#ahhhh not to sound Obnoxious but

[orchidyoonkook]

The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino  

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word. 

Intimate. That would be a better choice. 

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering. 

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony. 

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy. 

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts. 

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go. 

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between. 

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company. 

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight. 

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off. 

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges. 

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter. 

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot. 

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are. 

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back. 

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses. 

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up. 

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.” 

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty. 

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is. 

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck. 

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself. 

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.” 

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night. 

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung! 

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing. 

You just lost all your tips for the night. 

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it. 

Fuck. 

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet. 

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know. 

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’ 

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it. 

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass. 

No one serves him but you. 

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you. 

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year. 

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath. 

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.  

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,”  he responded. 

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased. 

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you. 

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it. 

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink. 

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself. 

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.” 

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.” 

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” 

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.” 

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation. 

No one calls the Devil by his first name. 

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to. 

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives. 

No one except you. 

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is. 

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that. 

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in. 

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night. 

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker… 

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up. 

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath. 

The King of Hell. 

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end. 

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon. 

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging. 

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him. 

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers. 

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully. 

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity. 

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive. 

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again. 

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well. 

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while. 

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was. 

And maybe he is. 

But not to you. 

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow. 

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him. 

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world. 

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you. 

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find. 

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos. 

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside. 

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor. 

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding. 

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system. 

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth. 

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing. 

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer. 

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.” 

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target. 

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own. 

Yoongi. 

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself. 

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real. 

And he looks like sin incarnate. 

Fitting. 

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you. 

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on. 

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved. 

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you. 

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises. 

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night. 

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse. 

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him. 

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”  

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate. 

“Yes.” 

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body. 

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.” 

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now. 

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening. 

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you. 

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant. 

Beautiful. 

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says. 

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you. 

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers. 

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you. 

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring. 

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear. 

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait— 

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse. 

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” 

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly. 

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’. 

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him. 

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides. 

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it. 

You’ve decided. 

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power. 

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years. 

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back. 

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club. 

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait. 

And apparently neither does Yoongi. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate. 

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil. 

You trust Yoongi. 

“That's a good girl.” 

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft. 

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people? 

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on. 

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get. 

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight. 

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent. 

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea. 

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh. 

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off. 

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?” 

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs. 

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you. 

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.” 

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him. 

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge. 

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look. 

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded. 

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter. 

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip. 

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue. 

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.” 

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?” 

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get. 

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it. 

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt. 

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines. 

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before. 

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip. 

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him. 

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it. 

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it. 

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.” 

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures. 

You’re the most powerful person here. 

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible. 

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know. 

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact. 

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets. 

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace. 

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them. 

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you. 

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else. 

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal. 

Perfect in every single way. 

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too. 

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back. 

Not yet. 

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling. 

Ever.  

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more. 

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence. 

There was only you. 

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows. 

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming. 

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance. 

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white. 

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need. 

It’s yours. 

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze. 

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented. 

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?” 

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?” 

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before. 

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say. 

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.” 

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.” 

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him. 

You just know it. 

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless. 

You never expected anything like that. 

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years. 

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better. 

Because of you.  

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that. 

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly. 

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell. 

He was yours now. 

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.  

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

[flammingnachos]

“𝘛𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢 （）𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘫𝘪 𝘹 𝘳𝘦��𝘥𝘦𝘳 （𝘔）

𝖲𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌；After rescuing the Reader from the ocean, Sanji attempts to make her feel comfortable and happy.

．

Darkness.

"Where am I? What happened?" you think, trying to remember something, anything.

Your head is pounding. Water. Wheres the water?

"Think she has any Berries?"

The voice brings you closer to consciousness. "Voices? Am I dreaming?"

"You idiot. Where would she put it?"

"We could...check-"

"Patty, If you aren't the perfect gentleman then I'll personally ensure that the jambalaya has extra sausage tonight."

"Jeez Sanji. You could try."

Such a rough voice.

"Just shut your damn mouth and get her a hot towel."

"Bite my ass."

"Oh I'll bite your ass! Crappy fuck."

You begin to notice the scent. Wow! Like nothing you've ever experienced.

Suddenly your heart drops. This is real. You aren't dead. This is much worse.

Can you escape? Can you even move?

Your eyes flutter open, slowly adjusting to the brightness.

The man is sitting nearby, and appears to be looking your direction. You snap your eyes shut, hoping he didn't see. But the room... It wasn't what you feared. It had shelves and boxes, not how a brig is supposed to look.

Your reverie is interrupted by a door slamming open.

"One hot towel for our wonderful piece of shit chef and his new little girlfriend!" the intruder said in a faux-sweet voice.

"Yeah, thanks. Now buzz off," the guard said.

"Of course, Mon-sewer," he said in that same obnoxious tone before slamming the door shut.

New little girlfriend. The words burned in your head. This was it. Your worst fear has been confirmed.

You have to get ready to act NOW. You move your right arm slightly, then your left. Huh, no chains. They'll regret that mistake.

You hear the footsteps of the guard growing closer, and steel yourself for what you are about to do. When the footsteps stop, you spring into action, opening your eyes and punching at him with all of the power you can muster.

"Woah, Hold on!" he says, barely flinching at your blow.

Terror fills your heart. It didn't phase him at all. You can't hold back tears as you continue to inflict punch after punch on the man.

"I'm not going to hurt you! It's OK!" he insisted, doing little to quell your tears. How could it be ok? How could it ever be OK again? He backs away from your furious assault, and much to your surprise - plops down on the ground. You curl up into a ball, tears flowing freely.

"You alright?" he asks, offering the hot towel to you.

You say nothing. Why should he get the satisfaction?

"It's just a hot towel. Don't worry, Nobody here bites, though it may seem like it."

Why? Why did this happen?

"Are you feeling OK? You were just floating out there, unconscious. We patched up whatever we thought we could."

You look at your right arm, now sporting some bandages. Well, he's not lying.

"This is the Baratie, It's a floating restaurant." The man said in a reassuring tone.

Restaurant? Explains the smell. Thinking about food makes your stomach squeeze. It has to have been days...

"You hungry? I can make you some food, pretty much whatever you like!" He said.

You can't show weakness. "No," you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.

Despite your resolve, your stomach betrays you, growling loudly. You cringe.

"Sounds like you could use some. Really, what can I get you?"

"I said NO!" you yell, looking up at him angrily.

"Hey-ahhhh...." he said trailing off stupidly. He stares at you with wide eyes, looking absolutely smitten.

You look away.

"Uh, I'm Sanji," he says, bringing back his reassuring tone, trying to maintain composure.

Your fears get the better of you. "What are you going to do with me?" you blurt out.

"Nothing! I'm just trying to make sure you're OK!" Sanji says.

Did he mean that? Your stomach growls again, interrupting your thought.

"Are you comfortable? We keep this cot back here in the secondary storage room for naps.

I can get you something else..." he said.

"I'm fine" you say, beginning to tentatively calm down a bit. "So I can leave?"

"Of course, that door there leads right outside."

Sanji hopped up and opened the door, revealing the bright blue sky and open ocean behind it.

Relief floods your heart. Maybe these aren't the like bad men you've heard so much about.

"I'd be ever so grateful for the opportunity to cook for you before you leave," Sanji said earnestly.

Could you trust him? Would he really leave you unguarded with the door to freedom unlocked?

It may not even matter if you don't eat something soon.

"OK," you say, turning your gaze on him. He is tall, with long legs. Well dressed. His blond hair, while well kept, hung over one eye. His eyebrow swirled upwards like I fancy mustache. Despite the situation, it makes you want to giggle. He seemed to have something in his mouth that was burning. You wonder why.

"Great! Don't worry, beautiful lady, I'll be back in a just a moment!" Sanji said graciously, before bowing and gracefully exiting the room.

"How sweet," you think to yourself. Attractive and charming as he might be, you had other things on your mind.

You jump up from the cot, almost losing your balance from wooziness, and shuffle over to the door. It opened easily, and you stepped outside. The sea air hits you with its warm embrace. There was no trick, you were on a small dock, presumably for restaurant deliveries. You dip your hand into the water. It was completely true, nothing was there to stop you from getting away. Your mind now at ease, you scuffle back inside. The smell hit you again - reminding you of your excruciating hunger. You plop back onto the cot.

You aren't kept waiting long. Sanji strolls in carrying two huge bowls on one arm, a bottle in the other hand, and a basket on his head. He no longer has the weird thing in his mouth. He carefully sets them all down, before pulling out sizable box to use as a table. He sets one of the bowls on the table in front of you. The steam smells so titillating that you began to salivate uncontrollably.

“For you, mademoiselle” he says, flaring his nostrils. “Dinner rolls, and my famous sauteed shrimp and crab on a bowl of fried rice. I figured seafood was a safe bet-”

Before he can finish the thought, you take the fork and begin devouring the breathtaking meal before you. You've never tasted food so good!

Sanji smiles a big smile and sets down the wine bottle with a couple glasses. “And our finest libations. Well, the finest the geezer head chef said we can spare.”

“Mind if I join you?” he asks sheepishly, but somehow spiritedly.

“Mm-Hmm!” you say, overjoyed at the scrumptious meal you are eating. He has to be a decent guy, to treat you like this.

Sanji sits down, grabs his bowl, and begins eating too. He can't seem to resist staring at you every few seconds. You find yourself not minding. Not one bit.

“Oh!” he starts loudly. “My deepest apologies! Let me pour you some wine” he interjects, quickly opening the bottle and pouring out two glasses. The pale gold liquid glistens in the glass.

