#and do not bend easily to the white man

[tim-hoe-wan]

Matty Healy really brought out the reality that so many westerners do not get that Asia as a whole and its individual nations has its own identity, and the ever growing popularity of steering away from western superpowers and influence. That Rat’s fans don’t realize the white saviorism and dismissing the inherent differences of western and eastern culture is just gonna further the ever growing isolationist movement.

[gloomwitchwrites]

What If 141 and the best enemies to lovers line of all time...

"Who did this to you?"

Cue protective instincts and sexiness

hehe I am giggling!! Okay. Listen. I am fully aware that this is an enemies to lovers trope, but I don't think it applies to all of the 141 guys in that manner. Is there protectiveness? Yes. Is there a bit of spice? Yes, if you squint really hard. Is there also some sweetness thrown in? Absolutely there is. I had lots of fun with this one. I hope you enjoy it!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x 141!Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief blood and injury, hurt/comfort, brief suggestive themes, protectiveness, light angst

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Who did this?” Kyle bends forward at the waist, pressing a bag of frozen peas to your face. His concern is genuine. You can see that, but it’s strange. The two of you get on, but this is something else.

Kyle looks…angry like your injury personally offends him.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur. “Things happen during sparing. It’s fine.”

Kyle’s frown only deepens. He doesn’t believe you. And why should he? The person you were placed with took it too far. And it was all to impress him as if putting you in your place would somehow grant his favor.

It’s clearly done the opposite. He could care less about your sparring partner.

“It was your sparring partner, wasn’t it?”

You don’t answer. Just press the peas to your forehead a little harder.

This time, Kyle’s frown turns slightly upward. “Jokes on them, ya?”

You glance at him sideways. “How so?”

Kyle is grinning. It’s stunning. All pearly white teeth.

“Because I have my eye on someone else,” he says simply, as if that answers everything.

Though you cannot see yourself, you feel your face growing hot under Kyle’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t say thing like that,” you reply.

“Why? It’s true.”

John Price

“Who did this?”

“Why do you care so much, John?”

You attempt to pull your face out of his grasp but he holds firm.

“Of course I care,” he replies. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, chests heaving. John is close. Too close. So close he could easily brush his lips against yours.

“I don’t know why,” you murmur.

“You do,” he affirms, authority in his tone.

Do you? Maybe. Perhaps. Deep within yourself you truly know the reason but can’t decide to speak it to the air. That would make this real. Whatever this is between the two of you.

‘Tell me who did this?”

“And do that what?”

“What the fuck I want to them, love.”

“It’s nothing. You shouldn’t worry about it,” you reply, again trying to escape from him.

But John isn’t having it. His other hand hooks around your upper arm, and then you’re pressed closed to him. He is so warm. All strength.

“Let go,” you say, but there is no volume behind it. It is weak. Not even a protest.

“Tell me,” he repeats, head dipping slightly.

Yes. Close enough to kiss.

“Tell me,” he says again, this time softer.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s blood beats heavy. It is tinged with metal. A lace of fire that cannot abate.

His boots slap against the linoleum floor. The overhead lights are bright. Clinical. He is a shadow here. A dark specter.

No one stops him. No one glances his way.

And why should they?

He is a man made fury.

There were hands put upon you. A training exercise taken too far. Simon was not there. And he doesn’t know why. Not exactly. But he’s furious. Protective. The fact that he could not stop this only infuriates him further.

To him, this is a failure.

He doesn’t come to a stop. Doesn’t knock. He barges right on in.

The nurse yelps. Spins suddenly. Face red.

You glance up, eyes wide at first but soothing slightly as they land on Simon. You’re bruised. Stitched up.

Fucking hell.

“Out,” barks Simon.

The nurse leaves but stares him down the entire time. He approaches the table, and lightly brushes the backs of his fingers against the wound on your forehead.

“Who did this?” he asks.

“Simon—”

“Which fucker?” he growls, bending forward slightly to look into your eyes.

“Should see the other guy,” you joke, smiling.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t. You’re not his. Even if he wishes it were so.

Every swing of his fist sends the building frustration outward, shooting into the massive boxing bag before him. It’s a poor substitute for the face he truly wants to smash. Several faces that is. Two specifically.

Who did this?

The words slipped from him unbidden. An instant anger. You had only scowled. Told him you could handle yourself. And you can. Johnny knows this. But he’s still fucking pissed about it. Still seething.

All the fucker got was a quick slap on the wrist. A promise to not do it again.

That sits sour in Johnny’s belly.

But you didn’t cave, no matter how much Johnny insisted that he’d take care of it on your behalf. So he is here, punching the shit out of something that isn’t flesh.

He wishes he could take away your pain. Take away the memory. Give it to himself to carry. You don’t turn on your own. There’s no honor in what happened.

But as much as he wants it to be true, Johnny can do nothing.

You are not his.

Even if he wants to be.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@pearljamislife @heeheehoohoohahahihi @eternallyvenus @burn1ngw00d @taysarchive

[yourstrqly]

✰ LET ME ANSWER, L. HAMILTON

[ preview ] the possessiveness comes to the light when your ex won't stop calling you during sex

[ tw ] smut, sir kink, description of a female body, answering the phone during sex, piv, riding, possessiveness

. minors do not interact .

lewis raises his eyebrows. four times, for the fourth time your phone screen light up on the nightstand, the name 'ex' showing, causing you to reach out, hands that claw on his strong back letting go, to decline the incoming call. it irritates him but the disturbance won't stop him from pushing inside your pussy again.

"give me the phone, darling", is all lewis says, shortly pulling out to sit himself against the headboard.

he looks ridiculously hot like this, tattoos glistening under the sweaty film on his skin, a single braid having found its way from the ponytail. there's a smirk on his face as he pumps his length and you want nothing more than for him to say what you should do now.

And then he does. "Ride me."

You hand him the phone and grab the base his cock to hold it in place, so you can easily slip the length inside.

A loud wail escapes your throat when his heavy cock scrapes up your inner walls, and you slowly start to ride him. he slides a hand under your ass, forcing you to bounce faster in his lap. your back arches, leaning against his chest and your hot breath fawns on his neck, where you bit softly into it. his throbbing dick stretches you out, leaving a burn when he reaches the depth of your wet hole.

You don't notice lewis pressing the green button, accepting the face call.

"hi baby, look I—who the fuck are you and where's my girl?", the guy on the other side asks, voice gruff and laced with anger. you try to keep quiet, but lewis has different plans, bending his knees to fuck himself roughly in your spongy walls that make lewd, squealing sounds. the trill of humiliating your ex turns you on; you thighten around your boyfriend's fat cock, feeling an orgasm incoming. nails dig into his shoulders, your vision is blurry and you moan, head thrown back with the mouth agape.

"tell him darling, who's making you feel this good?", lewis grunts, seeing your creamy pussy leaving a white ring around the base of his cock.

"you, sir", you whine, "you feel so good."

needily you rock your hips in his lap, ignoring the fire in your legs; his thick tip gazes the g-spot over and over again, causing you to choke out mewls and cries of pleasure — you nearly have forgotten your ex. "who the fuck do you think you are, huh?"

"i'm the boyfriend", lewis bits out. "You hear that?" You let out a high pitch cry, legs trembling as you cream his cock and drench his balls and tights. "that's the sound of my girl coming around my dick. every single day."

limp in his arms, you rest your head on his shoulder to make room for him to mark you up; you feel warm at his possessiveness, taken care of and loved. lewis' pillow lips nibble on your throat while he chases his high, chanting curses before he pulls out, throwing you on your back and spill on your pudgy stomach. you reach for the white liquid, skoping some on your fingertips before licking them clean, sucking gently the bitter taste of him, making lewis groan. "my dirty little girl, hm?", he whispers, the naughty smirk he still wears changing into proud one.

"for you, i'm everything, sir."

having not forgotten the face time call, you grab the phone to face your ex, who looks straight out of a comic with his harden gaze and red-from-anger cheeks. with mischief on your mind you angle the phone and press an open mouthed kiss on his lips, all tongue and teeth. it's messy like that and you love it.

breaking apart, the screen is black.

"didn't know you could act like this, lew", you grin happily. the man only laughed in response as he got up to get you a cloth to clean you and himself; he knows that you're turned on by this side of him, and maybe, just maybe, he'd do it again, even though the thought of someone else hearing your sweet moans make him jealous. wordlessly, he puts on sportify, the voices of temptation singing his girl, and he goes down on you, ever so softly whipping your pussy.

humming from inbetween your legs, lewis states: "you're made for me, darling."

"I know", you reply, slowly drifting to the lands of dreams.

rina speaks • ₊° ✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ . . [ 🪐 ] based on this requests! hope I did it justice x

[lavendermin]

Stop, about the Mimi being protective of pregnant reader....I imagine it carried out even when the baby was born...like when rhe baby is in bed giggling and Mimi circles around them then growl when jy wants to see his baby..I also think mimi would take the baby w her and JY and reader was STRESSED when their baby is gone only to find their baby fell asleep in the warmth of Mimi🥹

You’re so right 100%

Jing Yuan is often busy so your company mostly consists of Mimi for most of the time and the few regular faces you’ll see at the estate. And now that you’re pregnant, Jing Yuan takes extra precaution appointing several of his most entrusted contacts to keep you safe when he isn’t by your side.

cw | pregnancy, suggestive

Who would have known that Mimi, the majestic white lion, who was at first mostly indifferent to you is now suddenly glued to your side like a needy lap cat. And you could only pinpoint this shift in behavior with the progression of your pregnancy.

You started noticing the small shifts two months into your pregnancy. Mimi would follow you from room to room when Jing Yuan wasn’t around. Its icy blue eyes would bore into those who came to speak with you, a little guarded. But Mimi was intelligent—Jing Yuan had expressed this himself to you on many occasions since knowing him. It would not harm anyone that wasn’t a true threat.

When someone asks to feel your belly, Mimi will make a low rumbling sound as a threat. Still, early on it’s no problem and it’s a little situation you easily dispel with comforting assurances and scratches behind Mimi’s ear.

It only becomes a bigger issue when you’re about five months into the pregnancy. Jing Yuan has just come back from a rather long expedition for official business—forty-six days to be exact. And his heart is light with the notion that he finally gets to hold his lovely wife, so wonderful and pregnant, for the first time in weeks.

“My love, it’s good to see you back safe and sound,” you greet, hobbling over from where you were resting on the couch with Mimi obediently at your feet. You look positively radiant like this, your tummy rounded with his child and your body soft and glowing.

Strange, Jing Yuan thinks as he removes some of his armor and regalia. It isn’t lost on him how Mimi follows closely by your side, almost supporting you as you walk to make sure your balance is ensured.

“Ive counted the days until I could see you again,” he grins, hand settling on your hip.

As he leans in to properly greet you with a kiss, Jing Yuan is nudged away. Rather forcibly, he might add. Mimi huffs as it wedges itself between yourself and the general.

