#i guess bc he drew the second one

[yumebliki]

group photo

[lazyjellyfish300]

The Woman He Didn't Choose part 2🥀

AU Bachelor!Miguel O'Hara x Fem contestant Reader

Synopsis: the aftermath of the show as you and Miguel move on(sort of). The first part is mostly from his POV then transitions into your experience on the spinoff show- Singles in Paradise where you have a second shot at finding love. Word count: 6k

A/N: Sorry to any Xina fans, I made her OOC and quite mean in this one. I haven't read the comics but from what I've heard of her and seen so far she's one of the canon love interests I like the most. (Even tho I shamelessly self ship with Miguel lolol bc as far as I know ATSV Miguel is separate from comic Miguel Soo until we hear otherwise I'm gonna be delulu.)

Also, I am sorry if any of the couple pairings in this part bother you, it's purely for the purpose of the plot since we're supposed to be on another dating show and I am too lazy to create a bunch of OCs. If you're unfamiliar with the show Bachelor in Paradise, here's a clip to give you an idea. Basically, it's another dating show usually in a tropical location where single people couple up, and new arrivals come in every so often and ask people on dates to shake things up, leading to drama and chaos, and couples can choose to stay together or break up in the end and there's typically an engagement. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NO RIGHTS TO THE SHOWS THE BACHELOR OR BACHELOR IN PARADISE, ALL RIGHTS TO THE OWNERS. I CHANGED THE NAME OF THE SHOW IN THE STORY.

TW: MINORS DNI, ANGST, RACIAL MICROAGGRESSIONS ABOUT ESL AND FAMILY STRUCTURE(IF THAT'S SENSITIVE FOR YOU PLEASE SKIP ❤️) EMOTIONAL ABUSE, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, ALCOHOL ,DOWNPLAYING MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES, LITTLE BIT OF EMOTIONAL CHEATING ON MIGUEL'S PART, STRUGGLES WITH RELIGION AND FAITH, MENTION BULLYING AND FAMILY STRUGGLES, BREAK-UP, FANTASIZING, JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, CLASSISM, MODERATE SMUT(P IN V BUT IT'S ONLY MENTIONED NOT FULLY DETAILED, THESE ONES ARE DETAILED: DRY HUMPING, HEAVY MAKING OUT, AND FINGERING. ALSO, VOYEURISM-ISH)

(couple pairings are Ben Reilly and Felicia Hardy, Jessica Drew and Noir, George Stacey and MJ, Xina Kwan and Miguel O'Hara, not saying anything else bc spoilers)

Part 1 , Part 3

@miguelhugger2099, @kodo1221,@mimiemie, @laysmt, @cheerrioeoz , @spicydonut25 , @thisistotesnotspam-heart , @thekidscallmebosss , @librababe99 , @ce3stvu @irishbl0ss0mz @nommingonfood , @mauvecherie-writes , @royale-skeleton-key , @famouscattale

I'm so sorry if I forgot you in the tags , just lmk

------

"Miguel!"

Miguel looks up abruptly from a spot on the floor he was zoning out on to look at Xina's slightly annoyed expression. "Hydrangeas or peonies for the guest tables, babe?" she repeats, standing next to the sample table where the wedding planner and florist awaited with anxious eyes. 

Miguel blinks rapidly. "It doesn't matter to me, baby...um...." he points to the peony arrangement. "That one." 

Xina huffs and turns to look at the planner and florist. "We'll do the hydrangeas." 

Miguel smirks and puts his hands in his pockets. "Now, why would you ask me my opinion if you're going to just pick the one you wanted?" 

Xina's annoyed look softens subtly but she shakes her head. "It's mostly the bride's day, you know. You're just supposed to show up." 

Miguel smiles. "Well, I guess you don't need me to come to the wedding planning dinner tonight? Since you seem to have it all handled?"

Xina groans. "Miguel! You said you'd be there! Have you even read through Exodus like I asked you to?" 

Miguel feels his cheeks burn. "Shit...um, no..." 

Xina shoots a glare at the wedding planner and the florist and makes a shooing motion with her hand. They both put their heads down and quickly leave the room, giving them privacy. Miguel adjusts his tie, a little bit thrown off by her dismissive actions towards the staff. 

Xina sits down at the table and pours herself a glass of ice water. She takes a long sip and sighs, looking at Miguel. "Babe...," she says in a low voice. "You know that getting married in the church is a top priority for me. You know what it means to me..." 

Miguel's eyebrows knit together with worry. "I know it is..." he rapidly crosses the room to join her and kneels in front of her, hands on her thighs. She squirms away from him a little and purses her lips, looking down. 

"Promise me you'll catch up on your Bible reading by next week and set up an appointment with the missionaries?" 

Miguel hesitates for just a fraction of a second in his mind but he answers her, almost a little too quickly, "Of course I will." 

Xina manages to give him a little smile, fiddling with the top button on his shirt. "Love you..." 

"Love you too." 

---

Later that evening, Xina and Miguel are sitting next to each other at a large, circular, oak table across from her parents, eating dinner in their mansion of a home. 

Xina's mother makes a face when she takes a bite of the salmon. 

"Something wrong with it, hun?" Xina's father asks, dishing himself some potatoes. 

Xina's mother spits the bite into a napkin. "Rex!" She barks. An older, balding man with a kind face and chef's uniform enters the dining room. "Yes, ma'am?" 

"Salmon's not up to par, I'm afraid." She pushes the dish towards the puzzled chef. 

"M' sorry ma'am. Can I make you anything else you'd like instea-"

She cuts him off. "No, my appetite's ruined. That's all, Rex." 

The chef looks down in shame at the dish he worked hard on, picking it up with shaky hands and shuffling quickly out of the dining room. 

Miguel tightens his grip on his fork and shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He had not seen this side of Xina's parents. But, it was only their third time meeting, so he did his best to concentrate on who he was really there for, Xina. He took another bite of his roast beef. 

Once the old man was out of earshot, Xina's mother tuts her teeth. "Sorry, he's insufferable... I don't know what we'll do with him.... is your roast beef even edible, dear?" She asks Miguel. 

Miguel inhales slowly, trying to stifle his outrage on the chef's behalf but Xina's father cuts in. 

"So, Miguel," Xina's father says, breaking the silence. "Your folks are planning on driving down on the... 25th, right? For the rehearsal dinner?" 

Miguel nods, blotting his lips with a cloth napkin. "Yes, sir." 

"Remind me who's coming?" He asks, pouring a generous helping of gravy on his potatoes. 

Miguel clears his throat. "My younger brother, Gabe, and my mother-"

"Right, your father's not in your life." Xina's father says, waving his fork. 

Miguel's lips fall open and he blinks in disbelief at the abruptness of his statement. I mean, he wasn't lying, per se. Miguel took a sip of his wine, trying to chalk it up to just him not choosing his words carefully, that's all. 

"Right, he's not..." Miguel says, straightening in his chair. 

Xina's mother pipes up, "You know, that's really such an inspiration on your part. Most people like you with your background end up on the streets, or worse." 

Miguel abruptly stops cutting his meat, first looking at Xina's mother, who sat with a smile on her face looking at him, to her husband, who was too occupied with his potatoes to even care, to Xina who was just looking at her lap, clearly a little embarrassed at her comment, but stayed silent. 

It got worse. She continues, "... wouldn't even guess that English isn't your first language. You're so well spoken for someone like you." 

At that point, Miguel is so uncomfortable that he stands up abruptly, removing his napkin from his lap and setting it next to his wine glass.

"...if you'll excuse me..." he briskly walks out, making sure to close the front door a little extra loudly than he normally would. 

Miguel paces in the driveway, taking deep breaths. He exhales a little bit when he sees Xina, but he's met with a different reaction than he was expecting. 

"What the hell are you doing?" she hisses, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her stomach. 

Miguel's face contorts in confusion, "Babe..that comment your mom made-" 

"It's just how she is, Miguel!" Xina says, her annoyance starting to make itself apparent as her face comes into view. 

Miguel is now even more confused. 

"Just come back inside, please?" Xina looks around, hoping none of the neighbors were witnessing their spat. 

Miguel takes a step back, his face hurt. "Xi...what's got into you...?" 

