#i dont blame him though. women...

[frankiebirds]

[checkeredflagggs]

A Bet is a Bet

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: Lando didn’t know a bet would lead him to her, y/n didn’t know that accepting his proposal would lead to forever

a/n:it’s always fun to write Lando because I kinda really like to gently bully him 😂

a/n: one day I’ll write a Lando piece that doesn’t absolutely get away from me but today is apparently not that day

Masterlist | Taglist

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 827,824 others

f1gossip: Following Max’s Championship win and George’s race win, several drivers were spotted out partying in Las Vegas’ prolific club scene! Additionally, eagle eyes have spotted a despondent Lando drinking as his championship hopes were dashed tonight.

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user1: not the gossip page absolutely dragging Lando 😬😬😬

user2: don’t really blame Lando for being a little sad — unlikely as it was he’d win, there was a slight chance

↳user3: especially with how god awful redbull’s car has been this year…

user4: loving the contrast of George and Max drinking their hearts out to celebrate and Lando drinking to forget

↳user5: that’s so cruel

↳user4: true though

user6: ok so i think im at the same club as them and im pretty sure i just saw lando hugging a crying women??

↳user7: what??

↳user6: idk man im just a casual fan (shout out to Charles for being so pretty — saw an edit of him and fell in love)

↳user6: but i saw someone who looked like lando? Comforting someone who was sobbing their heart out

↳user7: I’m so confused and I need to know what happens next

user8: 🤬🤬 fuck

↳user9: what??

↳user8: I just got pushed down by a couple rushing by me!

↳user10: well fuck them I guess?

↳user8: I think that’s what they’re gonna do, yes.

Private Messages, Max F. and Lando

Snapchat

Private Messages, Lando and ???

landonorris has posted a story, yn_user has posted a story

[🍾🍾][💍💍]

maxfewtrell replied WHAT ARE YOU DOING

maxfewtrell replied I SPECIFICALLY SAID DONT GET ACTUALLY MARRIED

maxfewtrell replied OH MY GOD ANSWER YOUR STUPID PHONE

user11 replied did you get married

user12 replied the Vegas curse strikes again!

oscarpiastri replied please tell me this is just an aesthetic photo

↳oscarpiastri please I can’t be responsible for reporting this back to Zak and Stella

alex_albon replied oh my god thanks man! I had money on you being the one to get drunk married in Vegas

yourbff replied what the fuck girl??

yourbff replied did you get married last night?

↳yn_user …I think I did

↳yn_user my god my head

↳yourbff drinks! Stat

↳yn_user only if drinks stands for coffee

↳yn_user and make it a double — my husband (???)(!!!) wants one too

Private Messages, Max F. and Lando

landonorris

liked by yn_user, yourbff, maxfewtrell, maxverstappen1, and 1,234,224 others

landonorris: thanks Vegas! This year was so much more fun than last year! Can’t wait to see what next year brings

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user13: MARRIED??

user14: omg god he’s actually married 😭😭

user15: what kind of delulu manifesting brought this on???

↳user16: right?? I need some of it in my life

↳user17: a big old healthy dose of it

maxfewtrell: Next year better be the calmest year yet

↳yn_user: where’s the fun in that? liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1

↳maxfewtrell: my heart rate would appreciate it more

maxverstappen1: well I guess congratulations are in order?

↳landonorris: thanks man!

georgerussell63: You got married??

↳landonorris: I did! She’s great — you’re gonna love her

↳georgerussell63: Really?

↳maxfewtrell: she spent the first 10 minutes (hungover) after meeting me bullying me about my accent, my clothing, the way I walked, and how I took my coffee liked by yn_user, landonorris

↳georgerussell63: Oh dear

↳maxverstappen1: oh I’m gonna love her. she coming to Qatar?

↳landonorris: that’s the plan!

↳maxverstappen1: fly out with me

cisca_norris: oh man I’m telling mom!

↳landonorris: No! Wait!

↳cisca_norris: too late!

Private Messages, Lando and his Parents

Private Messages, y/n and yourbff

yn_user

liked by landonorris, yourbff, oscarpiastri, and 1,253 others

tagged: landonorris

yn_user: got drunk, got married, flew to Qatar to watch him drive!

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yourbff: send me some of that luck please

↳yn_user: certainly!

↳yourbff: only the good stuff though — you keep your bad luck to yourself

landonorris: thanks for coming out to see that I’m more than an uber driver

↳maxfewtrell: she did not

↳yn_user: oh I absolutely did! But now I see it’s more like European NASCAR

↳landonorris: I’ve changed my mind. Please leave

↳yn_user: too late! I’ve already burned the certificate — no returns

oscarpiastri: nice to meet you 👍🏻

↳yn_user: you too! I’m rooting for you!

↳landonorris: what???

↳yn_user: you told me to pick a favorite driver!

↳landonorris: I told you to come watch your favorite driver! Me!

↳yn_user: but he’s Australian! Like Steve Irwin!

↳landonorris: …that’s not how you pick a favorite driver!

↳oscarpiastri: stop being mean to my fans!

↳yn_user: landonorris if you say so I guess…

↳yn_user: then I’ll pick max cause he’s got lovely cats and was kind enough to fly us out!

↳maxverstappen1: great to have another fan!

↳landonorris: nO!

user18: I’ve had her for a day but if anything happens to her I’ll everyone else then myself

↳user20: big mood

↳yn_user: I say this with sincerity — please seek help 🙏

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 628,826 others

f1gossip: we finally have some answers on Lando’s unexpected marriage!

“What does it mean? What? That we got married last weekend? Well it means we got drunk and got married but ya know during break, yeah during break we’re already planning getting divorced but just didn’t have the time beforehand. So that’s something that’s gonna be happening soon.”

So it seems like this is just a typical Vegas marriage story after all!

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user21: im sorry but thats so funny??

↳user22: right?

↳user23: i didn’t think this was something that happened in real life??

↳user24: same

user25: i love how he phrased it though

↳user26: it’s just…Lando. Like of course you got drunk married and is just joking about it now

↳user27: I mean there's not much else he can do until they can get divorced?

yn_user

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 214,294 others

tagged: landonorris

yn_user: what a fun way to end the year! Congrats hubby — what a win!

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user28: I swear she was more excited for Lando’s win then he was 😂

↳user29: the way she was clinging to Lando’s mom like the entire race though 🤣🤣

landonorris: thanks for coming! And cheering for the correct driver this time around

↳maxverstappen1: she didn’t have redbull merch on?

↳landonorris: nah that’s been banned from this household liked by yn_user

user30: ok but I need her makeup brands? Cause that shit didn’t budge a bit

↳yn_user: I’ll dm you!

↳user30: thank you queen 🙏

yourbff: glad to know you’re having fun when you abandoned me…

↳yn_user: dw we’re on the way back so we can start the divorce paperwork

↳yourbff: good i need my bff back

↳landonorris: still my girl!

↳yourbff: I’ll fight you for her 🥊

Private Messages, Max and Lando

Text — we decided that we wanted to stay married because we actually like each other and want to see where this goes

landonorris

liked by yn_user, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, and 1,283,123 others

tagged: yn_user

landonorris: honeymoon time!

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user31: i thought it was divorce time?

↳user32: ok but like what happened?

↳user31: im guessing they actually fell in love

↳user32: if that’s true, that’s so cute

oscarpiastri: I don’t think that was the plan?

↳landonorris: there’s no plans when your in love

↳yn_user: that’s so sappy

↳landonorris: only for you!

↳oscarpiastri: on my comment thread? Really?

user33: ok which one of us is gonna turn this into the romcom it desperately needs to be?

↳user34: I volunteer as tribute

maxfewtrell: Lando answer your phone!

↳landonorris: sorry I’m on vacation! No service!

↳maxfewtrell: Lando! liked by yn_user

yourbff: stop stealing my best friend!

↳landonorris: she’s my wife!

↳yourbff: she was mine first!

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user and 839,293 others

f1gossip: catching up with lando again, we got the gossip on the abrupt change of heart regarding his Vegas wife!

“Yeah we just, you know we talked about it and how we felt and we know it’s kinda crazy — actually really crazy but you know we just felt like this was it? Like I just know that loving her is gonna be the easiest thing I’m ever gonna do. So yeah we got to Vegas and got a lawyer to help start the divorce and as we were talking about it we realized that we didn’t actually want to separate. So we’re still together and I want it to stay that way, forever. Like she’s gonna be it for me.”

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user35: holy shit he is in LOVE love

user36: “I just know loving her is gonna be the easiest thing I’ve ever done” like could someone run me over? Cause I feel like that would hurt less

↳user37: that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever read!

↳user38: I’m loving this Lando — he’s glowing!

user39: “we’re still together and I want it to stay that way, forever” like oh my god he’s so in love he’s writing poetry

user40: I want this kind of fucking love

user41: he’s writing poetry for her and i can’t even get one to text me back 😭

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yn_user, mclaren and 1,728,234 others

tagged: yn_user

landonorris: the top step is made even better with my lucky charm here with me! Thank you yn_user for your love and support 🧡

comments have been limited on this post

yourbff: now you’re just mocking me

↳landonorris: yup!

yn_user: love you too you muppet…even if you aren’t an uber driver…

↳landonorris: I guess that’s better than a nascar driver…

↳yn_user: well I checked and Chris Bell is taken so…

↳landonorris: 😑😑😑

maxfewtrell: great race man!

↳landonorris: thanks for being there!

↳maxfewtrell: gladly! I’ll be there for any of them but Vegas. Cause I’m not going there again

↳yn_user: scared of a little city?

↳maxfewtrell: yes.

Taglist

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[casuallyanidiot]

Just read your yan! Farmboy piece and i really liked it! 💖 i wanted to give an ask but just ignore if you dont like it or its too heavy for you. (Has self ending option so just ignore if it triggers you or just too much) though- i had an ask similar to another one with the ‘morally grey’ reader? How would danny react to an ‘escaped’ reader who managed to get away before he could have got to them?