You feel yourself quickly filling, and begin to slow down, sipping the wine occasionally.

“Not bad, I take it?” Sanji asked, jokingly but with an air of confidence. He took pride in his art. And for good reason!

“This is indescribable!” you say. “I had no idea there was food this good in all the world!”

“Thank you!” He said, blushing bright red, seeming to undulate in his happiness.

You began to blush a little yourself. There was just something about him. He was so charming. Suave and attractive, but also cute and sweet.

“So, uh,” he began, looking away. “What brings you all the way out to the East Blue?”

East Blue. You're far from home. “I remember I was out swimming and a Sea-king showed up. Looked like a giant dolphin. It got me before I could react. I can usually out swim them, but I didn't notice until it was too late,” you explain, as understanding begins to fill his eyes. “The last thing I remember was being chewed by the monster. I thought I was dead for sure. I can't believe I made it out in one piece.”

“You're said it was a dolphin?” Sanji said incredulously. “Our Maitre D' swore he saw a colossal dolphin breaching about a day ago. Nobody believed him because he's an idiot. Maybe it shot you out of its blowhole?”

“I guess so. Anything is possible at this point, I suppose,” you say, scarcely believing your own story.

“That's so incredible! But I'm so glad you're safe,” he says, turning on his charm again.

It works. You can't help it. No one has ever been so sweet to you, no one has ever looked at you like this...

“Thanks,” you say, blushing deeply. You fight off the thoughts that are occurring. The desires. You want to thank him...

“And thank you, for the food!” you blurt out. It is quite clear that you are flustered.

“You are quite welcome, my sweet!” Sanji says, giving a charming smile and flaring his nostrils.

“My sweet,” he called you. The desires grow stronger. You want to kiss him. To have him in your arms, or to be in his.

He stands up, and picks up the empty bowls. Your heart sinks. He has to go back. He's probably wasted enough time back here.

“Leaving?” you ask, dejection sneaking into your tone.

Picking up on this, Sanji smiles sweetly and says “Don't worry, I'll be right back.”

You smile back at him, your eyes twinkling. “OK!” you say, a little too eagerly. You feel embarrassed. Sure he was smooth, and a total sweetheart, but is this all really necessary?

He smiled a wider, goofier smile, and walked out of the room with a bounce in his step.

The minutes feel like hours as you wait for his return. Why is he so important all of a sudden? Why do you want so badly to wrap your body around him and cover him in kisses? What would your friends say? More importantly, could you flirt back? Should you flirt back? Where would it lead? You flop around on the cot and bury your face in the pillow, your face glowing red.

The door bursts open, you look up expectantly. A tall, buff, bald man is standing there. NOT Sanji. “Pardon me, Madame Freeloader, his royal highn-ass asked me to tell you he got held up in the kitchen. He'll be back shortly,” he said, with the same rough faux-sweet voice as before.

“Uh, thanks,” you stammer, as the man leaves, slamming the door behind him. How disappointing.

A few minutes (or perhaps lifetimes) later, The door opens to reveal Sanji, smile on his face and yet another bowl in his hand. “One cinnamon cheesecake sundae, for the ravishing beauty on the cot.”

That does it. Nothing can stop your newfound passion for this sweet talker.

“Oh my!” you exclaim, at a loss for further words. That dessert looks lovely, but you have something else in mind. As he approaches, you work up the courage to scoot over and pat the cot, gesturing for him to sit beside you.

Sanji, looking overjoyed and a little woozy, happily obliges. You take the sundae and begin to eat, trying to not visibly react to his presence. You decide this is a good time to try to flirt, and turn towards him as you begin to lick the ice cream off of your lips. You let out a little moan for good measure, but can't help but blush at your own brazenness.

Despite feeling a little silly, it seems to have been quite effective, so you decide to put a hand on his leg.

“That was so very good,” you say, “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“O-o-of course!” he managed to stutter out. How cute. You can barely contain yourself.

You decide to take the plunge, and lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek. Your desire burns even hotter as you watch his face redden, and you decide to go further, kissing him on the neck. Sanji meets your eyes, and you know that it's now or never. You reach up and ever so gently grab his head, and lean up to give him a full kiss right on the lips. You can't stop here. You need it. You keep kissing. He lets out a small moan, and kisses back, reaching up and mirroring your motion, gently grabbing your head.

“It's not too late to back out now,” you tell yourself, but there is no need. You don't want to back out. You allow yourself to fall backwards onto the cot, pulling him with you. No resistance is put up. You kiss him deeply as you writhe around together on the cot, entwined together, allowing the fire that is welling up inside you to dictate your actions.

Sanji seems hesitant to escalate things, so you decide to take his arms and place them on your breasts, underneath your beaten up shirt. This seems to delight him as he begins to playfully squeeze them. You can feel his heart beat. Very fast. Glad to know that he's enjoying himself. As if any further proof was necessary, it begins to become painfully clear that his cock had become quite hard for you. Feeling his bulging causes your brain to go into overdrive. It feels like bolts of lightning inside your breasts and nether regions.

The thought of his phallus, this growing bulge in his pants drives you to go further, further then you've ever gone before. You break the kiss and pull back, admiring his highly aroused expression. “I know how I can thank you,” you say. Yes, this will reward him for his thoughtfulness, but is that the reason why, or your own lust? You slide down onto the floor, your hands playfully caressing his crotch. Undoing his pants is difficult, so he breathlessly helps out, and you soon have them pulled down. His throbbing cock pops right out, and you admire it shyly, your eyes twinkling. You knew about them, but have never seen one in person before. It's bigger then you imagined, must have felt so trapped in those tight pants. The smell was a little musky, but smelled of aftershave. Very pleasant.

You lightly touch it with your hand, and Sanji shivers. Having such a beautiful man quiver at your touch gives you just the confidence you need to give it a taste, sticking your tongue out and slowly licking its underside, from base to tip. The taste was sweet and masculine at the same time. You lick your lips before repeating the lick several times, while carefully watching his reaction. You made sure he had a good view as you licked at it, driving him absolutely wild. You began licking the underside of the tip, right where he released the strongest signals. Sanji let out a soft moan. Satisfied, you begin swirling your tongue on the area, making him squirm around in pleasure.

Your own cravings for his cock become uncontrollable, and you slowly take him into your mouth. It fills up quickly, and you begin to bob up and down on it, swirling your tongue around on his sensitive spot. It feels like heaven as his sizable girth throbs inside of your mouth. Sanji attempts to stifle his moans, but they still come out as soft whimpers. You smile, happy to know that you're doing a good job. You desire so badly to please him, to please him more than he has ever been pleased before. You need his seed.

Before he can grow accustomed to your mouth, you decide to push it further. You take him in even deeper, slowly entering the tip of your throat.

“Oh!” he blurts, half moaning. It isn't easy, but it is a worthy cause. You press on, and it isn't long before he begins to succumb to your efforts, breathing faster and throbbing harder.

“I-I'm going t-to-” Sanji says, half crazed looking. You lock your eyes onto his and make the cutest face you can. You don't really know what to expect, despite knowing the biology of the situation. You know you are about to receive his seed, right into your mouth. You maintain eye contact and swirl your tongue around the sensitive spot as he loses control, bursting into your mouth. Burst after burst of his hot cum come forth into your eager mouth as you happily lick his pleased cock, thoroughly proud of your efforts. Swallowing is easy, you crave his pleasure and only want more.

When you are sure he is finished cumming, you pull his cock out and let him watch you lick your lips once more.

“Did that feel good?” you ask smugly, smiling at him.

“Thank...You...” he answered, looking absolutely dazed.

“You are very welcome,” you say with a giggle, satisfied with the results of your ministrations.

Watching his erection slowly wane only causes your own loins to ache with desire, wishing they could have him inside.

“I've never done anything like that before. I hope it was a memorable experience for you,” you say, your shyness beginning to return a bit.

“Incredibly so. This is a first for me, too!” he dazedly utters, struggling to come back to the world of the living.

You giggle softly. You were his first blowjob too. It feels nice knowing that neither of you had experience in such an act, he had no expectations for you to live up to.

You lie down beside him, giving him another kiss before running your fingers through his blond hair, stroking him lightly. Laying down next to him is so peaceful that you could fall asleep, especially after all the food, were it not for your own unquenched desires.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Sanji asks suddenly, breaking the minutes of silence.

“Of course not,” you respond, curious what he may ask of you.

“Well, uh..” he begins, looking away with a sort of embarrassed look on his face.

“This is personal, I know, so it's OK if you don't want to answer..” he says, looking back at you sheepishly. Your reassuring smile lets him know it is OK.

“I've always wondered...How you guys, ya know...” He trailed off, red in the face.

Redness covers your face as well, and you quietly ponder how to answer.

“Sorry, that was stupid!” he quickly apologizes, looking flustered.

“No no, It's fine!” you quickly respond. You don't mind his curiosity, and your desire burns hot, begging for you to show him.

“I don't know how different it is from human women,” you say, face still glowing red.

“Really?” he asks incredulously, “but...how?”

“I..Haven't had any experience with it myself, besides just touching the...outside,” you explain, blushing deeper still. “When we get aroused with someone we love, the entrance sort of...opens a bit, allowing it to be spread.”

“Wow...” he says in a breathless voice after a few moments have passed. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Would you... like to see?” you ask, looking away from him as a surge of fire fills your loins.

“I'd love to!” he quickly says, sporting an excited tone.

Now it was his turn to move to the floor, which he did in one smooth motion.

All kinds of dirty thoughts fill your mind as you reach down to the base of your tail, running your fingers across it towards your most intimate area. It spreads apart easily, scales pulling back to reveal beautiful pink flesh.

Your desires driving you wild, you motion for his hand and guide it towards your vagina. It is already soaking wet for him.