"Look, I'm sorry that she said it, okay? But that's just how she is. She doesn't have a filter. Old people are just like that. Now she's upset because you stormed out." 

Miguel becomes angry now. "Babe. I understand your parents are from a different generation and your mom has a certain way of... communicating." He sighs. "But what she said was kind of racist. I felt extremely uncomfortable." 

Xina looks up at the sky in utter aggravation, "Okay! Fine! You're right! It was totally racist, okay? Happy? I'll talk to her about it later, but I really don't wanna fight anymore about this. We're supposed to walk down the aisle in three and a half weeks. They're just stressed because they're not only hosting my family, they're hosting yours too. I'm stressed, you're stressed. We all are..." 

Miguel takes a deep breath. Now he's second guessing himself and his feelings. Did he overreact? The last thing he wanted was for them to dislike him. They were his future in-laws after all. Even though Miguel is hurt she won't defend him and is downplaying his feelings, he decides to shove them aside for her sake. Miguel looks down at her, taking her waist in his hands. She flinches a little and tries to pull back at first, but remains where she's standing when he holds her a little tighter.

"I'm sorry...okay? I'm sorry for being an ass..." Miguel can't help but feel a little odd that he's the one apologizing, but he continues. "Let's go back inside, yeah? Maybe we can go on a date this Friday, just to get away from all this wedding planning stuff." 

Xina gives him a half smile and takes his hand in hers. "Deal..." 

----

Later that night as Miguel showered in his shared apartment with Xina, he kept replaying their fight over and over again. He didn't know what it was, but lately, Xina was showing a very different side of herself. One that was completely the opposite of the soft spoken sweetheart he fell in love with when the cameras were rolling

He knew that she was religious when he proposed, but had the impression she was more of an Easter and Christmas-only attendee. Her devoutness amped up shortly after their engagement. Her pressure for him accept Jesus and get baptized so they could be married in her church started making him realize he bit off a little more than he could chew.

He felt a phony when she'd ask him to pray over meals and when he'd be called on to read a passage in Sunday School, like he wasn't supposed to be there. His scientific-inclined brain clashed with the idea of a magical being in the sky who would send him to Hell if he touched himself.

Furthermore, Xina demonstrated that she could be quite insensitive to his feelings, and he couldn't unsee the way his future in-laws poorly treated their chef in front of him, and the casual microaggressions they were throwing out about him and his family.

His whole childhood, he was bullied for his accent and for being one of the kids who would get pulled out of class for extra tutoring because he was so far behind everyone else. He was used to being doubted and constantly faced taunts from his classmates and teachers. Conchata was generally the better parent compared to George, but unfortunately that wasn't saying much. 

She put immense pressure on Miguel to do well and excel in everything, constantly shifting the goalposts for the near impossible standards she expected him to reach. 

But, he worked his ass off and eventually started reading two grade levels above his current grade and took home placing trophies in Math and Science olympiads. It wasn't long before Ivy League schools set their sights on him, and he went on to be the successful geneticist he was today, even buying Conchata a new house despite their volatile relationship. 

Throughout it all, he never felt ashamed of where he came from, or his heritage. Nevertheless, it was something he was still was VERY sensitive about and he told Xina about it many times which is why it stung when she couldn't defend him. He even told you about it. 

Oh God....you. This was the first time in a while that he finally allowed his mind to dwell on you for longer than a minute. He remembered how receptive you were when he told you. For once, he didn't hear a, "well at least you have it better than most", or a "cheer up, it's not so bad," when he explained his life story. Instead, you listened carefully with a soft look in your eyes and one of your hands resting on top of his, letting him know that the way he felt was completely valid. Something he didn't realize could be so healing when he heard you say that in that moment.

On top of that, your family was so...kind. Your mom even went out of her way to whip up an extra loaf of banana bread just for him when she caught wind that it was his favorite. Your siblings treated him like he was just another member of the family and it was a little unreal how seamlessly he got along with all of them. And, he distinctly remembered how gracious every single one of them were to the restaurant staff when you all went to lunch, with no awkward, demeaning energy like Xina's parents unfortunately demonstrated at dinner tonight. The cameras must have kept them on their best behavior until their true selves could come out once they turned off. 

He's about to do something he knows he shouldn't, but he can't resist. He unblocks you on Instagram. (He has only one post on his own account and it's from when he was announced as The Eligible Suitor, the show forced him to create one for publicity's sake, he actually loathes social media in all forms). 

And there you were, smiling with your friends at brunch. Another one of you showing off your new dog you rescued from the shelter named Hamilton, and your gorgeous headshot of you in a swimming suit for your debut on Singles in Paradise, where you and other rejected candidates from the show were all going to go at it in a fancy beach resort in Mexico. 

Man, you looked good, curves on full display. The smile that he fell in love with was spread across your lovely face. The same one he was responsible for erasing when he broke your heart with less than 10 words on a tranquil beach in Thailand months earlier. 

Now, you seemed happier. Trying to carry on with life as though he was never there. Like he didn't haunt your dreams and the sound of his name didn't cause the sting of a thousand burns to scorch through your body. Like you were never the first girl he ever spilled his cum into during that sexy night in the Fairytale Suites, remnants of him imprinted somewhere deep inside you. 

Xina climbs into bed next to him and he closes out of Instagram immediately, ashamed that he let his mind wander. Her hand wanders down to his cock and it's not long until he's pounding into her. His mind struggles desperately to fight off the memory of the way your lips parted in ecstasy the whole time she's underneath him.

-----

A few days later

"What the fuck, Miguel?!" Xina screams at him over the phone. Miguel holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, the sound too harsh against his eardrum. She was upset at him this time for his interview on a morning talk show, promoting their upcoming wedding which was supposed to be aired live as the show's long awaited special before Singles in Paradise made its debut. 

The host smiled and leaned on her elbow. 

"Now, Miguel. Eligible Suitor's number one fan blog is releasing rumors that you only chose Xina because she was the safer option compared to y/n, the season's edgier "bad girl". Is there some truth to that statement, or can you elaborate on that? 

Miguel nods slowly, a little bit of panic settling in on the inside,  wondering how the hell the fan pages were eerily accurate, despite him not giving away any hints about his internal struggles regarding his engagement to the press that he was aware of. 

"Well, as the man chosen to be the Eligible Suitor, there are certain expectations for me and who I ultimately end up with...Xina fit in well with my family. She had all the qualities of the ideal partner. Overall, it just seemed to be a better match..." 

"But you're making it sound like if say, y/n for example had all of that, would you have picked her instead?" 

Miguel hesitates, turning a little red. He wasn't good at lying. "Well, I mean..." 

Awkward silence that lasts a little too long. 

He quickly tries to recover but he ends up making it worse, "I mean, what's done is done. There's not really a point in wondering about that, you know....? We-we're very excited for the wedding..." 

It wasn't longer than a minute after the show cut to commercial that his phone was ringing off the hook. 

"Tell me right now that you love me, and not her, or I swear to God, Miguel I will call off this whole thing!" She says through tears. 

Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Now he really felt like a jerk. 

"I do love you baby..." 

Xina is still distraught and doesn't seem to want to listen. "After everything we've been through. I've supported you. I got along with your mom, I got an apartment with you. I even supported you through all that mental health bullshit of yours and you still can't even defend me on live television and say you love me more than that broke piece of trash!" 

Miguel freezes. "Hold on, mental health bullshit....?" Miguel really hopes that he didn't just hear what he thought he heard. He does his best to keep his anger at bay but he can feel it rising anyway. "So, all of the internal struggles I trusted you enough to tell you about....my depression which is something that will ALWAYS be a part of me, Xina...you think it's bullshit?" 

Xina sputters, "Miguel, no, I didn't mean it like that. It's just...ugh you are just so hard to deal with sometimes, you know? I totally understand and respect the fact that you're going through a lot right now, but so am I. And I can't sit here and coddle you through everything if you don't get help." 

Miguel's world comes shattering down. His worst fear that started to creep into the back of his mind ever since about 2 weeks after he proposed to Xina had just been confirmed to be true: she was not at all the woman he thought she was. It was merely an act for the show, and, with the help of the producers and audience, they pushed him towards her simply because she was the woman they wanted to see him with, when his heart truly lied with you the whole time. 