“Snow Lion,” he commands with a look.

Mimi looks away with an annoyed flick of its tail, unmoving and nudging your hand to pet its mane. Usually Mimi is well-behaving and certainly well-trained. You can’t help but laugh and bend down to place a smooch to the top of the lion’s mane.

“Husband, I do believe little Mimi is a tad upset you left me alone for so long.”

“This hasn’t been a problem before, so it should not pose an issue now,” he ponders, a little bewildered.

After a few affections and sweet words from you all is well and Jing Yuan is able to properly dote on you like the starved man he is. Well…not without Mimi in the same vicinity as you both catch up over dinner and a stroll through the gardens.

That same night poses another issue. With your soft body under his rough hands, Jing Yuan is eager to please you tonight to make up for lost time while he was away. He’s barely gotten you worked up with desperate kisses and heated touches when he hears it.

Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

At first, he pays it no mind. Eager to see you fall apart and taste you on his tongue again. It’s you who halts his advances as you break a kiss with a chuckle upon hearing the scratching again and a few low rumbles.

“Love, I think Mimi wants to come into the room,” you mutter against his lips. Jing Yuan sighs, burying his face in your shoulder.

Though he’s painfully hard and just wants to ravage his pregnant wife, he relents and throws on a robe to open the chamber door. The white lion wastes no time walking over and onto the bed, curling up next to you.

“My bed and wife taken over by my own lion,” he sighs, crossing his arms as he watches the lion purr contently against you.

It becomes a regular habit that you unfortunately spoil Mimi with. Your baby is quite fond of Mimi’s purring after all and likewise Mimi is fond of feeling the baby’s kicks.

Jing Yuan is still luckily spared the ability to love you how he wants when time allows but not without your coaxing Mimi that everything is ok and to stand guard at the door instead. At the very least, you have one more form of protection. He has to convince himself of this at least when he sees you fast asleep against Mimi when he returns late some nights. He’s nonetheless fascinated that such an intelligent creature has found instinct in protecting someone who is expecting. Perhaps luck truly favors the bold.

In the months that follow, your baby is born without issue and Mimi is still just as overprotective if not more of the newborn. Surely it understands that your daughter is a frail cub that cannot be left to the elements. And perhaps it’s due to Mimi’s constant purring against you during your pregnancy, but whenever your daughter begins to whine or cry Mimi will diligently lay near her and purr gently to soothe the baby.

And it works. Every time.

You’re almost a little shocked.

And of course, when Jing Yuan goes to check up on your daughter Mimi will growl defensively. It will never act on it, no. He isn’t a threat.

It’s more of a warning. Ensure this cub’s safety or else.

“Snow Lion, she needs to be fed. These worries are not good for your heart,” he scolds without much bite to his words as he rocks the infant gently, formula bottle in hand.

(I do like to think that since Jing Yuan canonically now refers to Mimi as Snow Lion upon discovering it’s a lion, you will prefer to use Mimi because you think it’s cuter. The lion definitely shows more biased response to you using Mimi because of your coos and affections.)

It’s all well and good until the day your daughter goes missing (for like a solid five minutes in the estate). She’s missing from her crib in the few minutes it took for you to grab a new change of clothes for her as you got ready to give her a bath. You immediately call for Jing Yuan since she’s nowhere to be found in the nursery or your room. She’s disappeared along with the blanket she was in.

And somehow Jing Yuan gets the immediate suspicion the lion is somehow involved when he notices Mimi’s absence from your side. He remains calm.

“What time is it, my dear wife.”

“Wh- it’s a quarter past noon. What–”

Jing Yuan takes your hand with a reassuring smile and leads you across the estate to one of the main sun rooms overlooking the garden. It’s where the afternoon sun filters just right through the large glass windows and thin curtains—Mimi’s favorite sunbathing spot.

And no doubt, the lion is there, curled up against the sun’s rays as they filter warmly into the room. Your daughter is bundled up and gently laid upon a little nest pile of blankets within the warmth of the afternoon sun. She sleeps soundly, small hand clutched tightly around a lock of Mimi’s mane.

You both sigh in relief. It certainly isn’t a conventional babysitter, but Mimi is nothing if not intelligent and loyal.

[sanguineterrain]

in your hands | jason todd

Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.

A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)

the divider

Tonight, Jason comes home far away.

You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits. 

You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”

The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.

He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.

“Did I disappear?” he whispers.

“Little bit. It’s okay.”

You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple. 

“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist. 

You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?” 

“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”

“No, Jay. C’mon.”

You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does. 

You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red. 

“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”

His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles. 

Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”

He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.

“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”

You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat. 

You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still. 

“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”

Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.

You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is. 

When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.

“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”

You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”

“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”

“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar. 

“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”

He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”

You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.

“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”

“Too big for it,” he rasps.

You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”

“I’m s-scary.”

You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can. 

“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”

“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”

“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”

He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more. 

“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.

He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.

You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.

“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

A Confession to Make

Yandere Florist (Callum) x Fem Reader

Blood red flowers laid out in a maple wood work desk, their boood red petal reminiscent of Callum’s past as a hit man. The florist hummed as he carefully cut each stem and trimmed the leaves of each flower to arrange a bouquet for his favorite customer… he wondered if (your name) understood the meaning behind these vibrant flowers and how they were a loud declaration of his love for her.

Callum sighed dreamily while he organized each chrysanthemum with white wax flowers, eucalyptus, thistle, and red hypericum berries. He truly wanted to put a lot of thought into each flower in this bouquet in hopes that his feelings finally went through to his beloved m’eudail.

Callum had been after (your name) the moment she enter his shop all those months ago. To him, she was dainty and perfect… a true lady who had easily captivated him with her shy smile and innocent eyes. Callum wanted her in ways he’d never wanted anyone else before… it was nearly carnal from how badly he wanted to bend her over and stuff her fat with his kids- woah. He had just gotten a bit to in over his head there for a moment…

The melodic dingle of the front door bell broke him from his musings. The red head quickly peaked his head out from his workroom to spot (your name) in the doorway.

“Good morning, Callum!” (Your name) giggled at the scarred man whose cheeks flushed red. “I saw that you have some new flowers in stock.”

“Give me one moment and I’ll tell you what each one is!” Callum chuckled, his green eyes scanned over her small frame in awe. (Your name) was always so cute!

Callum finished the last few touches to his lovely bouquet with a smile. The bouquet would no doubt swallow (your name), but he couldn’t help the excitement that seeped into his love stricken heart.

“Hey, I put something together for you.” Callum hid the bouquet behind his back as he smiled warmly at (your name). The young woman perked up once she spotted the bouquet. A bashful smile now on her face when Callum gently placed the red bouquet in her hands.

“You made me a bouquet?” (Your name) admired each flower in awe. It appeared Callum put a lot of thought and care into each piece of this arrangement. “It’s so beautiful… the red kind of reminds me of your hair.”

Callum chuckled before he bit his lip. It seemed (your name) didn’t understand the romantic language of flowers… but that was okay! He was willing to outright admit his interest in her!

“Well, these are much more than flowers…” Callum towered over (your name) as he pointed to each flower. “Red chrysanthemums for passion and love, wax flowers for a wish of lasting success, red hypericum berries, thistle, and eucalyptus for protection.”

(Your name) blushed when Callum grabbed her hands, the bouquet the only item in the way of the two of them from hugging.

“In other words, I’m confessing to you.” Callum whispered softly, his green eyes filled with adoration. “So what do you say? Would you be mine, m’eudail?”

[dearhargrove]

Please pls pls write for Eddie Diaz🥺

Sleepover

Eddie Diaz x reader

summary You're on the way to pick up your son, Liam, but it's hard to get him to go home when he's begging to sleepover at his new friends house. Turns out you don't mind as much when you met said kid and his dad.

word count 995

tags fluff, reader simping over Eddie, kind of open ending

a/n I got this idea randomly so I hope you like this <3

part two

masterlist

“Liam!” You call out when you spot your eight year old son busy playing with another kid. Usually whenever he heard you he'd come running; with every year he turns older you expect his clinging to reduce but it never does. Not like you mind, he may be eight now but he's still your baby.

But today he just glances and waves before continuing to giggle and talk with his new friend.

You're surprised as he usually never stuck with one kid, most of the time he'd even stay by himself. It worried you, even when you figured he just preferred to be by himself and did it by choice and not because he was left out.

One of the teachers at the side shrugs with a smile after seeing Liam and his new friend.

You approach them and put a hand on Liams back before bending down and kissing the top of his head. “Hey, buddy. Did you make a new friend?”

He grins and nods eagerly, “Chris! We've been playing all day. He's my best friend!” You chuckle at the eager introduction and wave at Chris, who looked almost shy if not for the cute grin.

“Well in that case, it's nice to meet you, Chris.” He politely holds out his hand, “It's nice to meet you too, ma'am.” He says quietly and slowly. You melt on the spot and gently shake his hand.

Your son stands up quick enough to knock the top of his head into your chin, leaving you to grunt in pain as he excitedly bounces in his spot. “I have to sleepover at Chris' house!”

Your eyebrows raise as the two boys continue making plans about tonight. You don't want to be the killjoy but for one you had never met the other parents nor had they met you. Otherwise you would've easily agreed; you were just happy Liam had finally made a friend.

“Alright, boys, I'm afraid this won't work out… We don't even know if Chris parents are going to agree,” you say and pointedly look at your son who's about to pout (you couldn't resist him and you would not let him make you feel bad about making a reasonable decision).

“My dad will say yes. He always says yes.” Chris says seriously and pushes his glasses up with his index. You smile as both of them look at you with equally big, pleading eyes.

“I will say yes to what?”

You almost give yourself whiplash with how fast you turn around because whose voice is that sexy? You'd never heard anyone talking that attractive.

And surely when you look at him you basically faint. Brown hair that seemed to be a grown out buzz cut, brown eyes and white teeth with a grin that makes your heart actually stop for a second.

“Sleepover!” Liam yells and then turns shy when the man looks at him with a smile that should be illegal to look that good. “A sleepover? That sounds exciting.” He gets even more attractive in your eyes when he leans over and kisses Chris’ head in greeting. So he was great with kids too? Wow.

He then fixes his gaze on you and you do everything in your power not to fluster as he rakes his eyes over you and back up to look right into yours. “Hey, I'm Eddie. Chris is my son.” He extends his hand and you shake it before remembering to introduce yourself as well.

He smiles at you through it and if it wasn't for Liam gently clinging to your hand as he and Chris watch you and Eddie talk you'd have actually lost it.

“So these two want to have a sleepover?” The boys both yell in agreement and you laugh, shushing your son a bit. Eddie looks at you with a questioning look and you shrug your shoulders. He had something trustful about him and with the way he acted with both the kids he already checked a few boxes.

But still, this was your son and you wouldn't leave him overnight with - practically - a stranger.