Sanji lets out an excited sound as his fingers come into contact with you. He looks as though he may pass out from excitement. You giggle lightly, pleased.

He begins to lightly run his fingers over you, and you let out a small moan and thrust your hips at him, clearly displaying your intentions. The world stands still as he obliges, carefully thrusting a finger inside. Immediately, he pulls it back out, causing your desire to spike like pouring oil on a fire.

“Woah! It does feel just like a human's!” he says incredulously, staring at you with a dumb smile.

“Do you feel many humans' vaginas?” you ask, just a hint of jealousy in your voice.

“Not at all! Only once ever, really-” Sanji quickly begins to explain, but you smile at him and guide his hand back towards your wet entrance, effectively cutting him short. He is with you now and that is what matters.

He begins to move his finger around inside you, dancing it across your hallowed walls, causing your back to arch in pleasure. You've never been penetrated with anything before, you couldn't imagine a more skillful debut.

You feel yourself reacting strongly as his motion continues, the pleasure mounting and building up to extreme levels. Sanji, picking up on your signals, slowly enters a second finger into you, and the pleasure skyrockets.

It isn't long before you feel your whole body tighten up as the pleasure reaches the maximum you can stand.

“Cum for me!” he commands with a smirk, and your whole body surrenders into a violent, shaking orgasm, coating his hand in your juices as your vagina throbs and squeezes his fingers.

“Oooh!” you moan loudly, bucking and shaking, feeling the joy of your sweet release.

When your throbbing stops, he slowly slides his finger out of you, careful to stimulate just the right spots on their way out, just enough to make you want more.

“How was that?” Sanji said with a very satisfied smirk on his face.

Your response is unintelligible, the world is not real anymore.

You feel yourself slipping into sweet peaceful sleep. Never have you felt so good in your entire life.

---------

You feel a soft touch on your tail, near your hips. You open your eyes to see Sanji, sweetly stroking you while burning that thing in his mouth.

“Sleep good?” he asked with a huge grin.

“Yes,” you tell him as the memory of a few minutes ago came flooding back.

“I had to go finish my shift, but don't worry. I made sure nobody even looked back here. The old geezer said that you were a special guest, and that nobody else was to get any ideas about bothering you under any circumstances. There are some greedy assholes here, but nobody would dream of disobeying a direct order,” Sanji explained, as you sat up.

The light from the window had vanished, indicating that night has come.

“So,” he continued, “You're welcome to stay the night, if you'd like.”

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, “You've done so much for me.” You consider his offer. You may be the fastest swimmer out there, but you have been caught by a Sea-king once before, and traveling at night is never preferable anyway.

“It was my pleasure, my sweet,” Sanji says graciously, flaring his nostrils slightly. “And as luck would have it,” he continues, “Our course has us set to travel to the Southernmost point of our rotation tomorrow.”

“Then I'd be happy to take you up on that,” you say, giving him a big smile, twinkling your eyes.

“Splendid!” he exclaims as he gets up, “I'd love to make you some breakfast in the morning, and of course, whatever provisions you will need for your trip!”

“Sounds wonderful!” you say, pure happiness filling you.

“Then I will look forward to seeing your beautiful face in the morning, Goodnight my sweet!” Sanji seems to sing as he bounces towards the door.

“Goodnight!” you respond with a giggle. What a kind, caring man.

You feel your desire growing again as you think back on the day. If you have any say in the matter, you'll have to find some special way to say goodbye before you leave.

You can't help but smile as you drift off to sleep, with the dim lantern flame glowing softly on the wall. You wonder if you will ever meet anyone like him again, or if he is the kindest person you will ever find. The thought of leaving, perhaps never to see him again was a sad thought, but you miss your home. Your family and friends are probably worried sick about you, little do they know that you found a great treasure of the ocean: the sweetheart of a man who spends his days sailing on the sea, cooking food for the hungry.

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 22

chapter 38:

1. “"Right, so, your stylist?" Marlene asks, settling in as they continue to sway. "The one who looks like a fucking goddess? Yeah, so get this, she says we're friends…"”

james and marlene gossip sesh <3333333

2. 😧 MCGONNAGAL??????????

3. wait i think mcgonnagal is good. i’m pretty sure she’s from the phoenix. i’m not sure. i’m hopeful. i’m so hopeful

4. aww huey is kinda sweet. i like that’s he’s reg’s breath of fresh air when it comes to talking to the hallows

5. reg, i understand your anger, but please don’t make one of the only good sponsors feel bad

6. jealous james >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

7. “"I like your tea," James offers. "Maybe I'm biased, but it tastes better than anyone else's. What do you do to it?"

Regulus hums and lightly says, "I spit in it."

Without missing a beat, James replies, "Ah, that explains it."”

😭😭😭😭😭

8. “"Would you—" Regulus chokes on another relentless giggle, gasping a little. "Wait, would you actually drink my tea if I spit in it, James?"

"Love, I would let you spit directly into my mouth," James announces with absolutely no shame in his tone whatsoever.”

😭😭😭😭 james i love you

9. awww i love that barty is the most consistent part of reg’s life. i love barty

10. 😬 riddle is unconvinced in their love story. i- yikes

11. okay, right, mcgonnagal is good. thank god

12. dorcas wants to keep marlene out of the war, but only one of them has had a pov so far, so i’m not hopeful

13. oh shit marlene sounds hot

14. also, to add in, i’m so fucking glad there’s like no homophobia (that we know of) in this world

15. i do NOT want dorlene to be a tragedy in this universe

16. 😟 she gave back the ring. AHHHH

17. oh no. shit shit shit shit shit what did riddle do

18. “Riddle didn't even grant the liberty of leaving bodies behind for them to bury.” 😟😧

(but also, orion and walburga were dicks, so like, i’m not sad, just scared)

chapter 39:

1. aww regulus finally invites james in for tea

2. “On the day he accidentally kills a bee while tending to his flowers, he goes through the five stages of grief in less than an hour, which has nothing to do with the bee and everything to do with Vanity.” STOP! THE VANITY MENTION HURTS TOO MUCH

3. “When Regulus wants more time with him, he adds bagels, which James has now unconsciously been Pavloved into thinking of as his favorite food for that very reason.” STOP THATS SO GAY

4. sirius being dramatic about james and reg liking each other is TOP TIER in this fic, in the most realistic, aggravated, obnoxious, and completely loving way

5. BWAHAHAHHAHA JAMES GETTING A PIGGY BACK RIDE FROM SIRIUS IS GOLD

6. oh shit, (i’m not the best comprehensive reader, but i should have figured this out sooner), but from sirius’ perspective, he has to do the back and forth with remus his whole life. he doesn’t have the knowledge that i do, that a war is coming and they’ll finally get a chance to live together. he thinks he only gets to see remus once a year for two weeks at a time. this- this shit is heartbreaking yall

7. “”I watched him stand to his feet and tip himself into a river of blood in an act so tender that I'll never again be able to look at him with anything less than pure love. Every other member of the Black family, including you, fought and clawed their way home to their family, oftentimes to a family that never truly made them feel loved at all. Regulus? He fought and clawed through that arena, the entire time, for James. He's far more gentle than anyone gives him credit for."”

y’all, i’m crying over this. this is so lovely. effie is right, and i’m crying over how right she is

8. 😒 i know what’s coming. riddles a bitch. a right bitch. he’s gonna announce that previous victors are competing and i’m PISSED

9. so far, all three potters offered reggie food. they’re so hospitable, i love them

10. “He hasn't forgotten what it is to long for James. He still knows what it is to want him so badly that he'd be willing to kneel at the altar of James Potter and beg; he'd drop down on his hands and knees and crawl if that's what it took, if that would prove his devotion. He is the manifestation of longing built up with nowhere to go, and he craves, he yearns, he covets.”

both of them are so down bad

11. omg reg is so horny. his inner monologue is literally only like “”””“rip my clothes off please, read my mind and rip my clothes off”””””

12.AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I KNEW IT WAS COMING! BUT IM SO MAD!!! FUCK RIDDLE

13. effie is a queen. she is a godsend. and i’m so upset right now

14. not effie making them promise not to volunteer, and immediately james and sirius arguing over who’s gonna volunteer for her

15. i’m seething. i’m pissed beyond belief. i’m so angry it’s indescribable. my babies are going back into that arena. honestly, fuck riddle

[sapphiclinos-moved]

a small list of some specific things and moments in skz songs that i think need attention drawn to them because of how much they FUCK. part 1?

these range from the delivery of a single word or a single adlib to an entire section of instrumental

and I did write it on a 14 hour flight several months ago so it's a bit all over the place.

anyway press more to read me being extremely autistic about skz music and trying to talk about it with 0 music production language knowledge.

in no order whatsoever:

charmer: 1:15 pigeons follow me [PIGEON IMPRESSION]

cheese the synth moment in the second half of prechorus???? eg 0:56 to 1:02

phobia the 'oooohhh' behind the oh Oh OoAH OOah (it happens twice at the very start)

domino changbins dadadadada of dominos falling at like 1:34

domino the instrument during some verses that sounds like 'wahwahwahwah' I love it

domino just holy shit the entire instrumental I could talk about it for actual hours not kidding

booster the higher vocals in the back throughout basically the whole chorus

booster the subtle ah~aah at 2:26

booster the escelation in the aggressiveness of the "one step ahead"

venom prechorus w the wrapped up around ur fingers bit just LISTEN TO THE LIKE. PERCUSSION? idk wtf I'm talking about so idk how to describe it but this song is like the audio version of a fidget cube to me

freeze the beauty of the fake buildup instrumental. like just really tune in to the instrumental 3:30 onwards it'd so pretty

battle ground 3:06 "toZEN👹" WHATT

mirror the ahhhhs in the prechorus ik we have all noticed it u need to REALLY LISTEN AND FEEL IT

levanter whatevers going on in the prechorus instrumental can u tell I love synths. I love levanter so fucking much man

levanter the way it ends half way through the chorus makes it feel so much more resolute? idk I love it

yayaya the CHOIR AT 2:19 FUCKING GOD

rock 2:23 changbins oh!! ,,,no:(((

question the instrumental at 1:18

YOU. the like?? retro japanese game show impact sound effect?? from 0:50 onwards (btw YOU (the i am you intro) is ot8 safe since only changbin, jeongin and hyunjin are in it)

get cool the instrumental at 1:05 owaouwooo uwAuowoo uWAOUuuu :)))

get cool 2:38 the 'ah~h~hh:)))' in the bg

0325 1:55 part from WHO? ( fun fact for the babystays that may not know since its never been ot8'd)

0325 3:09 BACK W THE GAMESHOW IMPACT SOUND EFFECT YUHHH

entrance 1:13 the faint ahhhhh in the bg that you can can BARELY hear (entrance is also ot8 safe from what I can tell apart from maybe some samples that are too pitch shifted to tell)

boxer 0:45 the way the instrumental comes back in just. rapid slideshow of robots for a half second

chronosaurus the percussion being fast and slow varying gives the sense of time coming faster than it should and I think thats neat.