And now, you were on a beach in Mexico probably getting courted by all sorts of men who could give you way more than Miguel ever could, while he was left to contend with a broken heart and a cancelled wedding. 

He says in a shaky voice. "I was getting help...I told you I started therapy. I trusted you with THE most sensitive parts of me, Xina. And you threw it in my face. By the way, why do you say y/n is broke trash, as you put it, huh?" 

"Miguel, stop putting words in my mouth..." 

"Nononono...you LITERALLY said it, Xi. Don't start with your gaslighting bullshit on me!" Miguel is raising his voice now. "You called her broke trash. Let me guess: you shoo away our wedding planners, your parents treat your chef like complete shit. She has less money and prospects than you, therefore she's just trash, right? Well, I came from hardly anything, too. Does that make me trash? Huh?" 

There's only silence on the other line, then she says, "Miguel, you're different..." 

"No. No, Xina. You're different. You're not who I thought you were, and I think we shouldn't be marrying each other." Hot tears spill down Miguel's face and he hangs up his phone. He presses his back against the wall, sliding down until he hides his face in his hands, sobbing on the floor. 

--------

A few weeks later at a beach bungalow resort in Mexico

"Welcome back to another season of: Singles in Paradise, I'm your host, Jason Donner and boy is it good to be back!" Jason beams, flashing his pearly whites at the camera. 

You hear your cue and you walk out, clad in a white bikini with a pretty purple coverup wrapped around your midriff with the knot resting on your hip, emphasizing the curve, a certain post-break up glow about you that immediately made you hard to resist, a confident twinkle in your eye. You greet Jason with a hug and he holds your hands in his. 

"Great to see you. Feelin' nervous?" 

You flash a lovely smile at him, playing it up for the cameras. "Just a little bit. But I'm more so excited than nervous." 

Jason's lips curve into a smirk. "Anyone down there on that beach you're hoping to run into?" 

Miguel. 

No, you hadn't really thought about it. Noir was pretty cute. You throw his name out there. "I hope Noir is down there..." 

Jason nods, giving your shoulder a good luck squeeze. "Well, go on down there and see for yourself. Good luck! And welcome to paradise once again." 

"Thanks, Jas!" You play it up, giving him a little flirty wink as you walk down the stone path and disappear into some trees, making your way to the beach. Necks turn slowly and you feel your heart pound as several pairs of eyes land on you. 

Felicia Hardy is standing at the beach side resort bar waiting on her piña colada with a bad case of RBF. But, her snowy eyes melt into an enthusiastic expression when she sees you. 

"Noooo way!!! Oh my GOD, you're even hotter in person! Girl! What!!" 

You beam, flattered as she pulls you into a hug. Her long, platinum blonde hair hangs loose from a claw clip with the ponytail flowing in waves that brush against her back, a few stray wisps framing her face. She's wearing a dark blue tube top dress which is doing her figure all types of favors, accentuating her goddess-like pear shape. And, she smells totally divine of coconut body spray, evidence of sunbathing apparent in her sunkissed cheeks and tan lines. 

"Holy shit, where'd you get your outfit?" She asks, giving her piña colada a sip, shamelessly eyeing you up from head to toe.

You smile, giving her a little twirl. "Girl, $20 at Marshall's for the whole thing. I swear to God."

"No way! Oh my God, I love that place!" Felicia smiles. "I gotta say I'm a huge fan of you. Dude, that pissed me off so fucking bad when Miguel fucked you over like that."

You smile back at her, flattered. You can tell that you definitely want to have Felicia be your beach bestie throughout this whole process. She had been the Eligible Suitorette about 2 seasons ago. Her tenure was one that went down in the show's history, the way she didn't take any shit, and had so many guys falling all over her. But, unfortunately her engagement to Flash Thompson went down in flames when his dumb ass eventually got caught cheating, making fans of the show rally around her even more.

"So, I guess I should give you the low down on who's coupled up with who so far?" She asks.

You nod, familiar with this part of the game. "Yes, please. Oh my God, tell me everything."

You two go sit down on a pair of beach chairs, turning them so your knees are touching each other, leaning in close together for your woman to woman huddle, the cameras zooming in on you both.

"Okay, so first of all, I'm with Ben." She gleams, biting her lip. You follow her gaze and see Ben shirtless, playing volleyball with some of the other men, his baby blues are locked right back on Felicia with his angelic, pretty boy face. He nods and gives you a polite wave hello.

"Girrrrrrllllll...." You smile, turning back to her. "Good for you, honestly, he is SO damn fine, respectfully of course."

Felicia throws her head back and waves you off with a laugh. "Girl, thank you. No worries at all. Yeah, he's uh, he's something else alright." She bites her lip again and looks down. "He treats me so good. It's going really well..."

You give her a warm look, the unmistakable signs of falling head over heels quite recognizable all over her demeanor and the way she's talking about him.

Felicia resumes her report. "Noir is here, but he's got a thing for Jess."

You feel slightly disappointed to hear that but nod, encouraging her to continue.

"Peter B. is here, but it's been kinda awkward. MJ is here too."

"No fucking way?" You sit up, interested. "They really invited both of them here?"

Peter B. and MJ were considered royalty as far as the show goes, with Peter being one of the most beloved suitors of the show's history. However, that quickly became tainted with scandal with the volatile on-and-off nature of his and MJ's relationship. They got engaged at the end of his season, then they were "taking some time apart", then they reunited, but he was seen in the Barbados with some mysterious brunette, but she was also out and about with no engagement ring. BUT, they were spotted in Chicago holding hands and all over each other in a night club just a month ago

"Yeah girl, I have no fucking clue. They're clearly off at the moment , but you can totally tell it's bugging Peter. She's all over George right now."

"Girl noooo. George Stacy?!"

"George, fucking-Stacy, girlll."

George had troubling political opinions and was known for being quite a douche. BUT he was also well over 6 feet tall with ocean eyes, big arms, and money. Well, for you, personally, no way in hell you'd tolerate that.

"MJ hates me though." Felicia warns.

"Wait, why??"

"She thinks I "stole her man" even though Peter was literally throwing himself at me when they were on break number 394 or some shit." Felicia chuckles, shaking her head, stirring her piña colada which is now becoming a watery slush. She pauses for a moment then looks at you. "So, girl, tell me, who did you have your eyes on coming here?"

"Well..." You sigh, the options so far were not promising. "I did think Noir was cute, but he's already with Jess."

"You could still invite him on a date, technically." Felicia points out. "But, I understand. He does reallyyy seem to be into her right now. It would be hard to try and pull him at this point." She drums her fingers. "Girl! Go for Peter. Oh my God you guys would be so cute!"

You blush internally. Peter? You hadn't given him much thought. You turn around, searching for him. He's standing in the ocean a few feet away up to his ankles. He turns to the side a little, and the wind blows open his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt as he leans down to examine one of the seashells under his feet.

Oh God, he was handsome. 6'2, lean muscles peppered with dark hair that ran across his chest and belly button, and a shadow of stubble on his face gave him a rugged feel, but those chocolate puppy brown eyes made him look so innocent. One of his cheeks had a little dimple that would pop out when he made that signature little smirk of his.

"Fffuck...really, girl?" You murmur, your jaw practically still hanging open at the sight of him. "But I thought you two were a thing?"

Felicia smirks. "Hell no! I rejected him forever ago. You sooo like him! I can tell. Just do it!"

You take a shaky breath. "God...okay, fuck it. I'm gonna go talk to him."

"Good luck!" Felicia calls after you. "Come find me afterwards and tell me everything!!"

You nod and shoot her a smile as you walk away. You bite your lip, your stomach doing all sorts of flips and tricks as you approach Peter. He has sort of a hopeless look on his face as he watches George and MJ from afar cuddled up on their beach towels, George's rough hands rubbing sunscreen into her shoulders as he was practically eye-fucking her.

"Peter!" You call for him. Peter turns, confused at the sound of a woman's voice calling for him, but his pupils go wide when he locks eyes with you for the first time.

"H-Hey!" His lips part a little bit at the sight of your gorgeous hair and friendly smile. His eyes start to land on your figure but he quickly flicks them back upwards to look into yours, not wanting to look like a perv. God, he was so cute. He offers you one of his hands, his voice gentle. "I'm Peter B."

