you could sense his body stiffen up and so you moved your hand over to grab his.

His body relaxed into the kiss and interlocked your hands.

The two of you flew apart and looked towards the source once you heard the loud bangs, fireworks decorating the night sky and illuminating Damian’s flushing face in the dark.

You quickly grabbed your phone and it read-

12:00 a.m Jan. 1st

-

“Hey Damiannnnn” you said as you chose to call him on your cell while lazing around.

It as only a few days later and you were talking to Damian once again, at first it was a bit awkward and Shy but baby steps.

“Yknow Damian…” you said trailing off

“What?” He said obviously distracted with something else.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year since I saw you-“

*beep*

….

He hung up…

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

I can’t stop thinking of demon! Adam going through development and reaching the point of like,, doing something nice without anyone telling him to do it, purely for the sake of doing it. Something he never would have done before. Even if it’s something as small as sitting down with you while you’re watching your favorite movie or show and not shitting on it the whole time, just to keep you company. Or something like that. I dunno. I’m just a sucker for slow burn subtextual romance.

THAT, and the reader seeing his face beneath the mask, looking him the eyes, and smiling a little. Even if they say nothing. I feel like that would stick with him.

Exactly. Demon!Adam lives in my head rent free now. I know this weren't a request of sorts but I kinda wrote something for this

random ficlet below

Demon!Adam x GN!reader (Fluff)

DemonSinner!Adam is something that plays on my mind a lot. He still doesn’t believe in the whole redemption shit that Charlie is laying down but if it gets him a glimpse of seeing heaven again he is willing to try.

-----

Adam was bored and needed something to do that would put off the inevitable “therapy” session with Lucifer’s brat later. So that must be why he finds himself outside your room. He knocks lightly on your door. You didn’t answer, he knocked again louder this time. Still no answer. So he opens the door and peers in.

“Hey errr (Y/n) Charlie asked me to check on you.” A blatant lie but he won’t tell you that.

He sees you’re watching TV.

“Huh? What no shitty nickname this time?” You mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn. Adam walks over and flops down on the couch next to you.

“Oh yeah, nah I didn’t really feel like it.” He grabs a handful of your popcorn.

You quirk a brow.

“Also Charlie said nooo giving nicknames to people that demean them and also who don’t want it and people were given names to be used blah blah blah.” He shoves the popcorn into his mouth. “So what are we watchin?”

“I'm watching a movie I really like so if you're staying either shut up or fuck off.” You sink back into your blanket cocoon.

*10 minutes later*

“What the fuck! This guy clearly likes her but she goes for the other bozo. Is she blind . . . . as well as ya know hot.”

You choke on your drink. You didn’t think that this would be his kinda thing but here he was emotionally invested in the film you had picked. You had really wanted to just wallow in your depression by binge watching trashy romcoms but what was really making you feel better was watching the ‘dickmaster’ himself rooting for the underdog to open up about his feelings to the lead woman.

You go to grab some popcorn but see the bowl is empty.

“Gotta pause.” You go to stand but he stops you.

“I got this.” He hides the good deed by quickly saying “And I need to piss anyway.” You pass him the bowl.

“Not in the popcorn I hope.” You rearrange yourself back in your blanket burrito.

“HAA, You nasty but don’t watch without me. Coz that is a dick move.”

“You know all about those.” You mutter into the blanket. But Adam had gone to the hotel kitchen to make popcorn.

You chose to scroll on your phone until he got back. There were a few messages but you didn’t really feel like answering them. You flop on your side. You can always move when he came back.

While you waited in silence for Adam. You think back on how he really was getting better. After seeing him slowly open up to Charlie’s ideas and seeing that he can be a good guy when it suits him. You smile to yourself.

Your door slams open.

“Okay I’m back bitch.”

Nevermind looks like he has thrown up his walls again.

He lays out the armful of snacks and the bowl of popcorn that looks way bigger than the bowl he left with. He sees you on your side.

“You comfy down there?”