19 the clock ticking throughout is again neat.

lovestay the strings !!!!!!!!!!! raaah I love me some strings

gods menu 0:37 the subtle 'oooooo's

this is a mere fraction of the things I have to list but I don't want this to get too obnoxiously long. I'm calling this part one for a reason cos I have SO MUCH to say. if u have any suggestions of specific parts or elements that are special to you, absolutely send me an ask pointing it out!

[thesunshineshere]

AHHHH ITS BEEN TOO LONG anyway here's a little draft of a section of my Lunarry fanfic for you guys let me know how u feel!

*definitely needs to be edited but meh*

Oneshot #1 draft ( timeline unclear 2nd chapter feels)

The crowd around him became nearly nonexistent as the smug face before him laughed. It was a cruel sound and Harry wished he could reach for his knife and swing.

Eventually the shrill music stopped and the blonde boy before him turned to face him.

“A pathetic excuse for a nobleman. He lacks proper training, you’d expect his parents to get it right by now considering how many of his kind there are.” He laughed again.

Harry’s fist by his side was beginning to sting. “You speak a lot for someone who has no standing in this court.”

An eyebrow was raised. “You do not know who I am? How gracious of me to assume your teacher king would have been intelligent enough to inform you of me.” He smirked and raised his hand. “ Draco Malfoy.”

The urge to stab this boy was beginning to be almost unbearable.

Harry knew who he was. During the Dark War, while a majority of humans had sided against Voldemort and his army of the undead, a good some had decided to join. Seeing Voldemort and his revolution as a chance to gain power, money, or even just to simply learn dark magic in an environment that allowed it . One of those followers was Lucius Malfoy: Draco’s father. A now self proclaimed master wizard who, once Voldemort was defeated, claimed innocence and that he had been under an unbreakable-suddenly-broken hypnosis.

He stared at Draco's hand.

So not only did the boy before him come from a line of murders and liars but spineless cowards.

Harry wasn’t shocked.

“I know who you are and my point still stands.” He looked up, not making a move to shake Draco’s hand. “ You do not have the right to address me or my court when you and your family have no standing here .”

Draco's face was almost amusing. “ How dare you-”

A voice cut in. From the crowd parting a man-of equally visual obnoxiousness as Draco-appeared. On his arm was a woman who was a lot more modest in appearance. Harry assumed this was Narcissa, Dracos mother. In comparison to the two Devils she looked like a saint.

“Draco, what did we say about playing nice?” Lucious drawled.

It was like an obedience switch had been turned on. Draco's posture had turned straight, taut and a small ‘apologize father’ was uttered.

Lucius' gaze never left Harry’s though. He was a lot taller than he expected. His platinum blonde matched Dracos in that it was like making eye contact with the sun. His was longer, much longer than even Narcissa’s. Dragging nearly to his mid thigh.

For a second Harry imagined strangling him with it.

[arabaka]

Ok but imagine the rest of S&S playing wingman for you when they catch onto your feelings for Reigen.

Mob might not actually even realize either of you have feelings for each other but will overhear you and Reigen lamenting in not finding time to get lunch together so you talk about bringing food to him instead. Afterwards Mob will just casually be like "Takoyaki is Shishou's favorite :)"

Tome on the other hand would be fully invested and very obnoxiously be like "MAKE SURE YOU WEAR THAT BLUE TOP AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE I HEARD REIGEN-SAN TELL SERIZAWA-SAN THAT HE THINKS YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL IN IT".

Serizawa on the other hand will just be very straightforward like "Reigen-san enjoys your visits very much as is. He could use the company."

*₊˚💬୧ TOME MY CHILD! she would be so invested. DEFINITELY zeroing on every time you two interact. oh my god, bonus points if she realizes reigen likes you before even HE does. the idea of that is so funny to me. just the lightbulb going off in her head and when you finally leave, she practically IMPLODES. "YOU LIKE HER, DON'T YOU?" and being so excited. another time, when you and her are alone, she's asking all sorts of questions but trying to play it off like it's just a casual conversation... but it's tome so there's no hiding her giddiness and apparent bias in rooting for you two. AHHHH (man i hope that sounds in line with her character my brain is kinda doubting myself rn lol)

and maybe, tome shares her findings with mob. and mob going :0!! and they work together to set you two up.

[guardiandae]

withoutaconscienceorafilter replied to your text post: BASTARD CAT AU PLEASE

Ahhhh, a keen eye. Although I'm honestly not sure if this one is worthwhile, hence why I stopped working on it.

Soooo, I'll let you have everything I got, lol.

Bastard Cat AU - AKA Nathan "Cable" Summers finds a cat that reminds him of a certain mouthy little fucker.

-

This wasn't a part of the city Nate had seen before.

Granted, the sights of smells of a grungy back alley in New York wasn't exactly on Nate's list of 21st century landmarks to visit. It just happened to be part of the charming landscape near his latest motel room. And in his ongoing adventures of cheap, no-questions-asked motel rooms, this particular alley wasn't the worst thing he'd encountered yet. He could ignore the trash strewn throughout the area as easily as everyone else in the neighborhood apparently could. After all, unfucking the future would require bigger changes than just cleaning up one day's worth of trash in some shitty little alley. He had to focus on the big picture.

But Nate couldn't focus on anything except the pitiful meowing that had started up as soon as he entered the alley.

He actually stumbled to a stop, midstride, and turned to look. The sound also stopped for a moment. Nate briefly wondered if it had been a trick and this was some kind of weird ambush, but then the mewing resumed with vigor. It was obviously a cat. A fully grown one, judging by the sound of it. There was nothing dainty about that meow. The cat, wherever it was, had a clear, if somewhat gravelly, voice that rang out over and over again for attention.

"God, that's obnoxious," Nate muttered, kicking aside a pile of trash nearest to him to uncover what was there. Nothing but more trash, and a pile of old newspapers. The meowing continued, as if intent on annoying him. He kept looking, despite himself, but could hardly tell where the sound was coming from exactly, much less see a cat anywhere.

"Alright. Get a grip, Summers. You're saving the world, not a fucking cat," he muttered to himself and kept walking away, grateful that there wasn't a soul around to hear him. Except, of course, for that bastard cat. Wherever the fuck it was.

--

It was dusk when Nate headed back to his room.

He still wasn't sure that he'd ever truly understand this century. The broken social systems, the way the world was designed to break people down, and the apathy that was stained deeply into everyone Nate passed on the streets. Maybe it was already too late to make a difference. But it wouldn't hurt to try.

As he walked, Nate suddenly realized that it was quieter here than any other point in his day's  travel. The alley he was passing through was hardly a desirable area to adventure, what with the amount of trash, and it being isolated from the general flow of the city. Then he recognized the newspapers he'd unearthed earlier, and remembered this was the same alley he'd gone through that morning.

He was almost out of the alley when he heard it again. 

Just one solitary little meow.

Nate scoffed softly, perplexed. He would've expected the cat to be long gone by now. How many hours had it been? Then he stopped and listened, waiting for the barrage of incessant meowing to start up. But it was silent. That just didn't seem right.

"Where are you?" Nate asked aloud, and was answered with a faint mewl.

After a moment of hesitation, Nate sighed and walked back slowly, listening. 

"Hello?"

He waited. Another little mewl. 

If Nate hadn't come through here earlier, he'd almost believe that it was a kitten calling to him now. He recognized the same high, somewhat gravelly tone, but this time it was weaker.

"Alright, that's it. Where are you, kitty?" Nate asked again. He felt fully committed to this nonsense now. He needed to figure out what the fuck was making such a fuss. If he could find it, Nate reasoned, he could shoo it away. But quietly, in a way he didn't even want to admit to himself for fear of being foolish, it sounded like this cat needed help. And maybe he was starting to get a little bit worried for this hypothetical cat.

There was another meow while he searched, and then another, as if encouraging him to keep going. Nate carefully swept some of the trash aside with his foot. The meowing continued, still sounding weak, but in increasing intervals. It was probably thanks to it being softer in volume that Nate actually found it easier to hone in on where it was coming from. He kept going until he'd cleared a path to the dumpster. Behind it, there was a greased-stained paper bag from Taco Bell, with a pale pink lump inside of it that looked very suspiciously not like trash.