“My dad is a firefighter, he will protect us.” Chris mentions and you look at Eddie in surprise. He chuckles a bit bashfully but nods, “I'm with the 118.” You hum in recognition, “I work at the dispatch center.” He looks surprised now and you chuckle as he comments, “That's a coincidence.”

After that conversation flows easy and after probably fifteen minutes is Liam who pulls your sleeve with an impatient pout. You coo and pick him up with ease, letting him wrap his arms around your neck as he sleepily rests against you.

“Chris is clingy too, I feel like I shouldn't be indulging him so much, but…” Eddie starts and you see him ruffling Chris’ hair with a fond look as the boy looks at his dad with pure adoration.

“It's hard to resist. Yeah, same here.” You hum and both of you laugh a bit.

The teacher takes note of both the kids being picked up and you start walking to the parking lot after getting the backpacks. Chris is on crutches you note and slow your steps for him to comfortably keep up.

“Sleepover?” Liam asks again after - you were quite sure - a nap. Eddie tilts his head and looks at you, giving you the chance to decide.

Wow. So far he's more than just a green flag.

“How about we do a few meet ups first?” You suggest and both boys groan but ultimately agree.

Eddie nods and after letting Chris into the car he turns back to you and holds out his phone with a small smile, “Just so we can, you know, organize their play dates.”

Your heart actually stops for a second before resuming twice as fast and you take his phone to put your contact in.

“I'll see you around.” You smile and wave, Eddie grinning too as he waves and gets in the car.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Dark!Aemond Targaryen: Size Difference

Pairing: Dark Aemond Targaryen x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNINGS: Short reader; Non-con; Forced Breeding; Forced Pregnancy.

AN: I got inspired to write this out of nowhere. Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

Aemond is absolutely infatuated with the way he towers over you. How the top of your head is barely able to reach his shoulder. How small and powerless you appear next to him. 

It fills him with flaming desire and possessiveness to see your small delicate figure next to his robust one. The things he could do to you, if only you were married already. 

He never skips the chance to ask your hand for one (or too many) dances, admiring the way his large hand envelopes your smaller one entirely and he can’t stop imagining how one single hand of his could cover your entire breast. The way you have to tilt your head upwards to be able to face him. 

The fact that he’s enamored by you isn’t missed by the court. Rumors and gossip of the young and fierce prince having fallen for you. Your parent’s are overjoyed when a marriage proposal comes for you and even though you're not certain about Aemond, you bow your head and accept your duty. 

Once you’re officially betrothed, Aemon will be much less careful when it comes to letting you know about his obsession for you. He’s always around you, continuously requesting your presence in the library to spend time together or summoning you for some supper together. 

His hand will linger around the small of your back for more time than appropriate as he guides you through the extensive gardens for a morning walk. His hands enveloping your neck as he presents you with a diamond necklace. 

If it’s a social event, Aemond will remain fixed by your side, a cold expression on his face as people approach you to speak. He doesn’t allow any man to ask your hand to dance, his eye squinting with annoyance if they dare to talk to you. 

Aemond swears that the day of your wedding is the most marvelous day he’s lived. Even though you hold a solemn expression, Aemond still adoringly gazes at you, your delicate figure on the gorgeous white dress making his cock painfully ache for you. 

That night, he’ll let out all of the filthy fantasies he’s been dreaming about. 

As soon as you get to your private chambers, Aemond is quick to rip you out of the dress, shocking you to say the least. He swallows all of your protests with an intense kiss, easily holding you down on the bed with his hands intertwining your own on each side of your head. 

It’s a struggle to fit his wide cock inside your tiny pussy and your wails of pain are more than enough to prove that, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. 

You’re so tight around his cock that Aemond can’t pull away from you. He fucks you with rough thrusts that make the bed quiver, his hips continuously hitting you with immense force, causing shaken wails from you. 

He forgets about your pain, focusing on his own pleasure as he keeps thrusting you with long, deep strokes. His face close to your tear stained one, features contorted by pain as your new husband doesn’t seem to stop any time soon. 

Aemond is restless, fucking you several times over the course of the night, even though you’re sore and tired. You’re not strong enough to stop him and he won’t cave in. He fills you over and over again until he’s sure you’ve taken his seed, his babe growing inside you. 

In the morning, the maids are surprised to find you in a miserable state, dark bags and red eyes with the bed in a complete mess. But the way your inner thighs are covered in Aemond’s cum is more than enough to say everything. 

Needless to say that your wedding night won’t be the last, Aemond’s insatiable when it comes to having you. He can easily bend you down, forcing you into any position he wants as you’re no match for him. He peppers you in kisses, muttering sweet words as he fucks you desperately. 

Soon, you’re with child and Aemond is more in love with you than ever. It’s a dream for him, seeing you getting so big and fragile with his child growing inside you. That’s something he intends to keep doing for as long as you can give him babes. 

[earthtooz]

Just an idea that popped in my head (because i love you and your writing) but how do you think gojo would react when he's sitting on couch, waiting for reader to get ready so they can attend a party,and she emerges from their room,wearing the sexiest red dress and red lipstick?

Like,one min gojo is tapping on his phone,the next minute he's choking on air 😂

no mentions of reader's pronouns but reader wears a dress and makeup, suggestive, kinda deviated from what anon originally wanted, gojo is dumb and in love nevertheless.

“if you don’t kiss me this very second, i might die.”

“excuse me?”

“if you don’t kiss me this very second, i. might. die,” gojo parrots, putting more emphasis on his words, as his eyes burn blue flames of determination and unwavering grit.

a laugh slips past your lips, “you’re being silly, satoru,” is all you say before walking past him and towards the genkan where you put out the red heels you were planning on wearing tonight.

“but i’m being serious!” he whines, “you don’t want me to die now, do you?”

“what started this?” reaching down to put on your shoes, your boyfriend is beside you in an instant, holding out his hand for you to grab as if acting like a glorified stand. you take it easily, putting your weight onto him to balance. 

“when you’re looking this irresistible i can’t help it, and it’s a red dress, what do you want from me?” the white-haired whistles before bending down to his knees when you’re back on two feet. his hands then reach for the straps of your shoes, wrapping them up for you. “is it so selfish of me to keep you all for myself?”

he kisses your calf when he’s done, standing back to his full height. “well, you are a selfish man, after all.”

“only when it comes to you,” gojo reaches for your hand to place on his cheek. his other hand tightens around your waist, gentle with his grip, but fully possessive. “you’re too gorgeous for my health, i’ll die of jealousy before lack of attention.” 

you laugh, drunk on love and affection as gojo pouts at you. “oh satoru.”

“what?” exclaims the sorcerer. “you’re going to capture everyone’s hearts. i don’t like it when other men look at you.” 

“is that my fault?”

“no, never your fault, baby. i’ll fight off anyone who looks too long.”

you smile at him, eyes crinkling. “what am i gonna do with you?”

“stay with me forever?”

“if you’re good enough, sure.”

“how about a kiss, then?”

pinching his cheeks, you take a step away from him, breaking the hazy, lovestruck daydream that gojo had entered. “not when i have this lipstick on.”

(he takes a second to admire your retreating figure, only looking away when you send him a pointed and unimpressed look, to his dismay.) 

“why not?” his tone is one of utter distraught and like a magnet, the sorcerer finds himself drawn towards standing beside you again, hand snaking up to hold your hips as you check your appearance in the hallway mirror.

“it will leave a lipstick mark, duh.”

“maybe that’s what i want.”

“you’re awful.”

“just one kiss, please?”

“but it will ruin the makeup.”

“i’ll die otherwise, y/n, won’t you save me?” 

you scoff. “fine. one kiss.”

the look of pure joy on gojo’s face could rival the brightness of the sun and you wonder how you could ever learn to resist this man’s charms. turning around in his grasp, you pull him in for a kiss that fills his lungs with absolute adoration, a warmth that threatens to melt him into a puddle at your feet. 

his heart sinks when you pull away, and hits rock bottom with a ‘thud’ when you don’t return to him.

“hey! that was too short.”

“makeup, satoru,” you lecture pointedly. “we should probably leave now, don’t want to be too late-”

“-i think we just don’t go at all.” 

“that would be impolite and rude, we can’t-”

“-we can,” he murmurs before sealing your lips with his, this time with a lot more passion and weight than you likes. however, not one part of you moves to push him away, giving in to his touch despite how you know you shouldn’t. 

“satoru, you’re going to have lipstick marks all over you,” you reason against his lips.

instead, he kisses you harder. “just what i want.” 

when his hand bunches up your red dress in his grasp, you know you’ve lost this fight, bending to gojo’s wishes under him.

you arrive looking prim and proper whilst your lover’s neck is littered with kiss marks. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[thebramblewood]

The first meeting of the Vatore Book Club has commenced.

Previous / Next

Helena: Caleb, are you in here? [telepathically] Caleb?

[silence]

[under breath] Where are you? You promised you’d show me more today.

[picking up journal] Hmm. These definitely weren’t here before.

[begins reading]

May 25, 1918: Another night daymare. Same as all the others. Calloused hands squeezing my throat, phantom fists pummeling my stomach, shrill bursts of laughter assailing my ears, sky of taunting stars, blinding white moon, a monstrous form looming over me… Straud insists I should no longer be able to dream. One more bold-faced lie from a man who speaks arrogant, empty words just to hear his own voice - and endlessly, endlessly. I already tire of his dull speeches.

July 10, 1918: The days stretch eternal in this crumbling mansion. I am Straud’s prisoner, though he claims I am free to come and go as I please. Yet he prattles on with excuses as though he does me a favor by denying me. I’ll not be allowed off the grounds until I bend to his will, until I  have suitably mastered discipline. How I loathe that word! I’ll be sick if I hear it once more.

September 8th, 1918: Killed two men last night. Only meant to step out for fresh air but instead found drunken idiot humans stumbling unknowingly across town lines. Their thoughts came to me easily. (So the old man taught me something after all.) Vile and crude remarks on my body, naturally. My vision flashed white with rage, and my body convulsed as if to split in two. Their taste of their blood was exquisite. It’s a funny thing, though. I kept expecting the swell of remorse to arise, but it never did, even when my brother, drawn by the cacophony, flinched away at the sight of my monstrousness, truly frightened of me for the first time. Further reflection is required, but for now I must depart. Straud requires placating.

Helena: [thinking] This is Lilith’s diary?

[flips to final pages]

February 22, 1921: Caleb’s birthday tomorrow. If it passes, he will be 27. He will continue to outpace me in physical age. He will eventually die. I’ve promised it will not. All week, he has been nervously pacing and eerily silent, too afraid to ask the obvious question: Will I truly make him like me? I know how to do it, but thirst remains a constant presence in the back of my throat. I suppose I will take it up with Straud one last time, though he will respond as usual. He believes the gift should be offered only to those who have been deemed worthy. But he grows uncomfortable when I ask how he determined my worthiness. I know he saw me merely as an opportunity, a flimsy young girl in distress who could be easily remolded in his image. I disappoint him every day. We must be free of him soon.

