#and god i sound and look so ungrateful

[baishouqijia]

ooc. just a lil life update cause i despawned despite having 3 weeks free. i still have my job, and will probably return next week. i know i didn't write anything that i wanted to but i actually really needed the break. it's the longest i've had off work in the past 5 years so i spent the entire time decompressing and just loafing. it was great, genuinely.

[cherry-treelane]

first thing my father does when he gets home from work is criticise me and nitpick every miniscule action of mine and complain complain complain im going insane. whether it be how i cut the fucking watermelon or how i arranged the cutlery drawer or why im not paying enough attention to the toddler when ive been giving him my attention all day and just want to spend 5 minutes of peace in my room JUST PLEASE LEAVE ME BE IM TRYING MY BEST IS THAT NOT ENOUGH

[teamatsumu]

all eyes on you. (seijoh 4 x reader)

warnings: pure smut, not even an iota of plot, swearing, fem!reader, voyeurism, fingering, masturbation, implied group sex, slight degradation

word count: 1k

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead

“H-Hajime,” Your voice trembles and breaks, body arched and wound up tight. Your nails dig into his forearms enough to leave marks, but you’re not sure he minds, considering his fingers only speed up inside you and he moans deliciously in your ear.

Iwaizumi has your back against his chest, and your legs hooked over his. He spreads his legs, simultaneously spreading yours, his unoccupied arm wrapped tight around your waist to hold you in place and keep you nice and open for the three pairs of hungry eyes that are trained on your naked, sweaty body.

“Touch her clit,” Hanamaki whispers, his hand working over his own exposed cock. He is leaning back on the couch before you, looking more bored than anything, but his eyes are sizzling with heat, unblinking, and his hand on his cock is urgent. Your breath stutters, and you’re not sure if it’s because of his words or because Iwaizumi chooses that moment to curl his fingers inside you.

“Don’t tell me how to please my girlfriend.” Iwaizumi grunts back, free hand reaching up to cup at your breast almost possessively. Nevertheless, his fingers slide out of you with a wet squelch and reach up to toy at your engorged clit. Your legs jerk and you gasp at the change in sensations.

“Don’t get snarky, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s voice does not match the playfulness of his words. It is husky and low, and he too is playing with his erection. The head is deep pink and weeping with precum, proudly showing just how aroused he is. How can he not be? With the show Iwaizumi is using you to put on.

“She loves it so much, see? Look how pretty she looks.” Oikawa continues, voice turning softer now, more teasing. It almost doesn’t feel like a compliment. Like he is demeaning you, but it only turns you on even more. You can’t believe this is something you enjoy, the jeering way he was talking about you. Iwaizumi never did that. You whine, eyebrows creasing.

“She likes that.” Matsukawa somehow sounds just as sharp and teasing as Oikawa. He has been quiet this whole time, only watching. He hadn’t even undressed, choosing to instead stick his hand in his pants and slowly stroke over himself. Deep down, you longed to see his cock too, knowing because of the jokes the boys made over the years that he was more than well endowed. But you are too shy to voice your desire. You are already doing something you couldn’t have imagined in a million years.

“You assholes are lucky you’re even watching this.” Iwaizumi quipped. “Don’t be ungrateful.”

He keeps his fingers moving on your clit, unwinding his other arm from around you to fill up your empty hole again. You gasp and arch again, one arm reaching back to grip tight on his hair while the other continues clawing at his skin.

“Tell me how you feel, baby.” He coos, knowing you are getting closer.

“Tell us how you feel.” Oikawa interjects, grinning when Iwaizumi shoots him a glare. His hand speeds up, anticipating your release and wanting to reach his high at the same time.

“I-” You weep, tears escaping your eyes to coat your cheeks instead. “I- Hajime!”

“Sshh, I’ve got you.” Hajime kisses the skin just below your ear, a spot that he knows is sensitive. “You’re doing so good, baby. God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Everyone’s looking at you. You’re so sexy.”

“You are, Y/N-chan.” Oikawa speaks again. “Can’t believe I’ve never seen you like this before. Been missing out.”

“Wish it was me,” Hanamaki chimed in. “Wonder what your pretty pussy would feel like on my cock.”

“Watch it.” Iwaizumi warned, but you moaned loudly, clamping down hard on his fingers. Matsukawa snickered.

“You’ve got a whore on your hands, Iwa.” He commented. “She fucking loves the thought of it. Isn’t that right?”

He leans forward, hand moving faster and faster inside his jeans. His words shock you, he is so crass. But it sends a current zipping down your torso, settling like heat in the pit of your stomach. Iwaizumi rubbed hard against your clit, curling his fingers against your spot.

“You want their cocks?” Iwaizumi groans into the shell of your ear, picking up on how aroused you are getting. “You little slut. You’re not satisfied by just me. You’re not even satisfied by them watching. You need them to fuck you.”

You wail as you come, body winding tight as electricity runs up your spine and clutches tight at your lungs. You try to close your legs, to stop Hajime’s hands as they continue to abuse your sloppy pussy. He doesn’t let you, though. His legs hold yours in place as he watches your body writhe. There are groans and curses, as one man after another cums after you, reaching their limit at the sight of your undulating torso, your curled toes, your jaw slacked and your tears still flowing.

Iwaizumi finally pulls his fingers out, running his drenched hand over your sensitive cunt. You jump and whine, trying to push him away, but your weakened limbs are no match for him. He brings his hand down, spanking your pussy and making you yelp.

“Behave,” Iwaizumi nibbles at your earlobe. “Be nice. We have guests.”

Your eyes finally find your audience, their flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. You immediately notice the white that coats their cocks, their hands, some traveling up their bare fronts. You flush at the sight, and you feel something in your core stir again.

Iwaizumi pats your thigh, closing his legs and encouraging you to move. He manhandles you to face him, bringing your focus down to his still rock hard cock. Your breath hitches at the little smirk on his face.

“C’mon, baby. Take care of me. And if these idiots wanna keep watching, they’re welcome to.”

No one moves from the couch, straightening to eye the show you will put on next.

[strangersteddierthings]

"What's wrong?" Robin asks, bumping her arm against his as she joins him leaning against the counter, staring out the front door of Family Video.

Steve doesn't bother to lie. Robin would know, she always does. "I'm not sure wrong is the right word, but it's, it's something."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Yeah," he says, taking a quick glance around. It's just after 11pm on Saturday. They've got another hour of work before they can officially close, but Hawkins closes down at 9. The store is empty currently, and since they're facing the door, they'll know if someone comes in. "I just don't know- I don't-"

"Gather your words. Speak when you're ready. I'm not going anywhere," Robin says, and it speaks volumes that she didn't call him dingus. Steve's never upset by the nickname, not really, but sometimes, when the conversation is heavy, he can't deal with nicknames. Especially not ones that are meant teasingly now but started as an insult.

"I feel- I feel ungrateful and, like, selfish, because I'm... I'm not happy with Eddie," Steve says, then immediately frowns because that's not right. It's not wrong, either, but it's. "I'm not unhappy with Eddie. I love him. I love him so much, Robin."

"I know you do. It's disgusting."

"And I got into this relationship knowing what Eddie's like. I love him 'cause of those things, not in spite of-"

"You don't have to convince me you love him."

"Right. Right. It's just. It's like, I thought, I don't know, that I wouldn't have to always be the guy?" Steve says, and it's followed by such a long pause that he looks over. It startles a laugh out of him at how much Robin looks like him right now. Confused, brow furrowed and mouth slightly open. That's his perplexed expression, and it's mirrored on Robin's face now.

Well. Not now because he laughed so she's glaring at him.

"Sorry. It was like looking into a mirror for a moment there."

She wrinkles her nose at him and says, "What do you mean 'always be the guy'?"

He lets out a sigh. "I just mean- Eddie's the first guy I've ever dated. And there was, like, unwritten rules when dating girls. Don't give me that face, I already know the rant about straights and their het-ro-norman-whatever-"

"Heteronormativity."

"Yes, that. I know it's bad, working on unlearning it, etcetera, etcetera. Can I just get through this using the words I do have?"

"Yes. Sorry."

He waves off her apology and continues, "So, the unwritten but absolute rules of straight dating. The guy asks. The guy plans the date. He pays, if it's something that requires money. He gets the door, offers his jacket if it's cold, gives the flowers and chocolates on Valentines Day and- sorry. The guy does all that. I do all that. And I just. I want to not, not have to?"

Robin's eyes soften and she gives a sad smile. "Eddie doesn't do those things?"

Steve frowns. "Not- he's done some of those things but it's not... It's never been romantic. Never felt... intentionally romantic. Which is why I feel so ungrateful and selfish. 'Cause Eddie's not a romantic. Not like I am. And I shouldn't expect him to be!"

She frowns. "But you don't expect him to be."

"I mean, yeah. I don't. Which just makes this worse, right? Because Eddie tries. In his own way. And I'm still..."

"What does Eddie do to try?"

"He loans me jackets when I'm cold. And it's- it's like a throwback to the upside down. He'll fold it all nice and then throw it at me full force. Like with the battle vest," Steve smiles at the memory, despite his sour mood.

"That doesn't sound very romantic. That sounds like an inside joke. He could do that same thing while not dating you and it wouldn't be weird."

"Can't an inside joke be romantic?"

Robin nods as she turns, back to the counter so she can hop up on it. "Can be. And I guess if you find get pelted in the face by jackets romantic, that's your kink."

"Why do I talk to you?" Steve groans, and Robin shrugs. "Anyway, I guess I just... I want to be the one taken care of, sometimes, but not just when- God, I'm so selfish, aren't I?" He paces away from the counter, running a hand through his hair.

Eddie's a good boyfriend. He listens when Steve rambles about sports and stats, asking questions and actually engages in conversation. He takes care of Steve when a migraine leaves him all but useless; gets him his meds and water and combs his fingers through Steve's hair softly until it lulls Steve to sleep. Eddie pays attention enough to know the little things about Steve that he doesn't say out loud.

"Not just when?" Robin prompts, and Steve realizes he quit talking.

"Not just when I'm hurt. I want doors held for me, and for him to plan a romantic night, either out or in! And I- I want him to give me his jacket by wrapping it around my shoulders like I do for him."

"I'm going to say something, and you aren't allowed to be upset by it."

Steve nods.

"You have to tell him. Eddie's not gonna know you want these things unless you say so."

He nods again, because he knows that. He does. It's just... "I got with him knowing he wasn't a romantic person. I don't want- I don't know how to say it without making it sound like I want him to change. Or make him feel like he's not enough, or that he's a bad boyfriend for not having done this and-"

"Steve! Jesus, now who's the mirror? It's Eddie. He loves you. He'll listen. Even as you fumble your way through an explanation. A conversation is not the make or break of this relationship."

Steve swallows even though it feels like there's stones piling up in his stomach. A single conversation broke his last relationship, but Eddie's not Nancy.

"Yeah. You're right. I think I'm just... I'm afraid of making Eddie feel that same way Nancy made me feel, when she called us bullshit. I was blinded-sided by it all and I don't, I can't do that to Eddie."

"You won't. 'Cause this situation is different. You love Eddie, and Eddie loves you, and that's real and true. I think it would hurt Eddie more to think there's this whole other category of shit he could be doing for you, but isn't, 'cause he doesn't even know you'd like it, much less want it."

Steve nods as she speaks. It's all true, and he feels less like there are stones in his stomach. "Thanks, Bobbin. I don't- I might give it a few days before I talk to Eddie about it, but I will."

"You better, dingus," she hopes off the counter and looks at the clock, groaning when she sees it's still not midnight. "Think Keith will kill us if we close early?"

"No way. He'd have to cover all our shifts until he can hire replacements. We're too valuable to him to die."

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @skepsiss @afewproblems

[ham1lton]

NASTY GIRL!

— pairings: oscar piastri x reader.

— faceclaim: rihanna <3

— summary: slut, whore, bitch - all the words that have been used to describe famous party girl yn yln. so when you show up to the grid with a shiny diamond ring on your hand, people are trying to figure out just who would choose you.

— warnings: misogynistic language and attitudes about yn’s behaviour and actions. not from any of the main characters in this au though!

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

enews: y/n may not be releasing new music anytime soon, but she’s definitely making waves—this time under the sea. the party girl was spotted scuba diving in italy with her usual mixed-gender crew, proving once again that vacationing is her real full-time job. 🎶 or should we say, lack of? #priorities #wherethemusicat?

view all comments

badgalyn: y’all stay on my dick 😭 hop off.

-> user1: LMFAOOOOOO

user2: can a girl not holiday now?

user3: idgaf if she’s partying. she’s been working since she was 16. have a mimosa for me babe <3

-> user4: bffr. she just sings into a mic for a living. that’s not a job.

-> user5: every job is a job. and every job has it’s downsides. she’s been touring every year since her debut almost ten years ago. let her breathe 😭

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by ynupdates, ferrarigirlies and 2,737,839 others.

f1gossip: look who’s in the ferrari garage today! the singer/songwriter yn on break from… well, her eternal break. and what is that we saw on her hot girl walk through the paddock? a diamond ring? oop 🙊

view all 277,828 comments

user1: LEAVE YN ALONE !1!1!1!111

user2: she’s engaged to charles and they’re gonna have the most gorgeous kids!!

-> user3: um… could be carlos?

-> user2: no 😜

user3: nahhhhh no way she’s engaged 😷

-> user4: like c’mon. it’s probably a rich ceo from behind the scenes. no self respecting f1 driver would want HER 😒

-> user5: like who would actually marry her?

-> user6: u sound so miserable 😭

-> user7: like what fucking weirdos LMFAO 😭 focus on yourselves.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by ynsgirlie, oscarspiastri and 1,108,890 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: singer/songwriter yn was invited by ferrari to watch the baku grand prix but was seen relaxing in the mclaren garage after a photo op. the moment went viral on social media, what do you think of yn’s disappearance ham1ltons?

view all 18,992 comments

user1: idgaf. she can do whatever she wants.

user2: she’s so fucking ungrateful my god.

user3: love her!!!!

user4: who cares?? i just wanna know who put that ring on her finger???

user5: RELEASE THE ALBUM @/BADGALYN

-> user6: RELEASE THAT SHIT NOWW

badgalyn: is it illegal for me to move from place to place now? like damn 😭

-> user7: they stay on ur ass like

-> user8: WHO DOES THAT BIG FAT RING BELONG TO ?!!?!!

-> user8: I KNOW U SEE THIS SHIT

-> user8: ANSWER ME 😭😭

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landonorris, badgalyn and 1,090,123 others.

f1: oscar piastri is your ‘24 baku grand prix winner!

view all 80,828 comments

user1: OSCAR GIRLIES EVERYWHERE CHEERED

user2: YASSSSSSSS

user3: SO PROUD WOOOOOOO

user4: YN WHAT ARE U DOING HERE 😭

nicolepiastri: that’s my son btw 🍾🥂

user5: DID Y’ALL SEE YN RUNNING OUT TO KISS OSCAR?????

-> user6: WHAT?2&2&

-> user7: GIRL IT’S ALL OVER TWT

-> user7: https://twitter.com/ynsgirl/status/827373832992125

-> user8: oh… they in love frfr

-> user9: SICK OMG SICK SICK SICK

-> user9: HATE SEEING HAPPY COUPLES

-> user10: the way he carries her?? ims ick

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

INTERVIEW W/ YN YLN.

by james collins.

she walks into the room like she owns it, a diamond-studded one of a kind necklace hanging off her neck, and a confidence that can only come from being at the top of her game. y/n yln is more than just a household name at this point—she’s a cultural phenomenon. whether it's topping the charts, turning heads with her bold fashion choices, or making headlines for her unapologetic lifestyle, y/n is everywhere.