You groan and slowly sit up again. He sits back down but wraps an arm around you and hugs you into his side and nothing more.

“Okay we can continue now.” He grabs the popcorn and rests it on his lap.

You set the movie going again and snuggle just a little bit closer. For popcorn reasons of course not that Adam was nice and warm and you felt safe next to him.

“Clearly she don’t know a good thing when she sees it.” You pipe up after about three minutes into the film again. You had seen this film so many times but there was one scene that always brought out annoyance in you.

“Right!! She needs to open her eyes this guy clearly loves her for who they are and not some fake ass bs that other . . . what?” Adam stops mid-sentence looking down at you resting against his chest.

You blink a few times before realising you are staring “Huh oh nothing.”

You focus back on the screen in front of you.

The climatic end of the film was approaching and the main lead were confessing their love and as the credits role you can here someone crying. You glance up and see Adam wiping away tears.

“You okay.” You sit up and reach for the tissues on the table to hand them to him.

“What!!! I’m fine. Of course I’m fiiiine. Shut up bitch.” He grabs the tissue box from you.

“If it helps I cried the first time I watched this movie.” You wrap the blankets tighter around yourself.

“I . . . ah . . shit.” He saw you curling further in on yourself. He feels guilt crawling into his stomach. “Sorry, I’m . . .Ugh. Look I’m bad at these feel your feelings crap that Charlie spouts. But it was a good film and yeah I cried but . . .”

“It don’t make you any less of a man.”

“Yeeeah I know. Of course I know. I’m the first man.”

“Huh back to that are we.” You bump shoulders with him, making him laugh.

He pulls you back into his side “So what are we watching now?”

------

I really didn't mean for this to be as long as it was. I'm sorry

[roronoacherries]

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘢 𝘻𝘰𝘳𝘰

2.258 words

content: fluff, sfw, light angst, fem. reader, established relationship, reader can't look at zoro without a hint of fear in her eyes after he saves her from an enemy.

note: this is a little more straw hat fluff than it is zoro fluff?

you wanted to pretend that it didn’t faze you. 

it shouldn’t have. zoro was gentle and loving and kind-hearted. you knew this well enough. better than anyone, you understood that there was more to the swordsman than his unwavering, tough demeanor. there was no reason for you to feel afraid with him — much less, any reason for you to be afraid of him. 

and yet, lately, you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. you couldn’t help being jumpier around him than you wanted to be. and you found yourself avoiding him without meaning to. 

all he had done was protect you. you would have been dead if he hadn’t stepped in. but rather than thank him, your reaction had been to cower and step into sanji’s arms instead of his. it wasn’t fair to him and you knew it but the image of the swordsman, eyes crimson with rage, was something you couldn’t erase from your mind. the expression on his face had been one that could kill; it was one that made you understand that he would kill. without a second thought, if it meant protecting you. and that had terrified you. 

it shouldn’t have unsettled you like it did. you were pirates for god's sake! you hadn’t exactly expected him to be a saint, nor could you claim to be one. you had no right to be this cold toward him now. he was still the zoro you knew — the one you loved like you didn’t realize you could — you’d simply seen a different side of him; you’d seen a side of him that told you the lengths to which he would go to keep you safe. 

you loved him endlessly… but you needed time before you could meet his eyes without recalling the terror you’d felt then. 

and the swordsman understood. he didn’t blame you for your reaction, but he didn’t know how to mend things either. all he could do was wait for it to pass. all he could do was give you space. that was what he told himself but all he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and make you feel okay. 

the best he could do was keep his distance, though without straying too far. it didn’t matter to him if you saw him as a monster, he’d stay close enough to be there if you needed him, keeping out of your way while still keeping an eye on you. 

and although he conceals it well, it isn’t lost on anyone that zoro’s hurting too. he minds his own, not quite avoiding anyone but not quite present either. not even the cook’s blatant and shameless flirting is enough to provoke a reaction from him; and despite their rivalry, sanji can’t stand to see the swordsman so apathetic. 