In the piece the reader is treated cruelly by basically everyone in town and sometimes even their own parents, right? So it got my gears thinking of a more- off the deep end type? Say a reader who has been sick and tired of being the outcast and target of cruelty despite doing nothing but existing. So they scrounge up every dollar, every penny and quarter they find to save up a good sum for the day they leave and high tail out of there? Bus, cab, or anything would be fine but with barely a backpack of their legal documents and clothes- they set off. Thinking ‘i want to at least try. I wanna at least give myself the chance to be more and have better….. if not- then i dont know what i would do.’ *could go a suicidal route if you want* how would he react to that? How would the town or parents react to it? Id honestly think they would say ‘good riddance’ or sum.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME!💖💖 i love ur work and hope your doing well. 💖

Tw. For mentioned suicide

If the reader managed to escape, then I think Danny would lose it. He's pretty in control most of the time, and part of that is based in how predictable he views the town he lives in. But leaving? Actually escaping would be far beyond anything he had expect. Now you'd be somewhere he couldn't control, where he couldn't corner you in a way he knows would work.

I think he'd try to follow you and bring you back. He'd spin the story to be a bit more sympathetic to your situation. The new version of events he'd tell would be like some ill fated pair that were separated by class. "We fell in love. And we slept together. She got pregnant, but she got worried that people wouldn't accept that we wanted to be together. She's confused, scared, and somewhere out there. I need to bring her home."

He gets the support of people in town, and suddenly a missing report is put out for you. You're missing. You're not mentally well. You need to come home. Your own parents back his story up to the police, and he goes to the city to find you.

A few strings pulled here and there, and he finds out the women's shelter you're staying at. He puts in an anonymous tip, and they go there to bring you back into his waiting arms.

I think if you did try and leave like this, he'd be more aggressive about keeping you locked up. Plus, now the town think of you as some poor, mentally unwell girl while he's you benevolent caretaker.

If the reader ended it, I think then that the Danny would be devastated. He'd be angry, but he wouldn't have anyone to direct his anger at. I think that no one would blame him for your passing, but rather blame it on your family for raising you in such poor condition. I think at that point your family would've been chased out of town, and Danny would have nothing.

Like I said in a previous ask, Danny never pictured himself with anyone other than you. I think maybe he'd marry someone else eventually for the sake of holding appearance, but he'd never love them.

[frostedfragments]

the angels are watching ✧.* zayne x reader ✧.* 4.1k words ✧.* strangers to lovers summary: father zayne becomes obsessed with you, the newest girl at church warnings!: priest!zayne mutual masturbation, inappropriate use of a confessional, inaccurate portrayals of catholicism note: i do not subscribe to any religion...if any of this is wrong or inaccurate, ignore and just have fun. this is kind of a slow burn, if you're looking for a long gratuitous smut scene, this ain't the one. i was more going for the tortured monologue of zayne pining as usual note2: blame fleabag for this one. it's 7:30 am i've not slept so if this is full of grammatical or spelling errors, pls dont be mean 2 me.

divider cred. @enchanthings-a

The moment you stepped into the church Zayne knew you were going to be a problem for him. For years he has prided himself on the love he has for his faith, and the enjoyment he gets presiding over the parish that welcomed him with open arms when he was nothing but an inexperienced novice stumbling around, unsure of himself. He has always put the church before everything, before any whim or temporary desire he has had, before the fleeting thoughts of more outside of his role as priest.

He’s never missed anything of his old life, none of the recreational habits he enjoyed in his youth, or the carnal moments he shared with women he didn’t know. He has never once wished for anything other than this.

Until you.

The first day you stepped into the church, flanked by your familiar and respectable parents - frequent parishioners who Zayne recognised as active community members. At first he didn’t really notice anything unusual save for the fact you were new, Zayne hadn’t seen you attend his service before, but he had new people joining the parish every week, it was hardly out of the ordinary. His eyes trailed over you once; the long lengths of your hair, the dark dress, a tattoo peeking out from the hem where it cut across your thigh.

He looked away then - he didn’t want to appear to be ogling. And he wasn’t, of course. He just hadn’t seen anyone so different, so vibrant in quite some time. And maybe he was a little curious about the ink on your skin.

The first time you approached him was with your parents after that first Sunday. They introduced you, though you remained silent, eyes watching him. The way the candles behind Zayne reflected in your eyes had him lost in thought for several seconds before he reached out his hand to you, introducing himself as he would anyone else, and yet the moment seemed to hang in slow motion, suspended in a bubble that only the two of you seemed aware of. It was so peculiar that Zayne had taken his hand away from your soft grip almost too quickly, an apology falling from his lips before he’d left you and your parents standing there bewildered.

He had shaken the hand of every parishioner in the church at one point or another, but your touch was the only one he couldn’t shake off. His hand clenched in the back office of the church, palm hot and tingling like he’d touched a live wire. He chose to put it behind him.

The next time you walked through the doors, your father wasn’t present, ill your mother had informed Zayne. You were still quiet, lost in thought as you stood behind your mother, eyes fathomless, deep and bewitching, and Zayne felt almost unsettled as you looked at him. He watched you watch him, his head nodding vaguely to whatever your mother was telling him, but he couldn’t look away from you. He felt adrift, unmoored from his usual state of indifference towards the beauty of women. Of course pretty girls came into the church all the time, but he had never felt like this. Never been compelled to look at someone, drink his fill like a man wandering in the desert and coming upon an oasis.

He’d almost sighed in relief when you walked out of the church after the service. Your eyes on him felt like a vice around his chest, his eyes darting over to where you sat in the pews. Your cheeks pink every time his gaze landed on you, and like a damned man, he wanted to feel the heat of your skin under his palms.

He had prayed that night, and the night after, asking God for some mercy from this distraction. Was this a test of his faith? A challenge sent from the Lord to ensure he does not wander? To make certain he does not give in to his urges? Never, in all the years since he became a man of the cloth has he felt tempted. But you are his biggest temptation, the biggest risk to his faith.

Today Zayne stands at the doors of the church as he does every Sunday. He feels it on his skin when you arrive, feels it like a rush of static against the surface of his body. The awareness of you creeps beneath his alb, settling in the space between the cloth and his bare skin, like a touch.

It feels like an embodiment of sin, and he wishes he could shake it off. His eyes briefly fly upward, his thoughts calling to God in hopes he can be rescued from this challenge now, before it wrecks him. He is interrupted by the nearness of you as you walk by him, alone today, your eyes flicking over his face, a soft smile on your lips and a nod of greeting before you’re gone, into the church.

The scent of honey lingers in the air in your absence, and Zayne licks his lips as if the taste of you rests there. He sighs a ragged breath before he re-enters the church - you are always one of the last to arrive, and one of the first to leave. At least soon, you will be gone, and he can relax for another week.

The service passes as it always does; Zayne’s skin feels like it’s on fire, his hands are clammy and clenching against the wood of the pulpit. He tries his hardest not to look your way, but his eyes always seem to stumble across the unfocused faces of the crowd who sit in the nave and land on you, as if you’re the only thing he can see clearly. You’re watching him, as you always are, though you look troubled today. A crease between the smooth skin of your forehead, eyes darting away from Zayne just as quickly as they find him again.

Zayne breaks eye contact first, as he always does.

People soon begin to file out of the doors to the church, and Zayne is blessed that only a couple people of the parish come over to speak to him, praising him as they often do on his words. He suddenly feels like a liar, preaching of purity with his position in the church, the eyes of God hot on the back of his neck even as his mind calls to you, bewitched and beholden to your attention. The final conversation with the last parishioner ends with a quick nod and a shaky smile, and Zayne rushes down the aisle behind them in a rush to close and bolt the doors so he may retire and dwell on his own lack of control.

He knows the moment the heavy door creaks and then thuds shut that he has made an error; he is not alone, he feels it in the way his skin prickles with goosebumps, despite the sunny spring day.

“Father?”

Your voice is like the caress of a hand against Zayne’s skin, and he almost buckles at the first sound of it. How can you sound like an angel whilst condemning him? His hands rest on the wood, and he is all at once unable to move, limbs shaking with fear? Restraint? Desire? All of it contradicts the other, and yet the storm within him refuses to cease.

When he does turn, it is to the sound of your voice once more, “I’m sorry to keep you. I - ah,” his eyes find you, standing beside the final pew of the nave, wringing your hands as you look over at him. Your eyes are full of something he cannot put a name to, though he feels a kinship to whatever it is. You appear lost. “I was wondering if you might hear my confession?”

The idea that you might have sins to confess has Zayne all at once breaking out in a sweat and wanting to laugh. He should be in the booth, confessing his own sin, his own filthy needs that seem to have risen from their long-buried grave in your presence. He cannot imagine you have a sin greater than his own, and yet you believe him the best person to hear it.

“Of course,” His throat is low, rough from the service as it always is. He hasn’t had time to drink anything yet, but he clears it once, “the booth is over here,”

You follow behind him, a few paces separating the two of you. He is thankful for the space, thankful for the time between the nave and the small booth close to the entrance. It gives him time to prepare himself for how you might sound, how your voice might carry through the dividers of the confessional. The idea of you speaking to him in a quiet, whispered tone, the two of you all alone in separate stalls of the dark booth has him suppressing a shiver.

He is a depraved man.

Pulling the curtain aside, he allows you to enter the stall for penitents. You brush past him, your hair carrying the same honeyed scent from earlier, and he releases the curtain with a sharp inhale, eager to get this over with.

He feels some relief once he is inside his side of the confessional, the thin layer of separation is welcome to his racing heart and wayward thoughts. He can just about gather himself after a few quiet moments, the soft sounds of your breathing the only thing Zayne can hear. He makes the sign of the cross, glancing through the divider to check if you are ready. He does not see you make the sign, and he frowns, speaking softly.

“Have you ever done this before, ___?”

A soft gasp, and then you speak, “I didn’t think you’d remember my name,”

Zayne’s lips quirk up at the edges. Oh, if only you knew the thoughts that had been synonymous with your name over the last month. “I take great care to remember the names of my parishioners,”

A bald-faced lie, and in the confessional, no less. But Zayne allows himself this sin - he can repent later.

“Oh,” You say, and Zayne can hear the smile in your voice, “that’s a lot of names to remember,”

“Well, I never claimed to remember the correct names,”

When you laugh, it is as if someone has managed to capture all the beauty of a spring day - the rain pattering against leaves, the melody of birdsong, the burble of a forest stream. His eyes close to it, like he is committing it to memory.

You’re quiet for a few moments before you speak again, “I’m afraid I don’t know how to begin,”

Your first confession, and Zayne gets to hear it.