You introduce yourself and he repeats your name back to you. The way he says it is making you scream a little on the inside, his voice is soothing and low. And suddenly you want to know more, so much more about him. And with the way he's gazing down at you, he does too.

You two just stand there in the ocean, chatting as the wind rustles against you both. Soon, the sun is starting to dip further down in the sky and you feel a chill coming on. Peter notices the goosebumps on your arms and wraps his shirt around you, holding you under his arm as you both meander back to the beach.

You squeal when he swoops you into a bridal style carry, butterflies appear in his stomach when he feels your hair brush under his chin, and he's almost tempted to pull you in closer. No, he decides there's plenty of time for that later, if all of this continues to go as flawlessly as it is already. He sets you down on one of the poolside cabanas, spreading a blanket over your legs. You curl up under it, shooting him a smile of appreciation. He looks at you with adoring eyes at how cute you look curled up like that.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He asks gently, the tips of his fingers brushing against your thigh, sending a chill down your spine.

"Um, vodka cranberry, please." You say sweetly. Peter gives you his signature smirk, the little dimple in his cheek driving you wild. His fingers make full contact with your thigh this time, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Coming right up..." he's off to get you your drink, leaving you internally screaming by the pool.

---

Jason is leaning against a palm tree, silently monitoring the scene of flirtatious couples below when a tall dark figure approaches him. The camera stays on Jason and captures the look of shock across his face.

"Well, well, WELL! Look who it is, great to see you man!"

The man's face isn't shown, and it appears his response is being muted off mic, Jason's voice is the only audible one, the camera focusing on his reactions with the mystery guest,

"Wow...I'm so sorry to hear that man...yeah, yeah she's here. And you're sure about this.....? Alright, well here's your date card, feel free to use it whenever you wish. Good luck down there man."

------

You and Peter are laughing together by the pool, the alcohol slowly starting to weave its way into your banter. The daybed you're sharing is just a smidge too small, forcing your thigh to touch his as you squish on it together, bodies laying side by side. When you ask him a question, you subtly push yours a little closer into his. Peter seems to notice your increasing touch, his train of thought stalling for just one minute, before he turns pink and apologizes. "Sorry, must be the alcohol," he mumbles cutely, looking sheepishly at you.

"Yeah, the alcohol..." you tease, your pointer finger traces his sternum. His breath hitches and he's looking at you with wet lips, his eyes come to rest on your breasts that are squished so deliciously together.

You're looking back at him too, letting your eyes rake over his body up and down, admiring how good he looks and how the faded blue lights from the pool are casting a sensual shadow over his form, wondering how it would look if it were in the darkness of your bedroom instead.

Peter clears his throat. The nervousness catching up to him, and he turns his head, gazing at the shimmering water. "Sorry..." he lets out a breathy chuckle, then turns back to you. "I haven't connected this quickly with someone ever since...well I mean, since my last relationship which ended badly..... As I'm sure you're well aware of thanks to the press."

You hum, your finger now tracing little circles on his shoulder, making him tremble slightly. "Yeah....I heard. I'm kind of in the same boat."

You take a deep sigh. God, just when you thought you were getting over him, Miguel pulls you right back in. Being with Peter right now feels foreign, strange. You can't put a finger on it. You notice that those decadent brown eyes are already fixed on you, and you stare back, your voice oozing a hint of desire as you softly tell him,

"But, I wouldn't mind if I...spent some more time getting to know you."

Peter exhales softly, you detect the sweetness of the liquor on his breath, the wetness that the rim of his glass left behind is shiny on his bottom lip, and all you want to do is taste.

Peter slowly smirks back, his fingers coming to pull under your chin, bringing your face closer to his.

"I wouldn't mind either..." lust codes his voice now. But, before he goes in to kiss you, his eyes soften a little bit as he drinks in your features. "You're very beautiful..."

You feel the heat rising in your body, you drape one of your legs around him, resting your knee on his hip. "Thank you..."

Peter lets out a soft groan, his hand immediately comes to grip your thigh, encouraging you to press your body against his, and he traps your lips in his with a fiery kiss.

The stubble from his face is a little scratchy, but you don't mind. His tongue is sweet from the wine he was drinking, and you can't get enough. His hands travel a little higher on your thighs and you gasp into his mouth as he pulls you on top of him so you're straddling him with one knee on either side of his waist.

"C'mere..." he purrs.

You lean in closer to him, pressing your forehead against his to try and make your moans more quiet as he grinds your pussy against the bulge in his swim trunks, the soft fabric of your bikini bottoms separating you. The friction is delicious and you reward him with a neverending chorus of his name.

"Peter...."

Peter gives a loud groan, his grip on your hips tightens, this time bucking his hips under your spread pussy, letting you ride the outline of his cock.

"Ffuck....Peter, baby...." you whine.

"Mmm yeah, baby?" Peter lands a sharp spank on your ass in response, making you curse under your breath again. "You like what I'm doing to you?"

"Yes baby, I love it." You bite your lip, closing your eyes. "What if someone sees us, baby?"

"Let em watch.." Peter moans.

"Oh God...don't stop, please." Your moans rise in pitch.

"Fffuck....." Peter breaths out, his hands coming up to grip your breasts while you ride him. "I won't baby...fuck..." The sensation causes him to close his eyes as well. "You feel too good to stop."

You lean over, your lips crashing greedily against his, both of your tongues dancing in each other's mouths, while you grind together. His hands can't get enough and he finally starts to curl two fingers inside your pussy which elicits a sharp cry of passion, Peter playfully shushing you as he kisses your nose.

-----

The rose Miguel is holding falls onto the sand below as he watches you and Peter heavily making out, now engaged in mild foreplay and you might as well start fucking at any moment now due to how hot and heavy the scene is.

It's almost a race with how quickly the jealousy, nausea, and rage rises in Miguel's body, filling him to the brim. He stands there, jaw and shoulders tense. His cock twitches a little at your whines but seethes at the sight of another man's hands all over you. He finally rips himself away, not able to withstand it any longer.

Noir and Jess look at him with raised eyebrows as he sits at the beachside bar after downing 3 shots of tequila back to back. He just sits there, eyes glazed over at the empty shot glasses in front of him for several moments until he leans forward, laying his head in his arms with his eyes closed.

----

To be continued...

[peterspinkrobe]

Confession - priest!Miguel O’Hara x Reader [part 2]

Word count: 2,270 (oops)

Rating: mature for suggestive content. Mentions of masturbation. You have a dirty mind… tsk tsk. Religious content. Mentions of parental death (sorry for not tagging last time).

A/N: Thank you for your feral support in reading part 1! The art above is again by @Ejpuki on twt. They drew this moment from part one and JUST LOOK AT IT! They also did a pre-reading which I greatly appreciated. Go support them over there <3 I only tagged the people who explicitly stated bc I don’t want to overstep. Also, I guess I should watch Fleabag? Enjoy! part three is cookin’ in my noggin’

// Psalms 32:3-4

When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me;

Rumbling sounds drone from the engine in a constant hum as the bus wheels roll down the asphalt, occasionally shuffling the passengers inside. Yourself included.

The wheels in your mind are conjuring images of too much skin, friction, and want. The mental pictures… different positions and other things that you’ve only read about - all featuring the same tall deacon from your small church.

You curse yourself for both your overactive imagination and forgetfulness for having left your headphones at home. Some loud music would drown out the whir of the bus and push out the flashes of lewdness that plagued you.

Reverend O’Hara, you learned that’s what transitional deacons are usually called after inquiring about the proper title on Google the second you got home from that communion, occupied the majority of your mind. He took up residence in your thoughts without even asking permission and you didn’t know the proper way to absolve your sanity of him. It had only been two weeks since you’d met him, two Sunday services, but you were hooked. This trip into the city was supposed to get you out of the house and help clear your mind of its recent inhabitant.

The methods you were currently using were certainly of no help. Nearly every night, for the past two weeks, you’d given into temptation. Allowing the streaking images of what you could only envision his toned body looked like to remain longer in your mind’s eye. His thumb on your lip, the quick swipe across - became more inquisitive of the inside of your mouth in your imagination. You pressed into yourself and thought of those long, thick fingers. You carried yourself away on highs with only his hands in mind. You yearned to baptize him in your waters.