GQ: let’s get right into it. you’ve never been one to shy away from controversy. you've been called everything from a "party girl" to… well, a lot worse. how do you deal with the constant slut-shaming?

Y/N: (laughs) i mean, what can i say? people are gonna talk whether i’m out at the club or chilling at home in sweats. they see me having fun, and they can’t handle it. honestly, i don’t care. i love my life. if i want to party, i’ll party. if i want to make a million-dollar deal the next morning, i’ll do that too. being called a slut? whatever. it’s just a word. a word can’t hold me down.

GQ: that’s the attitude that’s made you so iconic. but it seems like the more successful you get, the more people try to tear you down. how do you stay grounded amidst all the noise?

Y/N: honestly, it’s all about knowing who you are. like, i know what i bring to the table. the opinions of strangers on the internet? they don’t pay my bills, they don’t run my career. i’ve got a solid circle around me—my family, my team, my people. they keep it real with me, and that’s what matters. plus, i’ve got my own inner voice. if i let every hater get to me, i wouldn’t be where i am now. you gotta block out the noise and keep doing you.

GQ: you’re definitely doing that, and it shows in your music. speaking of which, your last album broke records and you’ve hinted that the next one’s even more personal. what’s the inspiration behind it?

Y/N: oh, this next album is gonna hit different. it’s like a reflection of the last few years—everything i’ve been through, the highs, the lows, and the lessons. i’ve been writing a lot about love, discovery, identity, and power. there’s a track on there that’s straight-up about how people have tried to label me my whole life, and i’m just like, ‘f**k that, i define me.’ there’s some deep stuff in there, but also bangers that’ll make you wanna dance your ass off. it’s a mix, just like me.

GQ: there’s been a lot of talk about one specific song that fans think is about your alleged relationship. care to spill the tea on that?

YN: (smiling) oh, you mean *that* song? (laughs) yeah, people are good at picking up on things. look, i’m not saying too much, but let’s just say it’s a vibe. relationships—especially when you’re in the spotlight—are complicated, and i’m not afraid to write about it. but you’ll have to listen to the track to get the full story.

GQ: fair enough. now, let’s address the gorgeous and expensive elephant in the room—that ring. fans have been speculating non-stop about your engagement. can you confirm or deny the rumors?

Y/N: (grinning) ah, you’re nosy! but yeah, the ring’s real, and it’s from someone very special. look, i’ve never been one to hide anything, but i also love keeping certain things close to my chest. all i’m saying is… things are good. real good.

GQ: the internet’s been trying to piece it together, especially after you were spotted at the mclaren paddock with oscar piastri. any comments on that?

YN: (laughs) you are really trying to get me in trouble! look, i support my friends, i show up for them, and they show up for me. that’s all i’m saying for now. but if people want to talk, let them talk. i’m busy living my life.

GQ: fair enough! last question—what’s next for y/n yln?

Y/N: taking over the world, obviously. (laughs) but for real, the album is coming soon, and i’m working on some new projects that’ll surprise a lot of people. i’m not just a singer, i’m building an empire. music, fashion, business—it’s all on the horizon. so, buckle up, we’re just getting started.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

tagged: @/badgalyn

liked by ynswifey, ham1ltonshaderoom and 4,938,983 others

gqmagazine: from island girl to international superstar: our newest covergirl yn yln talks slutshaming, her upcoming album and wedding rumours in this months gq magazine. link in bio! 🔗

view all 2,737,938 comments

oscarpiastri: real good is an understatement 😉

-> user1: WHAT)2&/@/

-> user2: yn being all cryptic and oscar straight up like ‘yeah we together and what about it?’

-> user3: OSCAR HELLO?2&2

landonorris: am i invited to the wedding?

-> landonorris: hellloooo @/badgalyn????

-> landonorris: i’m sosoooooo drunk @/badgalyn

-> landonorris: YYYYYNNNNNNN 😭😭😭

user4: she’s such a bad bitch idgaf

-> user5: ‘i love my life. if i want to party, i’ll party. if i want to make a million-dollar deal the next morning, i’ll do that too. being called a slut? whatever. it’s just a word. a word can’t hold me down.’ — AS YOU SHOULD QUEEN!!!!

user6: y’all … oscaryn is growing on me fr

user7: this is so wattpad trope i love this for them

user8: YN RELEASE THE ALBUM!!!!

user9: MIC DROP FROM OSCAR YUP YUP!

user10: she’s so gorgeous… her face card omg

user11: Y/N YLN AND OSCAR FREAKING PIASTRI ARE ENGAGED AND CONFIRMED IT IN THE MOST CASUAL WAY?? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUNCTION TODAY?!?!

user12: oscaryn engagement. yn6 being in the works. more pics of yn’s face card. ynnies, we won today.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— oscar taglist: @papayadays @assholeinatrenchcoat @mxdi0 @lillysbigwilly @liberty-barnes @yelenasloverrrrr @hiireadstuff @starz4me1 @mvk1ma @lozzamez3 @dear-fifi @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @styl1shl1v @whyamireadingthis @halleest @s4misbetter @llando4norris @chezmardybum @ivyvlair @isthatacandle @luvsforme @fabulouskk01 @littlegrapejuice @anotherblackreader @laur20a23 @greantii @sumlovesjude @sageispunk @mindless-rock @mehrmonga @ravisinghs-wife @six-call @notyaslol @1-800-love-me @nzygftoji @dilflover44 @ilivbullyingjeongin (all works taglist in comments/reblog. if you see yourself tagged and you don’t want to be or you don’t see yourself tagged and you want to be — refill out the taglist in my pinned post! <3)

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[jelliedink]

Ancient Vampire Partner as a Service Top Headcanons

Warnings: Pure smut. Mentions of death, blood, violence. No gender specified, but reader do get periods. Implication of abusive relationship. Author's note: I wrote an extensive introduction to this post, but then I realised that was mostly me rambling. So I decided to get straight (and kinda gay) to the point. Shall we? Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Here's my take on how I think the sexual dynamic between a human and their ancient vampire lover would go:

Your ancient vampire partner knew they had to be gentle and careful with you. Much like us when carrying a newborn puppy, they were aware of how easily your bones could break if they got too excited. Since sex for them was now more of an echo from their human days and not a survival need, they were ok with going without sex for long periods of time, perhaps waiting until you were ready to be turned. For now, they thought it was safer to wait.

You, on the other hand, were very much not ok with this. You were human, your body evolved to make happy chemicals from sex. As if that wasn't enough, the main survival strategy of your partner's species was looking hot as fuck to lure humans, getting their thoughts so clouded by lust that they'd ignore the stone cold touch, the sharp fingernails, the bluish hue of their skin and the sharpness of their teeth. Your whole body went crazy just by looking at them.

They knew you couldn't help it. So, whenever you were needy and in the mood, they didn't mind putting you on their lap, back against their chest, and touch you until you've had enough. They loved being able to make you feel good, whispering on your ear while playing with your body: "What do you want to try today?" "Do you want me to get one of our toys?" "Does it feel good like this?" "Is this intensity enough?"

In the days you desperately needed to feel them inside of you, they ignored their own desire while watching you ride them mesmerised, gently guiding your hips up and down while kissing and caressing whatever part of your beautiful, soft and warm body they could reach. God, how pretty you looked with your eyes out of focus, using their body to get off and scratch that itch.

And when you were too tired they gladly took the lead, paying attention to your every reaction, focusing on how to serve you better: "Hold my shoulders tight so I can reach deeper without hurting you, ok?" "Slow and steady, precious, or you'll be tired before we can have the amount of fun you deserve." "Here, it will feel even better if you touch yourself too."

But they were far from being selfless. The moment you got your period they morphed into a feral and self-serving beast, unable to control themselves any more than a hungry lion would if near a trapped deer. This was one of the very few times they could feed off of you and they were not letting all this food go to waste.

You'd get properly cushioned in a comfortable position, a heating pad on your lower belly, your legs on their shoulders and they would lick you clean. Prepare to be there for a while, no amount of begging would make them let you get up until they're finished. Of course you always tried to. Every time this happened, they'd first try to convince you with love and praises, but their tone got increasingly more authoritative and mean until you couldn't recognise your lover anymore. "My baby, you taste so good." "How can you be so good to me, my little angel?" "Can't you hold on just a bit more? Please? For me?" "Oh, you're being tortured with too many orgasms? You poor thing, that sounds so terrible." "Pretty, you're not getting up. Don't think that you have a choice just because I'm trying to be nice." "Maybe if I show you how painful I can make it you'll realise how good you're having it stop being such a whiny ungrateful brat. You want this, my baby? You want me to hurt you? So don't make me hurt you."

In the end they'd kiss your whole weak body and your puffed teary face while begging for your forgiveness. They'd say they don't deserve you, they are a monster, they just don't know how to control themselves when you smell like this and they were so hungry. You'd be pampered: a hot bath, body massage, your favourite food, that thing you've been eyeing for so long but was way too out of your budget.

They'd do just about anything you ask for. Anything but promise not to do it again.

[blujayonthewing]

okay as someone whose patreon has ten patrons it's actually fascinating to go back through and be able to see which posts were viewed, like, 20+ times? like yeah I half joked about the pinups and similar, and some of them are public posts that I linked to outside patreon, but there are a lot of things I've posted, patron exclusive, that apparently at least one person came back to look at more than once?? and sometimes I can make at least an educated as to whom and why (a specific friend whose OC is in that post or whatever) but a lot of them I'm looking at like 'really?? really???'

.... to be clear, it's absolutely always in a 🥺💕 way

[misserabella]

Filthy Rich

Spencer Reid x Fem! reader PT.1

pt2! pt3!

✧ Synopsis;; Spencer Reid was filthy rich, for he was royalty. Handsome, charming and a gentleman, a dream dressed in pure silk for any kind of woman. But not you.

✧ y/n is a mere slave of a nobel family who just turned 22. On the night of the prince’s royal ball she is dragged against her will to this dance just to be used as a coat rack for the purses and coats of the family ladies, who, of course, treat her like absolute sh’t, to the point where they could agreed to hand her over for a generous amount of gold.

“Just name your price, sweetheart.”

“Screw you, my prince.”

Just how lucky you were for had caught the

prince’ s attention!

< enemies to lovers 3

17th century royalty! inspired by bridgerton!

CW;; this series might include 18+ content (details will be given at the start of each new part uploaded) MINORS DNI AND SKIP!!!

WARNINGS PART ONE: mention of blood, abuse, cursing and slave trafficking.

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

WORD COUNT;; 2k!

Her faced seemed to tell everything: she hated it.

She hated everything. From the music, to the little stupid shoes that clacked against the floor. The floral scent, the wine, the giggles… She hated the ton*. Every single one of them,

Everything. It was a goddamn nightmare.

“y/n! You are letting my coat slip! Do i have to tell you how much it costs?! If you dare let it touch the floor I’ll take the money out of your poor allowance to pay for a new one!” one of the misses glared at you, hitting you in the face with her closed paper fan, its gemstones leaving marks on you cheek.

“We might as well do it anyways, since her filthy hands have touched them already!” her sister laughed, grabbing your face in between her gloved fingers and digging her nails in your skin. “Don’t you think so, y/n? What? Cat got you tongue?” they giggled.

“Children, children!” the woman of the house hushed them with a sweet smile. “You shall never touch her!” she said, taking of the gloves out of her daughters hands to give her a new pair, with a sweet smile telling one of the servants of the castle to burn them. “God knows what she might infect us with!” she laughed, her offsprings following her.

God, you hated her. Her and her stupid daughters. With their stupid dresses and stupid painted faces.

You glared at them, your grip tightening around their belongings, holding your stare and your head up even when the woman stared back at you, her face scrunching in disgust and anger.

“Who do you think you are staring at?!?!” she suddenly yelled, catching the attention of those who enjoyed drinks and company around her, not waiting a mere second to rise her hand and slap you to ‘show you your place’. You took the hits, the metallic flavor of blood filling your mouth due to the continues smacks and hits with the back of her fan. “You filthy ungrateful bitch, you dare stare at us, who give you food and a bed?! I should’ve let you died out in the cold, in the dirt, where you belong to!” you gritted your teeth, your eyes down to the floor as your free hand made its way to your bottom lip, where you felt the skin split, the crimson of fresh blood tinting your frail skin.

“Fucking fussock*.” you cursed her under your breath, loud enough for her to perfectly hear you.

“What did you say?!” her free hand gripped your long and matted locks, making you look into her enraged eyes, her other hand rising up to hit you once again.

Your eyes closed as you expected a new slap, which surprisingly enough never came. The sound of multiple gasps filled your ears and when you opened up your eyes once again, your stomach sank at the sight of…

“Your highness!” everyone suddenly diverted their eyes to the floor, including you, your mistress and her daughters bowed in his presence, the wrist of the first of them all gracefully and softly held by the prince’s, who let her go with a kind smile.

“Is everything alright?” his voice tested the waters, his tone low and soft as the silk he dressed in, his hands jeweled in golden rings joining and intertwining in an elegance you never had witnessed.

“Yes, your highness.” the woman stuttered, showing a nervous smile. “Our slave just seemed to…, misbehave, your highness.” your eyes travelled trough his tall and magnificent demeanor. His fern green suit matched perfectly with the caramel of his skin and his brown and perfectly combed curls.

Your eyes quickly darted always as he had caught you staring once he had turned to you. He fought the lopsided smirk that urged to grow in his lips, stepping closer to where you stood.

He took a glance at the ragged clothes that hid your bruised and malnourished body, probably due to the family’s treatment under your care, your matted hair, cut up hands…

His warm touch spread on your skin as he took your chin in between his thumb and index finger, softly trying to rise your head up, but you denied him, in a harsh turn of head freeing yourself from his touch before giving him a glare.

A new wave of gasps filed the air as you stared right into his eyes, him holding your glare.

You didn’t care if he was a noble or pure royalty. Those ‘pure blood’ were all the goddamn same. With their leather shoes and gold jewelry, fancy words and silk dresses and suits. Their appearance was only a pretty facade that hid the ugliness of their insides.

You hated all of them. Might as well just get your head off as soon as possible.

“You slave! How is it ye dare to stare at the prince, soon king?!” a brunette and tall man talked, you recognized him as the pince’s right hand, but only with a wave of this hand, he stood silent beside the prince.

“Huh…” the smile he had been trying to fight off finally took place on his gracefully sculpted face and full rosy lips. “Interesting.” once again he took a soft grasp to your face, this time not letting you go even if you fought him off. His eyes took everything your face offered him, from your perfect nose to you long eyelashes and your beautiful fierce eyes, which stared at him with pure hatred and anger. “How much?” he suddenly asked, still not drifting his eyes away from you.

The woman stood frozen in place, just like her daughters.

“What does your highness mean with…-”

“How much would you want for her?” he cut her off, the deadly silent that fell on the salon almost giving you chills.

What was he saying?

“Your highness, I can’t…” she was short of breath and words. “I surely doubt thee would want her under your care, she…”

“I don’t care about any of it. Name a price.” everyone was shocked by the situation. Buying and selling slaves was something quite common, that’s how your current ‘family’ have got you, but this…

The prince? Has he gone nuts?

“Your highness, I don’t think…” the prince’s counselor stepped in, shutting up once again as soon as he gave him a glance.

“50 gold coins.” the woman suddenly blurted out, everyone’s jaws dropping at the audacity of the woman and such large figure.

“Mother!” her offsprings whispered-yelled. Not believing her words.

50 gold coins?!

You scoffed, smirking at such nonsense, not noticing the staring of the prince due to your reaction.

She wished you were worth that much. He would never…

“Make it 150.” he closed the deal.

“Your highness!” the counselor exclaimed, completely alarmed.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Gideon.” he hushed the man with his soft hazel eyes.