“First, you make the sign of the cross,” He says, peeking through the divider where he can make out the blurry outline of your hand moving over your face. His lips curl into a grin, the sight of it pleasing to him, if only because he gets to walk you through it for the first time, “Then you say, ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned’,”

You clear your throat, speaking soft, “Bless me, Father,” you pause, “for I have sinned,”

Zayne wants to convince himself that he doesn’t get a strange, dark sided satisfaction from hearing you address him as such, but he does. He cannot explain it - the taboo of it, perhaps. The wrongness of his affinity to you, the way in which you make him feel more than anyone ever has, and the fact it’s such a problem for a man in his position. Speaking of sinning while the leap in his chest and the heat low in his gut is the very embodiment of his own sin.

“Good,” He says, almost so quiet he wonders whether you heard him or not, but he notices the creak of the bench beneath you, the rustle of your clothing as you fidget, and he licks his lips. “Now, you say, “My last confession was…” and tell me when you last confessed,”

He hears you swallow in the heavy silence, the lack of sound so dense it’s almost too loud, overwhelming and broken only by the quiet breaths from the two of you. It’s as if you’re the only two people on earth.

“I have never confessed, Father,”

Zayne nods, despite the fact you cannot see him, “I understand. In that case, you can just begin,”

A deep inhale followed by the creaking of the bench is all that follows, and Zayne realises how much he awaits the words you’re about to give him. He is almost impatient with it, desperate for any little bit of you he can claim while staying devout. He cannot have you, cannot enjoy the feel of your skin or the taste of your breath on his lips, but he can have this.

You begin in stuttered words, a frustrated sigh filling the space before you finally get the words out, “I-I have been having some…impure thoughts,”

Zayne’s hands ball into fists, and he feels, not for the first time, like this is a true test. Perhaps you are his punishment; he has not been living purely enough, he has not been devout, he has strayed from his own teachings. He surely must have done something wrong to warrant such torture, such temptation, packaged in a woman so sweet and so beautiful. He cannot imagine a worse fate, and he doesn’t have to.

“I see,” The words are a grind to get out, his throat almost closing up, locked with a thirst he has never felt before. One that cannot be quenched with even the cleanest, freshest water. This is a need Zayne is only vaguely aware of, and it can only be satisfied with skin and sweat and teeth dragging on salted cheeks. A wet, hot drag of blood rushes to Zayne’s groin and his thighs jerk closed, as if someone might see his body reacting to barely the implication of you thinking about sex. Of you lusting after hands on your body.

He wants to fulfil that need for you so badly it aches.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea -” You begin, and Zayne panics. He knows it’s a terrible idea to hear you speak more, to have you truly confess all your darkest desires to him. It’s unholy, and it’s wrong, and it’s the worst kind of temptation. But he can’t help but succumb to it, just a little.

“You can continue,” He rubs his palms along his thighs, the heaviness of his clothing almost suffocating him. Not for the first time, he wants to curse these vestments, to pull them off his body. “I have heard many confessions, ___. Please, unburden yourself,”

Unburden yourself by burdening me with the thought of your bare body on mine.

There’s an edge to your voice when you speak again, almost breathless, perhaps with embarrassment of having your secrets revealed. Zayne can appreciate how confessions can be awkward, especially the first time. “I have…I am not someone who has followed the church for long. I -” you swallow, and Zayne hangs on every word, “I mean to say, I am not a virgin. I am…I’ve had sex before marriage,”

It’s not the first time this particular confession has been revealed to Zayne - times are different now, and even thoughts who are true to their faith cannot resist the heady pull of connection with another person. Zayne himself would be a hypocrite if he was to admonish anyone for that particular sin.

“You are not alone in that, ___,” Is all he says, though he hopes it can help you feel more comfortable, more at ease. He likes to hear you speak, even if the words that leave your lips feel like being held against a scorching fire.

“It’s not the thoughts,” You say, “I mean…it’s not that I have these thoughts, that’s not why I felt compelled to confess. It’s,” Zayne almost leans toward the divider in intrigue, “it’s who the thoughts are about, Father,”

The first feeling is jealousy, which is ridiculous. Zayne has no claim over who you dream about, or who you desire, but he feels greedy even in this one-sided infatuation.

“Who are these thoughts about? I am sure God understands,” God certainly won’t understand Zayne, nor will he forgive. But as he burns for you on the other side of the confessional, he wonders if perhaps Hell isn’t the best place for him. There he would be able to desire you all he wants.

It's sacrilegious to even think about it, and Zayne wants to slam his head into the wall. He has finally gone mad.

“I think about…” There’s a pause, and he can’t imagine what you might say. Who you might think about. Nothing prepares him for your answer, “I think about you, Father,”

There’s a very real, self-preserving part of Zayne that wonders if he might be dreaming. Some kind of TV-induced slumber he’s fallen into inside his apartment. A safe, controlled place where he can act out whatever fantasy he wants right now, with the information he now has, and there will be no consequences.

He knows that not to be true, though, and so he sits in the stall beside you, his cock already hard in his slacks, and attempts to pray. He does so silently, not wanting you to hear and get the wrong idea, but he cannot string a single thought together long enough to actually have any hopes of speaking with God. He cannot receive any guidance right now, and he fears that it will be his damnation.

“Father?” You speak, and Zayne realises in horror that he has not replied to you, “perhaps I should go. I’m sorry - this -”

“No,” He says, his voice as steady as it has ever been, and his heart restarts at the sound of you plopping back down onto the bench. He feels his stomach clench at your obedience, the twisted part of him wanting to see how far that obedience will take you. He winces at his own depraved thoughts. “This is your confession, ___. You can tell me, I am here to give you guidance. There is no judgement,”

His voice is as tight as a bowstring, and he knows you can hear it, knows that you are aware of his reaction by the way you inhale softly, sharply. “What…what should I say?”

Zayne is out of his depth, but he can’t resist the pull of his own carnal desires, can’t resist hearing what exactly you think about, “Tell me about the...thoughts,”

You shift again, and his mind flutters to the image of you in your dress, thighs shifting on the wooden seat. His cheeks flush, the heat burning. When you speak, your voice is shaky, breathless, and Zayne is hungry for any and all reaction, “I…I had a dream about you. The first time,” you pause, “I dreamt you were alone with me. That we kissed in the nave…that you pushed me against the wall,” you swallow, “you were…rough. Not how I imagined a priest would be, but it excited me. The wrongness of it all,”

It excites Zayne too, it always has. Ever since he first saw you, a part of him enjoyed the traitorous thoughts he would have of you. At first it was simply that you were pretty, a harmless observation, but then it changed, and it became about the way the dresses you wore to church clung to your body. The way your body might feel in his hands, the weight of your breasts, the softness of your hips. Soon he was imagining the hot, wet wrap of your cunt around his cock, the stretch of your rose-coloured lips around his length as he fucked your throat. His throat dries up as he recalls them all.

“Did it stop there?” He murmurs, the cracking of his voice giving him away, but it’s too late now. He wants you to know that everything you feel, he feels it too. Maybe even more, worse. “Did it stop at the kiss?”

He glances at the divider, and he swears he sees you bite your lip, even through the blurred screen, “No,”

“What did I do next, ___? In your dreams,”

He’s dragging his nails along his thighs to stop his hand from touching his erection. It’s hot, hard against his thigh, and he can feel it throb in time with his heartbeat.

“You touched me. You pulled up my dress and you put your fingers inside me,”

A harsh breath blows out through his nose, and Zayne feels the fraying edge of his control begin to break, his pulse thudding everywhere, blood rushing in his ears. He can hear you shifting, your body restless on the other side of the thin wall, and he almost groans. You are suffering, just like him, and he can’t have that.

“Are you turned on, ___?” He is looking through the divider now, and he can faintly make out your parted lips, your head leaning back against the wall, the slow roll of a nod, “Touch yourself. Do it exactly how I did in the dream,”

“But…” You sigh and then groan, and Zayne imagines that you have pulled up your dress, your fingers trailing against your underwear, “Father, God will -”

“God isn’t here right now. It’s just us, ___. Okay?”

“Okay,” The word breaks on a whine, and Zayne loses the battle, his hand flying under his alb to press against his cock. He grunts, cursing through his teeth, and you sigh, “Father, please…tell me what to do,”

His brows furrow, vision almost blurring as he fumbles with his belt buckle. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can pretend he isn’t desecrating the confessional in his own church. Perhaps if he doesn’t touch you, this doesn’t count. His hand fists his cock as soon as he pulls it free, his other hand fighting with the layers of cloth, tugging it to his waist, his abs tensing with each slow stroke.

“Are you wet?” He grunts, “Can you slide your fingers inside, just like I said?”

Your low moan is answer enough, the creaking of the bench beneath you his only indicator besides your laboured breaths that you’re in this with him. There’s a sharp gasp, and then Zayne hears the wet squelch of your cunt, and he clenches his jaw so tight it hurts.

“Good girl,” He sighs, his thumb brushing over the leaking head of his cock. He gazes down at his hand blearily, half drunk on pleasure, scattered thoughts rushing through his mind, too fast for him to keep a tight hold on. His hand speeds up, remnicent of all those times he’d fucked himself to the idea of you in the safety of his own shower. Only this time, he has your moans to help him along, right beside him on the other side of the wall.

The next few moments are alive with the sounds of his wet strokes, the pumping of your fingers and your collective sighs and whines of pleasure. Zayne briefly fights with the urge of pulling back the curtain, of going to your side of the confessional and seeing with his own eyes how you pleasure yourself. How you take care of your own desires, your own filthy needs, but he knows if he were to do that, everything would shatter around him. In here, in this booth, he can maintain some sense of control. Some rules have stayed unbroken, and he clings to that like a lifeline as you cry out.

“Father, I - I’m almost -”

“Come, ___. You’ve done so well -” His voice cracks, a moan breaking through the last word as he spills into his hand, his body obeying his own command along with you. He can hear you writhing on the bench, your hips moving enough for the bench to thud against the wall. Zayne thinks he has never heard something so beautiful, and so damning all at once.

The moments that follow are alight with the afterglow of pleasure, though all too soon reality sets in, and the silence is cut through by the sounds of rustling clothing, and the metallic screech of the curtain being pulled back. By the time Zayne has tidied himself up, he looks into your side of the booth to find you gone, and he feels both relieved and devastated in one harsh blow.

[orchidyoonkook]

The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino  

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

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

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

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

And obnoxiously flirty.

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

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

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

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

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

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

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

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

Intimate. That would be a better choice. 

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

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

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

He’ll be back for another soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of the time.

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

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

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

Fucking incubi demons…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And obnoxiously flirty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

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

You learned your lesson.