-

Vlad, telepathically: I can still hear every thought that passes through your mind, girl. Your barricades are sloppily constructed. And, no, my position has not changed.

[frudoo]

I need a part 2 and 3 of Bikers 141!!!! And for the anonymous person who suggested this idea: You are a genius!! This is such a great idea!!!! I can see them helping her get a new job!!! Please add more!

Sorry it took so long for me to reply 🫣

Life has been a bitch and unfortunately I am the son.

Part 2 to this.

Warnings: None! Fem!Reader.

“She’s ridin’ w’me,” Simon grunts, and his tone leaves no room for argument—not that you mind.

    You hesitantly walk over and climb onto Simon’s bike, holding onto his waist for dear life despite still being stationary. He chuckles, revving up his engine and leading the way out of the parking lot for the three other men to follow. You frown, fingers digging into the flesh of his waist beneath his skin-tight shirt, hiding your face between his shoulder blades so you can’t see how fast you’re going or feel the wind whipping your hair. 

     Finally, the motorcycle comes to a stop with a slight jerk that has you yelping against Simon’s back. He chuckles and dismounts his ride, grabbing your waist and lifting you off of it as well. You don’t even have time to process how easily he picked your plush body up when you’re just so thankful to be alive. 

     “I am never doin’ that again!” You huff, hands on your hips as you glare at all of them. “Especially without a helmet! Do you know how dangerous that is?! What if y’all had crashed?!” 

     “Good thing we didn’t, then, eh?” John winks, nodding his head towards the quaint little ice cream parlor before you. 

     Johnny is the first to walk in, head held high like he owns the place. Next is Kyle and then John with similar stances, and the thought is so silly that it makes you giggle—four big, strong bikers trudging into the little shop to enjoy a sweet treat. Simon places his hand on the small of your back and opens the door for you, having to duck his head to trail in after. The inside looks like a typical creamery, swirls of pastel pinks and greens and yellows decorating the walls and a beautiful display of all kinds of flavors.

     “Kate,” John greets the woman behind the counter with a sniff. “Got someone for you to meet.”

     The woman gives you a onceover before turning back to John with a pleased grin. Suddenly you feel small, wrapping your arms around one of Simon’s biceps in some effort to feel safe. He chuckles, bending at the waist to murmur into your ear.

     “Tha’s jus’ Kate. Doesn’t smile much, bu’ it looks like she approves o’ya,” He explains, although now you’re more confused than intimidated.

     “Approves of me? For what?” You frown, looking up at the tall man who, surprisingly has taken off his mask—he hadn’t even done that to eat back at the diner. “O-oh, you’re… I- uh. Hm.”

     Simon smirks amusedly, and it makes your heart flutter. There are multitudes of scars all along his visage but the most prominent runs across his top lip, jagged and off-white as if it was the result of a poorly done repair job. His hair is a mess of cropped blonde strands, one bushy eyebrow raised like he’s waiting for your assessment. In short, you like what you see. In all honesty, you’ve never felt such a strong urge to kiss somebody in your life. You might have done just that if Kyle hadn’t cleared his throat.

     “Kate’s askin’ ya summat, dove.”

     “Huh? Oh! I’m so sorry, ma’am, w-what were you sayin’?” You quickly whip your head around to see that, in fact, she’s looking right at you with her arms crossed. 

     “I was offering you a job. The boys were telling me that you just got fired, is that right?” Despite her unforgiving posture, her eyes are soft and she seems patient—the complete opposite of your old boss. 

     “Yes, ma’am,” you confirm, embarrassed. 

     “Right. You start tomorrow,” Kate informs you matter-of-factly, and you sputter although no words come out of your agape mouth. 

     None of the men seem at all phased by her statement, each ordering their respective usuals, apparently: rum raisin for Kyle, pistachio for John, lemon custard for Simon, and almond mocha for Johnny. All five turn to look at you expectantly, and you suck in a deep breath before settling on a classic root beer float. They all seem pleased, and before you even get the chance to pull out your card to pay for your own, John takes care of the entire thing. You thank him sweetly as the guys guide you to sit at a cute little table, far too small and whimsical for the likes of them.

     It’s a good root beer float, though. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that these men—no matter how blunt or forward they may be—are so eager to help you out (in their own way of politely bossing you around, of course).

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Smut, vouyerism, 18+, mdni

I mean I had to write a lil something about this unhinged asshole didn't I? Hope you all enjoy 🫶

💕

If Eddie was any longer then there was no way that the two of you would make it to Steve's Halloween party on time. It was nearly time to leave and yet there was no sign of your boyfriend.

Rushing into the trailer you call for him frustrated, "Eddie, babe come on. We're going to be so late"

There's a few seconds of silence and then he comes out of his room adorned in a long white robe with intricate gold detailing at the cuff, he's wearing armour that is also painted in a gorgeous gold shade and a crown of interconnecting leaves on his head.

His feet are adorned in sandals completing the look of Emperor Geta

You gawk at him and his brown eyes flash with something akin to mischief before turning darker as he stares you down, his eyes are smudged with brown shadow and the effect is thrilling.

It's the hair that really takes you aback, his long brown curls are now a fiery shade of red.

"Well fuck me" you whisper and forget all about Steve's party, too focused on this beautiful man to care.

"Oh, I plan to my love but first I think your Emperor is demanding that his needs are taken care of and you want to be a good girl for him don't you?" His voice is cold and cruel, nothing like Eddie's warm tone.

Yes. Yes. He leads you to his room and settled on the bed with his legs spread as he waits for you to pleasure him.

"Dove, get on your knees and pleasure me. We don't want a punishment do we?" his voice is silky and is only making you more aroused as you drop to your knees and eagerly take his throbbing cock in your mouth.

Maybe you show off a tiny bit about how easily you can make Eddie's head throw back in ecstasy and hear his voice whine and moans rumble deep in his chest just with a swipe of your tongue.

Then he stops you and you peer up confused to why, his dark eyes gaze down at you hooded with lust.

"That's enough, he snaps "If I'm going to come then it's deep inside of you while I fill up with my seed. Understand?" You nod and stand up.

"Undress yourself," he orders and you slip off your dress, it leaves you in nothing but tiny panties and heels. Eddie licks his lips and nods in approval.

"Bend over the bend, that's it. Perfect" he hisses and palms your backside with his hand.

The sound of skin slapping and your moans fill the room as he pounds into you. The bed shakes from the sheer force of the thrusts.

"Good girl, you take your Emperor so well don't you?" he hums in approval and his free hand snakes into your hair as he quickens his pace.

The orgasm shatters you and you cry out into the bed as Eddie stills and reaches his orgasm.

That. Was. Amazing.

You're about to say something when you notice Eddie's eyes shining in mischief. "Enjoy the show big boy? stay a while. Wouldn't want you to miss the grand finale"

You let out a little shriek as you notice Steve is standing at Eddie's bedroom door, his mouth hanging open and his cheeks flushed. At the sound of Eddie's voice he practically hightails it from the trailer.

"Suit yourself pretty boy, Eddie shrugs then turns to you,' now where were we?"

💕

[binzlovenicetingz]

NSFW Alphabet - Luca The Bear

summary: nsfw/sfw-ish, back on my will poulter tip, luca stans come get ya'll juice. like & comment to be tagged in future work. inbox is open!

A - Appetite

Luca has a bit of an insatiable appetite. Whether it’s for his passion for baking or for food in general, his desire is endless. Especially when it comes to you. A little bit gluttonous, even a little bit greedy you would say, pulling countless orgasms after orgasms from you truly never enough for this man. Luca’s appetite truly has no bounds

B - Body part(favorite body parts)

If someone had told you that a set of beefy, strong, broad shoulders could easily have you flooding in your panties would have had you laughing but now, whenever Luca is in your presence that’s where your eyes go first before your mind starts coming up with thoughts of having your legs hiked up and tossed over those same shoulders while he’s pounding you into the mattress

For Luca, it’s simple, your ass and thighs. gripping, squeezing, caressing, kneading, spanking, whatever his hands are always going to find a way near you.

C - Cream

Luca’s favorite cream is the one you leave right at the base of his cock when he fucks you just right. there’s nothing better to him tbh.

Another favorite of his is creampies. He loves the feeling of his cock swelling in your tight walls before stuffing you full of his cum, and pulling out just to watch his thick white cum leaking out of you before using his fingers to push it back in to keep you full of all of him.

D - Dining

The best way Luca gets any inspiration to create, he has to go and try new things, and he loves trying them with you. he rarely says no to trying new food spots that you found on tiktok, just don't be upset by his brutal honesty on the shittier places

E - Eggperience(get it? cause he's a chef)

Luca has some experience but he's not really the type to sleep around often, only 3 random hookups and 2 serious relationships so he has an idea of what he's doing in the bedroom but getting to learn your body and what turns you is the real reward for him.

F - Favorite Position

Doggy style or you riding him. His hands are constantly gripping and squeezing at your perfect body in any position really. The first time you rode him felt like an out-of-body experience, there were literal hearts in his eyes watching you bounce up and down on his cock with your tits in his face. Loud moans and whines leave your lips about how he's so fucking big and making you feel good.

Doggystyle is another one of his favorites since he can bend you over the nearest counter so easily and have you gushing in minutes. one of his hands wrapped around your neck while the other grips your ass, bringing you back to meet his powerful thrust that has your eyes rolling back and mouth drooling.

G - Goofy (Are they serious during sex?)

Luca can be pretty intense when it comes to intimacy but he can be a little bit mischievous if you've been acting like a brat tbh.

H - Hair (How well groomed are they?)

There's some hair just around the base of his cock but he's fairly well groomed for the most part. Luca doesn't really care whether you're fully shaved or trimmed.

I - Intimacy

Luca is actually pretty passionate during sex. Though his thrust is still powerful and with purpose in each roll of his hips. He'll need your body close, his face buried into your neck while he whispers absolute filth in your ear.

J - Jerk Off (Do they masturbate?)

Luca is a busy chef so he usually doesn't have time or is rarely in the mood to jerk off and once you two became a thing, jerking off is the further from his mind.

K - Kink

Praise kink. As mentioned before but hearing your breathless moans and whimpers about his big is and how good only he can make you feel, that he's the best? It sends his ego through the roof. He will also praise you or pet names, calling you his "good girl" "darling" or "doll"

Aftercare. It's not really a kink but it's something that he takes seriously. Luca knows that he can be rough so comfort and happiness are always his top priorities, getting you cleaned up, clothed in one of his shirts, and a late-night snack is usually part of the routine.

L - Location

His bedroom or yours, although he mostly prefers your bedroom while you actually prefer his kitchen counters.

M - Motivation (Turn Ons)

To say that you turn him on would be cheesy but you do easily turn him on. you acting like a brat or a sassy, “yes chef” gets him going. There was also one night you surprised him by wearing just his apron and nothing else. He thinks of that night often <3

N - No (Something he’d never do)

Sharing is not caring with this chef. So the idea of an open relationship or a threesome is a hard no for him. Luca doesn't want to share you and he doesn't want to be shared either.