You watched as the woman who once abused you and starved you for days fainted due to the prince’s words and his daughters kneeling down to help her followed by some of the nearby guests, fanning her pale sleeping face.

You too felt like fainting.

“Hey, eyes on me, sweetheart.” the prince caught your attention once again, when your eyes met a smile growing on his lips. “All you need to do from now on keep your eyes on me.”

“Get off of me!” you screamed at the servants that tried and strip you out of your clothes, pushing their hands away. “I said stop!”

“Miss, they’re orders from your highness.” one of them spoke, her blue eyes soft on you. “He wanted us to help you bathe and and get rid of your dirty clothes.” she explained.

“I don’t care about what he said.” you scoffed. “If he wanted me undressed so fast why isn’t he the one taking my clothes off?” they all gasped at your words and no respect to the prince.

You didn’t care though, they were all the same anyways. Always reaks* that just wanted to have women swoon at their feet. Maybe that’s why he had bought you, just to use you when his cock got cold.

Suddenly, the door on your back opened, the heads of the servants quickly lowering as your eyes met the prince’s.

“Oh, fantastic…” you muttered. Just what you needed at the moment.

“You heard her, ladies. You are all dismissed.” he smiled at every and each one of them, bowing and moving aside with a swing of his arm on the door to let them out, all of them bowing and giggling.

And weren’t you just right?

“Great. And what do I have the honor of your highness’ presence for?” you sarcastically inquired him once he had closed the door behind his back, noticing…, ‘Gideon’ outside. “Got too excited due your new acquisition to just wait?” you mocked him.

“I heard you were putting up a fight.” he smiled, ignoring your words whilst looking at you up and down. “Is there something not to your liking, perhaps?”

“‘Not to my liking’?” you scoffed. “I can’t believe you.” you shook your head, grasping at your locks as you stared at him in disbelief. “How about this whole goddamn situation? I mean, look at this!” you pointed out everything that surrounded you, the whole bathroom with a gigantic bathtub of quartz, marble floors and pillars… “A few hours ago I was being used as a coat hanger in your ball and now I’m in a bathroom with the prince, who, surprisingly enough, bought me for 150 golden coins god knows why?!” you exclaimed.

He stared at you with a funny look in his eyes. His back against the door as his eyebrows raised at you.

“What.” you spit out, a glare in your eyes.

“Nothing, is just that…” he stepped closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t seem to…, respect me.” he frowned, his voice low. “Not like all of them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, your highness, for not being another dog licking your leather boots.” you bowed, more of his steps growing closer to you until his thumb took your chin, rising your head up so you could meet his eyes, his face stood serious for a couple of seconds, before a downside smirk grew on his factions. “Why haven’t you cut my head off yet?” you inquired him, not really understanding his behavior. By the way you treated him, any other prince would have already gotten you to the guillotine.

“Why shall I?” he answered with another question, his thumb caressing the wound on your bottom lip, the still fresh blood that stood on it staining his thumb as you hissed in pain, getting away.

You stared at him in confusion.

Yeah. He was absolutely nuts.

“The water will go cold if you don’t get in soon.” he said, drifting off the matter while whipping off your blood from his thumb with his handkerchief. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off those ragged clothes?”

“This is the only dress I’ve had, sir.” you said, his eyes meeting yours.

“What’s your favorite color?” you frowned at his sudden question, which made absolutely no sense. He made no sense. “Crimson, like the purest blood? The forest’s green? The ocean’s blue, perhaps?”

“I’ve never seen the forest nor the ocean, sir. I’ve never left the capital. Though I find the sky’s blue on spring pretty wonderful, not sure it does justice to the ocean’s.”

“It doesn’t.” he said, sitting in the edge of the bathtub, his fingers taunting the warm water. “The ocean is cold, and fierce…, untamable. But it can also be warm, and calm, and soft.” he tried to explain, and from your point of view it didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense but you found it…

“It must be beautiful.” you said, him flashing you a soft smile before nodding.

“It is.” he got up clapping his hands together before looking back at you. “Well then, you should really hurry up, the water is perfect.”

“I already told thee, this dress is the only-“

“You won’t need it anymore.” he cut you off.

“And why is that?” you inquired, his steps growing closer to you.

“Because from now on…” he said, catching one of your locks in between his fingers. “You belong in this castle.”

To be continued…

*fussock; a lazy fat woman…, a frowzy old woman.

*the ton; the ton actually refers to English high society during the Regency era, and encompasses every aristocrat from the royals to the gentry.

*rake; ‘rake’ is used to describe an immoral, hedonistic young man circulating in high society.

[blue2black]

HAZBIN HOTEL BLOOPERS:

PART 1

—————————

Valentino: The UNGRATEFUL WHORE! *throws drink towards Vox*

Vox: *steps to the side but gets the drink on him anyway*

Vox: ...

Vox: Which whore are we—UGH, that smells. *chuckles while wiping his coat*

Valentino: Sorry. 😓

Vox: No, it's okay.

Director: CUT!

—🎬—

Valentino: The UNGRATEFUL WHORE! *throws drink towards Vox and hits him*

Vox: AH-

—🎬—

Valentino: The UNGRATEFUL WHORE! *throws drink towards Vox*

—🎬—

Valentino: THAT FUCKING WHORE! *growling, throws drink towards Vox*

—🎬—

Valentino: The UNGRRRRATEFUL WHORE! *throws drink towards Vox*

—🎬—

Valentino: The fucking 🎶whoooooooorrrrreee🎶 *spins gracefully*

—🎬—

Valentino: ... 😐

Valentino: *raises drink* THE UNGRATEFUL—AAAAAH—son of a- 🤬

—🎬—

Vox: Think of something that pisses you off.

Valentino: I can only break so many glasses before I get this fucking line right, Christian...

—————————

Angel: Eh, you fucked one cannibal pool boy, you fucked 'em all. *brings his drink to his lips*

Husk: I guess you have changed...

Angel: *laughs out his drink back into his cup*

—🎬—

Angel: I want you to like, sing me a lullaby in that voice.

Husk: Mm. 😏 *knows he's the shit*

—————————

Alastor: —for every other disrespectful WRETCH who DARES to question me.

Husk, shaking: UnderST—*seagull screech*—d.

Husk: ... 😐

Husk: I was trying to sound scared... *Alastor laughs*

Husk: That voice crack though. *smiles while getting up*

—————————

Vaggie: Action...!

Niffty: 😃 ->🧍‍♀️

Vaggie: ...

Niffty: ...

Vaggie: ...

Niffty: ... 😐

Niffty: 🥴

Niffty, covering her face: AHHHH, I can't do it!! 😆

Vaggie and Angel: 😆😆

—————————

Alastor: ... *toothy grin in place*

Director: CUT!

Alastor: *turns into a fish* 😮 Ooooo...

Alastor: 😲 Ahhhhhhh...

Alastor, rubbing his cheeks: Fuckin' Christ.

—————————

Giant Overlord Alastor (animatronic): I̶͎͇̙̳̙͍̼̺̺̠̿̂̉ ̵̢̗̤̥̯͚͎́̎̉̆̑́͘͘̕̕ẁ̸͍̎į̶̛͗̈̎̽̍̍͘l̸̝̳͙̓̆͊̆͠l̴̢̧͙̹͖̩̫̻͔̄͛͂̈́̓͝ ̵̳͕̗͙̭̟͙̭͍̙̐͊͐̊d̶̫̗̮̿̀̈́̔̌̉̿̓̚e̴̺̰̊̓͂v̸̞͚͕͚͕̱̝̿̍̎̀̽́̅̀͠o̸̢̧͍̳͈͎̼̪͑ȕ̸̠͇͈̝̦͔͍̯̘̥̓r̷̨̤̦̰͈̞̠͚̀̃̇͋͝ ̸̢̭̺͖̭͖͚̃̉͒̐e̸͉͕̰̝͌̀̇̄͆̀͜͠͝á̴̢̞͓̝̝̗̪̪̓č̵̪̈́̃͋̈́̒̽͑̿͘h̴̡̡̛͇̱͓̭̟̟͚̐͜ ̷̧̲͔̏̄ȧ̶͈͈͎͚͖̺̫̼̓̄̇̍͘ņ̴̘͍̘̗̑d̷̢͊̔ ̷̢̢͔̙͚̙̳͌͋͑̕͘ḛ̸̲́v̷͉̗̆̐̑͂̂͜ę̴̧̜̙̰̈́͑̎̀́̍̇̆̕͘r̵̫̐̚y̴̟̺̙̑͂̽́̊̀͑͋ ̷̺̳̏̈́͒́͐̃O̸̯̲͂̇̋̈́̎͗N̷̡̟͇͔̯̏Ë̵̹̝́́̈́̍̀͐́̊͘ ̴͍͚̏͠O̴̰̣͙̭̥̹͙͇̓̄̈́̉̃̔F̶̲̝͔̖̗͕̭̜͐͗̉̍̃ ̴̢̡̮͖͓̕Y̸̢̡̞̪̦̫͂͊́̽͂͌͆̂̓Ô̸̲̻͕̄̊̋̆̏͐̋͝͝U̸̡͔͇͈̖̺̳͚̥̿ͅ!̵̢̬̬̝̙̈͌̔̇̓ͅ

Alastor, from behind the scenes: 😱

—————————

Angel: —I can handle MYSELF.

Husk: REALLY?! be- *Angel flinches back and almost falls*

Husk: —AH, sorry, that was too loud. *grabs Angel's arm*

Angel: These GOD DAMN heels!

—🎬—

Husk: Really??

Husk: Great, that wasn't loud ENOUGH.

—🎬—

Angel: You got this 👍😃👍

Husk, face in his hands: UuugggghhhhhaaaAAAAHHHHHHH—

—🎬—

Husk: Really?! Because I just saw someone self-destructing!

Husk: ...it seems like...I don't know...

Husk: You might need a bartender to talk to.

...

Director: When you say that last part, add a little softness to it.

Husk: Hahaha 😄 *Angel: 😁*

Director: Remember, you're trying to comfort him.

Director: Let's go again!

—🎬—

Angel: —I can HANDLE MYSELF!

Husk: RE—*seagull screech*

Husk: *face palms* Goddammit! Why does that happen??-

—🎬—

Husk: —how famous, how hot—

Husk: So, you might as well just...cut the act.

Angel, whips his head around: IT'S NOT AN act... *trails off laughing*

—🎬—

Husk: Loser. *lovingly*

Angel: No, you. *also lovingly*

—🎬—

Husk: Are we doing a string of this? *Angel: 😅*

—————————

Lucifer and Sera, taking a selfie: 😇😝

—————————

Lute: Got a good 275 this year, sir.

Adam: HAH, awesome, pound it danger tits. *fist bumps Lute*

Adam: Yeah, yeah...love you girl.

Adam, panicking: Ohhh no, I wasn't supposed to say that. *BTS crew laughs*

Adam: Charlie, your idea is shit—fucking hell—go back, go away... *waves Charlie away, looking down embarrassed*

Charlie: *laughing her ass off*

—————————

Angel, laying in the studio bed naked: I can't believe that the first acting role I ever get requires me to moan into a mic a thousand times.

—————————

*Husk and Angel chatting before the start of a scene*

Vaggie:

(She’s the #1 HuskerDust shipper on God)

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

oooh 70 on the prompts list with shane would be so angstyyyyy plz i need to see ur thoughts on this -galaxy

This one's got a little kick to it ough

70) "After everything we've been through, you still don't think that I love you?"

......

"Honey..wh..what is this?"

"Can't you read? God, and I thought Alex was the only illiterate man in town-"

"I know what it says! But..I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

"Besides being a leech on my income for the past year and not doing a damn thing to make up for it....no."

"..are you crazy? I HAVE been doing my part! Just..take these back to Lewis and tell him you changed your mind. I'm not signing them."

"I don't need your signature. Just mine is enough to finalize it. I've already gotten everything packed for you..since you're too goddamn lazy to do it yourself."

"....what?" Tears stung Shane's eyes as he shakily set the stack of papers on the table, his vision blurring. He stared at you, seeing not an ounce of remorse on your face..but instead pure hatred. "Why would you do this behind my back? I-I thought...you-"

"What? You thought I loved you? Hah." The brief laugh that left your lips was cold. "Who could love a messed-up lowlife like you, Shane? I have a farm to take care of, a community center to restore..I can't have you slowing me down. It was a fun little fling, but now you bore me. I gotta get serious about my work."

"That's...all I was to you? A "fling"?!" A hurtful scowl formed on his face, hands shaking. "What about everything we've-?!"

"I only pitied you. And y'know, if I didn't care about Jas growing up without a father figure..I would've left you in the forest that night. I only stayed and married you to make them happy. But you blew your chance to get your act together..they're gonna be so disappointed in you."

As much as he wanted to respond with a snarky "I didn't know there was a time limit"...he was frozen on the spot, unable to say anything.

What could he say?

This was all so sudden...and just when he thought you two were doing so well and he was starting to have a genuinely positive outlook on life..

He made the horrid mistake of checking the mailbox and finding the dreaded papers.

"I'll say this was 50,000 gold well-spent." You grabbed the papers off the table, looking at the broken man before holding out your hand. "Give me that necklace. I'm gonna sell it."

"No..." Shane shook his head and clutched the mermaid pendant, tears streaking his face as he backed into the corner. "I...I-I'm so sorry, I'll try to be better! Just tell me what I can fix, a-and I'll-!!"

Suddenly you pulled out a dagger and swiped at him, causing him to flinch and shield himself, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation-

Yet he wasn't injured, but when he saw his pendant in your hands now...he felt as though you actually twisted that dagger deep into his heart.

He collapsed to his knees, devastated as you sheathed your weapon and pocketed the amulet you once tied around his neck at your wedding.

By your hands, you two were bonded in matrimony...

And by your hands, that bond was severed.

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm sick of pretending that I care for some lazy ungrateful fuck. Goodbye, Shane."

And with that, you stormed out of the house..and he was left there on the floor, his sobs filling the silence in the now empty cabin.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It was already late when you returned from your mining trip, and once you finished putting the spoils of your expedition into the shipping bin, you yawned and stretched.

The time was 1:10 AM...and your energy was super drained.

You figured Shane was already sound asleep. The idea of crawling into that cozy bed and cuddling with the man you loved had you eager to take off your boots and put your tools away.

However upon opening the door..you immediately caught a faint whiff of beer, and it left a sinking pit in your stomach.

He did bring home a six-pack case today, and he promised to have it in moderation.

But the kitchen trash showed clear evidence of recently-opened cans.

Four out of the six, in fact.

'Oh man..it happened again..'

You knew that he wasn't gonna be able to quit cold turkey just like that. It wasn't a habit he could flip off like a lightswitch, and that's a fact you've come to accept.

Although he had a few beers from time to time, it was nothing like before. And he would always let you know if he was having some....so to realize he drank over half the case tonight alone was alarming.

Why? You were only gone for a few hours..

You entered the bedroom, finding Shane still awake, hunched over on the bed's edge with his face in his hands. He looked completely torn up, and you've never seen him this bad since..

"Shane, sweetheart?"

Startled, he looked up at you, revealing his eyes to be puffy and red from crying. "O-Oh..hi. You..y-you came back?" He hoarsely asked.

"Of course I did..without having to visit Harvey, thank god." You walked over and sat beside him, frowning. "But more importantly are you okay? What's wrong?"

He tried to respond, but the memories of that nightmare made him physically incapable of doing so...and fresh tears welled in his eyes.

A choked sob came out, and as quickly as he tried covering it up--it failed as similar heartbreaking noises followed.

You didn't waste any time pulling him into a hug.