none of the crew can, but they know there’s not anything more he can do but be patient with you; as much as they all want to help – to advise zoro and to comfort you – they all know what you need is time.

although it doesn’t keep them from trying. 

chopper takes it upon himself to cure zoro’s ailment the only way he can think to: keeping him company. he bothers the swordsman with a dozen different things, keeping him occupied and trying his best to lighten his mood, but his attempts are fruitless. nothing could quite erase the trace of melancholy in zoro’s expression. 

nami is the only other to try and pull some semblance of genuine emotion from zoro in the way she knows best — picking a fight with him. if there’s anything the navigator is an expert at (besides everything — for a price), it’s chastising the boys. 

“you’re too intense,” she scolded and despite her tone, zoro knew she meant it as comfort. not that knowing made it annoy him any less. she kept talking and zoro let her, not quite listening but not quite ignoring her either. 

“you lose your cool at the drop of a hat sometimes, it’s no wonder y/n is as shaken up as she is. you’ve gotta learn to keep your calm.” nami’s words were nonchalant and her eyes were no longer on the swordsman; she knew well enough that her words would go in one ear and out the other regardless. 

and though zoro knew that he would only be proving her right, that he should bite his tongue and acknowledge that maybe nami was right, he lost his temper anyway, raising his voice at the navigator a little more than he’d intended to. “how the fuck am i meant to stay calm if y/n’s in trouble?”

everyone’s eyes turned to the swordsman but he could care less about what they might think. “i don’t give a shit how she feels,” he spat, knowing as well as everyone else that this was a lie. 

“i’d do the same thing again if i had to, without a second thought.” 

i’d do anything for her. 

“even if it means she never speaks to me again.”

despite chopper’s insistence that he rest, despite the wounds on his body that ached with every move he made, zoro left to work out, though not before warning everyone to leave him alone. and while chopper’s words ring in his head, knowing well that his body needed to rest, he’d rather feel the pain of his injuries than think of you. 

the rest of the crew tried to meddle comfort you however they could. 

luffy tried (and succeeded) to bring a smile to your face with his endless antics, usopp joining in. the two went out of their way to pull a laugh out of you. teasingly, your captain made it a point to remind you of the clueless, disoriented fool roronoa zoro could be through theatrical reenactments of the swordsman’s habits and mannerisms. “how can you be scared of an idiot like that?” luffy giggled. 

he balanced himself on the ship’s railing, crouching as he looked down at you with a contagious grin. you wanted to tell him to be careful, but you knew your words would go ignored. 

“besides. i’d ‘ve done the same thing if i was in his place,” he said, teetering on the railing and it takes everything in you not to shout at him. playfully, he questioned you, “would you really be scared of me too, y/n?”

“i’m scared that you’ll fall. luffy, please get down from there.”

giggling, the captain sways a little more before hopping down and you let out a sigh of relief. and though he doesn’t bother to pull a response out of you, his question still sticks with you. 

sanji had said the same thing as you helped him with the kitchen chores, busying yourself in a helpless attempt to push the swordsman out of your mind. you dried the dishes as sanji washed them, a comfortable silence sitting between the two of you. 

and while sanji knew well that you’d offered to help him because you wanted a distraction, he couldn’t help but question you, his gentle voice breaking the silence. softly, being careful not to make it sound like he thought you were reacting unreasonably, the cook asked, “is there a reason this has you so shaken up, my dear?” 

you dried the last dish without looking up at sanji, who’d turned his back to the sink, a cigarette quick to find its way to his lips. “i don’t know…” you whispered. you were being honest; you’d given that question significant thought already, but you weren’t quite sure why this was bothering you like it was.

“you know…” sanji started, lighting the cigarette between his teeth. “any of us would have done the same thing in his shoes. if that idiot went a little too far, it was because of how much he cares, y/n,” it felt strange to defend the swordsman so forwardly, but it was true. “he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you, especially not if he could do something about it.” 

all you could do was nod, your eyes staring vacantly at the dishes in front of you. sanji held a hand to your shoulder in comfort. “and…pardon my language, sweet y/n, but if that idiot hadn’t done what he did, i’d have kicked his ass.”