O - Oral

Luca is a giver when it comes to oral and he loves it messy. I mentioned before that he can be a bit greedy, so he'll take his time when eating you out. Switching between flicking the tip of his tongue over your sensitive bud or sucking while he has you gushing around his fingers. Luca isn't stopping until your legs are shaking and you're left only screaming his name.

P - Pastries

Luca finds it cute when you make him something. There are only a few treats that can make his mouth water from just thinking about it and some of his favorites are made by you. He still dreams of the mont blanc chocolate pavlova you surprised him with. Eating any pastries that are made by you is the only time he's not shared with you.

You made it for him after all.

Q - Quickie (Is he into quickies?)

Totally into quickies. Luca often finds himself waking up way earlier than most but his craft does require a lot of fineness and time so he's usually up and out of bed by 3 in the morning so early morning quickies. He’s home later in the evening, tired and just exhausted from the day, a quickie before bed is not a want but a need.

R - Risk (Is he willing to try new things?)

If it doesn't involve sharing or causing you any actual harm, then he's willing to try something new once you beg him enough.

S - Smell

Luca's not a weirdo, but he has secretly sniffed you before maybe once or twice. Once when you stood in front of him in line waiting to order, chatting away about some imported Ecuadorian Chocolate you ordered when someone behind Luca bumps into him, causing him to stumble forward just a bit but successfully stopped himself but he was so close to you now, close enough that he caught a whiff of coconut and almonds. It was on his mind for the rest of the day, so much so that he got inspired to make dessert.

T = Taste

I've mentioned before but Luca can be a bit gluttonous and is rarely satisficed with one round of tasting your sweet wetness all over his tongue. Your taste alone inspired three dishes from the chef!

U = Unfair (How much they tease)

A menace actually. He's cool as a cucumber most of the time because he's already thinking ahead. Some days he'll tease you for a bit just to set the mood but there have been days where he would tease you all day, offering you cheeky remarks and lopsided smirks at you trying to get him to fuck you after teasing you all day.

V - Volume

He isn't the loudest per se but he does let out groans and grunts. Whispering dirty things in your ear about how gorgeous you look taking his cock, how good your tight walls feel, and how he wants - needs to hear you make those pretty sounds over and over again louder.

W - Wild Card (Random headcanon)

Luca is a romantic. It's hard to tell and took you a little by surprise but it's there! It's the little things that he does and the thoughtless effort he puts into ensuring that you are happy.

X - X-ray (How big is he?)

Luca is around 7 inches hard and thick god bless. He gives me the vibe that it's not that big of a deal to him what his size is but finds it amusing that you practically drool over it.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Luca's sex drive is above average but he has more self-control to never push anything. Plus, he's often too busy to really think about the last time he got laid.

Z - Zzzz (How quickly are they asleep afterward?)

It takes him a while to fall asleep afterward so he's always up to cuddle and talk but he's mostly to head to the kitchen for a snack before getting some sleep.

[tenjikyu]

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘏𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 - 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Fyodor x Demon!Servant!Male!Reader , HEAVILY inspired by Black Butler , reader is kinda sexual towards Fyodor but I wanted tension between the two bc it’s kinda romantic but also kinda not yk , really improvising on Fyodor’s backstory here bc there’s nothing for me to go off of so it’s probs inaccurate but lay off me please 🙏🏻 , Sky Casino exists before the book for plot purposes.

SPOILERS FOR FYODOR’S ABILITY + RECENT CHAPTERS!

Fyodor had first met you on the verge of death. A visit from the devil, one could say.

“ PLEASE, SOMEONE, ANYONE, SAVE ME !! ”

The man’s cries were a melody to your ears, and thus you decided to investigate, which led to your current predicament. You were no fool, you saw right through Fyodor’s façade, and you were somewhat intrigued. As a demon, the man’s false screams of agony with each stab wound thrusted into his lithe body couldn’t fool your ears. Whilst in pain, he was in no hurry to save himself. No, he was eagerly awaiting his demise.

And so, you watched from the shadows, invested in the show before you. Blood was shed and organs were spilt, all before Fyodor’s heart was put to rest.

And then, his murderer soon began to morph, his body bending and dislodging in intricate ways. His face swirled and curled itself in. Out came, what seemed to be, a carbon copy of the man you just witnessed get mutilated by, what was now, his former murderer.

As Fyodor took in his surroundings, adjusting to his new body, he sensed another presence he hadn’t noticed beforehand. It was rare for Fyodor to express any form of shock, but someone with the ability to conceal themselves from him for an extended period of time was certainly nobody to fuck with.

And so, he slowly turns around, preparing himself for whoever stands behind him. However nothing could’ve prepared him for what he would witness turning around.

An inhuman entity with large wings, a pointed tail and strong black horns revealed itself to Fyodor. The entity was easily over 9ft tall and had somewhat human characteristics embedded into its form. It stood tall, yet curiosity filled its eyes.

Curiosity filled your eyes.

As you stared at him, Fyodor’s shocked most slowly formed into a smirk.

“What pleasure do I owe such a magnificent being such as yourself? Surely you aren’t just here to observe, are you?” He questions.

“Your screaming intrigued me, and so I decided to take a look into the situation. Alas, you came out unscathed, which means I no longer have business with you.” You reply, and slowly turn around.

Just as you walk away though, a bony hand grasps your own.

“If it’s a deal you were going to offer me, I’m still interested.” Fyodor bargains, his smirk widening.

Oh?

And so, you slowly transfer your body into a more human like state, dawning a black coat, with a white undershirt and black shorts. Discarding your wings and tail, yet keeping your point black horns, you adjust your height to better accommodate communication with him.

“What did you have in mind?” You enquire, a smirk of your own now gracing your face. You wanted to know what it would take to earn this man’s soul, because god did it smell delicious.

“Play the role of my servant. You shall never betray me and will treat me as if I’m your God. You will do my bidding and will do whatever I ask of you. In my journey to achieving my goal, you shall never leave my side.”

“And how should I prove my loyalty to you, sir?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

And so, a deal with the Devil was signed.

As written in your contract, you obediently stood by his side for many centuries to come. The two of you had a rather intimate relationship, but it was nothing more than lustful advances. Other then carrying out his desires, you dispersed of anybody standing in his way of obtaining what he wanted. As the years went on, you had lost count of how many human lives you discarded and how many nails you removed from fingers. You seduced princesses, murdered guards, tortured bandits for information, and all the while, you watched Fyodor’s plan slowly set into motion.

As centuries past, allies and foes came and passed, yet none of that mattered to you. You could and have killed hundreds of humans and feasted on their mediocre souls, however none compared to that of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s. His soul was a diamond in the rough, a premium amongst brass and copper, if you would.

And so, you followed both him and your contract without complaint. It’s not like Fyodor was a boring or difficult master. There was almost never a dull moment with him, and your loyalty knew no ends when it came to getting what you ultimately wanted.

Somewhere along the way, you suspected you harboured feelings for the Russian. You wernt sure exactly what kind, but you knew that each time he was put at risk, even knowing his ability, you couldn’t help but interfere.

Which brings us to where the two of you are now.

“Fyodorrrr, wanna play a card game with me?” Nikolai’s bubbly voice boomed through the Decay Of Angel’s headquarters. You held a somewhat fond feeling for Nikolai, despite not interacting with him much.

“Cmonnnn, you’ve been staring at a computer screen for days! Your eyes are gonna go SQUARE! SQUAREEE!!” He exclaims, his arms flailing around like a mad man.

“If you’d like, I can handle the Jester whilst you continue what you’re doing.”

“As useful as ever, dear (Y/N)”

“If not a useful asset to you, Demon Fyodor, what am I worth?”

“You’re worth everything, my dear.”

“How you flatter me.”

His pretty words do little to your synthetic heart, however you adhere to the puppet strings he’s attached to you and play your part well, knowing Fyodor may be in a mood tonight.

“Hey Nikolai, how about we go up to the Sky Casino and visit Sigma? We haven’t seen him in awhile and it’s not going to be long before we set out to go get that silly little book the boss wants.” You reason with the jester, smiling at him.

“A wonderful idea, lovley (Y/N)! I know what you’re doing, distracting me from disrupting the grumpy Fyodor’s tech work, however I’ll humor you for now.” He concludes, grabbing your arm harshly and spinning away into his cloak.

“How’d you end up as a butler for that constant-stick-up-his-ass Fydor? If anything (Y/N), you should be ordering him around.” Sigma states bluntly, just the two of you alone. Nikolai was off bothering the Casino guests and Sigma had learned to just let him do as he pleases.

There’s no restraining something that doesn’t have the ability to be restrained.

“I simply admire Fyodor and his goals. He piqued my interest, and so I broke down his walls and forced my way into his life, eventually leading him to take me on as his underlying.” You lie through your teeth. You knew Fyodor had some sense of worship towards you, which was almost funny. The man who preached God had a sense of devotion to a demon from the pits of hell.

How ironic.

Sigma only hums in your response, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You inch closer to him on the couch you were both resting on in his private quarters, and toyed around with his artificial hair.

You knew Sigma wasn’t human, and part of you knew that he knew you were no less human then he was, yet he never addressed it.

The man in question only glared at you, but decided against telling you off. You were always quite touchy, especially when it came to Nikolai or himself. Often toying with his hair or pinching Nikolai’s cheeks, however it was rare of you to even touch Fyodor without his explicit consent.

“If you want Sigma, I wouldn’t be opposed to showing you why Fyodor keeps me around after the suns sets”

You tease at him as sigmas face instantly turns into that of shock. You smirk and shuffle away, giggling as he whacks your head with force.

“As if I’d even consider getting into a bed with a freak like you, go mess around with Nikolai or something, because I have work I need to catch up on.”

You watch as he struts away, his heels clicking against the tiles of the Sky Casino. You were only half joking about getting into bed with Sigma, he was defiantly a sight for sore eyes.

You can imagine just how livid Fyodor would be if he found out though, after all you were his property by contract.”

“Oh well, I guess I better go collect Nikolai, we’ve got a long few weeks ahead of us.”

I feel like I didn’t do this idea justice at all wtf I’m so mad abt this. The original idea I had for this was a LOT more spicy though so ig I can’t really help it 😒

[allyallyorange]

Back at it with Ateez AT AU

Hongjoong in a band + meeting Seonghwa

Read what @nnnnnnnothingtoseehere wrote cus its fun

Hongjoong blames the enormous box of posters in his hands. It’s big enough to entirely block his view of his own feet, and he can’t even see the raised section of the pavement until it’s too late. 

He hits the ground hard, posters spilling out of the box and rolling away. His hands took most of the fall, which is better than his face. 

He sits up slowly, hissing at the sight of his own scuffed up palms. He’s thankful it’s just his palms; he definitely needs his fingers for tonight. 