Leaning against you, he sobbed into your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt in tears. But you just hushed him and rubbed his back. He didn't smell too heavily of beer, although it made you wonder what happened tonight that was bad enough to make him relapse.

Was it...you?

Was you being away stressing him out?

Did he think you wouldn't come back-

"[Y/n]...you sure you..really love me? And all of this isn't...a-a joke?" He hiccupped softly.

Those questions made your heart sink, and you briefly pulled away to gaze at him in sadness. You knew he was still struggling with his self-confidence and self-image, often comparing himself to a "squishy bag of flesh" and feeling "too old", but for him to doubt your love?

Even after talking him off a cliff?

Even after going to the gridball game where you shared that first kiss?

Even after giving him the bouquet and mermaid pendant?

"After everything we've been through, you still don't think that I love you?" You asked softly, not with anger, but with worry.

"Just look at me, and look at every other guy in this town. You could'a had a doctor, someone who can still play gridball, a writer who lives by the sea...even that emo guy seems cool. But you chose me..."

With a sniffle, he clutched the mermaid pendant with trembling fingers. "...this pathetic..l-lowlife who doesn't do shit on this farm. I swear I'd change and get my act together, but I'm letting you down again...j-just like everyone else. And I'm so sorry...I'm such a failure." He sobbed harder.

"Wha..that's nonsense. You do more for me and this farm than you could possibly know." You cupped his face, feeling his cheeks grow wet with fresh tears. "You feed the animals, you water any crops my sprinklers could've missed...and those pepper poppers you give me help keep my energy up in the mines so I can come home safely."

"But..I can't even microwave them right." He whined. "I wanna have the energy to cook like you do-"

"What do you mean?" You frowned. "Last week, you made me a killer omelet when I went to bed angry over a Pepper Rex burning my favorite cardigan."

Shane blinked, searching his foggy brain for that memory, before it dawned on him that he actually DID wake up extra early to surprise you with an omelet he cooked on the stove. Made from Charlie's eggs, of course.

"Ah, that's right..well...I guess I'm good at some things.." He sniffled, slowly calming down.

You chuckled softly, thumbing away the rest of his tears, your fingers brushing over his scruff. He recently shaved it, but it grew back rather quickly--like a crop infused with deluxe growth fertilizer.

"You're good at being my partner, and keeping me company after a long day." You kissed him in the lips. "I love you, Shane. Nothing will change that, even if you have relapses."

"I love you, too..and 'm sorry. I just had this really bad nightmare, and I couldn't fight the urge tonight."

"I understand, I'm not angry." Bringing him back into a hug, you sighed as he squeezed you tightly. "Did you wanna talk about it? I know it's late but..I'm sure it'll help us both."

"...you promise not to laugh?"

"I promise."

"I..had a nightmare you divorced me."

"Huh..really?"

"Yeah, you filed the papers behind my back and said some...pretty hurtful stuff, like how it's "the best 50,000 gold you've ever spent", how what we had was just "a fling", and...how I'm leeching off of you." The longer he went on, the more he struggled to swallow back further tears. "And..you took the pendant back by force. With that dagger you always keep on you."

"....."

"I-It's stupid, but it...just felt so real. And when I woke up and you didn't come back from the mines yet, I thought maybe..it actually happened."

"Shane." You shook your head, leaning back again to bring his face into your hands. "No way would I EVER put that much gold towards something that stupid. This farmwork..it's so much to one person to handle, and I'm forever grateful you're here to help me. You're doing your best, and that's all I could ever ask for."

"Thank you.." He nodded, finally realizing that what he dreamed was nothing more than a ridiculous nightmare.

You smiled and kissed him again, making this one last a bit longer before you pulled away. "I'll get you some water, okay? I don't want my baby to have a hangover in the morning."

Shane sheepishly returned the smile, allowing you to get up and go to the kitchen, while he got comfortable in bed and patiently waited for your return. His hand went to the pendant on his chest, relieved it was still there.

Even though you were probably dead-tired from the mines..you still took the time to care for him when he hit another low. You didn't see him as a chore or a leech on your life.

You saw him as your husband, your soulmate..someone you were willing to love through thick and thin even when some days were harder than others.

Of course, his depression might tell him otherwise, and manifest those insecurities into nightmares.

But you'll still be here for him no matter what.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

Azriel x Third-oldest-archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: I was in the mood for a writing a heated argument that turns into an even hotter make-out session, but then it got slightly depressing so…

warning: slight angst but not much because I can’t take that emotionally :’)

word count: 3,888

-Part 2[*]-

“How was she today?”

You fight the urge to clench your jaw. The harsh snapping of your book is the limit to how far you’ll allow the leash on your anger to slip. Jealousy? Frustration? Whatever complicated nonsense he’s gotten you tangled up in.

“No hello? What about a how are you today?” You ask tersely. So much for keeping your emotions on a tight leash. His brow narrows a little—you don’t usually bubble over when he asks how your older sister is doing. “You weren’t practically bed-ridden for months,” he replies slowly, gauging your response carefully.

Instantly, guilt weighs in the pit of your stomach, and you look away quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” you soothe hastily. Gods, why did you say that to him? You’re trying to gain his favour, not make him think you’re an ungrateful, self-absorbed sister. “She was fine. We did some baking—well, Elain did some baking, I was reading something. It’s a new book, actually! Because I finished the last one, which was actually pretty good, but this one I think is set in the last war and…” you trail off when you notice the patient smile he’s giving you.

Right. He’s not interested in what book you’re reading, or how you spent the day. He’s not interested in you full stop. He’s interested in Elain. You fight the way disappointment wants to twist the edges of your mouth, instead plastering on a smile that you hope he reads as oops, look at me! There I go again, haha.

“Well,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat, “she made some cupcakes—I think they were vanilla, and she put something that looked like jam inside. Really good. I’m sure she’d be happy for you to try one—if you ask,” you smile, adding in the details he wants to hear. For the Spymaster, he’s surprisingly open about his interest in Elain to you. But maybe that’s because you’re always so willing to answer any question you can for him.

“I’m glad,” he says, something glimmering in his hazel eyes. “And there were no silent spots? No abrupt changes?” You return your attention to the book in your hands, fingers running over the bound edges, “she was fine all the way. You never would have guessed everything she’s been through.” He hums, pleased with her progress. It’s a sound of contentment, from the back of his throat that you’re certain rumbles throughout his chest. It’s an effort to keep your attention on the book.

It’s been more than two years since the three of you were tossed into the Cauldron. Feyre and Rhysand are happy, Nesta’s made progress on healing herself and is now alarming in love with Cassian, Elain’s taking large steps in a good direction, too. You remember vividly the time when she would hardly utter a word for days, hardly shift her gaze from a strange spot in the middle-distance, how worried she made you and Nesta. And Feyre, obviously, but things were a little…strange at the time. They always had been.

You spent the first few months struggling to hold a meal down, often being wracked with spasms of anxiety and flushes of hot and cold. There was a time you would black out if you stood up too fast, and now you can hold down three meals a day without needing to run to the nearest latrine provided you don’t eat too quickly. You feel like yourself again, but fresher. You know you aren’t the same as you were, though. Not after the Cauldron, but you had no choice but to adapt. With eternity ahead of you, you couldn’t stand the thought of spending it weakened and frail—hardly capable of standing without feeling dizzy.

Maybe you are a little jealous that Elain’s getting all the attention. She’d always been the centre of Nesta’s attention, and while you were on fairly good terms with your oldest sister throughout your childhood, you were no competition for her sharp mind and sharper tongue. Feyre was the wild one, Elain the pretty one, Nesta the cunning one—then there was you.

What’s your place in your dysfunctional family?

“It’s good she seems to be steadily improving,” Azriel says, breaking you from your inner thoughts. You nod dutifully, agreeing with him. “She smiled for most of it, too,” you add, remembering how pleased she’d been when they came out how she wanted—after numerous attempts. “Though she was covered in flour—her hair was practically white!” You laugh fondly, covering your mouth with your hand.

A faint smile appears on his lips and, for just a moment, you let yourself pretend he’s smiling at the sound of your laugh.

But that’s all you have to report back to him, and even if you’ve pleased him, he’ll be finding an excuse to slip off now that he knows she’s been fine. You’ll admit, it’s difficult to remember she’s your sister when he so clearly would choose her over you. It’s not even a competition.

So you swallow your nerves, tuck your hands behind your back and peer up at him. “Hey, you read right?” You ask, keeping a pleasant smile on your lips—lest he think you’re too eager. He blinks out of whatever thought he was having, clearing his gaze as he looks down at you, then nods. “I’ve been known to pick up a book from time to time,” he answers. He’s in a good mood, it seems.

“Do you have a favourite?” You ask, tipping your head at a slight angle, appearing to look at the books stacked on the shelves. “I feel like I’ve been rereading the same story over and over again and want to try something else.”

“You’re asking me to pick just one?” He replies, quirking his brow. The smile that comes to your mouth isn’t as fake, or as controlled as you would like—it stretches your lips thin, showing the gaps either side of the top row of your teeth.

“Okay, give me a couple to have a nose at. So if one bores me to tears, I can pick up another,” you laugh gently, pulling the book tight to your chest, worried you’re showing too much. Does he know how your days often centre around whether he’ll seek you out? The too-short conversations that often revolve around your sister?

“Does Elain read?” He asks, tentatively, and it’s like a stone to your cheek. You clutch the book tighter to your chest, taking in a slow, quiet breath. “I can ask her? Subtly, of course,” you force a smile, fingers digging into the spine of the book. He shakes his head, “I’ll do it. I’d like to see how she’s doing for myself.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “to be fair, she might be sick of them for how long she was in here last year. They might be an eyesore by now,” you laugh softly. But instead he frowns disapprovingly, like you shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense. And suddenly that urge appears, the urge to confront him about his behaviour—why he never talks to you for you.

“Azriel…?” You say, the smile slipping from your lips, though your make sure your eyes still sparkle a little, keeping them partially crinkled. But then you bite the inside of your lip, and the rest of the mask fades, leaving you raw, and more than a bit scared. If you overthink it, it’ll never get done.

“Why do you…I don’t feel like you ever…like we ever talk. Us,” you say, then flush at the word—so intimate. Us. “What do you mean?” He asks, standing sturdy before you. A seed of frustration sprouts within, but you push the irritation away. “I just…You’re always asking me about Elain.” His brow narrows a bit, and you want to take the words back.

“What else?”

You look up at him, all beauty and classical grace, and such unearthly, ethereal lines and angles to him you wish you knew how to paint like Feyre. “What do you mean, ‘what else’?” You ask, a little hurt.

“I mean, is there something else you want to talk about?” He asks, gently. Carefully.

My book would be nice. I’d like you to ask how I’m doing today, how I’m feeling, what I want to do.

“Something that doesn’t involve my sister, would be nice,” you laugh, giving him a smile that reads, can you really blame me for not wanting to talk about Elain all the time? He doesn’t smile like you’d hoped, but frowns. “Do you not like her?” He asks instead, “did something happen between you two?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “No—nothing happened, we’re fine. Right as rain. It’s just…you always ask after her, and I feel like that’s the only reason you approach me.” You swallow, having begin to put the truth out there for him. “You seem fine talking about other things with Feyre and Nesta, but I can’t remember the last time we talked about something that wasn’t my sister, and I… I don’t really…” You trail off, watching him nervously.

His frown only deepens as he takes you in. “I’m asking out of concern for her well-being, you understand that, don’t you?” He asks.

“I know, I know, but…are you?” You reply, managing to reign in your wince at the blunt question. When he only looks at you without response, you push forward. “I mean, you…you like her, don’t you? That’s why you ask all these questions? Why you care more than the others do?” You say, fighting to keep your voice even as the words come out. “And there’s nothing wrong with that,” you quickly amend, “but, you know, it would be nice to talk to you for you. And you for me. And, you know, she does have a…mate, so, I just thought—”

“What did you think?”

You blink at the sharp tone, his eyes colder than before, more sealed off. Still, you square your shoulders, keeping the book tucked tight against your front. “Well, that, maybe, it would be better to try somewhere else? Instead of investing in someone who’s practically already taken?”

“She doesn’t love him.”

“I know she says that, but—”

“But nothing,” he says, brow narrowing. “The mating bond can’t force someone to fall in love. If she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t have to have him.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet beneath his penetrating gaze. “Feyre and Rhys worked out,” you manage, eyes flitting away from his, focusing on the book in your hands. “And she didn’t love him at first.” The paper’s old and crisp—worn with age. “Then Nesta and Cassian also got together, too,” you add, the pads of your fingers dragging over the pages, “and you saw what Nesta was like. How badly she was struggling. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere but destruction, but—”

“Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?”

Again you blink at him, caught off guard by the ice in his tone. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to pursue her, Azriel,” you appease—try to. “I’m just saying maybe you could try looking…elsewhere, you know? Maybe try something with someone else? That won’t end badly?”

“You don’t know it will end badly,” he replies, all former warmth gone, no trace of it in his beautifully designed features. “It will for someone. Even if you and Elain do somehow end up together, what about Lucien? If it were Feyre and Rhys, or Nesta and Cass, would you think it okay for someone to try and separate them? When they were chosen to be together?”

“Bad pairings happen. Rhys’ parents are a fine example.”

“Yes, but they’re rather suited for one another, don’t you think?” You ask, pushing forward, “Elain’s always excelled at social events. She easily settles into the flow of conversation—she knows what to say, and how to act to put people at ease around her. And Lucien does the same. He knows how to draw ties between people where there seem to be none, just like her. He knows how to keep conversation flowing without pushing it, how to keep things at the right pace, just like her.”

“While you…” you pause, and his jaw tightens.

“Go on,” he says icily, “tell me why think I’m undeserving of her.”

“I don’t think its a case of deserving, Azriel,” you say quickly. “But you…well, you try to blend into any corner you can when there are more than three people in the room.”

His brow narrows, “I didn’t realise you’d been keeping tabs on me.”

“Yes, well, you’re the only one I’m interested in, so.” Your voice is soft, bladed, honed. Resigned. You lips press into a thin line as your eyes flicker away from his, too embarrassed to look even in his general vicinity. You had never anticipated laying your heart to bare to be so…scary? Terrifying?

Anti-climactic.

Admitted in such a quiet, understated way. As if he isn’t the first one you’ve ever felt so strongly for. As if he isn’t the first one who’s given you a vague understanding of why some women were so happy to do whatever their husbands told them. Why they were so happy to live in subservience, and why that’s not what it was.

“You think you’re deserving of me?” He asks, coldly. Shame and embarrassment heat your features, but you manage to shoot back, “do you think you’re deserving of her?” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to prevent yourself from being intimidated by his height, and muscle, and beauty, and overall damned attractiveness that makes you weak in the knees.

His upper lip twitches in a repressed snarl, anxiety spiking in your chest. “Answer my question,” he says, softly, an edge to his voice. You swallow, “answer mine.” You’ve never demanded something from someone before, but it’s out there now, and it feels surprisingly good to insist on something for yourself.

He regards you silently, and it takes a remarkable strength to stand still beneath his icy gaze—knowing that he’s judging what he’s seeing. Weighing if you’re worth his answer.

“I think I gave a hint of my interest for her,” he says, eyes glittering with something cold that you’re unaccustomed to have turned on yourself. “And she reciprocated with her own signs.” He stares you down, unyielding, and powerful, and you want to run and hide. “What about you?”

You purse your lips to keep them from trembling as heat crawls beneath your skin with humiliation. But—no. Get over it. Make it through. Survive something else. “I think I’m tired, and hurt from knowing that you only talk to me because you want to know how my sister is doing,” you confess, voice wobbling. “I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.”

There’s no bite to your words, and they come out softer and weaker than you had expected. You feel tired, and drained. Eyelids heavy and heart rate spiking every other beat, numerous crescent shaped indentations on the heel of your palms.