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

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

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

Which can only mean one fucking thing. 

You just lost all your tips for the night. 

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it. 

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

No one serves him but you. 

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t take another breath. 

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

“Thanks,” You’d said.

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

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

But he was more than pleased. 

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

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

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

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

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

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

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

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation. 

No one calls the Devil by his first name. 

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to. 

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

No one except you. 

What a funny little exception you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

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

The King of Hell. 

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

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

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

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

You have to stay away from him. 

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

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

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

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

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe he is. 

But not to you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi. 

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

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

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

And he looks like sin incarnate. 

Fitting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were all you. 

Maybe his plan was working after all…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think?”  

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

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate. 

“Yes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful. 

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says. 

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

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

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

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

Makes you wonder what he promised.

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

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

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

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

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear. 

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait— 

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

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

They don’t know about Yoongi.

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

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

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

You’ve decided. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go to yours.”

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

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

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

Fuck, you don’t want to wait. 

And apparently neither does Yoongi. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

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

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

You trust Yoongi. 

“That's a good girl.” 

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please what, Love?”

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

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

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

“There she is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

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

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

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

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

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

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.” 

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

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

“And if I do?” 

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

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

“Fuck—”

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

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

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

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

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

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

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

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

You’re the most powerful person here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

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

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

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

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

This is about you. 

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

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

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

Perfect in every single way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet. 

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

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

Ever.  

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

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

There was only you. 

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

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

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

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

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

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

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming. 

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

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

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

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

Whatever you want. Whatever you need. 

It’s yours. 

He’ll make it so.

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

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

You got exactly what you wanted.

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

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

“What changed?” 

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

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

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

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

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

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

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

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

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

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

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

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

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

“You.” 

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

You just know it. 

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

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

You never expected anything like that. 

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

Kindness. Patience.

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

Because of you.  

“I don't know what to say.”

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

You can do that. 

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

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

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

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

He was yours now. 

The Devil was yours.

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

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

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

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

[hylianane]

I have an opinion about Holly Kujo and I’m a little scared cause I dont know the Jojo fandom enough to come in with what I think is a hot take.

I’ve noticed that, in fanworks, a lot of people portray Holly as tougher than she is in the show. And it makes sense, cause the idea of her being so weak-willed that she couldn’t handle a stand when even baby Shizuka could manifest one is kinda bs and a testament to Araki not being very confident with writing women at the time (thank GOD he got better though, so, so much better).

But. What always gets me is when her relationship with Jotaro is written to be a little more standard, still loving but with the child having a healthy fear of their mom’s anger- unlike what we see in Stardust, with him constantly being a brat, calling her “bitch” and her shrugging it off with an “Okay!”. also him getting himself thrown into jail while she still can’t bring herself to get mad, just upset. And the fanfics take a very fun play on them too, but I just worry that people who default to this dynamic for Jojo and Holly might not see how the canon characterization of their relationship is interesting in its own right.

Because even tho Holly being a doormat is a creative choice born from Araki pussying out of giving her a stand, it doesn’t change the fact that once he made that choice he gave it great importance. I think the fact that Holly’s idea of supporting her son is just accepting everything he does without any anger is central to their relationship. It’s how, despite having a mother who loves him unconditionally, Jotaro is still a very troubled teen and emotionally withdrawn. Though it’s easy to blame it on Sadao’s implied absence, or troubles in school, we don’t have a lot of textual evidence for that.

But kids who are raised without at least some semblance of discipline and structure typically stop seeing their parents as authorities, and most importantly, protectors. A more textually-backed explanation for why Jotaro is always acting tough and independent is because he doesn’t have any adults in his life who he would trust to help him. He loves his mom, he traveled the world to save her life, but while doing that he saw himself as her protector, not the other way around, not the way it typically should be.

Think about, for example, how the adult he mouths off to the least in his life is probably Avdol. And I think part of that is because Avdol walked into that police station, took one look at Jotaro, and instantly clocked everything I just said. Because while Holly and Joseph tried to to get him out with simple words (and for Holly, tears), Avdol was there to force him out. And at first Jotaro says, “If he tries to force me out, I’ll just stay here even longer”, but Avdol doesn’t give him a choice. And he doesn’t win by overpowering him (if he had, I dont think he’d have gotten the same positive result, I am not pro setting troubled teens on fucking fire) but he outsmarts Jotaro and doesn’t quit the fight until his goal is achieved. He stays in control of his emotions when talking to him, and proves himself to be someone strong and assertive. So later, on the trip to Cairo, Jotaro is more willing to rely on him than he is to rely on his own grandpa. (+, it’s a similar thing with Kakyoin, who he trusts almost more than anyone else, because he saw Kakyoin’s will and power first-hand when they met, and left with the lesson that Kak is someone he can rely on to protect of both himself and Jotaro. Someone with strong convictions, but most importantly, willing and capable of clashing with Jotaro if necessary.)

All this to fucking say. In a world in which Jotaro was raised to fear his parent’s reprimands (and I don’t mean fear to an unhealthy amount, an abusive amount), he would act very differently than he does in the show, and his relationships to other characters would probably look very different. Holly’s personality and parenting might seem like it was an afterthought to Araki, but I think he truly did take great care in making it consistent with her son’s character. She is a very loving mom, who is very loved in return, but what I think a lot of people perceive as a flaw in her writing is actually just a flaw in her character, with narrative weight and interesting consequences. And I’m not sure how many people are really aware of that.

[croquettish]

Listen please feel free to ignore my idle ramblings. You just inspire me to bring my thoughts to paper and I always love to read your take on everything.

Honestly I also very much read Hans as a comphet gay man all the way.

He feels like the most overcompensating character ever. He makes loving women his whole entire brand which is so sad to watch sometimes.

The way he is expressing his attraction to Henry feels leagues removed from the way he is trying to court every single woman in the game.

He doesn't need flashy gestures or words for Henry. When it's real you dont need as much embellishment so to say.

For the first time in the games he sounds and acts natural with someone else he expresses interest in. Like it's not just a show he has to put on for everyone else except for his own enjoyment as whenever he interacts with women.

He looks like he is freaking melting with Henry.

I honestly also even think his constant trips to the bath house in the first game are just for basically spa treatments and not much else happens there. I think I even remember him saying something along the lines of he just likes being pampered.

It makes me really confused how people can think there were no signs of him being gay in the first game. What do these people think gay people would have acted like in a time when it might as well be a death sentence or a life as a monk AT BEST to express your true feelings.

I think Hans reaction, trying his best to be perceived as the most women loving giga chad ever is honestly the only sign I needed to realize that that can't be quite true. It feels fake all over. I sometimes wonder if they originally intended this whole attitude to feel genuine, but realized in the making how that just doesn't feel right at all and switched up his character accordingly? Like he's a character breaking free from his own pre intended writing somehow?

If you're reading him as Bi absolutely a valid opinion as well though! No hate only love!

Another point I just saw in your most recent post I wondered a lot about is the part of gaining reputation with Hans in the first game when being talked back to/down to (I think there also is at least one instance in the second game when I called him a brat and got reputation).

Honestly I think it's much to do with his low self esteem and probably not great metal health.

When you're struggling with your mental health because of your family situation like he does with Hanush you never get to develop a clear sense of self and deep self love and self respect. And various people deal with it in different ways, wheather they pull back into themselves and become people pleaser or they go another route like Hans and build this air of very high self regard around them. Of course either way it's all just a charade hiding his very vulnerable and self loathing core. Which sometimes makes flattery feel uncomfortable and being talked down to like self affirmation even if that's super twisted.

The way he talks to Hanush in the first game especially is so different from his snarky self. He is utterly defeated in the face of that man. He doesn't get angry how he usually does until after talking to him, he only ever meekly tries to even get a word in. He's belittled, not taken seriously and treated like a completely useless person and he doesn't really do anything. I think that's how a lot of people act in the face of a parental abuser that they learned not to set off even more.

(Honestly why I loathe Hanush. He's not one of the "bad guys" the games try to present. He is portrayed as a likable if hot headed guy, but he's an abuser in my eyes and is absolutely to blame for how Hans sees the world and himself).

Same as the unhealthy way of self harm Hans developed in making sure he stays unlikable so to say. For instance when trying to push Henry away when they are in the pillory. Even Henry sees that Hans is just saying mean things that he doesn't mean at all, just saying them to make sure Henry stops liking him and leaves. He never learned that he is allowed to be cared for like that so he has to make sure it stops. He has to make sure he is alone, uncared for, deprived of his only friend. That's a form of self harm if I've ever seen one. It honestly blew my mind that they added that. That whole scene is very rich when looked at from a mental health point of view in their interactions. When using the "Swear" option when playing as Henry he says something like "Who could ever be proud of you?!" and that seems to hit Hans like a ton of bricks crushing him. He looks like he is going to cry immediately and doesn't even come back with something to say like before, because that hit home like nothing else.

Like in their divorce era he snaps out of his self imposed agony and split from Henry as soon as Henry gets hurt because that's too much, that's not related to his self imposed denying himself his happiness. Even when you're fighting Old Semine at the wedding in swordfighting he is freaking cheering you on like he isn't really mad with you. It's not Henry he wants to hurt but himself.

I think that man is wildly unwell mentally and that's one more thing I really love about the way he and Henry interact with each other.

Henry seems to be somehow aware of that whole struggle and doesn't interact with it in an unhealthy or harmful way most of the time.

He is a caring man at the end of the day and that is exactly what Hans needs to heal, strengthen his sense of self and become a better version of himself.

Sorry again for putting like 5 different points in here. But I would honestly love to read your take. You always inspire me to think more about these characters I love.

Why would I ever ignore your idle ramblings when they're so insightful!!!! Also thank you so much, it honestly makes me super happy that people find value in my hyperfixation of picking this game and its characters apart. The fact that my own ramblings inspire you to think about these games and their characters in more depth makes me extremely happy ❤️

So for starters I'm so glad that I'm not the only one that reads Hans as a comphet gay man. There are honestly so many hints that he's overcompensating in the biggest way. As I said in my initial post about why Henry pushes Hans away at first, @hallowedlore pointed out that Hans' vibe of "love? I never knew love till now!" [five minutes later] "love? I never knew love till—" can be VERY indicative of queerness. Because of course he hasn't found the right girl; he was never looking for a girl at all. There are so many examples of this. Similarly, as @codeword-art pointed out here, noblemen are "supposed to be proud, stern, with a love for women," which, as they put it, most likely "stems from Hans' own doubts about his own sexuality." I could not agree more with this.