“thank you, sanji.” you smiled up at the cook. he returned the smile, whispering one last thing before heading for the door. “if you still can’t keep the mosshead off your mind, at least help yourself to a treat. i made your favorite for dessert tonight if you’d like to sneak a bite…”

no amount of sweets could be enough to make you feel any better (but it was worth the try). it helps, though, that nami and usopp find you wallowing at the kitchen counter and join you. these two admit to understanding perfectly what you felt; they agree that zoro, along with sanji and luffy, could be a monstrous trio when need be. it’s pure insanity and utterly terrifying that they’re as strong as they are, even when you’re not on the receiving end of their fury. 

“but they’re a trio of idiots, too,” nami reasoned. “i know it’s easy to forget when you see them like that, but everything they do is out of loyalty… and love.” 

“she's right,” usopp chimes in. “they’re beastly monsters, but they’re our beastly monsters. it’s like having pet guard dogs. they might bite someone’s hand off but never yours… ‘cept maybe luffy.” 

there’s truth to all of their words; you know this. and it helps. although you don’t forget the fear you felt in that moment, you don’t forget all of the love you feel for that big green-haired idiot either. still, you find yourself skipping dinner to avoid him a little longer — perhaps, more from guilt than any lingering fear. 

you lie in bed instead, your eyes staring at the ceiling as you think over your crewmates’ words and try to make sense of your own ceaseless thinking. you hardly notice the sound of the door until robin’s voice meets your ears.

“the stars are quite beautiful tonight,” she smiles and you know, without her needing to say much else, that this is her way of helping you clear your mind. 

“thank you, robin,” you whisper, as you reach for a thin blanket to take with you on deck. 

and robin is right; the sight of the stars shining above the going merry is enough to take your breath away. their light alone lightens the weight on your shoulders, a reminder that your existence is small and your problems are too. and that doesn’t make them unimportant, but it does make them easier to bear. 

you notice too, though, that robin didn’t send you up here to look at the sky; she wanted you to notice what was under the starlight. his eyes are fixed on the stars above, hands resting behind his head as he laid on the upper deck. 

he notices you without needing to look, catching a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye. you’re frozen where you stand until you see him sit up, turning his back to you, ready to leave and give you your space but the sound of your footsteps stops him. 

he’s not sure why but he shuts his eyes as he hears you approach; a part of him knows it’s to keep himself from getting his hopes up, too afraid to let himself believe that you might let him hold you in his arms again and he might finally be able to get some sleep — not that he’d admit aloud that he can’t quite sleep without you close to him anymore. 

it’s not until he feels your arms wrap around him and your head rest against his back that the swordsmen lets himself exhale. but the sense of relief is short-lived, as he feels something damp his shirt and it pains him to think that you might be crying. 

he struggles to find the right words to say, scared he’ll say the wrong thing and you’ll pull away, but ultimately it’s you who speaks first. “i’m sorry.”

you whisper, your words muffled against his back and he’s certain he must’ve misheard because what could you possibly have to apologize for. 

and it’s then that he knows exactly what to say to you. “shut up.

“what could you possibly have to say sorry for?” his hand searches for yours and as he holds it, he realizes just how deeply he’s missed having you close. “i’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

all you can think to do is hold him tighter, but the swordsman pulls away. he turns to you and when his eyes meet yours, there’s no longer any trace of fear and zoro couldn’t be more grateful for it. 

he lies back on the deck again, this time with you wrapped in his arms. the weight of his arms around you makes you feel safer than anything and there isn’t anywhere else you’d rather be. after all, roronoa zoro would go to any lengths to protect you. resting your head in the crook of his neck, you can’t help but whisper another apology. 

“shut up.” the swordsman repeats, his voice almost a whisper but you can hear the smile tugging at his lips nonetheless. he holds you tighter, burying his nose in your hair and breathing in the scent he missed so much. “let me sleep.”

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