His palms will have to wait; he has multiple posters suddenly making a break for freedom. 

As Hongjoong staggers to his feet, he has a brief moment of thankfulness for the fact that the venue they’re performing at is located on a quieter street. There aren’t many pedestrians around, meaning less people to potentially step on the posters. 

He still breaks into a jog to try and catch some of them before they roll into the street. Not too fast though; rock stars don’t run. 

He has to bend down to gather up the posters, and soon has an armful. He is straightening up to bring them back to the box when he realizes there’s someone helping him. 

Hongjoong can’t see much of the stranger at the moment, white hair falling into his face as he scoops up several posters. He’s wearing an oversized black and white striped shirt, the demon notices absently, and has a tote bag slung over one shoulder that threatens to fall off as he reaches for another poster. 

The stranger stands up fully, allowing Hongjoong to actually get a look at him. 

He’s clearly human; Hongjoong could tell that just from his skin tone. Besides that, the demon can only make vague guesses about his age. He seems young-ish, but Hongjoong honestly has no idea. Besides that, he has incredibly round eyes, and an awkward smile. 

“Do you have somewhere to put these?” the stranger asks, lifting his armful of posters slightly. 

“Uh, yeah,” Hongjoong answers. 

He immediately turns on his heel, heading back to the box that he left on the ground beside the merch stand. He drops his bunch of posters into the box, suddenly very self conscious about everything he is doing. 

The stranger has followed him, and proceeds to kneel down beside the box to put his armful of posters away, making sure they’re neatly in place. 

Hongjoong stands there watching him for a second before he realizes he’s being weird. He heads back out to gather up the last few posters, returning to hand them to the very detail-oriented stranger. 

“There we go,” he finally says once the last roll is put away. “All done.” 

He stands up then, and Hongjoong realizes very quickly that he is several inches taller than him, despite his boots. He knew he should have gone with the three-inch heel. 

 “I’m Seonghwa, by the way,” the stranger says with another smile.

He sticks his hand out, and Hongjoong tries to take it in a cool and nonchalant manner. 

“I’m Hongjoong,” Hongjoong answers. 

“Nice to meet you, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says easily. “I like your outfit.” 

Hongjoong can’t resist grinning at the compliment. He likes his outfit too, and may be wearing it hours before he needs to because he likes it that much. 

“Thanks,” he replies. “I like your hair.”

Seonghwa laughs slightly at that and thanks him, reaching up to comb his hair back with one hand. 

“So, what is all the paper for?” he asks, gesturing to the box on the ground between them. 

“They’re posters,” Hongjoong tells him. “I’m setting up the merch stand.” 

He steps slightly to the side so Seonghwa can see the table and booth behind him, already half-covered in t-shirts. 

“Oh,” Seonghwa says, eyes widening. “The Demon Prince? Is that the name of a show?” 

“A band,” Hongjoong corrects. “My band, actually.” 

“Really?” Seonghwa’s whole face lights up in excitement. “You’re the front man?” 

Hongjoong nods proudly, maybe sticking out his chest a little more. 

“What kind of music do you play?” Seonghwa asks, tilting his head as he waits for Hongjoong’s answer. 

“Rock,” Hongjoong answers easily. “Sometimes I switch it up a little, but I’m keeping in a more hardcore punk vein right now.” 

Seonghwa makes suitably impressed noises, and Hongjoong congratulates himself mentally for doing so well at this. This is easy! 

“Rock can be a really nebulous term,” he continues. “I don’t really care for some of the more laid back stuff that people call ‘rock’. Things like that misrepresent the genre and are just bad press in a lot of ways.” 

Hongjoong can feel himself loosening up as he talks; he knows about this kind of stuff and is very comfortable talking about it. He widens his stance slightly, leaning against the booth wall behind him and incorporating a few hand gestures. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Seonghwa interjects after a few moments. “But you hurt your hands.” 

Hongjoong had honestly forgotten about his scraped-up palms. He flips his hands over, noting the way some of the deeper scratches are now oozing blood. 

“Oh yeah,” he says casually. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Seonghwa tells him. He has stepped closer, and now reaches out to take one of Hongjoong’s hands, his touch gentle. 

The demon immediately freezes, incredibly aware of how small his hands look next to Seonghwa’s much bigger ones. 

“You should really wash them off,” Seonghwa is saying, bending over slightly to get a better look. “You don’t want anything to get infected.” 

“Yeah, I was planning on it,” Hongjoong answers. “There’s a sink inside and stuff.” 

He may have seen one briefly. He honestly isn’t sure. 

For a split second he’s sure Seonghwa is going to haul him to the possibly-imaginary sink right then and there. The human doesn’t, instead letting go of Hongjoong’s hand to dig in his tote bag briefly. 

“I thought I had some,” he mutters, pulling the bag halfway off his shoulder to look inside better. “Oh, here they are!” 

He triumphantly holds up a small plastic container decorated with cartoon animals. Hongjoong blinks at it for a second. 

“What is it?” he asks flatly. 

“They’re bandaids,” Seonghwa tells him, opening the container. “You’re going to need something if you have to play tonight.” 

“Oh,” Hongjoong says. “I guess you’re right.” 

Seonghwa gives him another smile, as well as a small handful of bandaids. 

“Thanks,” Hongjoong tells him, slipping them into his pocket. 

“Of course,” Seonghwa replies. “I’m glad I carry them.” 

Hongjoong watches as he puts the container back in his bag, then adjusts the strap so it hangs comfortably again. 

“Hey,” Hongjoong says abruptly, getting Seonghwa’s attention again. “Do you want to come to the show?” 

“Me?” Seonghwa asks, blinking a few times. 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says. He doesn’t know who else the human thinks he could be talking to. “It starts at 8 tonight, right here.” 

He pauses for a second. 

“Well, not right here,” he quickly amends. “But at this venue.” 

“I knew what you meant,” Seonghwa assures him. “And while I would love to, I can’t. I have a kid at home, and he doesn’t like crowds at all.” 

Hongjoong nods slowly, thinking quickly over everything he knows about human children. It’s really not much, but he does know it’s probably not a good idea to leave babies alone at home for a long time. 

“That’s cool,” he replies, hoping this comes across as a nonchalant and normal response. 

Seonghwa clearly takes this to mean that Hongjoong thinks children as a whole are cool and that he definitely wants to hear more about them, his whole expression immediately brightening. 

“He’s a really sweet kid,” the human says, digging in his bag again. “Here’s a picture of him when he was little.” 

He holds out a small, well-loved picture, the edges tattered and almost soft. Hongjoong leans forward slightly, squinting at the miniature human who is in turn squinting at the camera in the picture. The demon can’t really make out much of their face, but he supposes they’re rather cute. 

“Nice,” he says vaguely, leaning back. 

“He’s a lot bigger now,” Seonghwa says, flipping the picture back around to look at it for a moment. “I think I have another picture somewhere-” 

“I’m good,” Hongjoong hurriedly says. “I don’t really like kids.” 

“Ahh,” Seonghwa replies, carefully putting the picture back in his bag. 

The conversation kind of dies there, with the two of them just awkwardly looking at each other, the box of posters, then each other again. 

“Do you want a poster?” Hongjoong finally says, desperate to break the silence somehow. “Since you can’t come and did help me pick all of them up.” 

“Oh,” Seonghwa says, looking down at the rolled up posters. “I didn’t realize they were posters.” 

Hongjoong laughs awkwardly at that, bending down to pick one up quickly. 

“Here,” he says roughly. 

Seonghwa takes it with a smile, thanking Hongjoong. 

“I’ll have to hang it up,” he says. “It’s not every day I meet a real rockstar.”

Hongjoong does his best to push down the immediate rush of glee that comes from the human’s words. He should definitely be totally normal about being called a rockstar; he is one, after all. 

“Hah, yeah,” he answers. “And I bet you don’t give other rockstars bandaids either.” 

Seonghwa laughs, but the demon is immediately kicking himself mentally for saying something so dumb. 

“No, you’re definitely right,” Seonghwa agrees. “I’ll certainly enjoy knowing you’ll be performing with gecko bandaids. Not every rockstar can pull that off, but I think you can.” 

Hongjoong can’t stop himself from flushing at the compliment, and he does his best to brush it off as well as he can. 

“Yeah, well,” he ends up saying. “A sense of style comes with the territory.”  

Seonghwa laughs again at that, and Hongjoong notices distantly that he looks really nice smiling like that. The thought is strange, and he shakes his head slightly to clear it. 

“So are you going to set these out?” Seonghwa asks, waggling the poster now cradled carefully in his hands. 

“That’s the plan,” Hongjoong tells him. He glances over his shoulder at the rest of the table. “I should get some of my bandmates to help.” 

“I could,” Seonghwa offers quickly, looking a little surprised by his own suggestion. “If you’re ok with it, that is.” 

“Uh, sure,” Hongjoong says, running a hand through his hair. “If you want to.” 

Seonghwa immediately nods, gaze flicking between Hongjoong’s face and the table behind him. 

“I like organizing things,” he says in explanation. “And I’ve organized everything at home already.” 

“Well, do you want to do the t-shirts?” Hongjoong asks. He steps around to the other side of the table, with Seonghwa doing the same but on the front end. 

“How do you want them?” the human immediately asks, eyes practically sparkling. 

“I mean, they’re all the same,” Hongjoong tells him. “I was just going to set them in piles.” 

“They come in different sizes, though,” Seonghwa points out, picking up the closest shirt. “This one is a small; you wouldn’t want it in with the larges.” 

Sizing hadn’t occurred to Hongjoong at all. He quickly tries to come up with a cool way to downplay this flaw in his thinking. 

“Do whatever you want,” he finally says, waving one hand. 

He probably should have kept the hand gestures to a minimum. The movement agitated his scuffed-up palms, and Seonghwa notices his slight grimace of discomfort. 

“You should go wash your hands off now,” he says, dragging the closest stack of t-shirts forward on the table. “I can watch things here.” 

Hongjoong is opening his mouth to say that it really doesn’t hurt when Seonghwa fixes him with a stern look. 

“Go wash them,” he says firmly. “You’ll get blood all over things if you don’t.” 

Something in his voice has Hongjoong automatically turning before he can even fully register what he’s doing, heading for the door that he left propped open. 

About halfway down the hallway inside, he begins to feel a little stupid. But he does need to wash his hands, and Seonghwa made a good point about getting blood on the merch. 

He spends most of the time washing his hands wondering if he could charge extra for bloodstained t-shirts and posters.

By the time he emerges from the building, Seonghwa has unboxed every t-shirt they have and laid them all neatly out in orderly stacks. He has moved on to organizing the posters, and looks up when Hongjoong steps closer to the table. 

“Did you wash your hands?” he asks, raising an eyebrow expectantly. 

Hongjoong finds himself holding out his hands for Seonghwa to inspect, feeling curiously like a little kid again. 

“Good job,” Seonghwa tells him. “Do you want help putting on the bandaids?” 