“Maybe you’d be better off turning your affections somewhere they’d be appreciated,” he says, icily. Your heart aches, and it takes a few humiliating moments for you to gather yourself enough that you won’t burst into tears when you again find your voice. “That’s all you have to say?” You manage, fingers trembling behind your back.

“Maybe if you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest,” he snarls softly, eyes glittering with cold rage.

It feels like a smack to the face, a punch to your stomach. Your eyes go wide, then blur, hot pressure building steadily. You dig your nails into the binding of your book, and move to walk past him—at least preserve what little dignity is still intact by refusing to let him see you cry. He already barely sees you as a woman, you won’t win any points with your blubbering. He wants a female, not a girl.

But he seems to realise what he’s said and turns, gripping your upper arm to keep you from leaving. You allow him to stop you, if only because demanding he let you go would show your tears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly, and you can hear the pity in his voice. “I spoke in anger, I did not mean to upset—”

“Get those hands off me,” you snarl, turning on him with defensive ire blazing in your pupils. Rage fresh from the forges.

He recoils as if you burned him. Retreats a step.

“Not nice, is it? Targeting someone’s insecurity—rubbing salt into an open wound?” You snap, blinking away the tears and pulling your arm back to yourself. “Don’t come asking me for updates on Elain again. I don’t want to talk to you if your only interest is in getting between her legs.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you debate just running from the library—you can feel the storm in him brewing, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him. But he doesn’t wait for you to decide, because the storm breaks right then and there. “At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed,” he says softly, hazel piercing into you. “Can you say the same?”

Mortification flushes your skin, mouth parting in humiliation. “I—…This is inappropriate,” you hiss to hide your burning shame. Because no, it’s always been Elain and Nesta to be pursued. His eyes gleam, reading your thoughts clear as day in your expression. “Thought not.”

Pain twists viciously across your chest, heart strings being plucked within an inch of snapping—pulled taught around your throat. “If I’ve never taken a man to bed, it is not because I am unwanted. Rather that I would not waste my self nor my time on someone I was not sure about. That I did not want with everything I have,” you whisper hoarsely—the final layer stripped bare for him to slice and dissect.

But then he steps forward, and without thinking, you yield a step. He’s not perturbed, and takes another. “You admit you have no experience in bed, yet think you could handle me?” He snarls softly, wings flaring ever so slightly at his back, shadows thickening. “I don’t think it’s a matter of handling you, Azriel.” His name is a little more than a whisper from your mouth. One he tracks eagerly.

“No?” He asks, stepping forward again, slowly herding you. “Then what?” You swallow, trying to stand your ground, but the sense of him is so overpowering, he threatens to obliterate every ounce of your own self. “I think it would be a matter of learning. And if you think I’m unprepared, then Elain is definitely no better off, so that clearly isn’t your issue.”

“At least she’s shared the bed of a man before, at least she would know what to do.” You don’t correct him that you have, in fact, shared a bed with a male before. A few in fact, by this point. Nesta’s the bad influence. He steps forward again, and he’s towering over you, hazel glittering between his shadows. “At least she wouldn’t lose her head over the slightest touch.”

And then his hands have landed softly on your hips, and your head is silent. Only his touch on your body, his warmth on your skin, seeping into your clothes. Does he find your shape pleasing? Is he feeling this mind-numbing shock? The tingling at his fingertips where they’re pressing into you?

For a too-long moment you just stare at him, thoughts eddying about without a destination, floating throughout your conscious.

“Still in there?” He taunts quietly, pushing you back, turning you gently as he feels the heat radiating from your skin, the stiffness to your body beneath his touch. It’s only when a hard, wooden shelf digs into the base of your spine that you realise he’s pushed you against the case. You open your mouth—to say what, you don’t know. He beats you to it either way. “You want to prove you haven’t already lost your mind?” He says softly, voice like a lover’s touch. You can do nothing but stare at him, panting softly, completely at his mercy. “Tell me to stop, or I’ll keep going. Say no, and it finishes,” he murmurs, keeping you pressed tight between his hips and the book case. “But I think you’ve already lost.”

You blink up at him, hardly a thought behind your eyes.

In the back of your mind, you’re struggling frantically to decode his words, translate them into something that makes sense. And then his challenge clicks, and you take a sudden, deep breath. You need to tell him to stop, to show him you’re still in control of yourself—that you haven’t lost your head over the slightest touch.

But then his mouth latches over yours, tongue prying your lips apart, and your efforts of rebellion are washed away. You go all warm, and soft, and pliable in his hands, melting like butter as you coat him. His piercing hazel eyes lock with yours as his mouth slants, one hand rising to the curve of your spine, pulling you against his front.

How are you supposed to stand against him when he annihilates everything that you are with the softest brush of his fingers—fingers that are now tracing up the path of your spine, reaching that final notch as they tangle with delicious pressure in your hair. His gaze cuts into you as his tongue drags across your own, flicking at the roof of your mouth.

He’s utterly unruffled, and you feel like you’re on the verge of bursting into flame right there, setting him ablaze in the process.

But then you’re again subverting his expectations, your hands flying over his shoulders as you tilt your head to allow him deeper. The only sign of surprise he allows is a blink of his eyes, but you’re already lifting onto your tiptoes—the swell of your breasts dragging over his chest in a way you must’ve learned males like. But where would you have learned?

Your arms tighten, then your hips are pressing against him, and—you’re fighting back, he realises. And for the first time in a long, long time, he feels excitement flare deep inside him as you stride to meet him. No matter that you aren’t Elain: he’s hungry, and you can make your own decisions. If you want him to stop, you need only say the word, and he’ll be off you. But if you don’t…well, he’s not going to be the one who backs out first.

He has a damn point to prove—that you have no idea what you’re getting into with him.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

[gay-dorito-dust]

So like, hear me out, bill can get drunk from like alcohol, (or something weird inter dimensional drink) but either way he can get drunk like a human. Does that also mean he can get sick? Can you make a bill x reader where reader is taking care of Bill while he's sick and it's basically just:

reader: lie the fuck down man, your sick as shit

Bill: NO, I DON'T *NEED* REST, I'M AN ALL SEEING GOD WITH INFINITE POW- *fucking passes out*

‘Bill please go back to bed.’ You groaned for what felt like the tenth time that day when you saw the floating silhouette of the triangular demon from the doorway

‘No! I’m not like you flesh bags! I don’t get sick!’ He says as he then proceeds to cough an abnormal amount, to say that Bill’s coughing fit sounded like the pits of hell opening up was an understatement, you still remembered that he sent someone insane when they accidentally saw his endoskeleton when he was eating. Even the thought of that made you uneasy and a little queasy.

‘Well what would you call that?’ You replied sarcastically as you moved to look at him, unimpressed when you saw he had draped himself with the blanket you gave him like he was fighting off the cold within him, and wearing blue striped pyjamas all the while his eye/mouth was half lidded and almost lifeless looking. In that moment Bill cipher didn’t look like the all knowing and powerful demon, but instead a sick little puppy that was too stubborn to listen to commands from someone else.

‘Realising the demons.’ Bill snarled, he moved to look at what you were doing that was so important that it made you leave the bed so early. ‘What’re you doing, aren’t you supposed to be serving me like you flesh bags should?’ He then asked as he floated to your side to stare down at the pot of soup as though it had insulted him. ‘I’m making you soup for your sick little self your ungrateful shit.’ You said as you gently pushed him aside so that you could make sure that you weren’t burning the soup by overindulging him with your attention.

‘Has it got deer teeth in it?’ Bill then asks, his voice was rough from all the coughing and he looked at though he winced with every words, and without hesitation you offered him a soothing cherry cough sweet, and for once Bill didn’t fight you on this and popped it into his eye/mouth, letting you knew it was indeed bad if the dream demon wasn’t putting much of a fight about being treated as though he was weaker.

‘Unfortunately no it does not have deer teeth in it, besides I don’t know what the boiling point of deer teeth would be, if they had one.’ You tell him as you began to ladle some of the soup into a small bowl. But before you could blink, bill snapped his fingers and soon enough there was a layer of small, half melted deer teeth on top of his soup. You looked over at him just to see him shrug beneath the blanket you gave him.

‘Deer teeth makes everything better, you flesh bags are so far behind on the times.’ Bill said condescendingly as he made some deer teeth appear in his small hands but before he could eat one of them, you were quick to snatch them away from him as he cried out in surprise. ‘Give them back!’

‘Not until you eat your soup and go back to bed.’ You told him sternly as you held the packet of deer teeth away from the whiney sick dream demon that was currently pressing himself up against the side of your face.

‘Which one do you want me to do? Bed or soup, you humans are so unnecessarily confusing.’ Bill whines again but this time he couldn’t find the strength to keep himself floating as soon he was resting in the crook of your arm, fighting back the need for sleep out of a necessity to prove that he was above such a thing as illness, but found himself snuggling up to your warmth more so then ever. ‘I am the almighty bill cipher and I will not..not let this…illness get the better of the dream demon.’ He murmurs to himself and you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he could be when he’s not making your life a living hell.

‘Sure you are, now let’s get you to bed your stubbornness.’ You said as you carried bill in one arm and his deer teeth laced soup in the other after you finished up ladling his soup and putting the pot in the sink to wash at a later date, before making your way back up to your room as Bill murmurs threats as he looks up at you with a half hearted glare.

‘I could end you weakling, I really could so I wouldn’t try me.’ He would say but with his sore voice, blanketed form, and striped pyjamas, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were being intimidated by a sick puppy.

‘I know you can.’ You replied.

‘Don’t mock me.’ Bill whines once more as he threw a weak punch to your bicep with his small hand. ‘I am not needing anyone to look after me, I can do it by myself.’ He adds as though flaunting his hyper independence.

‘I’m not mocking you, I’m helping you and secondly that didn’t even hurt, and thirdly what do you normally do when get sick?’ You asked as when you arrived to your room you placed bill down on the bed, setting the soup aside on the bedside table as you tucked bill tightly beneath the covers. The triangle demon shrugs as he feels his mind becomes foggy with the need to sleep, he hasn’t felt this weak in a long, long time and now here he was being pampered and looked after by someone he deems weaker by comparison; He hates it but there wasn’t much energy left in him to do anything other than sleep.

‘Nothing because I’m not of a weakling species like you.’ He replied and you scoffed.

‘Sounds about right, anyways go to sleep and you can have your cold ass deer teeth soup when you wake up.’ You told him as you stood up to leave the room, only to feel a little hand grab ahold of your shirt but as you looked at him to say something, bill was already asleep but his grip on your shirt was tight. So you sat yourself down on the chair by the bed, trying to make yourself feel comfortable before falling asleep yourself, knowing the this scenario will repeat until the bastard felt better again.

So until then, you could rest without having the worry that a floating Dorito chip wasn’t going to faint on you anytime soon.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO SATORU x FEM READER

The Zenins want Megumi. Gojo isn’t having it.

wc — 1.7k

tags — one suggestive line after “those girls are better off without you” if you want to avoid it, set after 棠, part of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together

Gojo’s been in the doghouse since last night. Not literally, obviously - though he might have preferred it if you were there with him, at least. He’d take anything over being kicked out of your shared bedroom and being forced to sleep on the couch. 

If you had it your way, you’d prolong his punishment, but you can’t. Not when, as he told you last night, the Zenins are coming today to wrest Megumi from your custody. 

Fat chance. 

You’d die before you let that happen. 

Gojo’s not too keen on either of those outcomes. For the first time in his life, he’s taking the pacifist’s route and talking it out, though you’re sure his version of talking involves more insults than most people’s. 

He thought about simply having it out with the elders, but it’s not worth it. Not when he has a plan for the future of Jujutsu Society. Not when he has you, Megumi, and Tsumiki. He’s playing the long game. He can’t afford to screw it up now. 

Being a family man really has ruined him. 

Zenin Keiko is a tall woman with a severe black bob and the characteristic Zenin look of perpetual contempt. She’s Naoya’s cousin, alright. 

“Twice-removed,” Gojo whispers to you. “Or illegitimate. Something like that, I can’t remember.” 

“Shut up,” you whisper back out of the corner of your mouth. “She’s going to hear you.” 

Welcoming a Zenin into your home feels like blasphemy, though you suppose Gojo is the closest thing Jujutsu society has to a god. 

Gojo’s unimpressed by her, mostly because he feels like the Zenins are mocking him. It’s not like anyone can take him on, but to send someone who has no battle capabilities feels like an insult.  

Keiko is an auxiliary manager with no cursed technique to speak of besides a weak barrier. It’s a wonder she has the nerve to speak to Gojo. The Zenins truly did not care about her if they sent her as the proxy to undermine your roles as the Fushiguro children’s guardians. In fact, you suspect that’s the precise reason she was chosen - because she’s expendable. 

Keiko, to her credit, shows no sign of fear. 

“I’d like to meet the children, Mr. Gojo. It’ll give me a good grasp of what the situation is.” 

“Hell no,” Gojo outright laughs in her face. “I’m not letting a Zenin near my brats. Your-“

“Gojo.” You squeeze his knee. Cooperate. 

“I’ll go get them,” he says begrudgingly.

The two of you sandwich the children between you on the couch. Tsumiki sits on Gojo’s left. Megumi sits on your right. That way, the two that are most likely to fight are separated. It’s a strategized united front. 

“Megumi, do you like your guardians? Do you like staying here?” 

Megumi looks at you. You smile at him encouragingly - and there Keiko goes, scribbling away in her notebook. She’s probably saying something about how Megumi is so scared of you he won’t answer the question unless you give him permission. 

“Are you sure? Forgive me, but Gojo seems a little…immature for a parent.” 

A direct attack right out of the gates. Gojo objects to this very accurate assessment of his character. 

“He’s fine, I guess,” Megumi says. There’s more scribbling. You’re starting to hate the sound of pen on paper. “I like-“ 

He looks at you. There’s a tiny blush on his cheeks, just the faintest hint of red. More quietly, he says, “It’s fine, cause she takes care of us.” 

Gojo stares at him, slack-jawed. “Are you kidding me? You are one ungrateful brat. Who found you? Who took you in?” 

Tsumiki chimes in, “We like Gojo a lot too! He’s fun.” 

Keiko ignores her completely, focusing on Megumi instead. Your distaste for her grows. 

“Would you say that Gojo has an active role in taking care of you?” 

“Why aren’t you asking Tsumiki anything?” Megumi interrupts. “Her opinion’s important too.” 

Keiko gives him a strained smile. Gojo reaches behind Tsumiki on the couch to ruffle Megumi’s hair. He only tolerates this for five seconds before he shakes his head to get him off. 

“He loves me,” Gojo says. 

“I have Stockholm syndrome,” Megumi says. ‘Help,’ he mouthes. 

“He’s joking,” Tsumiki says nervously.

You’ve given up on making them behave. It’s just not happening. 

Keiko seems to have given up too. Rather than continue prodding Megumi, she turns to Gojo. 

“How often are you home?”

“Basically every day,” Gojo lies. He does try his best, but it’s more like every other day. Such is the fate of the strongest sorcerer. 

“Don’t want my baby all alone, poor little thing.” 

He catches your look and cackles. “No, the other one. My other baby,” and the kiss he presses to your knuckles is so tender it melts your heart. 

Keiko makes an uncomfortable expression. “Please try to stay focused, Mr. Gojo.” 

Megumi gags loudly. Tsumiki pinches his arm to get him to shut up and he yelps. Keiko narrows her eyes and makes another note. 

“I understand how Gojo might take responsibility for the children,” Keiko says, directing her attention to you, “but how did you come into the picture. Are you a girlfriend-“

“Wife,” Gojo interjects. 