It's honestly not surprising to me that Hans has no idea how to act around women because he didn't grow up around them at all. His mother is either dead or ditched him and he didn't grow up with much of anyone, let alone any peers. But he did at least have Hanush around to act as a sort of male rolemodel. He had Captain Bernard and semi-frequently saw other noblemen. Women of his status, not so much. It's no wonder he doesn't really interact with either Rosa or Katherine, but even there, he seems more comfortable around Katherine because she's more like the women he was exposed to, castle staff and bath wenches.

I'm also inclined to agree with you about his trips to the baths. And not just because we find out he tried to convince one of the women to strip for him by playing dice with her (when he could have just asked her to) and then, after failing, used that as a conceit for how to try and get Henry naked… but also because he's so fucking bad at it. I tried for quite a while to find the post here but someone recently showed off a conversation Hans can have with one of the bath maids near Devil's Den, which is just so, so profoundly pathetic. Iirc this is during the fake Karolina era when he is white knuckling down on the last vestiges of heterosexuality that he thought he had.

It's interesting too that there is a non-zero chance (not a large chance, mind, just the possibility of it) that Hans could be a virgin. Like I think that's kind of fucking hysterical that for all his showboating it is possible for it to all be 100% fake pretend bravado. Do I think this is likely? Not really. But it's possible. Because we have only ever seen him strike out with women and we know for a fact that it is canon that he struck out with the real Karolina as well. He's bad at this! He fawns over Klara and goes to the baths to see her even though she's the only one of the bath maids there where touching is off the table. We also know that he's an idealist and a romantic who loves love. It wouldn't surprise me if he would look at sex he could pay for at a bathhouse as a sort of... hollow thing that wouldn't appeal to him. But by god, he'd pretend up and down and left and right that it does.

Another thing that should be commented on here that you brought up as well to a degree is this scene—and here I have to draw attention to @audentesfortunaiuvatt as usual magnificent tags. We know that they're canonically nude here. And @komorebian's wonderful gifts beautifully illustrate how much this motherfucker is just straight up checking Henry out. It's not even remotely subtle. And this is far from the only time stuff like this happens in KCD1! Like I shipped them like crazy after playing the first game and I can't imagine that was entirely unintentional on the part of the dev team. I mean look at this shit!

So much of Hans' character is faking it till you make it. Except he can't fake this well enough to pass as straight. He tries so hard and even then he's fucking transparent.

I maintain that I do think part of the reason that he enjoys when Henry gets smart with him is because he's willing to treat him like a person instead of an object, but like I said in my last meta post I do think part of it does have to do with a lack of self-esteem. The reason he does so much showboating is in order to try and fake who he thinks he should be. He masks and plays the mimic at every possible turn.

I also agree with you that Hanush had a big influence on his mental health (and lack thereof). But I think there's a bit more nuance here than you're suggesting. Because while you can 100% read Hanush's behaviors as abusive, the real issue (for Hans as well!) is that he's not actively and consciously trying to go for that result. Hanush genuinely thinks he's doing right by Hans and leading him toward what's best for him. And lbr here, even with something like the wedding, while the thing he's leading him toward is undeniably self-serving, Hanush is also… technically correct. Divorced from Hans' emotions, it is the "correct" choice. Hanush has raised Hans into a capable ruler in concept. This, to Hanush, was undoubtedly the most important thing. He just didn't realize he had to show him love and help him grow as a person as well. As I've said before, he's a great guardian, but he's a fucking godawful parent because he has no idea what he's doing.

If you're still sitting there going "no, he's evil" then I want you to look at the tiny tiny insight we get into Hanush's psyche here. It's just five seconds long and occurs at the very end of the scene where he lectures Hans during Clothes Make the Man. I brought this up as well in my meta post about Hans' relationship with Hanush. Hanush has no idea what he's doing. He (a former robber baron and perpetually broke gambler) was handed this extremely young child to raise out of nowhere. He's not a father. He doesn't know how to raise a kid. When he agreed to raise Hans in the event that something happened to his father, Hanush (like most people who agree to be a child's godparents) most likely didn't anticipate actually having to do it. And while it was quite common in medieval Europe for nobles to "foster" their children with other noble families as a way of cementing bonds and alliances, that doesn't mean that Hanush automatically knows how to parent.

You can read his stern talks with Hans and his emotional neglect of him as abuse. But the key thing here is imo intentionality. That abuse is borne from ignorance, not malice. And in a lot of ways that lack of intentionality makes it far, far more insidious. If Hanush hated him or hit him it would be so much easier for Hans to sort of recognize that what's happening here is emotionally damaging. He can walk away from this thinking that Hanush loves him and wants what's best for him, leaving him to internalize it all without second-guessing it. Because he's never had any reason to question it. It's also why him bringing up his parents here is especially poignant. Only with Henry, only placed outside of the bounds of society, only when surrounded by people who see value in him (so much so that Zizka assigned him control of a company of men!) does he start to question the things that he's taken for granted all this time.

And it does lead to things like the self-harm you mentioned, which I've commented on, if in no other way, at least in meme format:

(That's a lie, it comes up in my fic.)

That boy hates himself so much and thinks he's so fucking useless he literally actively pushes Henry away just so he can't let him down later. He knows this whole scene was his fault and is (even if it's just subconsciously) so angry with himself and insecure about how he's dragging Henry down that he flees. Even when Henry keeps forgiving him, over and over again.

You mentioned what happens if Henry bitches him out while they're in the pillory, and I agree that it makes a ton of sense that Hans, caring about Henry's approval as much as he does, would feel absolutely gutted. But I don't think that's the most telling thing you can get out of that conversation. If you play it nice the whole way through (my preferred route of choice, bc it ends up only making Hans feel all the worse for it after), you get this bit of dialogue:

Which... hoooooo boy.

I understand you need to take it out on someone. I can take it.

And that's exactly what Hans is so terrified of! That one day Henry won't be able to stand him anymore and will leave. So he leaves first. I mean, we get front row seats to his psyche later on that confirms exactly that. Because this, the "I wasn't good enough for you," is his take on what happens regardless of how nice you are to him.

@tsinavar and I had a conversation recently where they brought up what convinces Hans to keep poaching or not is whether or not Henry brings up his own safety. Which floored me bc, yeah, it really is that simple. Hans doesn't give a shit about his own hide because he doesn't think his hide is worth all that much to begin with. But Henry? He's worth the world to Hans.

And I think Henry recognizes this. He knows Hans, inside and out. It's why he can gut him in two seconds flat but then can choose not to. A Henry who is good enough at persuading people can use that ability, combined with how well he knows Hans, to talk him out of poaching by knowing to invoke his own safety. Like, no wonder Henry means everything to Hans. He sees Hans, inside and out, and stays by his side anyway.

[shmuel-ben-sarah-kcd2]

Samuel headcannons: specifically Jewish(ish) ones 

I think, despite him being worldly, despite all he has seen, despite him being far from the most observant, frum member of his community, Samuel still believes in G-d. In fact, the horrors he has scene only reinforce his faith in G-d. I know I know, cynicism as a result of trauma. And he certainly has those days, days where he wrestles with his faith. But that’s what being bene Yisrael means. He wrestles. It’s a part of our faith to argue, and so I think he has less (still some probably but less) guilt over those days. But I think he believes, he feels guilty when he can’t attend shul, the grief in his eyes as he whispers for G-d to forgive him as he must torch His temple. (That scene made me cry. I can’t guys I can’t)

Education. Obviously, Sammy boy is literate in at least two different scripts and languages. He can speak, read, and write medieval Czech, he can read and write Liturgical Hebrew, and he can speak Yiddish. Conversational Hebrew doesn’t exist at this point, and Yiddish didnt have a set standardization. Actually, pretty much no one had standardization for spelling. Point is moot, nvm. Also, it’s likely that he understands written Aramaic to some extent, given that is the language of the Talmud. He also can read trope, show that man a haftorah portion and he can do it with no prep. 

As for education, Samuel went to Cheder, first in Prague, then in Kuttenberg when his family moved back. He started learning his alef-bes by three, started Cheder at five, moved back at some point before he was ten, was a bright boy, and the grandson of a rabbi, so he stayed at it. He would even go on to briefly attend yeshiva back in Prague, but would return home a few years before the events of KCD2, dropping out before he could become a rabbi.  From this, he’s aquired an ability to make profound literary allusions, has a line or bit of wisdom for most circumstances from Pirke Avot or something of the like. Bro is dropping the Rambam and Maimonadies like it’s nothing. And he lives by his words. 

Why did he drop out? With the rise in political tensions, everyone wants someone to blame. And at home he can better keep his loved ones safe when the hammer drops. He wants to go back, but he has been made to forfeit the pen for the sword.

Also, kind of a non sequitar, but every single person at the siege of Suchdol belived in some kind of afterlife. Except for Sam. We Jews have idea's ish, but nothing as concrete as Christian heaven and hell, or Islam’s jannah and jahannam. In fact, the only thing mentioned is Sheol, simply the unending sleep, a state of non-being. In essence, there is one go at this if you are a Jew, and there is only this. So when Samuel volenteers for the suicide mission to get word out, he has no hope of heaven. And when he tells Henry to leave him behind? They both know sam will be made an example of, but sam knows that he will never see the ones he loves again. 

I think he’s Bi. No basis, just vibes. And also the mustache. I could see him with either of the two friends, with one of the women in Kuttenberg’s Jewish quarter, with John but only after he risks his head to help the Jews, could also see sam with OCs. Honestly though, I think faith matters more than gender to Sammy. I think he probably doesn’t sleep around a lot of at all, some of it is he’s just too busy. 

I think Samuel wants kids, and if he can’t have them the traditional way, he will adopt. After all, his father adopted, and his brother is his whole brother. Also, in Judaism, a convert is considered fully Jewish, with no legal or social distinction. His kids would be raised in the faith of his fathers. I also dont think he is very likely to wind up with a Christian, for that reason. If he is to marry, it will be under a canopy.

Sammy boy isn’t very superstitious, but I think he always keeps a red string tied around his left wrist, to keep away the evil eye. And he hands knives and weapons off in general by offering the hilt and holding the blade, so as to avoid a fight (proof: the scene where he hands Martin’s sword back to Henry. Small detail, but no one in the Jewish quarter who handles a weapon hands said weapon to anyone blade first.) 