"Cat?" Nate asked, not entirely sure what the fuck he was looking at. He very carefully extended his leg and gave the bag a gentle push with the side of his boot. It made a sound that was not a meow, but instead just a pained little mrrp. Whatever was inside definitely had the approximate size and weight of a cat, but he wasn't entirely sure until it moved and he saw the tip of a scrawny little tail poke out. There was either something seriously wrong with this cat, or he'd accidentally found an oversized rat instead. Either way, Nate wasn't loving his options.

With his left hand, Nate reached down and grabbed the edge of the paper bag. If he was about to get mauled by a small, feral animal, at least his TO arm couldn't contract rabies. He ripped the bag open in one quick movement, exposing the furless creature that had been curled up inside. It didn't move at all, but Nate took a step back anyway.

"Jesus Christ," Nate muttered, not quite sure what he was looking at for a second. "What the fuck is that? Is that a fucking cat?"

The pink, fleshy thing looked at him with its remaining yellow eye and let out a loud, shrill meow, as if offended. For a few seconds, Nate thought that this cat had not only been wounded but also set on fire. Then he realized that the cat was a hairless breed, and although it looked hideously ugly, the pink, wrinkly skin was perfectly normal and exactly how the cat was supposed to look. What wasn't normal was its left eye, winked out of existence into a dark, crusty mess.

"Christ," Nate repeated in a sigh, no longer disgusted by the cat, but by whatever had happened to it. "You poor little bastard."

"Meow!" It cried, like a wail of agreement.

"You look like someone I used to know. An ugly, wrinkly, little loudmouthed shithead. Except you're cuter than he was, and not half as annoying."

"Meow!" the cat said again, but this time it sounded almost offended.

Christ, he was trying to ascribe human emotions to a fucking cat. It was just hungry, and wounded, and probably scared. It was only meowing so much because it wanted help. That was, assuming that it was friendly to humans and not completely feral.

Nate moved as if to pick it up, but then stopped short, waiting to see if the cat would react skittishly to his approach or hiss at him. Instead it laid there like a little lump, just watching him with one eye. "Meow!" It whined again.

Carefully, Nate scooped the cat up in his hands and, upon not being mauled, cradled the animal securely against his chest so it wouldn't try to leap out of his arms. But Nate quickly realized he wouldn't have to worry about that, judging by how the cat stuck to him like velcro, digging sharp little claws into his shirt. It was definitely friendly to people.

A hairless cat felt fucking weird to the touch… scalding hot but cold and clammy at the same time, and like a dry piece of raw chicken. He almost immediately regretted this decision, not just because a hairless cat was so weird, and not just because it had started meowing at him again, but also because all Nate could smell now was week-old garbage and rancid taco grease.

"Ugh," he grunted, trying to pull the cat away from himself, but realizing that it had already sunk its claws into his clothes and the effort was futile. He quickly gave up, resettling the feline against his chest as he resigned himself to his stinky fate. He gave the cat's fleshy bottom a gentle pat. "We're both getting a bath tonight."

--

As soon as Nate got the cat back to his room, he ran warm, soapy water into the sink and lathered up his stray. He half expected a fight, considering the fact that it was injured and had been living on the streets for gods knew how long, but the cat was surprisingly good about it, despite all of the extremely vocal yowling.

"Calm down, you big baby," Nate muttered, taking extra care to be gentle. He avoided touching its wounded eye or face at all, and avoided the right paw as well when it seemed too tender.

The cat was all nerves and refused to sit still, but Nate got through the washing without a hitch and snagged a hand towel to wrap his street urchin up in. This part of the bath was not only tolerated, but welcomed. As he held the cat in his arms like the world's ugliest burrito, Nate was treated to the loudest purring he'd ever heard.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Nate asked. There wasn't an ounce of fat on this cat, but all of its loose skin made rolls anyway, and since he'd swaddled that cat up, its face was puckered with wrinkles. "You look just like that fucking disaster,  Wade."

"Mrrp," the cat purred.

"I think it's a fair comparison," Nate said. "Maybe you're cuter, but you're still a goddamn wreck."

"Mrrrh."

"I know it's probably not entirely your fault, but sleeping in the gutter was your own choice."

[qserasera]

17 + 29 :3c

wow u r getting my response like *checks watch*.......10 days later after u sent this... GOMEN FRIEND orz

this is from the fic ask meme found here

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

zhongli!! o w o mr dragonman. he's so Old and also Cool and super OP and also in Love with mr childe tartaglia ajax (real) askdfas. i just like writing him low-key (obnoxiously and obviously) flirting :''))

i also did have lots of fun with ayato's characterization in my one tomato fic willow pond, locked in smoke. 29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

ahhhh :0 it looks like. i wrote. a lot this year. ummm going to choose 2 different lines hahaha

from willow pond, locked in smoke, i did love how this particular scene turned out with ayato quoting a poem at the moon!!

"Thoma," Ayato says. He lifts a single cup from his side to the sky, dark as silk and moody with stars. The waxing moon above hangs like a valued pearl from Watatsumi, untouched by the dust and worries of the mortal world. "If I remain here, let me remember / only this midnight, and this moonrise. "  "Really now." Thoma tips his head, turns his smile teasing. "Could you not take your time thinking about the moon in your bed instead, my lord?" "The view out here suits better," Ayato murmurs.

from my long zhongchi chili AU these sunlit days our hands engrave, i also really liked how the subtle flirting dialogue in this exchange turned out (your honor....they're honestly trying to bang but they just. end up talking. like this!!!!)

"Forgive this guest's poor understanding of history," Childe says, looking up at Zhongli once, and then darting his glance downwards in mock embarrassment. "On the other hand–" he looks back up, seeing amusement gleam in Zhongli's eyes, "they do say that there is an Emperor reputed to possess impeccable knowledge that surpasses ten scholars all together. If only he was willing to teach what he knows!" "Knowledge has a price, little scholar," Zhongli says. He leans forward. Eyes dark, but with a palpable focus, nearly heavy enough to taste—as if he was holding Childe in an internal balance of the scales in his heart. "What would you be willing to give, to possess it?" Around them, they hear the winding sounds of the guqin. The breeze-soft notes of the xiao flutes. Elegant percussion, implacable as a heartbeat, steps steady on an unswerving path. "Well then—" Childe draws in closer—perhaps playing his role a little too well. Lifts his eyes—Zhongli's expression remains as it was—something keen, almost consuming.

[hirokiro]

pt 8 Princesses, Dragons, and Elves, oh my!

~*

The dragon held him up at eye level and gave a very slight shake, “Don’t test me!” he growled, wings flapping in agitation.

He glared into the elf’s eyes, and saw the terror. Even so Gill gazed back, eyes wide but maintaining contact, breathing tightly. After a few seconds he began hyperventilating.

Glen blinked and suddenly realized what was happening. Quickly, carefully, the dragon put the elf back on the ground where he sank to his knees, breathing hard, clutching his chest.

“Gill I- I’m sorry.” Abashed, he didn’t know what to do “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry! Don’t panic! I wasn’t going to fly! I wasn’t!” Frantic, he crouched down to see the elf more closely, “Gill! Don’t panic! I put you down! I put you down! You’re on the ground!”

“I… I kn-know.” Gill reassured him tightly after a few gasps.

Ohhhh horror! Oh horror, horror he nearly made the elf do that thing again!

Ah! He remembered Gill asking him to make the ground rumble, so he rumbled, sending the vibrations, hoping it helped.

Gill let out a weak noise that might have been amusement.

“Th-that’s not… not necessary.” he said in that same tight tone, as if he couldn’t breathe, “I… I’ll be alright.”

Glen drummed his claws on the ground, “You sure?”

“What’s all the yelling?”

Lana! No no not now! No wait, yes! Yes? No! No no no this was bad!

“Uh. Uhhh!” Glen looked about, “Nothing! Nothing! Just had a minor disagreement! It’s fine! We’re fine!”

“Gill?”

No no! He could see her outline as she left the cave. She saw Gill! Ahhhh! He wished he could just pick up the elf and hide him.

It was a pity the dragon had no concept of childishness in the moment, for he was acting exactly like a child caught hitting another child and trying to cover it up.

“Ss fine… fine…” Gill said weakly.

Ohhh he wasn’t fooling anybody!

“Nnnnnnn!” Glen didn’t know what else to do.

Lana came out into the light and ran to Gill, kneeling beside him, groaning a little from her legs being sore after all the walking the night before. She made reassuring sounds.

Okay, she was helping him. It was all good. All g-

“What did you do to him!?” Lana’s face turned sharply towards him and she glared up.

Despite his pride as a fearsome and dangerous dragon, Glen cringed completely under her gaze. He just felt so terrible for doing this and forgetting Gill’s phobia.

“It was an accident,” he said in a rather small voice for a dragon, “I… I picked him up.

“I wasn’t going to fly, I swear!” he added quickly.

Lana looked down at Gill, an arm around his shoulders, “Is this true?”

Gill nodded stiffly, “It… he didn’t mean to h-hurt me.”

Didn’t mean to hurt! That elf just–!

“I didn’t mean to scare you, you mean,” Glen nervously corrected.

Gill made some small sound the dragon couldn’t interpret. All he got was Lana glaring disapprovingly at him again. Glen found it rather funny despite his distress about the situation. She was so tiny, as if her glaring could cower-

“What was all the yelling about?” She demanded.

This time Glen did have a concept of feeling like a hatchling being admonished by an elder. “Things just got out of hand…” he said lamely.

“What was the argument about?” she pressed, not letting it go.

It had dawned on Glen as they spoke that he was about to be in proverbially huge trouble. He had told Gill to take a break from the issue and what did Glen do the very next day?

He felt like a complete idiot but he would never admit he was in the wrong.

“We were discussing Gill’s fear of flying and where that came from. And then… Well, see, he comes from those obnoxious dragon riders up north.” Ah, the hole was digging itself while he floundered for a way to stop it! “Any dragon would crush one as soon as look at it, you see.”