Keiko’s entire body does an approximation of what it would look if a human had a screenshot function. 

“Aren’t you children?”

You don’t like Keiko at all, but you respect the balls it takes to talk to Gojo like that. All the Zenins seem to have that death wish of wanting to mouth off to the strongest. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. 

Gojo shrugs. “If I’m old enough for the missions you send me on, I’m old enough to take care of kids, right? How hard can it be?”

You pinch his thigh. “Gojo.” 

“What? It is easy. You just give them a bunch of lollipops and call it a day.” 

Keiko’s writing is now background noise to you. “Are you still doing that? I told you-“

“It’s fine! All kids need sugar to grow. I had a sweet tooth when I was their age.”

“And that’s probably the reason why you still have one now! Except it’s rotting your teeth-“

“It’s not-“

“It is!”

“Don’t be so uptight!”

“How does it look if I’m always saying no to him and you’re always saying yes? It isn’t fair, Satoru. Parenting has to be a team effort.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about you playing good cop, bad cop with him!” 

“Have you gone insane? We went over this! He likes you more than me! There is no good cop, bad cop when he just takes your side every single time.” 

“Excuse me,” Keiko says. She’s somehow managed to look a complex combination of perplexed, annoyed, and satisfied. “Please take care of your lovers’ tiffs outside of this interview. I will say that this doesn’t seem like an environment particularly conducive to raising children, however.” 

“What do you know?” Gojo says rudely. “The only reason you’re even doing this interview is because I’m letting you.” 

Normally, you would tell him off, but in front of the Zenins? You’re a united front. You place a hand on his forearm and look down your nose at the woman in front of you as best as you can when she’s taller than most people you meet. 

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” you say. 

“You agreed to an interview,” she says. 

“An interview, not an inquisition.”

“You can’t refuse a request from the elders without consequences,” she says, as patiently as she would speak to a child. It’s condescending. 

“Are you threatening my wife?” 

When you look to your side, Gojo’s face is shadowed. His eyes are storm dark and frightening. Keiko can’t hide her visceral reaction. 

She forgets her coat on her way out, she’s in such a hurry to leave. Gojo takes it and disappears. 

While he’s away, you let Megumi and Tsumiki return to their rooms. They’re muttering amongst themselves, but you don’t pry. Children need their space, too. You’ll talk to them about it later. 

He’s back within a minute. 

“What did you do with it?” You’re bracing yourself for the answer. 

“I just sent a message,” he says, as cheerily as if nothing had happened. “Think we passed that?” 

“Gojo, I think that’s the first test you’ve ever failed. Did you see the way she was writing during the last twenty minutes? And Megumi and Tsumiki! Every time they said something, she made a face!” 

Gojo shrugs, still so certain of his place in the hierarchy. One day, the elders will get tired of him throwing his weight around like Jujutsu’s one and only tyrant, but not someday soon if they want to keep their heads. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m not going to make Megumi and Tsumiki act like repressed little puppet children just so that they can find some way to snipe them out from under us anyways. Who knows, maybe we’ll teach the Zenins a thing or two about healthy child raising. I hear they have two girls now. One of them has no cursed energy. Should we kidnap some more children?” 

“Like you know anything about healthy parenting,” you snark. “Those girls are better off without you.” 

“Does being mean to me get you off or something?” 

“Do you want to find out?” 

“I would love to,” he purrs, sliding a hand under your shirt just so slightly so his nails prick at your lower stomach. You grab his wrist. 

“Sorry,” you say, your stomach churning at the joke gone wrong. “I can’t.”

He stops immediately. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just- They want Megumi badly enough to go to the higher ups. I know what they do to their children. I can’t let him go there, Satoru. I can’t.” 

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I can’t stop thinking about those girls.”

“Come here,” he says. 

You lean closer to him. He lifts his arm so easily, without thinking. When you slide under it, you fit into him perfectly. 

Now that you’re safely tucked under his arm, you feel sheltered from anything that could happen.  “I don’t want to give the kids to the Zenins. They’re monsters. And they would make monsters out of them.” 

“That’s only if they take them away,” Gojo says, his smile fanged and vicious. 

“And if they do?”

“I hope they try.”

You trust him. 

You know he’ll keep his word. If Gojo says Megumi and Tsumiki won’t be going to the Zenins as long as he’s alive, then they won’t be going at all. 

[ziggyzolch]

Queen Bee-atch Ⅳ (Regina George x Reader)

Warnings: underage drinking, cursing, attempted assault

✮✮✮

Grass tickles your bare feet as you run around the field, picking pretty flowers and humming random tunes. Falling to the ground, you stare up at the sky. You turn your head to the sound of little footsteps approaching. A little kitten appears next to you on the ground and paws at your cheek, pressing harder and harder with each poke. How can something so tiny press so hard? The kitten opens its mouth, but instead of a meow, it lets out a, "Dude, wake up!"

You jump up in your bed, falling off and landing on your ass. Two voices laughing at you catch your attention. You look up and find Janis and Damien laughing their asses off, Cady standing behind them with her hands joined at her front, smiling. "What the hell, guys!" You stand up, rubbing your palm into your eyes, "What're you guys doing here?"

Janis adjusts your blanket as she takes a seat on your bed, "Cady told us what happened, we came to check on you." She says while pulling you down to sit next to her. "It's nothing, seriously." You roll your eyes at her. Cady joins in, "Look, there's a Halloween party tonight, you should come with!" Your groan is interrupted by Damien, "Girl, you look horrible. It'd be good for you to go out and get your mind off of things. If anything happens, me and Janis are waiting for you at her house."

Never in a million years would you be caught dead at a high school house party, but you don't think they're going to take no for an answer. "You need a distraction, some fun! You do know what fun is, right?" You shove her lightly with a smile on your face. Cady celebrates at your reluctant nod, "It'll be so fun!"

✮✮✮

Spoiler alert, it was not fun. The crowding and loud sounds were starting to become overstimulating, and Cady had ditched you to look for Aaron the second you reached. You were clad in a short black dress with fake blood smeared on the bottom half of your face. In the 15 minutes since you reached, you've been pushed, cursed at, and almost thrown up on. You were now leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing your 5th cup of mystery alcohol. There was no way you'd stay sober at a party like this. You thank whatever god is out there that your tolerance was low. The familiar buzz had made itself known 4 drinks ago, and you were now borderline drunk, watching Shane Oman approaching you.

Regina had been watching you take shot after shot from the other side of the room. Her plan was to drag Aaron away from Cady and guilt-trip him into getting back with her, but she couldn't bring herself to take her eyes off of you. The memory of you running out of her room crying was still fresh in her mind. God! Why is she being like this? Who even invited you!? Pushing you to the back of her mind, she stomps towards Aaron, dragging him away with the intention of carrying out her plan, when she notices Oman attempting to get with you.

You were frozen up, your feeble attempts to push him away weren't working. "Come on, you want this. Think of this as your apology for being an ungrateful bitch-" A punch lands on his jaw before he could continue. Using all your strength, you lift your head up and see a familiar senior readjusting his stance. "Thank you, Aaron, I'll take it from here," Regina smiles gratefully at him as he drags a barely conscious Shane out of the party.

Her attempts to wrap your shoulder around her were stopped by you weakly shoving her away. "F-fuck you, b-bitch," You slur out while swaying on your feet. Regina sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Do you have a ride? Do you know how you're getting back home?" You squint your eyes at her, about to reply, when you fall into her arms, mumbling incoherent insults. "That's what I thought." She grunts, placing her hands under your armpits and lifting you upright. "I'm good, I'm good-" Regina's eyes widen as you turn, throw up, then fall to the ground. "Gross, gross, gross, gross..." Regina gags as she picks you up from where you were lying in your own vomit.

"Move!" Regina bumps into Cady on her way to the front door, ignoring her calling after her.

"Hey! What the hell happened?" Cady yells over the loud music.

"Maybe you'd know if you didn't ditch her for a boy!" Regina snaps, adjusting her hold on you.

"Oh fuck you! I saw you about to chat it up with Aaron, and she was fine by herself!"

"No she wasn't! She's like an antisocial puppy, why would she be fine at a party?"

A groan coming from you stops Cady from retorting.

Sighing, she looks at Aaron then back to Regina, "Now's not the time. Please take her back to yours. I'll call her mother and tell her she'll be staying at mine."

As much as Regina wanted to argue that Cady brought you here, so she should be taking care of you, she takes a deep breath and walks away, shoulder bumping Cady for good measure. Being the bigger person really suits her.

✮✮✮

You were being insufferable. Throughout the whole car ride back to her house, you kept making lame angel jokes, which she assumed were meant to be insulting. She was now wrestling you into her bathroom.  Your whine bounces around the bathroom walls as Regina finally manages to place you on the edge of her bathtub. "Sit still and lift your arms up, puppy" Regina doesn't let her eyes linger on your body as she peals your dress off of you. 

After pointing out where the body wash and shampoo was and making sure you were good to wash up on your own, she exits the bathroom and takes out clothes for both of you. She rushes into the bathroom after hearing you call out her name. "I'm done" you say, avoiding eye contact.  The shower had sobered you up enough to feel embarrassed about how you were acting.  She smirks at your sudden shyness.

After handing you a towel and waiting for you to cover up, she leads you to her bed. "I'll be back, okay? Gotta wash your vomit off of me." She laughs at your glare and walks away.

✮✮✮

It's been 10 minutes since you woke up and you haven't moved from your spot, staring at the ceiling, mortified. God! You can't face Regina after yesterday. Sneaking out without letting her know was your only option. You put on the first pair of shoes you find as quietly as possible. 'I should become a spy' You thought immediately before bumping straight into her bedroom door.

 Regina jumps up, now awake, and finds you at her door rubbing your head. The second you notice that she's up, you move to open her door, but are stopped by her hand on your shoulder.

"How are you so fast-"

"You're leaving already?" Regina interrupts.

You roll your eyes, "What do you want, Regina?"

"Seriously? You're being a bitch after I took care of your drunk ass?"

You could feel heat creeping up your neck. "Sorry. Thank you, really, but I have to go."

"No, fuck! Can we please talk?"

You really didn't want to talk about her making fun of your weight after she saw you naked, but you knew she wouldn't stop, so you compromised, "Look, I am really busy this whole weekend. I give you full permission to drag me away if you find me at school, though."

 "Okay." She really wanted to talk to you now, but this was better than nothing. You bid her a goodbye, making sure to avoid her mother on the way out. You truly had no idea why she even cares about your opinion of her, but you figure she felt bad for you after realizing who you were and was trying to make up for it.

Moving to lay back down on her bed, her eyes widen in realization. She never gave you a change of clothes, and you were now unknowingly walking home in booty shorts with 'SLUT' plastered on the back.

✮✮✮

A/N : not proofread, so tired. sorry for any mistakes or awkward wording. thank you for reading!

[hd-junglebook]

Little Dove

Quinn Hughes x Reader

masterlist link

a:n This is part 1 and officially my first ever Quinn Hughes fic, this series will be pretty long since I want to get into the details and emotions. There will be no skimping on details. Not round here partner.

also he looks so good in this gif good god!

summary: Sometimes Y/N's effort just isn't enough; every attempt seems to be futile and disregarded. The people she calls mom and dad do nothing but disappoint her, brushing her off as an ungrateful child. It seems the only person who can truly see her is Quinn.

Word Count - 4140

...

The sun had barely begun to peek through the towering skyscrapers of the bustling city as Y/N stepped out of her sleek, black car. Her red bottom heels clicked against the pavement with each confident stride, the sound echoing through the quiet morning air. She adjusted her perfectly tailored skirt, smoothing out any wrinkles that may have formed during her commute.

As she approached the imposing glass doors of her parents' company headquarters, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease.

Despite the success and prestige that came with working for her family's business, Y/N knew deep down that this wasn't her true calling. Nevertheless, she put on a brave face and pushed through the doors, ready to tackle another day.

The security guard, a friendly older gentleman named Frank, greeted her with a warm smile. "Good morning, Miss Y/N," he said, tipping his hat in her direction.

Y/N returned the smile, her red lipstick a striking contrast against her porcelain skin. "Good morning, Frank. I hope you had a lovely weekend," she replied, her voice smooth and polished, befitting her corporate persona.

As she made her way through the spacious lobby, her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, announcing her presence to the few early risers already at their desks. She entered the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, where her office was located.

Stepping out into the hallway, Y/N was greeted by the sight of her office, its glass walls doing little to provide privacy. The modern, minimalist design was a reflection of her parents' tastes rather than her own. She sighed.

With a deep breath, Y/N pushed open the glass door and entered her office, ready to start another day in a job that left her feeling unfulfilled, yearning for something more.

Y/N settled into her plush, ergonomic chair, the leather cool against her skin. She reached forward and pressed the power button on her sleek, silver computer, watching as the screen flickered to life. The familiar logo of her parents' company appeared, a constant reminder of her obligations and the path she felt pressured to follow.

The computer hummed quietly, Y/N began to sort through the stack of paperwork on her desk. She picked up a folder, her perfectly manicured nails a stark contrast against the crisp, white paper. Just as she was about to open the file, a buzzing sound emanated from her designer purse.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N reached into her bag and retrieved her phone. The screen displayed a new text message, and her heart skipped a beat as she read the name: Quinn. she opened the message.

"Hey princess," the text read, the words both endearing and frustrating.

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair as she contemplated her response. Quinn had a way of blurring the lines between playful banter and genuine affection, leaving her constantly questioning the nature of their relationship. His messages were often short and casual, but the term of endearment he used never failed to send a flutter through her chest.

Despite his repeated claims that he wasn't looking for anything serious, Quinn seemed to take pleasure in pushing the boundaries, leaving Y/N in a state of confusion and longing.

She knew she shouldn't let herself get too attached, but there was something about him that drew her in, making it difficult to maintain the emotional distance she knew was necessary.

With another sigh, Y/N set her phone back down on the desk, trying to focus on the task at hand. She knew she needed to establish clearer boundaries with Quinn, but the thought of pushing him away completely left an ache in her heart.

Y/n shook her head, attempting to clear her mind and concentrate on the paperwork before her, even as thoughts of Quinn lingered in the back of her mind.

…

Y/N's attention was drawn away from her mother's presentation as her phone buzzed once more. She discreetly glanced at the screen under the table, her heart racing as she saw Quinn's name appear again. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and guilt as she read his messages.

"I miss you," the first text read, causing a warmth to spread through her chest. Before she could fully process the implications of his words, another message followed: "Are we still good for tmrw?"

Y/N's mind raced as she contemplated her response. She had agreed to go out with Quinn for dinner tomorrow, a decision she had made in a moment of weakness, longing for the thrill of his company.

Now, sitting in the business room with her parents, the reality of her situation came crashing down upon her.

She glanced up, her eyes meeting her father's stern gaze from across the table. He sat in his imposing grey chair, his posture straight and attentive as he listened to Dedra's presentation.

Y/N knew that her parents had high expectations for her, and the thought of disappointing them weighed heavily on her conscience.

As Dedra continued to explain the new company policy, Y/N found it increasingly difficult to focus. Her mind wandered to thoughts of Quinn, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the effortless charm he exuded. She yearned to respond to his messages, to confirm their plans and lose herself in the excitement of their secret rendezvous.

Y/N's heart raced as she quickly typed out her response to Quinn, her fingers flying across the screen. She glanced up every few seconds, ensuring that her parents were still engaged in the presentation. With a final look of determination, she pressed send, a small thrill running through her body.

Almost instantly, her phone buzzed with Quinn's reply. "Wear that red dress I bought you."

Y/N's eyebrows raised in surprise, a smirk playing on her lips as she typed back, "The v neck dress?"

"Yeah, that one."