You buried fingernails into your palms to ground yourself as the scenery outside the bus began the change drastically, pulling you out of your daydream.

Your hometown along the Catskill Mountains was enveloped by the natural world - tucked into valleys of the vast countryside. In the three weeks you’d been back home, you had already gotten used to surrounding greenery. You’d forgotten the toll that city expansion was having on the rows of vegetable and orchard farms in the surrounding areas.

Your gaze out the window watched tree lines and grassy hills give way to glimmers of futuristic architecture as the bus entered Nueva York. The rhythm of wheels on tarmac became a backdrop to the din of honking horns, shouting pedestrians, and blaring sirens. You had only recently left a city not too different from this one, but the drastic change in landscape from the mountains made your head spin. The inertia of the bus braking and accelerating over and over on the intersecting streets only added to the motion sickness. You recognize the next stop as the usual one you and your mother used when coming into the city. You quickly get off the bus, blessing the steady ground underneath as your boots hit the pavement.

Towering structures of carbon fiber and glass dominated the skyline, some illuminated by bright neon light displays, others blending into the afternoon sunshine. Advertisements for fast foods, fast money, and fast cars flickered on screens everywhere. You look to where the bus carried you from and, in contrast, the countryside stretched out, calling you back. Despite the slight familiarity in the maze of metal, the sudden change in surroundings made you slightly anxious.

The steady stream of citizens didn’t help your nerves either. You take a moment to get yourself together before following the foot traffic flow up a familiar street.

Your eyes recognize a food spot from a bygone era and you can’t help but smile. You picked up the pace as you headed to the establishment your family used to frequent. Timeless Treats is still here?! You pull on the long handled door and a wave of music, chatter, and sugar hit you at once. Much more pleasant than the waves of anxiety from moments before.

Entering the quaint eatery, you’re transported into a cozy atmosphere reminiscent of an old fashioned diner. A cheerful man at the front waves you in and shouts for you to ‘sit where ya want!’.

You recognized the vintage decor: rusted signs with cartoon mascots and ads for ice cream floats that cost only $2. Imagine! You select one of the smaller retro tables with two stools and hear a jukebox play a song you don’t recognize but tap your foot along to.

There was more to this diner than what it seems at first glance. A few more glances noticed the subtle touches where the diner had embraced the future where it mattered, with high-tech kitchen appliances that helped the staff immensely. A holographic menu pops up across the portion of the table you're sitting at and you slide your finger along the options.

This bakery specialized in delicious treats with a futuristic flare, with many favorites being popular since the establishment opened generations ago. Your eyes fell onto the pastry menu and your curiosity piqued as you ordered the ‘Time Traveler’s Torta.’

All the hustle of the city had occupied your mind until you were sitting alone at the table. Your eyes scanned the other occupants and you wondered what they were all talking about with their sugary sweets. It made you think of him again.

Dammit. A whole ten minutes without thinking of Reverend O’Hara, that’s a record! You couldn’t help the images of Miguel that fluttered now. Only this time you pictured him sitting at the table with you. The two of you share a dessert and you smile at the thought. You visualize his thumb coming to your face to wipe whipped cream from your lips only to plop the finger into his own mouth. That moment as mass replayed in your mind with differing flavors of spice on repeat.

The torta arrives and you gawk at the presentation of the treat. A classic cake with layers of light vanilla sponge, intricately placed swirls of sweet cream cheese frosting, and decadent chocolate sauce. This sweet was the perfect balance of timeless and futuristic as it sat on an oblong, ornate plate.

You savored the flavors as you ate and continued to imagine a date with the deacon. You ask yourself if deacons can even date and the thought pulls you out of your delusions for a moment. Get it together…

As you scooped the last bits of the pastry into your mouth, you pondered your dilemma. Mom always said that confession cleared a clouded consciousness, but there was no way you’d divulge this information to her. Her hypothetical reaction to your crush on a clergy member makes you shiver.

An idea comes to mind that makes you think to yourself that you’ve really gone mad.

The madness pushes you from your seat after paying for the dessert. There’s a slim chance what you’re looking for is actually there considering the cities expansions. That doubt doesn’t stop you from following a semi-recognizable path down the busy streets.

Every tall figure you pass makes you do a double take. The idea of the deacon brushing alongside you making you smile. You turn a corner as your imagination creates sweet scenarios with Reverend O’Hara and stop in your tracks. You cause people behind you to push into your back and spit harsh murmurs at you.

It was still there.

You were surprised for good reason. You were headed towards a relic of past times, nestled between buildings of glass and metal. There was some scaffolding supporting it as the building you headed towards was centuries old. Other than that - the structure you now stood and stared at jutted towards the sky in the old brick and mortar style you were used to seeing in your hometown.

But the Cathedral of Nueva York wasn’t like the humble church in your hometown. The ornate bell tower and large cross atop the chapel in front of you proved that. The only thing to change about the building was the name as the state itself saw many changes a few decades ago - including the name of the actual city.

You find yourself reminiscing on the few times you’d been to the church as you walked inside. Your family used to attend the fancy Easter services and Christmas plays. Those trips stopped after your father passed, and your mother rarely came to the city at all anymore. You remember seeing pictures of them on their wedding day at this very church. Priesthood is a tight knit group and Father Steen knew the head priest, who extended their church for their wedding services.

Given it was a weekday afternoon, there weren’t many souls inside. Despite the numerous options for seating, you sat in your usual middle pew, aisle seat.

You eyed the part of the church that had brought you here in the first place. The confession booth. Its cherrywood exterior made you think of those eyes that bore into yours that day of communion. You shake your head but the visual remains.

The church in your hometown didn’t have a confessional booth. Even if they did - why the hell would you confess there? To the subject of your lustful desires? So many questions and doubts enter your mind.

Could you really do this? Confess to a priest that you pined over a man in his chaste brotherhood? Think of the judgment!

Another thought occurs to you: their whole shtick was that only one entity could do the judging. And it was confidential. If you received some good ol’ fashioned Catholic scolding and Hail Mary’s, maybe that would be enough to get you back to your senses. Reverend O’Hara is a man devoted to God and cannot be hindered by the whims of a degenerate like yourself.

Emboldened by the potential to relieve yourself of your corrupt thoughts, you stand and approach the far right front of the church. The confessional is smaller than it looked from how you remember as a child and teen but it doesn’t stop you from nearly yanking the door open. You don’t even knock.

Thankfully no one is on the confessing side as you burst into the tiny box. The confined space became even smaller as you closed the door behind you quickly. Your mind races towards impure thoughts of the deacon pressed against you in the tight booth space. His height would force him to bend slightly over you and the visual almost knocks you onto the bench which would probably be right at crotch level…

You remember the times you’d done this before and cry out the usual, “Forgive me, for I have sinned and it has been many years since my last confession…”. Who were you even asking for forgiveness? You think for a moment about the last time you were in this booth. You felt so guilty about stealing from the general store all those years back. This was a different kind of confession. This would hopefully absolve yourself of the sinful attraction to the forbidden.

You start light, fumbling over the words, “I’ve gotten drunk and high, uh, a good bit while in college. I lied to my mother and got into major trouble as a result. I’ve been selfish and lazy.”

The anonymity and the release of it all lit a fire under you and you kept going.

“While I’m in this confession booth, and I know it is a sacred and holy place”, you sigh and hear shuffling on the opposite side of the wall, the priest waiting patiently on the other side. “I’ve been struggling with my faith and don’t believe in god…”

You hear the clergyman start to interject but the voice that comes out of you has a fierce tone.

“I’m not done.” Now it was the priest’s turn to sigh and you see movement through the small slits in the partition, but hear nothing else. You continue. The most scandalous part to admit had yet to be said.

“Father, I’ve been lustful over the deacon at my church.” There’s silence on the other end and before embarrassment can take over you continue, “I’m constantly thinking of him and having impure thoughts that drive me to-“ oh god, here it is

“Touch myself. Daily. With this deacon on my mind.” You can’t stop the heat from painting your cheeks a deep red.