“No I don’t actually,” she replied stiffly, “I don’t know a lot about them. Adam wrote about seeing some once. Why would you crush one as soon as look at it?”

Glen straightened, a little affronted she wouldn’t see the obvious problem, “Dragon riders, and the dragons to submit to them are an insult to dragonkind!” he sneered, “They’re disgusting traitors and any self respecting dragon would kill them and their riders on crossing paths.”

Lana looked down at Gill, then back up at Glen, “And he’s… a rider if I’m understanding this correctly?”

“I never -” GIll spoke for himself, “Quite got… to that title. For… obvious… reasons.”

“Just breathe, Gill, don’t talk,” Lana said gently, rubbing his back, before she returned that glare to Glen, “Go on.” she prompted.

Ulll-hoo-hoo! He didn’t want to go on!

Glen dithered, not meeting her gaze, “Well. See. I wanted to make a point to him that I ought to kill him on principle, but that since I happen to like him… he should… be grateful and… drop all this about you going… home…”

Lana’s expression froze and, Glen didn’t know how, but the disapproval seemed to increase in intensity.

But then she sighed, “Glen. Don’t go threatening people who are nice to you. Especially if you also like them. That’s no way to treat Gill after everything he’sd been through, don’t you think?”

Normally Glen would have snipped something back about “He had to know his place” or something. But seeing the elf all crumpled up and breathing like he was deathly sick just crumpled Glen’s resolve up in return.

“I’m sorry. It’s just a fact I’m not letting you go.”

“Glen,” Lana groaned slightly, “I told you. I have to go back.”

“Mmno!” Glen sulked.

“Yes!” Lana replied emphatically, “Glen please understand from my perspective. Imagine… I just lost my brother, and my family just lost me. I have to go be with them and grieve for him properly. I can’t fool around out here avoiding my responsibility to them.”

“Someone else can tell them.” The dragon replied sullenly, “I need you.”

“I’m not making Gill do that alone,” Lana replied.

Gill inhaled sharply and Glen crinkled his eyes closed, “Mmm, well, you see. I said he’s not going anywhere either. Because I’m going to keep you both?”

~*

[lowkeyhockey]

Can wait for part 2 of miros story

oh my god, i can’t believe there’s someone still waiting on that :’DD thank you, you’re so beyond sweet!

tbh i dropped tumblr writing when things got busy for me because i thought no one’s really interested, but i’d love to do more for my existing stories

[channieroo]

Ever see someone and you’re like “adopt me! but not in a weird way!” because like mood

[fivefeetfear]

Fighter chp 1

This will be mature!

Fizz x reader and eventually fizz x reader x Asmodeus!

Edit; hiiii I am re-reading and editing the chps!

……………………………….

“You know you won’t ever make it in this business. You are way to meek they will eat your pathetic ass up alive!”

“You wrote this? Ehhh, how do I say this without sounding like a total jackass. Mmmm, your song sucks. If you want to be a singer your best bet is singing covers at a shitty bar.”

“(Y/N) for the last time I’m never taking you to any of my fucking shows! You’re just going to embarrass the fuck out of me!”

“Well doll we had a good fucking run but I gotta roll with my own kind. I can’t be seen with someone like you, I have a rep to uphold now.”

And those were just a few hurtful words that polluted my mind. They feed my insecurities and drove my self esteem to the ground. I tried to move on and forget about the damn bastard, but I see his fucking face EVERYWHERE! From his sex toy commercials, hosting award shows on tv to Goddamn billboards! I can’t get away from him! I can’t fully heal from the bullshit he’s put me through. Fizza-fucking-rolli.

This bastard had a hold of my life for the last decade. And then some after he just threw me away like garbage! Because of him I am a single, bitter 29 year old working at a shitty bar in the wrath ring.

It’s currently 2am and I’m still at work. Stocking shelves with the most disgusting drinks ever created. Surely if it’s not top shelf it taste like sewage. Even so they seem to be flying off the shelves every night.

AHHHH

I groan softly to myself as the door bell screamed alerting me someone was in the store.

“Y/N!!” A voice yells obnoxiously. Fucking hell. I round about the bar spotting the demon responsible for my head aches for the last couple of nights.

“Hello Blitz, what do you want?” I asked as I leaned on the counter.

“Wha!? Cant visit my childhood BFF!?” He asks as he plants his short ass on a bar stool. I grunted as I moved behind the bar pouring us some vodka in shot glasses.

“Blitz you wouldn’t have known I worked here if you didn’t get your dumbass kicked out from every bar in hell.” I corrected as I slid him his glass. We haven’t seen each other in five years and 4 nights ago he stumbles into my bar and now he doesn’t seem like he has any interest in leaving anytime soon. Blitz grabs his drink and he threw his head back drinking it in one gulp before slamming the glass down.

“Well if it wasn’t for me fucking around we wouldn’t be reunited! (N/N) and Blitz are back in business bitches!” The imp proclaims as he stood on his stool. I rolled my eyes as I began to click through the channels on the shitty tv in the bar.

“Whatever.” I muttered as I tried to find something interesting to watch. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset he’s worming his way back into my life. It just hard to welcome him with open arms, especially with everything that went down with us. It wasn’t the matter what Blitz did it’s about what he didn’t do. I was there for him through his bullshit and when I needed him he fucking disappears! The bar went quiet as the two of us sat in an awkward silence. The sound of the tv switching channels and light snoring from stragglers fill the space.

“Y/N, I know you don’t want me to apologize-“

“Then don’t.” I sneered still fixated on the screen.

“Look I’m not to keen of apologizing for my fuck ups. But out of all the people I fucked over you deserve one! Ok, I should have been there for you!”

“But you weren’t!” I barked back at him.

“I fucking KNOW that and I’m sorry! You were my friend and I left you when you needed me!” Blitz shouted as he slammed his hands on the bar.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with that cheap ass clo-“

“Hahah!!” I felt my skin crawled when I heard the familiar cackling of my ex shouting from the tv.

“Hello there all you horny bastards! We are having a BLOW OUT SALE! Purchase one robo fizz and get the second one 69% off! This sale las-“

BOOM

I jumped back as my tv exploded in front of me. I whip around to see Blitz with his smoking gun in hand.

“I swear between you two I can never get a fucking word out!” He complains.

“BLITZ!” I holler at him for fucking up my tv!

“Relax, I’ll get you a new one. Not like new new, it won’t be nice or anything. Maybe even worse honestly but it still a goddamn tv alright!” This guy.

“As I was saying, I should have been there for you ok. I know Im late on this shit and I have no one to blame but myself for how fucking bad this ended. I knew you were struggling and I-I…. I’m fucking sorry.” And there it was the infamous”I’m sorry”. The words I never thought I ever hear. But what happen between the three of us wasn’t as easy to patch up with “I’m sorry”. For the duration of our friendship, I felt untouchable. It was always the three of us. It was such a rude awakening when I found myself alone in the gutters. With a sigh I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“Blitz…I appreciate it. But it’s not that easy ok? Look we both got burned, so that means if we really want this friendship to work out, we need to be work on it and be honest with one another.”

“Of course.” Blitz agreed immediately.

“And if you pull some stupid shit I will kill you!” I threaten the imp who was completely unfazed by the statement.

“Yup sounds reasonable!” I smirked at his puppy dog eyes as I poured us another round of shots.

“Ok then, heres to second chances” I toasted.

“To second fucking chances!” The two of us clinked our glasses and drank to we blacked out.

……………….

Depending how this goes I’ll post more. This is going to be short angsty story with lots of music and singing! More on reader will come up!

[slasherholic]

Hi, I have a request to make if it isn’t too invasive or anything. I thought I saw on a post you made previously that you have OCD? If I’m wrong, you can just stop reading and delete this now, but if I’m not:

I’m writing a character and they have OCD, but I’d hate to misrepresent or use any harmful stereotypes and I can’t find any good sources to go off of. And since you are a person that has OCD, I was wondering if you have any useful tips or information for me?

Sure thing :-)

The way I describe compulsions to people is basically as follows:

Imagine you have a terrible habit. A completely nonsensical habit. You are fully aware of how ridiculous and delusional the habit is, but the compulsion to do the habit is so insanely strong that resisting it simply is not an option. Try to resist the habit, and you will lose your god damn mind. The compulsion to do it will grow and grow, and your stress and anxiety levels will rise until it's all you can think about. You can put it off for a few minutes if you really need to, but eventually, the habit NEEDS to happen.

If I don't hold my breath every single time I walk past a trash can, a dumpster, the kitchen sink, a suspicious stain on the sidewalk or anything that I think is going to smell bad, then I need to perform another compulsion where I cough super obnoxiously and hit my fist against my chest to "fix it". I cannot flush my own toilet without getting a big old wad of toilet paper to touch the handle with and if my finger grazes the handle I will immediately have to run my fingers under very hot water to "burn the germs off". If I see a pregnant woman, I have to do the fist-hitting-thing on my abdomen until my body "feels right" again. (I'm sorry I don't hate pregant women lol.) Point is, if you don't do the compulsion, your brain makes you think something bad is going to happen as a result of not doing it. OCD is about your brain trying to return you to a state of "feeling right again".

People with OCD aren't delusional, we know the weird shit we're doing doesn't make sense. It isn't grounded in making sense. I know that hitting my stomach whenever I see a pregnant chick isn't going to abort the nonexistant imaginary fetus in my stomach that literally isn't there. I know coughing super hard when I smell something that doesn't agree with me isn't actually going to "get the bad smell out of my lungs" any faster. I still have to do these things, because my brain has convinced itself that this is the only way to fix the percieved problem. I don't want to do any of these things, but I have to. Thus, "Obsessive Compulsive Disorder".