"I will ;), I have to go back to work, I'll text you later." Y/N sent the message, a giddy feeling bubbling up inside her chest. However, her momentary happiness was short-lived as she felt a sharp kick under the table. Her eyes snapped up to meet her father's disapproving gaze, his brow furrowed in irritation.

the meeting concluded around her, Y/N's coworkers filed out of the room, muttering their polite goodbyes. Soon, only Y/N and her parents remained, the tension in the air palpable. Her mother fixed her with a stern look, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Y/N, you're not taking this as seriously as you need to be. This will be you one day." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Who were you talking to?"

Y/N's heart sank, knowing that lying to her parents would only make matters worse. She opened her mouth to respond, but her father cut her off.

"Was it that hockey guy?" He scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "He sucks, he'll never be good enough. I should've paid him off four months ago if I knew he'd be such a distraction."

Y/N's cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and anger. She hated the way her parents spoke about Quinn, as if he were nothing more than a nuisance to be dealt with. She knew they would never approve of their relationship but hearing them talk about him so callously only strengthened her resolve.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N met her parents' gazes, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "Quinn, and he's not a distraction.” Her mother's lips pressed into a thin line, disapproval etched into every line of her face.

Y/N's parents exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes filled with a mixture of disappointment and condescension. Her mother, Dedra, was a striking woman in her mid-50s, with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and a designer suit that hugged her slender frame.

Her father, Derek, was a tall, imposing man with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual scowl that seemed etched into his chiseled features.

Dedra leaned forward, her elbows resting on the polished mahogany table. "Y/N, darling," she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "you know we only want what's best for you. This... Quinn," she said his name as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth, "he's not good for you. He's a distraction, a phase. You'll see that soon enough."

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the all-too-familiar sensation of her parents' manipulation taking hold. She opened her mouth to protest, but Derek cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Enough, Y/N," he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the empty conference room. "You're not a child anymore. It's time you started acting like the adult you claim to be. This company, this life we've built for you - it's all we've ever wanted for you. And you're throwing it away for some lowlife hockey player who barely even made it to the big leagues."

Y/N's cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. She hated the way her parents made her feel, as if her thoughts and feelings were invalid, as if she were nothing more than a pawn in their grand scheme.

Dedra reached across the table, her perfectly manicured hand grasping Y/N's wrist. "Sweetheart," she said, her tone softening, "we love you. We just don't want to see you get hurt. Men like Quinn... they're not in it for the long haul. They'll use you, break your heart, and move on to the next pretty face. You deserve so much more than that."

Y/N felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let her parents see her weakness. She knew they were wrong about Quinn, but their words still cut deep, playing on her insecurities and fears.

Derek stood up, his tall frame looming over her. "This discussion is over, Y/N. You'll end things with this Quinn character, and you'll focus on your work. Your future. Do I make myself clear?"

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. She wanted to scream, to tell her parents that they had no right to control her life, but she knew it would be futile. With a curt nod, she pushed back from the table and stood up, her legs shaking beneath her.

"I have work to do," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you'll excuse me."

Without waiting for a response, Y/N turned on her heel and strode out of the conference room, her heart hammering in her chest.

…

The clock on the wall seemed to move at an agonizingly slow pace, each tick echoing through the cramped office space. Y/N leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking beneath her weight as she stared blankly at the computer screen.

The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow on her features, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes and the tension in her jaw.

Around her, the office hummed with activity, the sound of ringing phones and the gentle whir of computers filling the air. Y/N felt suffocated by the monotony of it all, the endless hours spent hunched over her desk, pouring over spreadsheets and reports.

As the clock finally struck three, Y/N let out a sigh of relief, the thought of going home filling her with a sense of euphoria. She could almost feel the soft embrace of her couch, the warmth of a glass of wine in her hand as she left the stresses of the day behind.

Just as she was about to log off her computer, a sharp knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Alexandra, the secretary, peeked her head in, her perfectly styled hair and immaculate makeup a stark contrast to Y/N's tired appearance.

"I sent some of the paperwork to your email," Alexandra said, her voice saccharine sweet. "If you could just finish those up before you leave, that'd help a lot."

Y/N felt a surge of anger course through her veins, her patience wearing thin. She fixed Alexandra with a cold stare, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's three. I get to go home now, you know, like a normal person."

Alexandra's eyes narrowed, her lips pursing in disapproval. Y/N knew that the secretary had always treated her like nothing more than a privileged nepo baby, completely disregarding the fact that Y/N had never used her family's influence to step on any toes or make people do her bidding.

Y/N stood up from her chair, grabbing her purse and jacket from the back of her seat. She could feel Alexandra's eyes boring into her back as she made her way towards the door, but she refused to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her frustration.

"I'll take care of it in the morning," Y/N said, her hand on the doorknob. "Have a good night, Alexandra."

Without waiting for a response, Y/N stepped out of her office, the sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floor as she made her way towards the elevators.

She could feel the weight of the day lifting from her shoulders with each step, the promise of freedom and the warmth of her bath calling to her like a siren song.

As the elevator doors closed behind her, Y/N let out a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned back against the cool metal wall. She knew that the road ahead would be filled with obstacles, but for now, all she wanted was to lose herself in the comfort of Quinn's arms and forget about the expectations and pressures that threatened to suffocate her.

…

The faucet let out a high-pitched squeak as Y/N twisted the gleaming chrome knob, the sound echoing off the tiled walls of the dimly lit bathroom. The flow of water slowed to a trickle before stopping completely, leaving behind a tub filled with steaming, inviting water.

Tendrils of steam rose from the water, carrying with them the intoxicating aroma.

With a fluid motion, Y/N untied the sash of her plush, white bathrobe, the soft fabric slipping off her shoulders and pooling at her feet. The cool air kissed her bare skin, sending a slight shiver down her spine as she stepped closer to the tub.

Tentatively, she dipped a toe into the water, testing the temperature. The heat was intense, but not unbearable, and Y/N slowly lowered herself into the bath, letting out a contented sigh as the warm water enveloped her body.

The water lapped at her shoulders, the heat penetrating her tired muscles and easing away the knots and tension that had accumulated throughout the day.

Y/N sank deeper into the rose petal-filled bathwater, the sweet, floral aroma wafting through the steamy air. The soft, delicate petals brushed against her skin, their velvety touch a gentle caress. She inhaled deeply, the scent of roses mingling with the subtle vanilla notes of her favorite candle, creating a soothing, intimate atmosphere.

As she leaned back, her hair cascaded over the edge of the tub, the ends dipping into the water and creating gentle ripples on the surface. Her eyes fluttered closed, lashes casting shadows on her flushed cheeks, a result of the bath's intense heat.

The tranquil moment was interrupted by the buzzing of her phone, its vibration echoing through the bathroom. Y/N's eyes snapped open, a curious expression on her face as she reached for the device.

Quinn's name flashed across the screen, his photo – a candid shot of him grinning widely, his dark hair tousled by the wind – accompanying the incoming call.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips as she lifted herself from the bath, water droplets cascading down her smooth, sun-kissed skin. She grabbed the phone, tapping the screen to answer the call and putting it on speaker.

"Hi, hottie," Y/N greeted, her voice playful and warm.

Quinn's nerdy, endearing voice filled the bathroom, a chuckle evident in his tone. "Hey there, beautiful. How's my favorite girl doing tonight?"

Y/N reached for her glass of wine, the deep, rich red liquid swirling in the crystal glass. She took a sip, savoring the bold, fruity flavors on her tongue before responding. "Oh, you know, just unwinding after a long day at the office. How about you, handsome?"

"Counting down the minutes until I get to see you tomorrow," Quinn replied, a hint of mischief in his voice. "I can't stop thinking about how stunning you'll look in that red dress."

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. She set the wine glass down, running her fingers through her damp hair, pushing it away from her face. "Mmm, you sure know how to make a girl feel special," she purred, her tone flirtatious.

"That's because you are special, Y/N," Quinn said, his voice softening. "I can't wait to have you all to myself tomorrow. No work, no distractions, just you and me."

Y/N's heart fluttered at his words, a giddy feeling spreading through her chest. She bit her lower lip, a coy smile playing on her features. "I like the sound of that," she murmured, her voice low and sultry. "You better be prepared to sweep me off my feet, mister."

Quinn's laughter filled the bathroom, warm and infectious. "Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, don't you worry."

As they continued their playful banter, Y/N sank back into the bath, the warm water enveloping her once more. She closed her eyes, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she listened to Quinn's voice, the sound soothing her soul and filling her with anticipation for the day to come.

…

As the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the bedroom, Y/N's phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand. The vibrations seemed to echo through the tranquil space, a jarring contrast to the peaceful atmosphere.

Beyond the window, the vibrant green of the trees and grass was visible, a testament to the beauty of the early morning.

The bedroom was a serene oasis, with its pristine white decor creating a sense of calm and comfort. The plush, white comforter enveloped Y/N, its softness lulling her into a state of drowsy contentment.

Y/N stirred, mumbling incoherently as she slowly turned over, her eyelids fluttering open. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight that flooded the room. As she reached for her phone, the alarm blared to life, the glowing digits on the nightstand displaying a crisp 7:00 AM.

With a groan, Y/N sat up, her hand instinctively reaching for her phone. As she unlocked the device, she was greeted by a string of texts from her mother, Dedra. The messages, even in their digital form, seemed to drip with condescension.

"Y/N, don't forget about the family brunch today. Your father and I expect you to be there, and please, try to look presentable. We have important guests attending, and we can't have you embarrassing us like last time. And do try to be on time, darling. Punctuality is a virtue, after all."

Rolling her eyes, Y/N tossed her phone aside and begrudgingly dragged herself out of bed. She went about her morning routine, selecting a chic and appropriate outfit for the brunch and work before making her way to the kitchen.

As she entered the heart of her home, Y/N couldn't help but smile. The space was everything she had ever dreamed of – a perfect blend of modern elegance and cozy charm. She moved towards the kitchen island, her bare feet padding softly against the cool, hardwood floors.

While her coffee brewed, filling the air with its rich, invigorating aroma, Y/N leaned back against the island, her eyes drifting to the television mounted on the wall. The familiar characters of The 100, flashed across the screen.

She sipped her coffee, savoring the warmth and comfort it provided, as she lost herself in the post-apocalyptic world unfolding before her.

Y/N glanced at her watch, the sleek hands pointing to 8:30, a frustrated huff escaped her lips. She quickly shut off the television and grabbed her essentials, making her way out of the apartment and towards her car.

The drive to the office was usually a time for Y/N to unwind and mentally prepare for the day ahead, with her favorite podcast playing through the speakers.

However, today's episode left her feeling unsettled. The young creator, barely 18 years old, was excitedly announcing her pregnancy. The way she spoke about it, as if it were some sort of miraculous blessing, made Y/N's stomach churn. With a quick tap, she muted the podcast, silence filling the car as she navigated the familiar streets.

As she pulled into the parking lot of the imposing office building, Y/N's eyes immediately landed on Alexandra, who was just a few spots down from her. A wave of dread washed over her, and she quickly locked her car, determined to beat her colleague to the elevator.

Y/N's heels clicked against the pavement as she hurried towards the entrance, her breath coming in short, anxious bursts. She could hear Alexandra's footsteps echoing behind her.

Just as Y/N stepped into the elevator, her manicured finger jabbing the button for the 4th floor, she caught a glimpse of Alexandra rushing towards her. With a sly grin, Y/N pressed the close button, feigning interest in her perfectly polished nails as the doors began to slide shut.

Alexandra stumbled, her hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop the elevator, but it was too late. As the doors closed, Y/N looked up, meeting her colleague's gaze with a sad, insincere smile. The look of frustration and annoyance on Alexandra's face was a small victory for Y/N, a momentary triumph in the never-ending battle of office politics.

The elevator began its ascent, Y/N leaned back against the cool metal wall, her eyes closing for a brief moment. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her racing heart and push away the lingering unease from the podcast. The day had barely begun, and already she felt drained.

It dinged, signaling her arrival on the 4th floor, Y/N straightened her shoulders and put on a brave face. She stepped out into the hallway.

…

The constant cacophony of rings and beeps filled Y/N's ears for the next three hours, the incessant noise drilling into her skull. The cramped office space felt more like a chicken coop than a professional workspace, and Y/N could feel her sanity slowly slipping away with each passing minute.

Just as she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Dedra peeked her head into the office, her critical gaze sweeping over the room before she entered. With a sense of entitlement, she perched herself on the edge of Y/N's desk, her perfectly manicured fingers toying with a strand of Y/N's hair.

"You know, you look stressed, Y/N," Dedra remarked, her tone laced with false concern. Her eyes then traveled down to Y/N's attire, and her face contorted into a look of disgust. "Is that what you're wearing to brunch?" she asked, her voice dripping with disapproval. "I guess it will do."

Before Y/N could respond, Dedra abruptly stood up and headed towards the door, gesturing for her daughter to follow. Y/N huffed in frustration, the weight of her mother's judgment pressing down on her. She quickly logged off her computer and gathered her belongings, trailing behind Dedra as they made their way through the office.

As they walked, Y/N could feel the eyes of her coworkers following them, their gazes a mix of curiosity and envy. She held her head high, refusing to let their attention faze her. Dedra, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the attention, her stride confident and purposeful as she led the way.

When they reached the front of the building, a sleek black limo slowly approached, its polished exterior gleaming in the sunlight. Y/N couldn't help but roll her eyes at the ostentatious display.

"Why do we need a limo for brunch?" she asked, exasperation evident in her voice. "Could you guys be any more extra?"

Dedra shot her a sharp look, her lips pursed in disapproval. "Appearances matter, Y/N," she said, her tone clipped. "We have a reputation to uphold, and arriving in style is part of that."

Y/N bit back a retort, knowing that arguing with her mother was a futile endeavor. As the limo pulled up to the curb, the driver promptly exited the vehicle, opening the door for them with a practiced bow.

Dedra climbed in first, her movements graceful and refined. Y/N followed suit, sinking into the plush leather seats with a sigh.

The vehicle pulled away from the curb, and Y/N watched as the office building grew smaller in the distance. She knew that the brunch would be just another performance, a carefully orchestrated display of wealth and status that she was expected to participate in.

…

message me to be added to the tag list. hope you enjoyed it. please lmk how you liked it.

(also I just made this idea today and I can't believe I already wrote chapter 1)

[slippinninque]

🫣🍑Private Dancer🍑🫣

Or: You discover another half to the secret you thought you were keeping

Fontaine x blackfemreader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, cursing, use of the n-word, mentions of smoking/weed, P-in-V, mentions of insecurity, long fic

Truth was, you were a secret shaker.

A tentative twerker. An apprehensive ass-thrower. Your waist whined when being perceived directly and not in a good way. Not only did you decline to throw ass in public, you will also turn away any offers to catch it.

When you were alone, though...

You learned chorography to your favorite sounds, bounced around your living room as you folded clothes. Recorded dance challenges and deleted them a few hours later. You were your very own Stallion behind closed doors.

It took only a handful of awkward encounters and an asshole ex-boyfriend suggesting you 'stand to the side' for you to be determined to find your rhythm.

Looking up tips online and went to any beginner's classes you could find in the area. Ballroom, salsa, the pole--it all helped you understand your body outside of what it looked like. It was about what you trained it to do, what you wanted it to do.

Investing in a really good floor length mirror was the last puzzle piece you needed to really find your beat. From there on, you and the mirror were lovers.

Only your small circle of friends knew. That was thanks to enough years of trust and tequila, leading to wild nights at house parties with the radio cranked high.

You eventually learned that it was nothing to be ashamed of. It's not like it kept you away from fun or being included in the antics. If you went out with the ladies, you hyped them and kept a cute lil' two step. You held the title of Camerawoman with pride and your background cackles were famous in the group chat.