“I’m fine,” Hongjoong replies gruffly, already reaching into his pocket for the bandaids. 

Seonghwa watches him for a long moment, but doesn’t say anything. Hongjoong focuses on the bandaids in his hands, having to figure out how to open them first. 

He is surprised to learn that Seonghwa wasn’t joking about the bandaids. The first one he opens is covered in bright orange lizards, presumably geckos. 

No one will see his palms anyways, he quickly decides. And if he really ends up hating them, he can just take them off once Seonghwa leaves. 

Hongjoong puts the bandaids on as well as he can, frustrated at how inexpertly placed most of them are. It’s hard to put them on yourself, and he may regret refusing Seonghwa’s help. However, he does have a reputation to uphold, and so he struggles through the whole handful. 

When his scrapes are covered by various colorful geckos, he stuffs the bandaid scraps into his pocket. 

“Could you look over the t-shirts?” Seonghwa asks, nodding at that half of the table. “I want to make sure you like how I did it.” 

Hongjoong steps closer to the table, slowing down to really look at the neat stacks of t-shirts. They are incredibly exact; the demon wonders absently if Seonghwa has a ruler somewhere in his bag. He wouldn’t be surprised if he did. 

“Looks good,” he says, glancing over at the human. “Very precise.” 

Seonghwa flushes slightly at that, grinning. Hongjoong can feel his own cheeks heating up as well. 

“Thanks,” Seonghwa replies. “Is there anything else, or just the posters?” 

“Just the posters,” Hongjoong tells him. “I couldn’t line up any more merch unfortunately.” 

“What else would you have liked to do?” Seonghwa asks, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the neat rolls of posters in front of him. 

Hongjoong relaxes now that he is back in familiar territory. He easily launches into his plans for future merchandise, which include everything from hoodies to hats to shoes. Seonghwa makes all the right noises at the right times, occasionally asking questions to show that he is still listening. 

They talk like that for quite a while, long enough that Hongjoong loses track of time. He is only reminded of how late it’s getting when he realizes that the light has definitely changed to that distinctive late afternoon color. 

Unfortunately Seonghwa notices right at the same time. 

“It’s getting late,” he says with a bit of worry in his voice. “I should be getting back to Yeosang. He’s probably worried.” 

Hongjoong blinks at him, entirely unsure of who Yeosang is. 

Seonghwa doesn’t seem to notice, too busy looking over the merch table one last time as if he’s making sure nothing has moved. 

“Thanks for letting me organize things,” he says with a smile. “It was a lot of fun.” 

“No problem,” Hongjoong tells him. “I wasn’t going to stop you.” 

Seonghwa laughs at that, taking a half step back from the table. 

“Wait,” Hongjoong calls out before he can walk any further away. “Don’t forget your poster.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes immediately widen, and he retraces his few steps to take a rolled-up poster from Hongjoong’s hands. 

“Thanks for catching that,” he says with a relieved laugh. “I would have been so mad at myself if I’d forgotten.” 

Hongjoong laughs awkwardly at that, watching as Seonghwa carefully puts the poster in his bag, making sure it won’t get hurt. 

“You should come to our next show,” he blurts out. “Because you can’t make it to this one.” 

“I would like to,” Seonghwa tells him. “I really want to see what you’re like on stage.” 

Hongjoong distantly manages to form a coherent reply to that, doing his best to keep from jumping up and down from excitement. 

After his reply, the conversation kind of falls flat again. Hongjoong watches as Seonghwa’s gaze drops to the table again, one hand coming up to adjust his bag’s strap absently. 

“Well I really should be going,” he finally says, making eye contact with Hongjoong. “It was really nice to meet you.” 

“You too,” Hongjoong says awkwardly. “Thanks for helping with all of this.” 

He waves a hand vaguely, encompassing the table and everything on it. 

“You’re welcome,” Seonghwa says with a smile. “Like I said, it’s not every day I get to meet a real life rockstar.” 

Hongjoong chuckles at that, trying to seem cool again as he raises a hand to run through his hair. 

“It’s not every day I meet someone who carries gecko bandaids,” he points out, earning a genuine laugh and smile from Seonghwa. 

“Very true,” the human admits. “I guess we both had crazy experiences today.” 

They exchange mildly awkward goodbyes, and even more awkward waves when Seonghwa turns around halfway to the street and finds Hongjoong still watching him. 

In Hongjoong’s defense, he can’t just leave the whole merch table set up and unattended. That would be poor business practice. 

And maybe he just wanted to watch Seonghwa head off, poster sticking out of his tote bag. 

[astarions-darling]

An Indecent Proposal Raphael x FemTav/Reader

NSFW mdni tags: inappropriate touching, edging, panty sniffin', raphael is a dirty little pervert, clothed male, naked female summary: you barge into Sharess' Caress ready to give Raphael a piece of your mind. however when you get there, things do not go as planned. read on ao3 via source (this is pretty dialogue heavy because Raphael likes the sound of his own voice. and I don't blame him. this is also silly.)

You don’t bother to knock when you reach the door with the little shiny plaque that says “Devil’s Den” in an ornate script. The door isn’t locked, so it swings open effortlessly when you barge in. The tirade ready to fall from your lips falters as the door closes with a soft click behind you and the hand you had raised in righteous anger pauses before limply falling to your side.

Raphael is lounging in one of the overly gilded armchairs that furnish the den, a glass of something that looks both incredibly alcoholic and expensive dangling from one hand as he regards you with that infuriatingly knowing smile. None of that is why the cat suddenly has your tongue; it's that he has shrugged off the outer layer of his clothing and sits there with his white shirt unbuttoned. The view of his bare chest isn't a particularly novel sight—after all, you share a camp with several people, and some—like a certain large elf—enjoy being one with nature on any occasion they can get. It's more of a shock to see Raphael in such a state of undress; it would be a lie to say you had never considered what lay beneath his neatly tailored clothes. But you would have bet all the gold in Faerûn that Korilla stitched him into them every morning to ensure they stayed perfectly in place. Right now he looked so...deliciously dishevelled.

“My, my," comes his amused voice, "does the squirming tadpole hinder your manners as well, little mouse?” The gentle timbre of his voice washes over you and it's enough to snap your attention to his face. “Or have you always been an uncouth little beast that flounces in without knocking?”

You frown at him, your irritation flaring up again. Your fingers flex—though not in a fit of pique but because your mind has been lost to the thought of running your fingers through the hairs on his tanned chest. That bloody distracting devil. Why did you come here again?

"Did you come all this way to gawk like a gutted fish or did you have something you wished to say?" He raises a brow, tipping his drink towards you. "If you wish to stare, I am, of course, happy to oblige—though that will cost you. This establishment operates on a quid pro quo basis, you know."

Quickly you shake your head, trying to wrangle your thoughts. The devil stands, unfolding himself gracefully from his chair and languidly striding over to a nearby credenza on which an array of bottles and glasses sit. He moves with care, never rushing, and with a deliberate air you can’t help but admire. He makes you feel clumsy.

You watch him carefully pour some rich amber liquid into his glass. It looks like steam rises and hisses above it for a moment before disappearing. The man turns to you, the corner of his lips quirked.

“I’d offer you a drink but I’m certain you’d decline.”

That presumptuous bastard. You’re too irritated to wonder if this is a trick on his part, which is foolish. But he too easily gets under your skin and so you open your mouth to retort.

“I would love a drink,” you say petulantly. You watch him take a sip, hating how you can’t stop yourself from watching his tongue flick out to catch the remnants of it on his lips. He fills up another glass before passing it to you. You watch the amber liquid swirl a moment before throwing it back quickly.

An incredibly stupid thing to do. Whatever it is, the liquor burns your throat and has you spluttering as you bend over coughing. You hear Raphael’s low chuckle of amusement before a glass of water is conjured out of thin air and hovers before you. You snatch it, guzzling it down just like the beast he claims you to be.

“What the bloody hell was that?” you ask, wiping at your mouth with the back of his hand. You catch his nose wrinkling at your lack of decorum. “I think my insides are melting!”

“Cease your melodramatic caterwauling,” he says, casually taking another sip of his own drink. Smug bastard. “It will pass.”

You cough again, feeling the liquor heat up your veins. You blink a few times before the alcohol simmers down, leaving just a pleasant warmth in your belly. Liquor and spirits had been few and far between while on your little adventure—well, anything half decent that is. The swill you’d managed to get was no better than vinegar. You’d stupidly agreed to let Astarion steal some expensive-looking vintage from the wine festival in the Lower City…which had ended up with you spending the night in a cell. Sometimes that elf was the clumsiest person you’d ever met. With that thought, you suddenly remember why you’ve come here.

“I would like for you to stop sending Korilla to spy on me,” you demand as the devil places his drink down so he can re-button the cuffs of his sleeves. 

Did he go deliberately tan on some beach, you wonder? That thought spirals and you’re suddenly picturing lying in the sun on some perfect beach while his skin glitters with salt and sea.

“You should be thanking me.” His lilting words are annoyingly pleasant and they drag you out of your daydream. “After all, if dear Korilla hadn’t been with you a few nights ago you’d probably still be a trapped little mouse in a cell.” He smirks, picking up his drink again and tilting the glass toward you. “Stealing wine, really?”

You decide to keep your mouth shut, something that you mentally congratulate yourself for. It was true that Korilla had been the one to free you from your dank cell. Which was a lucky thing; you didn’t want to hurt people while trying to break free, but it would have come to that if the warlock hadn’t intervened. Raphael watches you carefully, an easy smile on his handsome face, his confident casual air annoying you more than anything else.

“I will withdraw Korilla’s eye from your camp,” he says after a few minutes, his voice thoughtful, “if you give me something in return.”

Of course. You sigh. What did you expect?

“I’m not giving you my soul just for that, Raphael,” you scoff. “If I wouldn’t take one of your deals for the hammer then I certainly won’t trade it just to stop your little dog from following me around.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking such a thing,” he says smoothly, ignoring your little jab about Korilla. “I desire a mere trifle. Inexpensive!” The devil laughs, a warm pleasing sound that has your lips twitching and skin flushing despite yourself. “I promise you won’t even miss it.”

You frown. What did you have that he would want? Soul coins, perhaps? But surely Raphael couldn’t know you had some in your possession, could he? But also they weren’t inexpensive…not in the least. What in Balduran’s name could he possibly want from you?

“What?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

He tuts. “You really do need to acquire some manners, little mouse. Too much scurrying around with scoundrels and vagabonds.” He sighs, taking a sip of his drink before grabbing a different bottle. You watch him uncork it with ease and pour the dark red liquid into a silver chalice. When he proffers it to you, your hands take it carefully. “Perhaps this may be more pleasing to your sensitive mortal palate.” You watch the candlelight flicker over the wine before you bring it up to smell. Inhaling, you let the notes of cherry and plum assault your senses, the sweet richness of it utterly inviting. When you take a sip, you let it sit on your tongue for a moment to savour it before you close your eyes and swallow. You hadn’t had anything that good in…well, you don’t think you’ve ever had such a decadent wine before.