If I'm in a place where it isn't socially acceptable to make weird sounds and do weird movements, I can hold it off until I'm able to excuse myself to somewhere private, a backroom, restroom, etc. But even if I've been putting the compulsion off for an hour, whatever it was that got triggered still needs to happen at some point. It is extremely distressing not to be able to do your compulsions; in cognitive behavioral therapy, they tell you that you need to put your compulsions off for as long as possible, and eventually the distress associated with not doing them will subside. I'm no psych, but so far, that really hasn't been my experience. I've had to put compulsions off at work for hours because it's scary to see someone randomly start hitting themselves (lmao,) and then I HAVE to do the compulsion the second I get back in my car.

I wouldn't worry about offending by writing a character with "stereotypical compulsions" or anything because they're often stereotypes for a reason. I have many compulsions that revolve around expunging my body of imagined germs, yet very few to do with obsessive organization, in fact I am chronically disorganized and it's a huge problem for me. But as long as you're trying to portray a character with compulsions other than your very basic "ahhhh I gotta wash my hands now ahhhhh I hate being messy" then I think you're good to go!

OCD can be treated with SSRIs and sometimes atypical antipsychotics. I was on risperidone on and off for a year before deciding to quit it because I really disliked the way it was making me feel. I felt disturbingly unlike myself. It did help my tics and compulsions, but not to the degree that it was worth sacrificing my creative motivation, silencing my internal dialogue that previously never shut the fuck up (which I enjoyed thank you very much) and risking developing tardive dyskinesia, which my doctor had to test me for every time I went in.

edit: If you want to pull reference from an existing character, Bruno Madrigal from Encanto has “superstitions” that upon my first watch IMMEDIATELY registered to me as OCD compulsions. I don’t know if he officially does have OCD, but damn, compulsions like that were pleasantly surprising to see portrayed in a movie.

Aaaaand that's all I can think of right now agshsgsd! I hope that was at least a little helpful! I don't speak for every person with OCD, that's just my experience with the disorder👍

[blorbocedes]

Was reading your Nico fics and had some thoughts about pet names the various people he is paired with would have for him.

Jenson- princess, Britney obviously but also I think he'd call him every other pet name under the sun sweetheart, kitten, angel, baby, darling etc

Mark- kitten/Britney that's it ( unrelated side note that is also Mark's pet name for seb just replace Britney with brat)

Seb- Exclusively German pet names but he uses them all he also expands to Italian pet names after joining Ferrari

Michael- Same as Seb but the Italian ones were always there

Toto- One specific German pet name for when he means it but he uses all of the other when he's trying to convince Nico to do something that Nico doesn't want to do

Kimi- Finnish pet names. He sometimes just straight up has full conversations with Nico in Finnish in hopes that he'll pick up Finnish by osmosis

Nico H- Every generic pet name ever most of the time but always uses my as a prefix (ie my angel, my darling)

Charles- French pet names that they both use for each other except for once it's Nico who uses them smoothly and Charles who is giggly

Pierre- unusual pet names in French that have no meaning. Literally just random words that somehow convey the love vibes

Max- Dutch pet names Max uses them because he thinks Nico doesn't know what they mean (he does know)

Lewis- just Nico but he has this insane ability to say it like a prayer, like it's the most intimate thing in the world and also dollface.

This is probably the most random ask you've ever gotten but I hope you don't mind. What are your thoughts about Nico+ pet names?

This is actually catered incredibly to my tastes thank you anon.

jenson, mark - absolutely agree

seb - 😭 I love the implication he learned Italian at Ferrari or was very obnoxious "spent a semester abroad" about it even tho both Nico and Seb do speak Italian, my waltmeisters <3

Michael: AHHHH. sorry Michael x Nico always makes me act up 😳😳😳 german and italian petnames

toto: anon your brain is so sexy.... One (1) German nickname to wheedle him into doing something...... the ones I usually see are liebling and schnatz... German is not terribly romantic like that. Nico would be into it tho

Kimi: 😭😭😭 laughing at the thought Kimi is having full blown conversations in Finnish to Nico who only knows what mouse shit is Finnish 😭💀💀💀 I commend him, keep trying <3 we'll get them......

Nico H: somehow I've never considered nico x nico before? I always think dating someone with your own name is such a nightmare idk how taylor lautner does it.....

Charles: aww giggly baby charles.... they could do Italian too, apparently Nico's Italian sounds practically native (better than charl's 😚) I love my Monaco polyglots

Pierre: :O somehow I have never considered them..... hmm..... I don't see it but it has to be French

Max: you reminded me to get to my maxnico post 😭 but yesssss max using Dutch pet names when he thinks Nico doesn't understand and pretends they're insults if he asks but Nico Knowing huhuhu

Lewis: oh fuck me. this one was like a punch to the face cause you're right you're so right. he doesn't need anything other than Nico and it's not cause the queen's English is his only language

This was fun anon! i enjoyed it a lot, thank you!!! and you're never weirding me out <3

[korasonata]

I had someone last time ask me about time stamps, so all of these from this point out will have the time stamp at the top of each set of quotes. I am currently in the process of retrieving the time stamps for the previous 5 posts, and will link an updated version when I have retrieved them all.

Link to the video is here: https://m.twitch.tv/videos/1149389841

Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo model streams part 6!

(I am very sorry I tried very hard to make this not as long as it is. There will probably be another extended cut post because there was just SO much happening in this stream)

—

00:00:57

Cleo: Welcome to the stream. Mine and/or Joes. Or, both.

Joe: Yay!

Cleo: I suppose that’s what the “and” means. In that statement. That would make sense. Glue pot’s ready—

Joe: It makes sense to me.

Cleo: …that makes me even more nervous that it makes sense to you, Joe. Not gonna lie.

—

00:16:34

Joe: So, anyway, last night at dinner, uh, like I— I had put this interview on while I was cooking and I kinda left it on as my daughter sat down for dinner and I was like “hey, this is an interview with this very famous journalist from about 50 years ago. Uh, he’s got a really interesting voice and a really interesting cadence, and I wanna kind of listen to it so I can— maybe copy it as like a joke in one of my videos.” And my daughter listens to it for about a— a minute—

Cleo: And then says “now that’s— is that you?”

Joe: *laughing* She just turns to me and she’s like “my friend…her parents got her…did you know they make crayon applesauce now? It says crayola. It tastes. Like they’ve blended a brown crayon. And sprinkled it on top.”

Cleo: That sounds grim.

Joe (prideful laughing): And it just kind of matches the cadence while also talking about something terrible to ingest?*laughing* And I just start cracking up because like— *laughing continues* she gets it! And she’s just like “why are you laughing?” Because you just— you nailed it! You nailed the pauses, you— you nailed the subject matter, like this is— this is just great!! And she’s like “no! This is a real thing! This crayon applesauce is terrible!” And I’m just laughing and laughing and she’s like trying to explain why it’s not good, and I’m like “I understand why it’s not good, but—“

Cleo (reading chat): “Joe’s daughter is awesome.” I think you’re probably correct. Joe’s daughter is indeed awesome.

Joe: Yeah, I’m very very happy with my daughter. (Reading chat) What was for dinner? Well not crayola applesauce!

—

Cleo (in response to someone complimenting her 3rd Life videos): Awe! Thank you joytobake, that’s really nice! I am…always pleased when people like my personality. Because I’m never sure that people should, you know?

Joe: Yeah, that’s— that’s what we were talking about— I think before we started streaming, was like, Cleo really gets me, and that’s a huge red flag.

Cleo: That’s a— yeah. As a human being. Understanding Joe - massive red flag. Huge. This is a danger. To everybody. And particularly Joe.

Joe: It’s the terror of being truly known.

—

00:47:08

Joe: Up until this point I didn’t show the instructions, but now I feel like I have to.

Cleo: Because otherwise people are going to judge your competency?

Joe: Yeah! They’re gonna go “ok. Any idiot can figure out how these pieces go together” but if you look at these instructions, that’s not true. I’m a spectacular idiot, and I have no idea what I’m doing with these.

Cleo: I mean. I want— I want to confirm. Yes. Spectacular.

Joe: Yes. Thank you Cleo.

Cleo: *snicker* You’re welcome Joe. I always like to insult the people I care about the most.

Joe (quietly): I know…I appreciate it.

Cleo (Watching chat): I’m waiting for Cam to confirm that.

(Cam in chat: She insults me SO MUCH, she called me a gibbon last night…)

—

00:59:42

Joe: *reading tips*

Cleo (reading chat): “you can’t stop Joe when he’s on a role.” This is true.

Joe (not paying attention): *still reading tips*

Cleo: I mean you can, you just have to go: Joe. Joe. JOE. And then he stops sometimes.

Joe (quietly, but with emphasis): WHAAAAAAAAAAT??!?

Cleo: I’M DOING A THING!

—

01:00:46

Joe (reading tips): “This is an encouragement donation for more of you singing in the future.” Ooo, I think Cleo would like that because the future is not now.

—

01:02:23

Cleo (genuine singing): Ground control to major Tom…

Joe: *listening in awe*

Cleo: …That’s…pretty much all I know…

Joe: Oh, I was gonna let you keep going, I— I wanted to hear more.

Cleo: Oh no. That’s pretty much all I know.

Joe: But yeah. Hypothermic haddoc writes (singing) “tell my wife I love her very much!” …I was waiting for you to jump in with the (singing) “she knoooooows!”

Cleo: Again. Again, I don’t know the song very well.

Joe: Oh. And here I am sitting in my tin can—

—

01:47:54

Cleo: *leaves to get a drink*

Joe: While you’re getting your drink I guess I’ll provide some musical entertainment.