Sammy follows Rabbi Johanan, Israel is Immune from Planitary Influence. He is NOT an astrology girly. Samuel probably does like gematria, but in the Mildly Autistic And Obsessed With Secret Codes kind of way. Yeah he’s definitely not neurotypical. But that’s another thing.

Wow. Lot of thoughts. And I’ve only been into him for like a week. Anyway.

I’m sure there will be more deranged loreposting. I have a lot of thoughts on being a Czech Jew. G-d, I love good representation. And if yall have questions about Jewish life or practices please reach out! I love talking.

[phyllisamaryllis]

anon because the fandom does genuinely scare me sometimes, especially within the caleo stan circles

love your posts. what are your thoughts on caleo? i personally greatly dislike it, but how do you feel about it? i think it's another percabeth situation, where people only defend the abuse that happens because of the gender (if calypso was male and leo was female, there would be a riot. same situation with the constant hitting/violence with annabeth. a genderswap would ruin these ships.) i dont think leo or calypso act happy in the relationship, whatsoever.

About Caleo.............

All right, I hate that ship, but my main problem is how Rick portrayed Calypso in PJO versus how she is portrayed in the actual mythology and the Odyssey.

Putting this under a cut because I don't want to clog your feed up.

I don't know how many PJO fans have read the Odyssey, but if you have read it before or after, doubtless you'll be surprised at how different the two Calypsos are.

How Calypso is portrayed in the Odyssey.

She is not a sad, helpless UWU teen girl like Calypso in PJO. She shouldn't have even been a teenager in PJO-she romanced two grown men!

She's not the type of person to understand and let someone go. She didn't do that with Odysseus-she kept him captive for seven years and only let him go when Hermes threatened her with the wrath of Zeus (not something you want to tempt, never ends well.)

Being a nymph and a minor goddess who was the daughter of Atlas, she supported him during the First Titanomachy which was why she lived on Ogygia in exile as punishment. She's a goddess, which means that she was leagues more powerful than Odysseus, who was exhausted, traumatised and didn't have any crew or supplies to sustain him. Going back into the ocean was also dangerous because, well, Poseidon and his rage (not something you want to have on your head either).

It's literally stated in the poem that Odysseus cried on the beach every morning, wishing to return home and missing it terribly. He literally just wanted to see the smoke that rose from his homeland and wants to die. Exact lines copied from Homey's Odyssey-

'By night indeed he would sleep by her side perforce in the hollow caves, unwilling beside the willing nymph.'

'At night-time, true, he slept with her even now in the arching caverns, but this was against his will; she was loving and he unloving'.

'But Odysseus, in his longing to see were it but the smoke leaping up from his own land, yearns to die.'

And when Hermes forces her to let him go, she makes this speech saying that gods will ravish all the women they like, but the moment goddesses start doing the same, they are furious and make them stop.

That's literally just her trying to blame the gods and not herself for something she did. She's trying to shift the blame and make herself seem likeable because others did it, so why can't she?

This is something that a lot of abusers use to make them seem better. Calypso's actions are not ok, and the narrative does not tell us that it's ok. It condemns them, and so should we.

This by @katerinaaqu is a must-read, and you should check out their blog for more info on the real Calypso.

And how she's portrayed in Percy Jackson

We should not, for example, turn this adult nymph who's a rapist into a biologically and mentally 15-16 and make her a poor little girl who's sadly living on an island and then state that she's romanced grown men while somehow being 15-16 years old and ignore it.

I'm not saying that it had to be stated that she was a rapist because this is a children's book series.

But I'm not saying that she had to be portrayed as a teenager either.

The worst part is that though Calypso is depicted as a teenager, it's said that she fought in a war, the First Titanomachy which was much more serious than the Second One, and she romanced two grown men.

All of this while being a teenager? How the hell does that work? Apollo literally says that Calypso is old enough to be his babysitter! And he's millennia old! Millennia!

There is no logic in this, honestly. I mean, there's not much logic or consistency in PJO, but this really takes the cake.

And in Heroes of Olympus, more specifically the fourth book House of Hades, she appears again.........

And, well, this is where it gets really revolting.

Leo Valdez, a fifteen or sixteen year old teenager, is thrown all the way to Ogygia. And there he meets Calypso, who, as the book series states, cannot help but fall in love with every hero that appears on her island because they're just her type.

I think we all know what happens next.

Calypso, a millennia-old goddess who fought in a war and romanced grown men, gets into a relationship.........with a traumatized, mentally unstable teenage boy who's not even a legal adult. After only, what, a few weeks?

This entire situation feels like some bizzarre nightmarish distorted version of terribly-written, unfunny comedy.

THE ATROCITY OF ROMANTICISED SUICIDE

Ok, so Caleo is abusive, but I'll get to that later.

What I want to talk about-first and foremost about Caleo-is that Leo commits suicide to find Calypso's island again-and this isn't good.

...............Sorry, did I say that that wasn't good?

No, that's a fucking understatement and underestimation.

IT'S ROMANTICISED SUICIDE.

Sink that in your head people. He killed himself to find her island again and take her off of it!

And no, that's not romantic. It's not. Fucking. ROMANTIC.

it's disgusting, unacceptable, unpleasant, nasty, disagreeable, horrid, unwholesome, atrocious, awful, deficient, revolting, lacking, unwelcome, unfortunate, inferior, inadequate, lousy, flawed, pathetic, disastrous, ill, useless, worthless, gross, damnable, vile, absymal, horrendous, shoddy, abominable, crappy, faulty, trashy, substandard, nasty, terrible, dreadful, unfavourable, grim, distressing, regrettable, adverse to morality and humanity, entirely unnecessary and not up to scratch (THAT WAS THE ITCHIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN).

How, just how am I supposed to explain how horrible this is? Especially in a children's book series?

Killing yourself just to find a loved one is never a good concept in any form of media. It's a self-destructive fantasy and suicide itself is a horrible, horrible thing-not to blame the suicidal person, but to both them and their loved ones.

And suicide should never be romanticised, never ever, period. To do so, especially in a children's book series, is absolutely atrocious writing on the author's part, no matter who they are.

He never even called it out. If he had said that it was horrible and treated it as such, it would be a little better-but no. It's cheered on and encouraged, which is a level of hell that's deeper than the Earth's core.

I don't think I've emphasized how awful this is. It's just.......let's not romanticise suicide and suicidal tendencies. Not for anything. Never.

LEO'S ARC IS RUINED

The entire point of Leo Valdez's arc was to show that being the third wheel (seventh one in this case) wasn't bad. Being single, not finding romantic love, was fine. Acceptance without romance was possible, and pure platonic love was also possible. And Calypso pretty much ruined this because in the end, heteronormativity forces romance above everything.

And he literally prioritises this random girl whom he spent a few weeks with over his friends whom he spent months with and knows them way better than Calypso.

The forced amatonormativity here is as transparent as clean air. You'' be able to see lichen growing on the trees if you look close enough.

Abuse in Caleo

Calypso is also abusive to Leo.

1) She looks into Leo's past and sees his memories. Without his permission. Which is pretty creepy and moves past boundaries in a bad way.

Now we come to the Dark Prophecy, where they star as a couple (more like a star explosion).

2) In TDP, Calypso jabs her fingers into Leo's ribs.

Why?

It's because she asked what was hiding Festus from the mortals, so he tells her what the Mist is and she says that already knows-even though she literally asked the question that provoked in the first place.

Even if she thinks he's insulting her or talking down, when he's not, she shouldn't jab her fingers into his ribs.

And that wasn't playful-Leo expressed physical pain through an exclamation. And even if Calypso thought it was playful, she didn't apologize afterwards when she saw that she caused Leo physical pain.

3) She also calls him by a name that he told her never to call him by-Leonidas.

He clearly doesn't like it, and knowing that, she still uses it, that too in front of someone they don't know very well, almost a stranger.

In the Riordanverse, names have power.

Leo chooses not to call himself that. He tells Calypso never to call him that. And she calls him that.

In this moment, she's taking his power and autonomy away from him by calling him something he doesn't like. It's probably minor to a lot of you, but honestly, it's pretty bothersome to those of us who have actually experienced this.

4) Leo often uses mechanical-related analogies, but Calypso hates them and makes him stop using them, so he doesn't even use them when she's not around.

What's wrong with him using his analogies? He uses them to help him and she makes him stop. She effectively stops him from using something that helps him. That is bad.

It's a fundamental part of him. If Calypso doesn't like it, then why is she dating him at all?

5) Leo is also bad to Calypso. He calls her Mamacita multiple times after she tells him not to. Reyna literally has to tell him to stop calling her that and intimidate him into doing it, and it's all passed off has lighthearted playfulness.

As someone who has been through this before, it's pretty damn frustrating. It's not funny or cute to do it. It's plain annoying and the person on the receiving end is completely right to want it to stop.

6) The age gap. I've mentioned this before.

But some people are saying that Calypso has the maturity of a teenager in PJO, so why shouldn't she date Leo?

All right, using that logic, let's make Apollo and Reyna date!

NO.

Calypso has lived for millennia on her island. She says that it's been three thousand five hundred and sixty eight years.

This isn't like Nico, who was in the Lotus Casino for decades but only aged a month. He was the same level of mature when he went into it and came out. Calypso was not.

Apollo has also lived for millennia. And he has a teenager's maturity. Does that mean it's ok for him to date Reyna.

No. It does not. And the same logic applies to Calypso and Leo.

I've also heard someone saying that Calypso is cursed to fall in love with whoever washes up on her island, which isn't true.

She says that the gods send her the type of person whom she can't help herself from falling in love with. Not that she's cursed to love them.

7) In TDP, Leo is working on something to try and find Georgina, a missing child.

And then when he says as much, Calypso sharply asks him if he can imagine losing his child.

He can, in fact, do that. He lost his mom, which was just as horrible if not more than Jo and Emmie losing their child, since there was a chance of Georgina coming back, but Esperanza could never come back.

He also has a little brother-Harley. He says that he would be furious if someone did something bad to Harley! So yes, he can in fact imagine what losing a child is like!

After this, Calypso for some reason gets frustrated and tells him that he can't reduce everything to a program.

He's not doing that. He's not reducing this problem to a program-he's working on a program to reduce this problem.

She tells him that Jo and Emmie don't need gadgets or jokes. They need someone who will listen.