When you meet Raphael’s gaze again, you shift on your feet. Your fingers grip tighter on the stem, remembering where you are and who you’re talking to.

“It’s nice,” you say, idly swirling the glass. “Well, what do you want then?”

“Your knickers.”

There is no hesitation in his words, he shoots them out quickly and effortlessly—like Astarion would shoot an arrow. You nearly spill the wine in your shock. You’re certain you’ve hallucinated his words or perhaps this is a weird dream. Maybe you are still tucked in your bed at the Elfsong Tavern, dreaming about devils and their insanity.

“You want my what?”

“Your knickers,” Raphael repeats, his easy stare watching you as a multitude of emotions flicker over your face.

So you had heard him correctly. The man doesn’t even act like he’s asked for anything unreasonable. Disbelief has you standing there with your mouth agape. Is he trying to humiliate you? He must be. Was this some sort of strange ploy to get you to agree to his insane deal of the hammer for the crown?

“Why?” The word falls out of your mouth gracelessly, but you aren’t here to cater to Raphael’s want for proper etiquette.

“Why anything?” His voice is low and tinged with amusement as he finishes his drink. He leaves the glass on the credenza to walk closer to you, his hands gesturing as he continues to talk. “Why does the fox chase the hare? Why do little thieves steal wine? For the thrill?” He pauses, head tilting to the side as he regards you. He grins at you. “For pleasure?”

You despise the way he inflects the last word. It sends a rolling shiver down your spine.

“If you’re trying to humiliate me, consider it done.”

He feigns hurt, or you think he does, as he sighs dramatically. You wish he would he would dress himself back in his tunic again, or at least do up his shirt buttons as your eyes can’t help but flick to his exposed throat and chest as his shirt shifts with his movements.

“I would never dare dream of humiliating you, my dear.” Raphael's words sound sincere, but you do not trust him. He’s a devil. It’s like a constant mantra you have to repeat yourself. You are aware that devils can’t lie, but they can certainly bend the truth—just enough—so that it won’t break. “How it claws at my heart to hear you even utter such a thing.”

“I didn’t know you had a heart,” you retort.

“You wound me again, sweetling.” Hand over supposed heart, Raphael smiles. “Indulge me. I do not ask for much.”

It was true, it really wasn’t much. A heavy sigh and then you hear yourself utter a resigned, “Fine.”  It was ludicrous but you couldn’t see any harm in it. And he hadn’t produced a contract to sign—just a gentleman’s agreement, as it were. You were not going to tell any of your companions that you had traded your panties for some freedom. Nine Hells, you hoped you could sneak back into the tavern without them noticing. Perhaps the alcohol has loosened your resolve and has you acting so stupidly but you can’t see anything wrong with the arrangement. With another sigh, you ditch the wine on a nearby table before you turn to leave, but Raphael calls after you.

“And where are you rushing off to?”

“To the tavern,” you say, turning back to face him, “to fetch you your perverse prize.”

“No.” He takes a few steps closer and you catch that hint of spice and musk that wafts from him. “The ones you are wearing, little mouse.”

You suppress a shudder. He’s never been so close to you before, he’s manoeuvred himself into your personal space. The heat and power that radiates from him is intoxicating, more so than any drink upon your tongue, and you’re suddenly reminded of what he is underneath his welcome facade. Yet that doesn’t stop your mouth from opening.

“There are plenty of boutiques around here if you’re that desperate for some new lingerie, Raphael. No need to take mine.” You stick your chin out, matching his stare as you can’t help but add, “As lovely as I think you’d look in pink lace.”

The man’s face doesn’t change, the easy smile remains but you can see the brightness of his eyes—as if you can sense their true infernal nature behind his human disguise. He seems pleased with your reluctance to submit to him easily. Something that you hate to admit makes you pleased in return.

“Pink’s not really my colour,” he muses, fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully, “though I am sure the flush of it against your skin suits.”

Those words do not help you’re suddenly racing heart but you try to ignore his silver tongue. Shifting on your feet, you try to get your mind back in order. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for somewhere to change though there doesn’t appear to be anywhere.

“How I do enjoy watching the little wheels turn in that pretty head of yours.”

You glare at him. “Where can I change then, devil?”

He laughs and then spreads his arms wide. “Right here.” At the look on your face he continues, “You mortals are so easily flustered.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Please, as if I have not seen bare flesh before.”

Later, when you are tucked in your rented bed, you will blame the alcohol. But for now, you simply begin to undo your clothing, starting with removing your boots. He takes a mere step back, those eyes watching you the entire time until you are standing there in nothing but your underclothes. Feeling self-conscious, you feel the flush begin in your chest and work its way up your neck but you refrain from trying to cover yourself up and stand there with your hands by your side as your body tenses. The look on his face hasn’t really changed, but again there is something behind the eyes. A reaching hunger. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you, can devil’s see a soul? Does it call out to him and do his hands itch to pluck it free?

Raphael walks behind you and instinctively you go to turn but his warm hands reach out to hold your shoulders, keeping you where you stand and your toes scrunch at the soft rug beneath to curb some of the tension now beginning to coil in your gut. The lingering touch as he holds you burns into your skin, not due to his infernal nature—though you do sense that he feels rather warm than a regular man—but due to the way your traitorous body reacts to his touch.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I just want to remember you as you are now, before your flesh is torn asunder by writhing tentacles.” His hands slide down your sides, leaving a trail of gooseflesh and a horrible twinge of arousal. “Before your lovely skin is slippery with mucus and…” he leans in and you feel the tip of his nose behind your ear making you shiver, “you lose that delectable scent.”

You can feel the deep rolling timbre of his voice against your skin. You are too aware of him behind you, your muscles tense as you try to resist the entirely too tempting urge to step back into him. “I am not giving you the crown.” You manage to utter the words though they come out in a whisper. But you are still somewhat proud that you can utter them at all.

“You will.” His fingers touch your neck and you can’t suppress the shudder. “I see your little vampling has taken a bite.”

You twitch as the soft pad of his finger grazes against the puncture wounds on your neck. 

“It helps him fight better.”

His hum in response tickles your neck but you refrain from responding. What would you say? That you like letting the vampire feed on you occasionally? That the searing flash of pain mixing so deliciously with the heady feeling of Astarion drinking from you is unlike any sort of pleasure you’ve experienced before? No. The devil did not need any details.

“I’m sure it does.” Raphael's words float against the shell of your ear and you are momentarily aware that you have a literal devil hovering by your shoulder.

The pad of his finger once more traces the puncture wounds from Astarion’s bite. It feels like a bolt of magic whenever he touches you, though the shock of it is far too pleasant and it goes straight between your legs. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth but you manage to unstick it just as he pulls away.

Raphael moves around you until he is once more facing you. You feel flushed, far too aware of how your pulse is thudding in your neck, yet he looks perfectly calm and collected, breathing even and standing there as if you were merely discussing the weather. When he drops to his knees before you, you want to scream but you are too transfixed at the sight of him before you. You can barely think when his hands reach up towards your underwear. You stare dumbfounded, some part of you still blaming it on the alcohol, as you watch his long, elegant fingers trace the pattern of lace by your hip.

“They do look lovely on you, little mouse, a pity.”

You find your tongue again and manage to mutter, “I can undress myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he purrs. You wish you could cast Silence on him. “But what sort of man would I be if I didn’t lend a helping hand?”

Quickly you look away, face burning in embarrassment as your mind easily imagines how helpful said hand could be. He really shouldn’t be allowed to speak in such a way. Did he cast some kind of spell on you? Did he put something in that drink? Or were you just simply this spellbound by him—perhaps not something to dwell on, you decide. You feel his warm breath against the top of your thigh as his fingers slide up under the band of your knickers at your lack of response. You realise you’re holding your breath as he slides the lace down your legs. You risk a glance down but quickly flick your eyes away—his face is far too close to your bare sex. If he moves his head even slightly you know you will feel his breath on your cunt.

Standing there, you wrestle with the idea of stepping back or just blasting him in the face with a spell. Not that you are very good with spells. But damn does his touch feel nice, his hands are so damn warm and soft as he oh so fucking slowly slides your underwear down. Raphael hasn’t said a word and it’s been at least a minute—that must be a record. The lace finally reaches the ground and he taps your ankle.

Wordlessly you lift a foot and his low response of, “Good girl,” has you desperately fighting to control your stupid dumb animal body’s response. Your fingers itch to steady yourself on his shoulder but you refrain…just. Luckily all your adventuring has improved your athletics and you’re determined not to give the devil the satisfaction of stumbling before him into a wanton heap.

His thumb slips under the fabric still hanging around your other ankle and tugs at it. You’d been staring at the wall straight ahead, eyes fixed on a portrait hanging in some ornate frame. But at the tug, you glance down and see Raphael staring up at you, that smug smirk plastered on his face. Could you get away with kneeing him in the face? Lords above, could you get away with yanking him by the hair (and it was such lovely hair) and between your legs? Both are tempting.

“Little mouse?” His voice is a long lilting drawl and he tugs again at your knickers.

You lift your foot quickly, again saving yourself from tripping over, as he slips it off your foot and stands. You stand there a moment, dazed. Your skin still feels like it is on fire, he must be able to smell your arousal…you can. And you can see the way his nostrils flare as he stands and you watch the devil bring the pink lace up to his face and inhale. Now would be a great time for the Elder Brain to try and shake free of its bonds, you think.

“Did you just—”

With a snap of his fingers, you're suddenly dressed. “Was that so difficult?” “Why didn’t you just do that to take them?” you ask incredulously. “Where would be the fun in that?” He straightens the lapel on your clothing and adds, “Remember, I will still be here when you are ready to admit you need me.”

You grit your teeth. “I don’t need the hammer.”

Those deceptively warm eyes regard you and he smiles again, making your hands itch. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs, and in that moment you realise that is not what he means. But you do not get a chance to speak as with a wave of his hand you find yourself disappearing in a flash of crimson-tinged ash before you are teetering on the steps of Sharess’ Caress in the warm evening air. That smarmy, panty sniffing, bastard. As you begin the walk back to the tavern, you tell yourself your frustration has nothing to do with the way he had touched you. Nothing at all.

When you return to the Elfsong, you attempt to sneak past the group as they eat around a large wooden table. Of course, you can’t get past Shadowheart, the cleric spotting you and instantly dragging you to the table. You slide in, squished between her and Gale as she begins to question where you’ve been.

“Nowhere,” you say with a dismissive shrug, proud of how natural it sounds as you grab a bread roll and try to ignore the lingering throb between your legs. ”I just went for a walk.”

You feel eyes on you and look up into the knowing gaze of Astarion. “A walk, darling?” He leans in across the table and you see his nostrils flare. “An exhilarating one, I take it?” He sniffs again. “Climb any cherry trees on your…walk?”