“I feel guilty because he isn’t for me to think that way about. From just the two times I’ve seen him, I know he is a good man who does good things. He’s on a path towards righteousness. He’s worthy.” To your shock, you feel tears form and they begin to fall.

“I’m a sinful nonbeliever. Definitely not someone he could be with, unworthy of devotion of any kind. And I’m not good.” Your breathing becomes shaky as the tears fall harder. Despite the fact that you feel your words are the truth, you can’t help but imagine him there now. Comforting you as you cry.

Now that you’ve finished confession, you expect to hear an outburst of disapproval or at least ‘50 Hail Mary’s’ to absolve you of your confessed transgressions.

But that’s not what you heard next.

You hear your name. You hear your name in that sweet music that’s been ringing in your ears the last week or so. This time the musical tone is cautious. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as your eyes glue to the wall where the music came from.

To confirm your suspicions, you grab the knob on the partition and yank it back.

Through the small window you see a familiar pair of eyes analyzing your face, heavy with worry.

Reverend O’Hara had just taken your confession…

I pray you liked this, dear reader.

Tagged ppl - @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts it won’t let me tag you @hoelychildofgod

[tojiswhore-aventurinesslut]

His Favorite

pairing: trueform!sukuna x reader (NSFW)

warnings: NSFW, oral (m receiving (and i guess also f receiving?)), penetration (p in v), dirty talk, sukuna calls reader a whore and a slut, choking, orgasm denial, female masturbation, reader is a concubine in sukuna's harem, power dynamics? (reader has to do whatever sukuna says bc well...he is how he is and she refers to him as Master Sukuna), hair pulling, mouth fucking

synopsis: reader is a concubine in sukuna's harem and he calls on you.

word count: 3k

notes: this was the first fic I ever wrote and to date is only the second fic I've ever posted so feedback is welcome but be nice😭

-----------------------------------------------

Sukuna had a different concubine for every day of the month. You were all allowed to live at his estate with your own separate living quarters, but always had to be ready for whenever he may call. For most of the women, they could guesstimate when he would call on them based on how long it had been since he last did. He rarely took the same woman twice in one month. A man like him grows bored far too quickly. Except for one. 

You had the pleasure of being Sukuna's favorite concubine and you relished in the title. Unlike some of the other concubines, you loved when Sukuna called on you. And he did so often. 

It was a little before dinner time when Uraume made their way to the concubine's wing and walked over to you. 

"Y/n, Master Sukuna desires your company after dinner. Be prepared by the time I come back."

"Yes, Uraume." You bow politely. 

Every time you saw Uraume coming to the concubine's wing you prayed it was for you. You couldn't help the pulse of pleasure you felt in your pussy at the thought of being his for the night. 

You had about two hours to prepare so you quickly drew a bath and scented it with rose. Once inside you began scrubbing yourself while another concubine assisted in washing your hair. 

All of the concubines were more or less friendly with each other. Some more than others. There were definitely a few who were jealous of your standing as Sukuna's favorite, but they didn't dare act on that jealousy besides some nasty glares. 

After your bath you finished getting ready by doing your hair and applying light makeup. Most concubines finished their routines here. You, however, took it one step further. 

You sat on the floor with your back against the tub and started massaging your breasts with one hand and teasing your pussy with the other. You thought about your hands being Sukuna's hands, rolling your nipple between your thumb and index finger and drawing circles over your clit. The pleasure building slowly until you feel an aching inside you for more. At that point you dipped one then two then three until you could fit four fingers inside yourself and started pumping slowly. You imagined Sukuna's cock stretching you out like your fingers did, and the thought of what was to come only made you wetter. You continued pumping your fingers and rubbing circles around your clit. You tried to keep your breathing quiet but the pleasure was building. You thought back to the times you'd been with Sukuna and how good it felt to be his favorite fuck toy. His dicks hit you in all the right places and his hands drove you crazy. You pumped your fingers faster and rubbed your clit with more pressure as you started getting closer to orgasming. But before you went over the edge, you'd stop and take a breath to calm down. Your orgasms were for Master Sukuna. 

You did this every time he called for you. It served as a way to warm up your body for the onslaught it was about to face. Sukuna never made love. He fucked. Hard. And with the size of his cocks it took some time to get used to. Time that he rarely had the patience for. By edging yourself you also ensured you were prepared to orgasm for him. It was what Master Sukuna loved about you. Every time you were with him you were not only immediately prepared to take him but you were also ready to come undone at any second. 

As you were building up to another orgasm a knock came at the door. 

"Y/n? Uraume is here to collect you."

"Coming!" You smirk at the double entendre that only you were privy to. 

You stand up and check yourself one last time in the mirror to make sure everything is up to your standards and then you put on your silk robe. It was a deep red with black trim. Simple but elegant. Sukuna typically preferred his concubines to arrive minimally dressed, so you met Uraume at the door and followed them to Sukuna's chambers with nothing else underneath. 

Uraume knocked on the door. 

"Master Sukuna, I have arrived with y/n."

"She may enter. You may leave."

Without another glance at you Uraume left and you proceeded inside.

Sukuna's chambers never ceased to amaze you. There was a bed big enough for 10 people located in the middle of the far wall. Attached to the headboard were hooks and bars for various bondage attachments—depending on Sukuna's mood. Around it was a mix of artwork and shelves filled with books and other oddities. Facing the corner of the bed was a large mirror in an ornate frame. A large table with padded chairs was towards the middle of the room along with some scattered couches, and of course, massive floor to ceiling windows that overlooked his lands. 

Upon entering you immediately drop to your knees and bow with your head on the floor. You were in the presence of the king of curses and were expected to act like it. 

"On your knees already? My what a submissive little whore you are." You could hear him approaching as he teased you but you remained in your position. Hearing him call you a whore sent an immediate flare between your thighs and you wanted nothing more than to be bent over and treated like one. 

"Look at me." 

At his command you lifted your head from the floor to see him standing in front of you with nothing but a robe on that was wide open. Both his penises stood out and semi-erect above your head and your mouth watered at the thought of taking them in your mouth. 

Sukuna smirked. "Well? What are you waiting for? Open your mouth." 

You barely had time to part your lips before Sukuna grabbed a fistful of your hair and slammed one of his dicks in your mouth. You gagged at the sudden intrusion but got your tongue to work, licking his shaft as he fucked your face. 

"Ah I love watching that pretty little face of yours swallow me whole. Such a good little slut." He continued ramming his hips into your face, one fist in your hair and another around his other cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. 

The feeling of your lips stretched around him made you fantasize about how much he was going to stretch you later. Even with your preparations beforehand it was still a tight fit sometimes.

Sukuna abruptly stopped his assault on your mouth and pulled you up to your feet, hand still gripping your hair with the other one squishing your cheeks to make your lips pucker, spit clinging to your lips. 

“Are you drooling for me? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I know how much you love my dicks.”

Sukuna’s eyes raked over your body, now exposed since the robe fell open, mirroring his. You could see the desire in his eyes and his scrutiny combined with the vulnerable position you were in made your cheeks flush. 

Without letting go of your hair he picked you up, supporting your weight with two hands under your ass and using the other to take your robe off completely while he pushed your face into his for a rough kiss.

His tongue immediately went into your mouth, licking yours at the same time the tongue from the mouth on his stomach licked your clit. You gave out a low moan. Fucking Sukuna felt like fucking two people at once sometimes. Up to four hands and two mouths were on you at any moment. Feeling you, licking you, biting you. At times the stimulation was too much and Sukuna relished in your cries.

As his tongue continued to work your clit, his hands under your ass began to tease at your entrance. One finger on either side pulling your lips open, no doubt feeling how wet you were, while his third hand began massaging your breasts. 

He plunged two fingers into you at the same time he bit your lip. Hard. The dual sensation of his thick fingers finally filling the emptiness inside you and the pain of his bite made you whimper.

“You’re always so wet for me. It’s one of the reasons you’re my favorite. I don’t have to take my time.” He whispers breathily in your ear. 