And how is that going to help exactly? Leo is actually doing something. He's working on something to find Georgina.

A good listener is something nice to have, but a person who actually does something helpful is even better. And if Calypso thinks Jo and Emmie need a good listener, then she can listen. What else is she doing anyway?

Calypso willfully misunderstands this and wrongfully accuses him of not listening and trying to reduce everything to a machine when he's not. This is what a toxic partner does. They twist the narrative to make you think that your actions are wrong when they're not.

TO CONCLUDE

Neither Leo nor Calypso is happy in their relationship. It was built on naive dreams and false passions-the moment they became a real couple, they didn't know what to do. They thought that they loved each other, but it was only the idea of love and having a partner that was compelling to them. The moment they actually got what they wanted, which was to be in a real relationship, they didn't know how to actually be a couple. Then the problems of a real relationship began to hit both of them.

The logical solution would be to talk it out, apologise on both ends, realise that they wouldn't work out together and finally break up while remaining good friends or just stop contacting each other entirely-either one is fine.

They're taking a break now, so hopefully Rick Riordan will make them break up, but I think that he'll just never mention them again, which wouldn't be as great, but would be fine, honestly, regarding the current state of Rick Riordan.

[summerlinenss]

Continuing the discussion from Twitter about Taika possibly not being straight, I do hesitate to diagnose strangers with 'queer' because it's usually done by utalising stereotypes (like just him being flamboyant or the latest 'evidence' of him being at a Paris Hilton concert, he seems to go to pretty much everything.)

Without getting too parasocial, the everyone's a bit queer quote from before Thor 4 seemed different though, almost like a soft launch? The dumb backlash was unfortunately familiar to me, as someone who poked her head out of the closet, only to be met with a resounding 'we don't want you'. If he was trying to do that, I dont blame him for not trying since, I certainly havent.

Like i don't think he's a closeted gay, theres no indication that his romantic relationships with women havent been real, but he is from a generation that flat out didnt think bisexuality was a real thing. And the fact he's older and has talked about growing up in a toxic masculinity culture probably has more to with it.

I dunno, i know i shouldnt be think about strangers like this, but some things he's said feel familiar to me

(context for those not on the bird app)

i totally agree with not labelling anyone, and (regardless of how he does identify) taika seems very comfortable in his sexuality, which is all that matters. however, there’s also nothing he’s ever done to make me assume he is straight, if that makes sense?

i definitely took his out magazine interview as a sort of soft launch, as you said. especially since he followed it up with a “coming out” joke tweet. but the amount of vitriol he faced for it was absurd, and it’s still so strange to me how people instantly took his comments in bad faith instead of making the fairly obvious assumption that he was just saying “i consider myself to be part of this community.”

a quote i actually think about a lot is from when taika was on the vanity fair little gold men podcast (around 00:59:45) and got into talking about the stereotypical hyper-masculine culture of growing up in aotearoa, and i feel like it gives some insight into his feelings on this subject:

“I will tell ya, I grew up in a — a pretty macho culture and a very macho country. Where it’s like, you know, you play rugby and, you know, you drink beer, and it’s, like… kind of, life is just set out for you, and… how boring? You know? It’s just, like, you know, it’s like — people are like, ‘Well, I don’t want any immigrants here,’ and then complain that there’s only one type of food to eat. And so, it’s like… you know, that you… want to have an interesting life and you want to be able to — you want to expose yourself to art, and to — you know, to various cultures and various types of people. So for me, growing up, I… I was exposed to that from an early age through, like, on my mother’s side, especially. So it was, like… there were a lot of eccentric and interesting and weird artists and stuff in my life. Um, so it wasn’t, like, a later in life, big shock for me. It was always there. But I think I’ve realized that there are so many ways of being a man, and… and to be… just macho and to just want to be, like… just straight. Just to be, like, so determined to be straight, is… so… sad. And, like — and also is — it just feels so tiring. Wouldn’t it be so tiring just to, like, have to hold on to something that no one cares about? So — so tightly? And it’s, like, look, if you just let go and accept who — then we don’t have to have the conversation. We can talk about more important things. But the idea that we still have to talk about all of this is mad. (…) So, you know, it’s like… I would much rather have the discussions around, you know, more intense, more upsetting things that are happening to humanity than, like, who someone’s in love with.”

[spookberry]

Its been a while so I cant point to a bunch of specific example outside of like, Hera, Athena, and Hephaestus. But okay, one thing that always bothers me about the Percy Jackson worldbuilding is the fact that its fundamental premise is just "what if the greek gods and their stories were real" so there's nothing you can do about how deeply and unrelentingly sexist the ancient greeks were without just breaking your own premise. Like your options are take them at their word to fulfill the premise or say "nah all of them were wrong I have new lore". So I don't exactly blame Riordon for cherrypicking which myths he was gonna edit.

Its just a little wacky to me though that because of it's status as an adaption(to some degree) people don't really critically analyze the intent behind the source material on the gods. Their context from a meta perspective is often overlooked in the grand scheme of the story. Which I understand, the intrigue is on the demigods afterall, not the gods themselves.

However I just cannot stop myself from thinking about it. Like the fact that a big part of why the greeks respected Athena was because she was born "purely of man" and her birth was umblemished via coming from an icky woman. Shes the perfect woman because she lacks ties to womanhood. Shes the ideal Pick Me girl.

The story of Hephaestus's birth is sucky for him, but personally I think more on Hera. To me its always been fairly clear that the intended message you are meant to get out of that story is literally "no matter what, women are worse then men. Even at the one thing theyre meant to be good at." How dare a woman think she could ever be better than a man at something even if she is a Goddess of this thing.

Hera does bad things in her mythos I wont deny that and youre not meant to like her in Percy Jackson either which is fine. We can have complicated and annoyingly meddlesome girlbosss goddess for the sake of plot. Nonetheless I often find myself feeling sad about how she has been dragged through the mud for centuries because people dont dare to think more critically on why the men telling her stories spoke on her the way they did.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Hehe i think you arleady know me cause i am litteraly the queen of spam anyways PLEASE can you do a uzugiyuu thing when like Tengen (and maybe his wives) got jealous cause his so called husband Giyuu is too close with Shinobu or smth like that (dont mind my grammar i am french) anyways that's all i love you and your post very much btw💗💗

keep spamming me i love it and i love you too <3 tysm

Giyuu wasn’t quite sure how or when he’d been proclaimed Tengen’s husband, but he honestly didn’t mind. Especially since the four Uzui’s had a tendency to keep him company whenever or wherever he was, without a care in the world. Their enthusiasm was contagious and Giyuu was all for it, as long as they weren’t barging into his house again. But as much as he appreciated their constant patience with him and how much they claimed to love him, there was definitely cons to this relationship they’d established. One being Tengen’s something something jealousy and the arguments that erupted constantly between him and Shinobu. Somehow, Tengen had decided that Shinobu was ‘hogging’ Giyuu and had taken it into his own hands to warn Shinobu to ‘back off.’ Or something.

Giyuu found himself stuck in between the two—which was very disorienting because of Tengen and Shinobu’s height differences so that it felt like the words were ping ponging around him. He was getting dizzy at all the shouting and snapping. He didn’t even understand Tengen’s logic when he said that Giyuu was his—mostly because Shinobu had no interest in dating Giyuu and that was apparent, even to Sanemi. There was something about being tugged from Tengen’s arms to being pulled by Shinobu to being snatched back by Tengen that didn’t quite sit right with Giyuu. But when he voiced the opinion, Tengen spoke over him and Shinobu told him—Giyuu—to shut up. Which was all well and all, so he was yanked around like an idiot until Tengen settled the argument by carrying Giyuu away.

Eventually, Giyuu found himself hoisted over Tengen’s shoulder and marched to the Uzui household. At least, he thought, Tengen’s wives were quite to intervene and have him put down. So while they coddled him and Hinatsuru had a word with Tengen about all this manhandling, Giyuu walked the rest of the way to the Estate, accompanied by Makio and Suma. They questioned him, knowing how Tengen probably had been earlier. Giyuu figured they must be quite used to this by now.

He assured them that Shinobu had also played a part in it so his disheveled state mustn’t be blamed purely on Tengen. Nevertheless, they hustled him inside and took down his ponytail to assist in brushing his hair out and dusting him off. He supposed it wasn’t all too bad, then. What with Hinatsuru and Tengen joining them soon after. Hours later, Giyuu found himself bundled up in a futon with the four Uzui’s, the women in the pile all fast asleep. Tengen was wide awake, as was Giyuu, mostly because he was aware of missions he had to attend to in a bit and refused to let himself sleep. He took the chance to assure Tengen that he, in fact, did not see Shinobu in any romantic light. And that she was more of a friend to him, or a sister. Tengen agreed, though he didn’t bother apologizing for earlier. Which was the end of that.

Except it really wasn’t because the next day, when going over to the Butterfly Estate for a check up—his original plans yesterday before Tengen crashed the party—he found Shinobu and Tengen bickering. Sensing immediately that it was about the thing from the day before, he took a safer route and went to a sympathetic Aoi for his check up instead.

im out of ideas my brain is fried HELPP im sorry its friday im ready to sleep

[yesterdayiwrote]

i feel like Lewis isn't getting enough...i dont want to say hate but maybe criticism? for his role in the F1 movie, we talk a lot about how damaging it's going to be to female fans/women in motorsport and also talk a lot about how bad Brad Pitt is, WHICH WE SHOULD, but Lewis has a producer role right? (pls correct me if im wrong lol) He of all people should know about facing bigotry in F1 and he still goes ahead with this? I dont have any particular ill will towards lewis but i dont like that he's hiding (either intentionally or no) behind the other big names in this film, he deserves a heap of the criticism too! Especially as the one person id expect to be the MOST sympathetic towards marginalized groups in motorsport, im honestly just disappointed at him but also he is an incredibly rich man so maybe i should have expected that,

either way id love to hear your thoughts about lewis's part in the movie, i feel like you are a blog that is very good about taking a step back and not being parasocial lol

Haha, I mean I'm not always good at not being parasocial, but I try to be nuanced at least.

I do agree with you though and I think there's probably three main reasons why that is.

1) people don't know or remember that Lewis is an exec producer of this film. Its actually been kept relatively on the d/l when they talk about it. The focus tends to be on Brad Pitt or Jerry Bruckheimer when they're talking about it on F1 linked shows for some reason and so it's easy to miss that he's centrally involved unless you've looked it up or caught the right conversation about it.