SILENCE

Joe: …I don’t have anything prepared. So, let’s see…do we have any birthdays? *laughing* if it’s anybody’s birthday I’ll sing to you while Cleo’s gone.

Cleo: I’m back.

Joe: Oh ok. Well, sorry birthday boys. And girls.

Cleo: feel free to sing to people. I’m sure people want that.

Joe: no…well, I was gonna do it while you were away cause I need to get up and get my drink as soon as you’re back.

Cleo: Oh, go and get a drink and I will sing happy birthday—

Joe: So I’m gonna go get my drink, I’ll be right back.

Cleo: —to people who have chosen to spend their birthday…here…I’m not judging, uh, but— (upbeat singing) Happy Birthday to you! You smell like a zoo! (Talking) …uh, etcetera etcetera… (Singing) I forgot how this song goes! Nevermind it sucks to be you! *blows a raspberry*

—

01:49:09

Cleo: I mean it’s Cams birthday on Saturday, and I will sing to Cam on his birthday. His birthday is not today. I mean he probably wants me to not sing to him on his birthday, to be fair—

[Cam: Please don’t sing to me]

Cleo: —but you know, I might do it anyway. Cause it’s obnoxious. And I will laugh. (Reading chat) “Happy Birthday! Here’s some genocide! Please don’t sing to me…” *laughing* I won’t sing to you if you don’t want me to, Honey.

[Cam: Not happy birthday at least lol]

Cleo: I might torture you in other ways though.

—

01:50:55

Cleo: Hiiiiii Jooooooe.

Joe: Hello! Joe Hiws hewe! I am back fwom my dwink bweak!

Cleo: …what is that voice?

Joe (in a Kermit the Frog/Swedish Chef/Yoda hybrid of an accent): I feewl wike it’s fwom home star wunner or something, I don’t know! It’s almost Kermit THe Fwog Hewe, but not quITe!

*Cleo laughing*

It’s a little— (Normal voice) I dunno. I still had some of my drink in my throat, so I was like— I didn’t wanna like accidentally cough it out on the microphone as soon as I started talking. So I was just like (weird voice continues) I’ll do thIS vOIce

*Squealing giggling from Cleo*

(Same iteration of previous accent now blended somehow with the voice of Goofy from Micky Mouse) It’ll keep my mOUth in a shape that if I start— me coughing up a dwink it’ll just go into the chEEks on EIther sIde. It’s a natuwal, uh bARRier against, uh, hydration escapism! Uh yuh!!

Cleo: *giggles* Ok Joe. Ok.

Joe: *high pitched laughing* I don’t know Cleo! I’m just gonna keep making noises until people give me money! It’s jus— it’s how I pay rent.

Cleo: *laughing* Making noises until people give you— ahhhh…..

Joe: Yeah

Cleo: — actually…..yeah. Yeah. Yeah…Um (reading chat) “it’s drunk Kermit” *wheezing*

Joe (drunk Kermit The Frog voice): It’s 5:00 somewhere!

Cleo: *laughing* thanks for this. I needed— I needed this moment of— of— whatever this was.

—

01:53:54

Joe: So my daughter said the most Wednesday Adams thing to me the other day—

Cleo: Oh no

Joe: Except she didn’t do the deadpan delivery. She was very upbeat about this. So apparently “UP” has, on Dinsey+ a series of shorts about the old man and the dog. Right? And they’re called something like “a Dougs Life” cause Doug is the name of the dog

Cleo: yeah.

Joe: and she goes “oh! And it’s short! Like a dogs lifespan!”

SILENCE

Cleo: …Your…kid is very much your kid, you know that right?

Joe (proud dad): I know right?!

—

01:58:20

Cleo: I mean…you’d kill it at the Met Galla. Not gonna lie.

Joe (excited): Oh my god— I wanna get one of those Manuel suits that has like all the rhinestones and the flowers on it? Um, but, you know, like, those are very expensive.

Cleo: We live with what we can afford. Maybe someone can make you a Diamond encrusted suit that you can wear on camera. And have all the sparkles as green.

Joe (very excited): Oh my gosh— actually— so—

02:20:45

Joe: Meanwhile in my Discord everyone’s posting what they describe as “eye searingly beautiful” lime green wedding dresses. For my next wedding. Um—

Cleo: *snicker* is that what you’re wearing for your next wedding?

Joe: you know, honestly at this point I don’t wanna make any assumptions about anything.

Cleo: *cackling*

—

02:31:07

(This is context for the next one)

Cleo (reading chat): “some people have too much time on their hands” I mean, I personally would not drive 8 hours to see— um…

Joe: …me?

Cleo: I dunno, I might drive 8 hours to see you.

Joe: I offered to drive 8 hours to see you when you were coming to Disney and you said no, so I’m gonna assume that you would not drive 8 hours to see me.

Cleo: I mean, I— li— the key word there was “might”. I wou— I would have to have my mini frea— well I was freaked out at that point. When you offered, and and I was just like “oh god no.” Because, you know, social anxiety is a thing.

Joe: Mhm. I’ve heard of that.

Cleo: Yeah. And I do not do well particularly meeting people for the first time, even people I’ve known for a while. I go very very quiet and umm…I think it’s worse actually with people that I’ve known for a while? Um, online, um…because— cause my brain goes “well you’re gonna make a s—your, your— your going to do something and say something stupid. You going— they’re gonna hate you in real life” um…so, yeah. My brain absolutely freaked out at that moment.

—

02:34:12

Cleo: But, you know, like I say, I get hate mail on the regular, it’s fine. I mean part of that is daring to be a woman on the Internet, but only part. The other part is the fact that I’m also an awful human being. So, you know.

SILENCE

Cleo: …the silence isn’t doing— the silence doesn’t do you— do me any favours Joe.

Joe: Well, you know, I didn’t wanna talk over you when you’re sharing your insecurities.

Cleo: yeah….

Joe: That seems rude.

Cleo: I mean—

Joe: So I wanted to make sure you were done.

Cleo: no no no no, that’s fine. I’m always done Joe.

Joe: And nOW I can actually tell you how I really feel.

Cleo: No, please don’t. Not onl— no. That will— that will make me even more uncomfortable.

Joe (upbeat singing): The praise train is on its way!! Choo choo!!

Cleo: Noooooooooooooooooo!! Nooo!!

Joe: For Cleo it’s her day!! Choo choo!!

Cleo: *noises of distress*

Joe: Cleo is really great!! Choo choo!! Choo choo!!

Cleo: *distressful crying*

Joe: She’s not merely ok!! She doesn’t have to be the best at talking to people for the first time!! Cause they’ll love her anyway!! And sometimes they’ll even rhyyyme!! Yay for Cleo!!

Cleo: *physically going through a full body cringe* noooo

Joe: See, it would have been rude if I did that in the middle of your thing.

Cleo: *sob laughing*

Joe: That would not have been socially acceptable.

Cleo (through tears): I’m not even sure it was socially acceptable now.

Joe: WHY NOT?!

Cleo: (sobbing and laughing simultaneously) I hate you so much.

—

02:38:05

Cleo (reading chat): “We all need a Joe in our life, who sings a theme song for us when we’re talking ourselves down” I’m not sure you do.

Joe: Yeah, that wasn’t really a theme song? Like, if I was gonna do a theme song for Cleo—

Cleo (with immense dread): Oh no…no…no…

—

02:43:07

Joe: I’d just like to point out (very obnoxiously high pitched voice) That this is Cleo’s average person voice, which means that 50% of people have an even higher pitched voice!

Cleo: …You know, I can’t actually stab Joe through the Internet. And I’ve always been upset about that.

—

02:53:36

Joe (with all the enthusiasm of a 16 year old girl gossiping at a slumber party): Ooo I wanna ask Cleo about giiiiiirls!!!

Cleo: Ask me about girls! I’m— I’m happy for you to ask me about girls.

Joe: Ok, so, do you— do you feel comfortable saying what your specific, uh, type of woman is? I’m— I’m curious about that.

Cleo: Um, it’s— it’s nerdy girls? Specifically. Umm…not too, um…you know, the kind of running, climbing, you know— sort of— person. You know, it’s— it’s the sort of— it’s the sort of— action girl kinda thing. I kinda like that type. That’s sort of my type.

Joe: Mhm. Yeah, like—

Cleo: Why, what’s your type of girl?

Joe: Well, uh, usually it’s somebody that is— very anti authority— un— un— dissatisfied with the status quo. So usually more punk, or that sort of thing.

Cleo: Yeah. That’s— that’s— that sort of plays into the action girl sort of thing as well. Yeah I get that. So yeah.

Joe: yeah, umm, you— yeah so I don’t know. Um— so not necessarily, uh, as focused on the athleticism element there, but I know like—

Cleo: Well it’s not really athleticism, it’s— it’s more— it’s more—

Joe: —in terms of like, um, hiking, cause like, uh, you know in college there’s like a climbing and camping club or whatever—

Cleo: Oh yeah, it’s not that sort of person. It’s— it’s more, um…getting out and having a go at things. Like, you know, not— not being afraid to—

Joe: Adventurous

Cleo: Yeah! Adventurous! That’s the word!

—

Cleo (whispering): I don’t know where this bit goes! *gasp* it goes over there!

Joe (whispering): You can do it!

Cleo: I can do it! I believe in me!

Joe: You’ll find a place to glue it! It doesn’t necessarily have to be the right place!

Cleo: I know!

Joe: You’re equally valid regardless!

Cleo: Thanks Joe!

Joe: You’re welcome!

Cleo: It’s appreciated!

[pippersmcgee]

So the Very Stressful Thing is out of the way and all I have to do is wait for word back (which will be a different sort of stressful), but until then I can just sit back, relax, and enjoy the premium showing of howl’s moving castle tonight w/ friends