You moan in response and close your eyes as his fingers start pumping in and out of you and the tongue on his stomach continues tracing circles around your clit. His thick fingers fill you so well and his tongue works your clit in perfect harmony. In and out, around and around. Your breathing starts to quicken and your moans get louder. You’re getting close. He can feel your walls starting to contract around him as your pussy juices run down his fingers. You can’t help grinding on his fingers and stomach tongue, it just felt so good. Until he suddenly stops. He pulls his fingers out of you and the mouth on his stomach closes. You open your eyes and whimper in response.

Sukuna looks at you. “Be glad I gave you even that. You’re here to pleasure me. Remember your place, whore.” You almost fall to the floor with how abruptly he lets go of you and turns and walks over to the bed. You quickly follow behind him, excited for what comes next. 

Sukuna fully removes his robe and gets on the bed, laying down with one arm behind his head and the others at his side. It’s time for you to serve.

You crawl onto the bed and hover over Sukuna’s thick lengths. You take the first one in your mouth and squeeze the second one between your breasts and begin to move. You can taste the salty precum that coats his tip as you start working your tongue with each bob of your head. He’s already hitting the back of your throat and you haven’t even taken him in entirely. It’s almost impossible to since you’re trying to also rub his second cock between your chest. 

“Deeper.” a voice commands at the same time a hand comes down onto your head and roughly pushes you down, forcing the rest of his cock in your mouth. The sudden intrusion makes you gag but you quickly recover, drool running down his length as you work him with your mouth and maneuver to pump his second dick with your hands. The whole time you’re imagining how delicious he’d feel inside you and every bob of your head makes you think of riding him, pussy lips coming down to the base of his cock, filling you up to your limit.

The thoughts make your clit pulse and spur you on to suck him like you’re riding him. You savor each pass of your head. The way your lips are stretched out, the way his pubes tickle your nose each time you get down to the base. You make it a point to trace the veins along his shaft with your tongue and you can tell he’s enjoying it when you hear his breathing pick up and feel his hand grip your hair tighter.

“That’s enough. I want to cum in your pussy.”

You look up at him through your lashes as you suck back up to the tip of his cock and you can see his lips part slightly in desire. 

Your pussy is dripping in anticipation of his massive cock in you and you position yourself over him, taking him in one smooth stroke. Despite how wet you were and your earlier preparation, he still stretched you out in ways you couldn’t mimic. It led to a blend of pain and pleasure that left you groaning and him smiling. You've never in your life felt something so deep inside of you.

“Such a good whore. You take me just like you should.” He grins as two of his hands go to grip your hips.

You start to move up and down, relishing in how he stretches you and hits every spot that makes your breath quicken. At the same time, you hold his other cock against you so that you’re grinding your clit against it. The dual stimulation makes you moan loudly; it just feels so good. You start to get into a rhythm, rocking your hips as you come up, face reddening from the effort and breaths coming out in short gasps. You’re so wet and you’re riding him so hard that squelching sounds fill the room. Sukuna moans, “Out of all my whores your fuck me the best. It’s why you get to ride my dick the most.” 

*smack*

You give a yelp as Sukuna slaps your ass and then goes back to gripping your hips, almost painfully so. 

“That’s right keep fucking yourself with my cocks. I can feel your pussy juices trailing down my balls you fucking whore.”

You give out a high pitched moan at his dirty talk. You were his whore. His favorite whore. The fact that you got to fuck the king of curses and he wanted you sent a wave of pleasure through you, clitoris pulsing and pussy stretched so deliciously around him, each stroke hitting a different pleasure point. You moan again, louder this time.

Sukuna is lying there, smiling at how cock drunk you are for him. He grabs one of your bouncing breasts with his free hand and begins massaging it, rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger, much like you did for yourself earlier. 

“Mmmm...ahhh” you moan as you keep bouncing on his dick. You feel so full with him inside of you and the way he’s looking at you. Smiling at you, letting you know you’re pleasing him, makes you want to do everything and anything for him.

You start to ride Sukuna more frantically as you get closer to climaxing. Brows furrowing, sweat dripping between your breasts as your walls squeeze around him. 

“Oh Master Sukuna please can I cum? Please?” You whine. You’re so close but you know you can’t cum without asking first even though you want nothing more than to cum and cover his dick in your juices.

At your pathetic begging he abruptly pulls you off of him and you groan at how hollow you feel. 

“I want you to see how pathetic you look, taking me like the cock drunk whore you are.” He has a wicked, mischievous grin on his face.

At that, he sits at the corner of the bed, positioning you so you’re both facing the mirror and you’re in his lap. You look into the mirror and see your face red and sweaty, hair disheveled and Sukuna’s handsome face grinning behind you. His massive, muscular frame was a sight to behold. A true King in every sense of the word. He waited for no one and always got what he wanted.

“Now finish what you started.”

You do as you're told and sink back down onto him and once again start bouncing on his cock. Except this time he brings one of his hands to your throat and begins to squeeze while another goes to play with your clit and another begins fondling one of your breasts. 

He’s not gentle, but having him touch you and in so many different places brings you right back to the edge you were left at. He squeezes your breast, your nipple peeking out between his fingers and his grip around your neck keeps you from looking anywhere but the mirror where you see his thick fingers drawing rough circles around your clit. The mirror in front of you lets you see just how much his cock stretches you out. It’s no wonder he hits every spot that feels good, it’s because there isn’t a single spot he doesn’t hit.

You ride up and down up and down while his hands fondle and grip and rub you. Your pussy juices visibly leaking down is cock and his face over your shoulder, watching every part of you, breathing hard with wide, dilated pupils. You begin to feel the familiar tightening in your core as you once again get close to climaxing.

“Oh, oh Mas- Master Sukuna. Oh I’m so close again.” you choke out between bounces.

Sukuna’s breath is coming out in short pants and you can tell he’s also close. You make eye contact in the mirror.

“Come for me.” He whispers huskily in your ear, and that was your undoing. 

At Sukuna’s command you're pushed over the edge and cry out as wave after wave of pleasure wracks your body. You’re riding out your orgasm on Sukuna’s dick, hips moving in time with the wave of your orgasm when he reaches his own high. He grunts and his grips on you everywhere tighten to the point where your moans get cut short and your head begins to swim from the sudden lack of oxygen. You do your best to keep moving your hips to ride Sukuna’s orgasm out as you feel him filling you up. The warmth dripping out of you is a mix of both of your pleasures. And this was your favorite part. Getting to watch him with his eyes closed from the pleasure that you gave him. You. His dutiful and favorite little whore. 

After a second, Sukuna reopens his eyes and his grips on you loosen. 

You make eye contact in the mirror. Both panting and red, though you visibly much more so. 

“You know why you’re my favorite whore?” he asks with a devious smile. 

“Why, Master Sukuna?”

“Because your pussy is always so ready for me, milking me after you cum, begging for my seed just like you do. Just like a good whore should.” He pinches your nipples between his big fingers as he says it and you wince.

“This body is mine. Your orgasms are mine. Do you understand?” He runs his hands down your spread legs as he says it, eyes raking over your body in the mirror.

“Of course Master Sukuna. I am yours for as long as you will have me.” You say breathlessly, lightheaded from the dirty praise he was giving you.

He smirks, “Good. Now bend over. I’m not done with you yet.”

[romana-after-dark]

Rooms on Fire: I Will Run To You

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Madonna learns more about her role and the dynamics of the household.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

Extra warnings for chapter: Mentions of medical malpractice, death in childbirth, mentions of male sexual assault via power dynamics, lots of complex feelings.

A/n: next chapter things ramp up.

3.1k words

A/N I gotta apologize y'all. this was meant to include so much more but I guess this chapter is getting split bc I just put so much Jonah lore. I hope y'all are formal about liking him. We finally get some backstory on the uprising, Tom, and Madonna's dad, who BTW, had a name change. JACK IS NOW MARCUS more info after the story!

Support writers! Reblog and leave comments!

One so young, so changed Should not be left alone Two in love should confess And not be left alone And I will run to you Down whatever road you choose Yes, I will follow you down I will run to you ~I Will Run to You, Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty

“You paint a lot of fire”

Jonah’s voice startled you, making you turn around but you relax when you see it’s just him. Reyansh was watching you outside your studio, and Jonah coming meant you must be summoned somewhere. 