2) people don't really understand what Lewis's role in the film is. A lot of exec producer credits are largely for vanity and just about contributing money, and their involvement is in the background. Brad Pitt exec produced the netflix series Adolescence about toxic masculinity for example (I know... rich right?!). Except Lewis has spoken about how he effectively acted as their consultant on the film. He helped develop the idea for an early stage. As per Lewis, he's very involved in the key aspects of this film as much as Brad Pitt is...

3) it's Lewis and so people who know and like him choose to give him the benefit of the doubt because of his previous activism. Lewis is seen as an ambassador and so they don't like to think he would be responsible for the "bad" stuff and so they assign the blame to people they don't like - a tale as old as time.

Whether it's warranted to criticise Lewis is a different story, and one we won't really know until people have seen the film in full. Not to mention a consultant can offer their input, but they can be overruled for the sake of creative licence. That being said, Is it a coincidence that both of the lead characters seem to be Mary Sue's of Lewis at opposite ends of his career...? We'll never know if he tried to advise against the driver/engineer plot (and the driver/journalist plot) or if he was a proponent of it. Noone will take ownership of the parts that people criticise, I'm sure.

I do think his name should be tied to this as much as Brad Pitt's though, at least when there's discourse around what it represents and the potential damage it could cause. If it's a success then he'll be reaping the plaudits, both financially and otherwise, and so he should be held to account for the criticism as well. He's advocating for the film, his name is in the credits, he's not an innocent bystander in this...

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for wearing a flimsy shirt and flashing my husband's friends?

Ok. So the key players here are. Me (25F), my husband (27M) and our friends who are all around our ages.

I run a D&D game on sunday evenings for my husband and 4 of our shared friends. 2 of them are big dudes and 2 are women, but we live in a basement suite and having 6 people in it makes it heat up fast. This is on an average day.

Recently, our landlord got our heating fixed. We didn't realize it was broken and blamed the cold in the suite on it being a basement. When it's just us it got pretty chilly in there pre-fixing. After the furnace was fixed, our landlord (who lives in the upstairs suite) absolutely cranked the heat to compensate for a recent week-long cold snap in our area.

As a result, it's been sweltering hot in our suite (like, i've been wearing a tank top and underwear as my at home loungewear because anything more is torture). I anticipated the high heat being a problem before the gang came over this past Sunday, but I knew I had to wear pants bc obvs. I decided i'd wear a loose flowy tank top though, just so i didnt absolutely die from the heat.

Here comes the problem. We play DND on our admittedly low to the ground coffee table. As i bent over to set up a map, my shirt fell a little too far and revealed too much. I didnt notice when it was happening until my husband pointed it out by making a joke about it. I was like "oops" and took greater care to crouch instead of bend over for the rest of the session, so as not to accidentally flash anybody again. I didnt think anything else of it and nobody said anything.

The next day, my husband was quiet and not really engaging with me, and I thought he was just tired because he gets like that when he's tired. I went to work. About 5 hours into the work day, i get a text from him saying "Just so you know, and I know I have voiced how I feel about this before, but you flashing my friends is a MAJOR turn off for me"

I was confused at first, but then realized he was referring to the accidental flashing on Sunday night. But it wasnt just his friends, it was mine too, and it wasn't on purpose. Like i wasnt doing it for kink or anything. I also am bothered by him implying i've done this before, as I dont remember ever doing something like that. Before anyone asks, I have body dysmorphia and deeply hate my appearance so it doesnt make sense to me that I would have flashed people before and just forgotten.

But im autistic so i sometimes dont know limits for appropriate behaviour. Which is why im asking AITA for wearing a flowy tank top in our very warm house and accidentally flashing people when i bent over?

What are these acronyms?

[sanjisblackasswife]

i was wondering how would the monster trio react if they randomly got a boner and bro im SURE sanji’s cock twitches 47 times a day given the thoughts he constantly has 🙄🙄 zoro gets them while he sleeps so he waits for his dick to calm down before standing up,, people think he’s lazy but he’s just hard and doesn’t want anybody to know🤭🤭

luffy’s dick gets hard when he thinks about being the pirates king 😒😒

“𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝔾𝕖𝕥𝕤 ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕕 ℝ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕞𝕝𝕪”

All are very canon cuz i seen it for myself.

Ft. Zoro, Luffy, Sanji

Blk Fem! Reader in Mind

CW: Dick talk, established relationships because i wanna project and include myself😓

Luffy

When he gets hard it’s really rare and i feel like it’s partially because of his rubbery body….does that even make sense

He gets hard from very few things and they’re always so minuscule or random its hard to know if he’s actually turned on or if his body is just trynna be funny.

You once made him a dessert that you really wanted to try without the assistance of sanji and when Luffy ate it he not only fell in love with you, but loved the sweet pastry so much you noticed a tent grow in his shorts

Very shameless in the morning by the way.

Every man gets morning wood at least once a lifetime and when Luffy gets it

everybody knows.

“LUFFY PUT THAT THING AWAY?!”

“Calm down, Nami it’ll go down in a sec..😄”

Has been heard by the guys a few times with him jacking off late night when his hard on is just so bothersome.

“GO DO THAT SOMEWHERE ELSE—“

“OR GO SEE Y/N!”

“Dont wanna. Shes too far. Im almost done dont worry.”

Usopp ends up pissed the entire day.

His boners can ironically go down quickly if he eats meat.

You swear his dick has a mind of it’s own, all you did was tell him about how much higher his bounty would get after defeating Kaido and his dick started poking you in the back.

Now he is still a guy and guys also can be attracted to women so you being his girlfriend—you’re not necessarily excluded.

However he gets hard at the simplest things you do.

Taking his hat, Calling him captain, even play fighting with him he ends up getting hard so hopefully youre a good gf and willing to help him out when it happens😁

Zoro

He claims he can control his erections .

No he cannot.

If he’s in a relationship with you he’s more shy about letting you know about his dick problems because you dont want him to think hes a pervert.

He can’t control a damn thing his dick does which is why he blames you.

“I had more balance before I met you—“

“Wh—HELLO?”

“LOOK. WOMAN.”

All you did was hug him.

When he gets morning wood he is usually laying around a little longer. He has tried jacking off while in the room with the guys as they slept but he heard Luffy sleep walking (with his own hard on) and immediately just went back to sleep.

He very rarely does get hard though. However you plan to find out every single thing that turns him hard and so far you only found 2:

The first one is kissing, hes a touch starved man and you can never help yourself when it comes to locking lips with him. Your tongue wrapped around his, your hands on his chest and straddling him as he gropes your ass, he’s so needy it’s almost too cute to handle. and the look on his face when you feel him poke you is absolutely EVERYTHING.

The one that shocked you the most was when youre arguing with him. He doesnt know why he gets turned on by how mad you get whether it’s at him or someone else but the blood flow of his dick is damn near on fire. Maybe it’s because you have an accent when you speak fast, maybe it’s because it’s a rare occurrence, or maybe zoro is a freak. But seeing you so pent up and pissed makes his pants tight

Zoro getting hard consist of him being irritable, quiet, and trying to isolate himself until he or you fix the issue

Sanji

He’s always half hard.

Wanna know something else, his blood fits he has (the ones that didnt turn into a fucking plot point) are representing each time he gets hard.

Anyways though, he masturbates regularly. If he’s not cooking or out with the crew he is in the bathroom helping himself.

His hard ons are easy to spot because he’ll hide himself behind a counter with blush on his face or stand behind you.

He is shameless with his hardons only when you’re around.

He can get hard just by seeing you smile so have fun with that.

But he gets incredibly hard(and even easier) after you both have had sex before

If you all are on the deck and you wanna wear another thin ass bikini of course he is going to get hard. Thinking about the things he’d do to you if you just gave him the green light.

Which is also why Sanji stares at you a lot.

So he will come behind you and bury his face in your shoulder or neck whining.

You don’t mind it. It’s cute to see him rut up behind your ass, his accent slipping through .

“May we..go to your room please?”

If you say yes he will walk SUPER close behind you trying to hide his painful erection, mumbling small praises and thanks for you being so understanding.

He’s so grateful for you :(

[hanasnx]

more of brucie,

19yo gf and him going out to the iceberg lounge for what gf thinks is a romantic date bcos she doesn’t even realize what a criminal wasteland it really is but it’s really for batman to spy on the penguin .

19yo gf seeing bruises on bruce’s back and asking him what had happened and he sends her away and dismisses her ab it

bat signal lighting up when gf is sooooo close to getting in bruce’s pants

-🍓

he says "let me go grab us some drinks :)" and slips away to listen in at cobblepot's door and when he gets caught he stupidly goes "i was looking for the bathroom 😅"

he dismisses her saying that he's so clumsy he was reading the newspaper and took a tumble down the stairs, luckily! he's taken martial arts, and knew to tuck and roll just like his sensei taught him 😎

ok now the bat signal thing had me gasping bcos i imagine bruce is dating you this young because of the controversy and not because of attraction. he can recognize you're attractive, and that you have control of your own body and can choose to sleep with who you want. he certainly doesn't blame you for coming onto him when he's been on you so strongly, and you two are famously dating after all. there's no shame in sleeping together. however, for him, he's held back. whether it be principle or whatever, he doesn't find young pussy as appealing as some people. he likes women his age, and that's not to say he doesnt't think you're sexy or that somehow your age does you a disservice in the bedroom, but it's too real. sleeping with you after using you to get ahead as batman takes it one step too far for him. he was kinda hoping to be done when everything blows over on batman's end, or that you'd break up with him so he could get in on the juicy heartbreak scandal on the tabloids.

sleeping with you after using you as a tool doesn't sit right with him. which is one the reasons he's always rushing you out, i think that's kind of the point i wanted to make with that 19 year old reader "au" so to speak.

so it's kinda hot to me that you've gotten him to the point where he's considering it. a catalyst has occurred to where he can set aside that past principle (though he is famously stubborn so i haven't devised the catalyst).

you're draped on him, hand stroking his thigh, fingers brushing the bulge in his pants, telling him, "it's alright, i get shy, too." and he's thinking about pulling you on is lap to ride him and he sees the signal from the window and remembers his principles, effectively blue-balling you again. you prolly try to pick a fight with him because youre a fresh adult basically and dont know a lot but he doesnt have time for you because he has to get you out of here so he can go.

for the most part, i highly doubt he ever lets himself be alone with you. it's always in public spaces, or someone else is around like alfred