The booty wouldn't boogie with anyone else around and it's been that way for years.

It was your own little secret. No one had to know everything and you babbled enough as it was. If anyone cared to stare hard enough to a deserted, dark corner of the house--then maybe they could catch a glimpse.

The sway-snap of your hips, falling beautifully with every beat that you heard. How your hair gleamed, the way your smile swelled with the change of the songs.

Your entire body sang a song.

At least, that's what Fontaine thought when he first spotted you.

Of course you never knew he saw you. Even after the reciprocated confessions and hot-n-heavy honeymoon phase, you thought you went unseen.

Fontaine took your secret for his own, delighting in your shadow shows on the rare occasions you came out to play.

Fontaine could wait and if you had to feel alone to feel secure, then so be it. He used his admiration and desire to touch you, to be a proper witness.

Just being near you was more then enough, it would have been ungrateful to be so greedy.

------

You screamed when you saw him standing there.

The earbuds went off into the wilds of the kitchen, one skittering beneath the fridge.

Fontaine's eyes were popped wide but didn't seem remorseful for scaring your soul to the heavens.

"I thought you heard me when I came in." Fontaine hung up his keys before going in search of your earbuds. You watched after him, mortified.

You were just really into organizing the lower pantry. Lost in shaking your ass with one hand braced on the red potatoes and the other searching for the brown potatoes to put them back in their proper spot.

When you turned to grab the few 'taters that eacaped, you saw your man standing a few feet away from you with his arms crossed and head tilted.

How long has he been here?

Oh god, you have never danced for him. You have never danced in front of him--you weren't even serious. There wasn't a problem with you shimmying to the beat in his lap at a function or waving from your hips up while riding in the car to some jams.

This was different.

"Hey, hey--whatcha curling up for? C'mon now, I already know you can move."

"It-- that, um, I-I'm not that good, so, y'know..."

Fontaine pocketed your traumatized earbuds and kissed your hands until you inched them away enough for him to see your worried gaze. He tutted quietly, taking your hands into his and kissing your knuckles.

"What matters to me is what makes you feel good, baby." His voice rolled into a purr as he continued, "Lucky me that you look so fine when you do."

You wriggled as your shyness battled against the excitement of having Fontaine looking at you the way he was.

"So I don't look.... awkward? Do I have enough stuff to make it look good?"

"Wasn't nothing awkward 'bout how you were throwin' that, trust me."

Fontaine's hands went down and grabbed two handfuls of your ass. His palms were warm and wide as he kneaded, bringing you even closer to him as you went to your tiptoes. He hooked his chin over your shoulder with a happy little hum, distracted by you but only for only a moment more.

"Hold up, whatchu mean by 'enough stuff' ?"

You shrugged and decided not to answer. The truth of past insecurities felt redundant and you rather liked the way Fontaine was making you feel at the moment.

Fontaine grunted, giving you another squeeze before pulling back a bit to look into you square in the eyes.

"Look here-- I'm in love with all this right here, so I'm rockin' with you regardless of what you can make it do. Don't matter if you think you ain't got enough, shit, it's enough fo', me. Understand?"

His words worked out the few kinks in your heart, aches you grown used to and ignored when they flared. You nodded more confidently and only then did Fontaine lighten his hold on you, nodding back.

No telling how long Fontaine was standing there and if you never turned around-- you would have been none the wiser. How many times has he been there? Letting you have yourself, taking only a moment for himself as he had that smile on his face.

It was the same smile he had when he took away the shea butter to rub you down himself. Or similar to the smirk on his face when following after you to the bedroom after you talked a bit too much shit.

Your shoulders dropped as you fully relaxed into his hold. The burning embarrassment in your stomach churned into smooth, seamless and leaving you suddenly eager.

"So, tell me what a nigga gotta do to get a private dance from yo' pretty self?"

His hands helped themselves to another handful, this time spreading to touch between your legs. There was promise in his eyes and you knew you only needed to say yes.

You twist away from him enough to pluck your phone from the counter, sliding through a few songs before settling on something with drums and bass. The speakers pulsed and you began backing Fontaine out of the kitchen and into the living room.

He let you push him to sit in the recliner and he made an appreciative sound at the way you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. It evolved, going deeper until you pulled away with a protesting noise from Fontaine.

"That's the only touching you gonna get from me right now."

"Oh, word?"

"You're going to distract me enough as it is." You said, stepping away from him and stretching your arms over your head.

"Bold as hell to call me a distraction." Fontaine's brows rose as he leaned back to make himself comfortable, "Lookin' at me with them eyes..."

His eyes hooked onto your hips. You stretched, teasingly bending over and holding onto your ankles as you gave a cute lil' shake, looking over your shoulder coyly .

"What can I use to look if it ain't my eyes?" You asked, "How am I supposed to see you?"

"Don't worry 'bout what you see back here, act like a nigga ain't even here."

"Oh, that's impossible now. You still make me feel so shy..."

Fontaine snorted and your gave a giddy smile in return.

What you wore was actually perfect. Tiny shorts and cami, perfect for when you were bounding around to clean house. Just what you needed for you to do a little Bend n' Snap for your man.

The music changed and you looked over at him in surprise, he held your phone but watched you with a mischief. Reaching for the little, polka dotted stash jar you left on the coffee table to pull out a blunt to wag at you.

"Go on, show me what you got fo' me."

Waiting until he fired up, you sauntered closer and tied up the front of your already teeny tank. Fontaine's eyes honed in to your nipples, distracted as he took a drag. When his fingers crooked, you leaned in enough and pursed your lips.

Fontaine blew a strong stream that you breathed in and held. You held as long as you could before releasing the smoke a final time into the air.

Fontaine's blunts were no-nonsense, where he still rolled with leaves rather than the papers you preferred. It felt like a straight shot to the head, the smoke lifting all the chatter in your mind to leave you swirling in electric eagerness.

Without further ado, you showed him what you could do.

Your hands braced on your knees, clasped above your head, went down to touch your toes. You rolled your stomach and snapped your hips mouthing the words to Fontaine as you fully felt yourself. You extended your arms and tried to be as dramatically sexy as possible. Touching all of Fontaine's favorite places yourself, pushing up your breast and skimming your hand between your legs for him to see.

Fontaine was a chaotic DJ as he flipped through your playlist. He went from instrumentals filled with nothing but baselines and adlibs, to Glorilla to Megan Thee Stallion to Trina. Whistling at every peek of cheek and nip, calling out to see the 'pretty lady' when you coyly fanned your legs at him from the floor.

When you got down on your hands and knees, you felt a smack against your cheeks hard enough to snap your illusion. You leaned onto your forearms, ass up in the air, and broke into laughter as more bills rained down. It was like a confetti canon was let off or someone hit the Golden Button for you.

"That felt personal." You said over your shoulder at where Fontaine sent another fan of bills into the air, "You tryin' to tell me something?"

"Yeah--to bring that ass over here so I can get my hands on you," Fontaine patted his thigh, "Thought this was gonna be a lap dance..."

"Private does not mean lap." You sniffed. Honestly, you weren't sure because you've never been to a strip club but with the way he was throwing bills--the living room was cosplaying as a VIP section at King of Diamonds.

You took your time in coming closer, wondering if you could skip on singles before Fontaine snatched you right up when you were close enough.

"This is too much! When did you even have time to take out all these damn dollars?"

"I been waiting on this, baby. Shit, I woulda threw gold if it ain't' hurt..."

You laughed and looked around at the singles carpeting your floor in disbelief, it's like you had a new rug installed! There were dollars all overt the coffee table and even some fluttered over to coat the entertainment center. Was there a dollar up in the light fixture? Was that a fire hazard?

Fontaine's teeth nipped at your earlobe, turning your next remark into soft moan. His hand ran up to cup your neck, breathing you in with a hungry hum.

His voice was all smoke and honey, "This is all well an' good, but I think I'm feeling a certain type of way..."

"Is it the horny way?"

Your cheekiness got you mean little pinch to your sensitive nipples. Jolting only pushed you closer to his greedy hands. It was his turn to touch. He plucked and twisted your nipples, making you mewl and melt into his touch. You ground down into his lap where you felt he needed you most, making him sigh into your ear.

"Gonna be the death of me, ain't ya?" Fontaine husked, "Here lies 'Taine, bust so hard he went on to glory. He leaves everything to his pretty-booty havin' lady."

"What if I promise to shake somethin' on your grave, would that be better--no biting!"

Fontaine growled something into the mouthful of shoulder he had, shaking his head gently and making you squeal and scrunch up to try and escape.

Still warm from being in the spotlight of Fontaine's attention and the pulsing music, your head swam with delight. It felt like victory. You turned and kissed at the side of his face before your lips met.

Allowing yourself to be admired and seen was like nothing else. Fontaine has always shown nothing but devotion to you but you still felt like he was...just being nice. You were holding yourself back from assumed disappointment but this whole time he's been waiting on you.

Talk about blocking your blessings...

When your grinding became more insistent, Fontaine leaned back with his lip caught between his teeth.

"That's what I'm talkin' about. Show me how you feel."

You looked over you shoulder, holding his hands against your breast as you rode in his lap. Fontaine hissed, one of his hands quickly escaped to clasp around your hips to grind up into you.

Leaning forward enough on your hands, your delicates went directly in his face as you tugged at his pant leg pointedly. Fontaine ignored your impatience and ran a hand over you, from between your shoulders down to the backs of your thighs.

You could hear him popping the button on his jeans and the rattle of his belt.

"How bad you want it, pretty?"

"Bad, real bad."

"'Do anything fo' it' bad?"

" 'Let you do anything to me' bad."

It happened fast after that, Fontaine righted you in his lap enough for him to press into your pussy. The stretch dropped your mouth open and Fontaine groaned at how wet you already were.

LOW started and you bounced to the beat, grinning dopily up at the ceiling at the feel of him hitting all your good spots. Your shorts provided a wonderful friction against your clit from how Fontaine shoved the fabric aside to let himself in.

It felt so naughty. To fuck on Fontaine like you were starved for him to the music rattling your walls. The thrill twisted with desire in your stomach, hurtling you faster and faster to your peek.

Suddenly more bills rained down and paired with Fontaine's laugh, more lust than amusement--it pushed you over the edge.

"That's it, I feel you, g'on and get yo' shit. Can't believe yo' pretty ass was shy..."

Fontaine took over. A bruising grip onto your hips, tipped you back into his chest as he thrust up into you in earnest.

"Puttin' that shit on me heavy, acting like you don't know what you do to me." Fontaine found a few singles that were being crumpled between you and pressed them to your dewy, lower back.

"Shieet, looks better than money. Wish you can see as much as yo' ass feel it, fuck." He gave your ass slap, you called out as you came. It felt like fire shot through you, leaving you reaching for any bit of him to clutch.

Between the music still going and Fontaine handling you so well, the sensations left you gasping. Legs burning and head filled with needy thoughts, you protested when Fontaine stopped your bouncing and maneuvered you until he slid free.

"Oh, show ain't over yet--you feel me?"

You did. Fontaine was heavy and hot where he tapped all over your ass, leaving kisses of wet spots. It filled you with a flash of pride or maybe even possessiveness. Craining your neck, you did you best to get a glimpse but Fontaine hand cupped your neck licked the shell of your ear.

"Yeah, that's you gettin' all over me. Tryna make me messy just how you like it, huh?"

He hissed when you writhed in his lap, ghost riding his dick until he gave you a little push to stand. Your mouth dropped open to whine but Fontaine turned you towards the middle of the room.

"Show me how you want it."

Fontaine held himself tight at the base, his lips lax enough for his gold to wink in the lamp light.

As gracefully as you could--you went down onto your knees before lying back to put your legs in the air. You rolled over in the blanket of dollars, wriggling down your shorts to one ankle until you could flick them away.

Fontaine grinned down at you, kneeling to slot his palm into the arch of your foot, his other hand stroking himself.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, eyes fixed to where his dick bumped against your mound.

"Prettiest thing touchin' soil and you think it ain't enough..."

Fontaine moved your other thigh to the side around his hip, leaving you spread completely. You were still working, still giving him a show, but you couldn't bear to keep your hands off of him.

When you hand ran under his shirt, Fontaine tugged it over his head swiftly and much to your delight. The sight of his broad chest and delicious skin made you all the more impatient.

"Hurry up, Mr. Lapdance--the show ends when the music does."

Fontaine's eyes flashed.

"You lucky we ain't meet like that. D'you wanna know what I would do if you showed out like that on a pole?

The image formed in your mind was electric. Pretending to be a little Stallion and running into a hungry handed, greedy eyed Fontaine in low strobe lights.

Not knowing just what he had in store for you as you led him to the privacy booths--intent on earning his attention.

When you licked your lips, Fontaine groaned softly, you smiled at him.

What's another little secret?

"I did take a few classes, if you ever wanna see ahn--!"

Pressing into your heat, Fontaine grumbled something about Home Depot.

"Shouldn't have told me that, now I gotta put a stage in here somewhere in this bitch..."

Drunk on pleasure, you could only cry out as Fontaine chased his thoughts out loud. The change in position, with him looming above you muttering filthy promises--it was too much for you.

"O-Oh fuck, 'Taine!"

He froze to watch your eyes roll close as you shook apart beneath him with a sob. Fontaine lowered himself to bracket you between his forearms to kiss you, swallowing your moans. His hips snapped, lost rhythm and then he was coming with satisfied growl.

That was it. You were dead. Your very soul leaked onto his thighs and the carpet below.

'Here lies me, twerked too close to the sun...'

Fontaine releases a heavy, satisfied hum into your ear as he finally collapsed onto you. It should have been stifling and your knew your legs would be useless for the next while, but all you could do was grin at the feel of the dollar bill stuck to his shoulder.

What a way to go....

------

When the playlist finally ended, the silence found you both covered in sweat and dollar bills. Fontaine rubbed a loc of your hair between his fingers and you rested your eyes--head on his shoulder. Your hand wandering aimlessly across his chest as you began to doze.

He tugged gently to get your attention, "Want you to do me a favor."

"Mn. If it involves moving, you gotta pay me."

Fontaine snorted and flicked away the bill stuck to the thigh you've strewn across him. You shrugged a shoulder with a lifted brow, you got me there.

He continued, "If you can help it...I'd like for you not to hide from me anymore."

The change in his tone had you searching for his gaze and of course it was already on you. Fontaine took your hand in his, turning yours until he held it in his open palm.

"I...okay. I can do that for you."

You weren't ready to talk about the past and trying to make sense of your complicated feelings of being perceived. Something told you that it wasn't the time, maybe it was you hiding again, but at least Fontaine took your words earnestly.

He kissed your hand once, twice before leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he went back to playing with your locs.

"Good..and no more watchin' Baddies. Watching them girls fucks wit' your disposition," Fontaine reached for a handful of bills to sprinkle all over you, "You wanna be a Stallion? Lemme know and I'll give you a ride."

"Oouf you are terrible." You hid your face into his neck, "But once my legs come back online, you're in trouble."

Fontaine patted your ass, "Can't threaten me with good troubles, baby."

-----------

ending notes: thank you so much for reading! It's a long one but the idea wouldn't leave me alone! Might need some tweaking and editing since it's another Before Work Drop lmao! Please tell me what you think and what other things I should try, don't be shy! Comment and reblog please! 💕🥰💜

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @miyuhpapayuh @cardierreh15 @mcondance @thadelightfulone@mag1calenchantr3ss@cocoeffects@wide-nose-and-wonderful @8ttached@thadelightfulone@hobiesmain@thickeeparker@longpause-awkwardsmile@ms-angiealsina

(Added a more after some slight revisions 🫣)