You were painting a picture of a burning house, something you saw in a dream last night. Ben and Will treated you normally, fucking you but also spending time together. You supposed Francisco’s behavior was normal too, considering that he continued to treat you like you only existed to fuck when he had to fullfill his duty. He never touched you alone. In the week since you got your period Santi was ignoring you. He’d call you to his room, fuck you with your face pressed into the mattress, and then toss you out. Last night he shoved you into the hall with your dress still bundled up in your arms.

“I paint what I dream.” You mumble, tired and not totally there. You were terrified to sleep, and after a second visit from the succubus it was getting worse, forcing yourself to stay up later and later. Lack of sleep was making it difficult to be alert, and little noises make you jump.

Jonah approached where you stood, keeping a respectful distance. He’d been distant as well since the night you saw him, and you still were unsure what you did wrong and why Iris was so upset with you.

“You dream of houses burning?” His voice was gentle but curious.

You take a deep breath, too tired to fight off any questioning. It’s best not to lie, anyway. “Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of fire. I dreamed I was dancing in front of it. I dreamed I caused it, and it was out of my control and now I must dance in the smoke and watch as the flames consumed things that I loved.” A pause, tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. “Sometimes, he stood inside them.”

“He?”

“My father.”

Jonah drew in a sharp breath and you worried he thought you were sympathetic to his traitorous cause. You weren’t, you had remembered how betrayed you’d felt that he’d thrown everything away to follow Deacon Davis, the judas who had killed the Divine Mother. As per tradition, when someone is sentenced to death, they burn at the stake and the unmarried women are expected to dance. The closer you are to the individual, the closer you are to the fire. You had been Marcus’s only family, him and your mom having adopted you as an infant. He died in front of you as you danced, embers blowing in the wind and singeing your white dress and sensitive skin. You were only 12, but you knew right from wrong, and your father was wrong. Sometimes you woke up still smelling his burning corpse. You had danced longer than anyone, keeping all the energy your child body could give you until you passed out.

You turn to Jonah with tears in your eyes, “I hold no mercy in my heart for him, please know that. I am loyal to the Divine Mother, I am loyal to my husbands above all else! I don’t know why I didn’t get pregnant but know I’d die for them happily should it came to that!” Crying now, you desperately plead to him but it’s not Jonah you are speaking to, truely. You know Pope is questioning you right now, and you cannot bear the thought that he doubts you.

“Honey” Jonah’s voice is strained, pain anguishing him. “How much do you know about the uprising…”

Your face is wet with tears, almost shaking in fear and frustration. You didn’t know how you’d messed this up so badly so soon. You just wanted to be held, you don’t remember the last time you’d been held without sexual desire… it was probably your father, may he be damned.

“Deacon Davis… he was an advisor to the Divine Mother, a friend to my husbands… he and Deliliah conspired against the Divine Mother and her family. Dad- um, Marcus, was a part of the traitors and he allowed Deacon Davis into Divine Mother’s quarters where he murdered her. Deliliah was Will’s betrothed before. She had seduced him for information and, and betrayed her husband! I would never do that, Jonah!” You realize now why he was questioning you, he thought a traitorous blood ran in your veins. Had Pope sent him? Had Francisco seen the evil in your heart, the evil that was inviting a demon?? Or had Jonah simply seen you for what you were. “I would rather die than betray them! You have to believe me!” You sob, closing your eyes as you are no longer able to look into his in shame. Strong arms wrap around you, practically holding your body up. 

Jonah held you tightly and you cried into his shirt, so tired, so sleepy… You just wanted to feel peace again. Jonah allowed you your release, wetting his shirt with your tears until your breathing slowed. It occurred to you that you were hugging and being held by a man who was not your husband, so you take a step back looking down.

“I- I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I haven't slept well-”

“It’s okay, honey.” His voice gently reassures you. “It’s okay to cry sometimes.”

You shake your head. “No… no I’m happy, I should be happy here, happy with my husbands, I am!” You’d shown weakness, surely Jonah would tell Pope that you were unhappy, that this was proof of your doubt, of unworthiness… Instead, Jonah pulled a sleeve down on his hand, stepping up to you once more. He ran the sleeve carefully under your eyes wiping the tears.

“There is nothing wrong with feeling what you feel. Your husbands are blessed with a kind, beautiful, artistic wife and they should be so lucky you sit at their table, nonetheless someone who cooks them dinners and paint them pictures. It is they who are unworthy, not you.”

You gasp at the blasphemy. “Jonah! No, no they are-”

“Gods, I know.” He wipes snot from your running nose. “But you… you’re like a daughter to me, and a father is allowed to place his children above Gods. Marcus may not… he may not have made the right choices, but he wanted nothing but good for you, just like I do. So please, for me, show him and yourself a little grace.”

With a little sniffle, you nod. “Thank you, Jonah.”

He gave you a smile, the bright one you like that made his eyes squint. “Good girl. Now, I got a surprise for you that I think will brighten your day.”

*

Jonah watched as you practically skipped down the hallway. When he told you Frankie wanted to take you out for a picnic, you perked up so fast it was like you hadn’t even been sobbing in his arms a moment ago. He wished he could be honest with you, he wished he could tell you the truth about Tom, Delilah, and most importantly, Marcus… but you were so brainwashed, there was no way for him to break through to you. He couldn’t simple tell you everything you’d know and believed whole heartedly, your religion, your life, the very thing that you chose above your father was a lie… not yet anyway. Maybe one day you’d doubt, you’d question, and the first people you’d go to would be Iris or him, maybe even Reyansh. Rey played the part well of a good soldier boy, he wasn’t as overt as Iris was but he knew you trusted him.

Despite being late already with the crying, you insisted on stoping in your room to grab a ribbon for your heart. Jonah’s heart hurt watching you put so much effort into this.

Will treated you well. Despite Jonah and Will’s… past, he couldn’t deny Will  was a good husband. He took care of you.

Ben was a little shithead and was absolutely going behind your back with women still he just couldn’t figure out who. Ben had to be more sneaky now. This didn’t stop him from very loud late night fucks with Frankie that it seemed only you and Santi weren’t aware of. Still, he gave you affection and spent time outside of sex with you.

Santiago, he expected nothing less. Santiago’s moods were unpredictable, they had been ever since he was a child. Jonah had known Santiago and Beatriz since he was young, when all this was fairly new and traction was growing more and more. Jonah didn’t exactly believe, but his wife Jess did. Maybe he did for a while, it was hard to not with the things he saw… Beatriz had taken an interest in him and thus, despite being married, he spent a lot of time at the mansion with her. Jonah felt like a hooker, like his body was a commodity and up for grabs from anyone, and the worst part was how okay Jessica was with it. She fucking encouraged it. “Its an honor!” It wasn’t such an honor when she died giving birth to Iris and was denied medical treatment. Doctor said it wouldn’t have helped. Jonah knew Beatriz had something to do with it. He was luck Irish lived. She was his only reason for living sometimes.

It was Frank he was surprised about. Jonah had known all four men for most of the 3 decades of their life, and next to Santi, he knew Frank the longest. Frankie was raised with Santiago, practically as brother. Beatriz couldn’t adopt him, because something something divine blood, but that didn’t matter when Santi pissed her off enough. Jonah had witnessed the lashings and beatings he had taken, but what seemed to hurt the teen the most was when Beatriz would hang his godhood over his head, saying that it should be Frankie who was the savior, not him. After Jess’s death, Jonah was moved into the mansion and promoted to captain of the guard. It was just an excuse for Beatriz to demand sex even more.

Frankie was a good kid, but he always followed Santi like a lost puppy. Santi became obsessed with Frankie, forcing Frankie to become more and more withdrawn. Still, the nice young man was in there somewhere, and Jonah would bring it out. After the girl came to his room crying about Frankie not loving her, Jonah spoke to him and said he needed to do better by her hence the picnic.

Rey was out at the stables by the time Jonah got there, preparing the three horses. He was there a lot, knowing a lot about horses. If he has any choice, Jonah was certain he’d have been a vet. Another life, he supposed. Jonah and Rey would accompany them since they were going out a ways.

“Hello, Francisco.” She spoke softly, but enthusiastic. For all he and Santi hurt her, she loved him.

Frank gave a small smile. “Hi, Madonna. I thought maybe we could take a picnic. Get away from… everything else.” He brushed the mane of the horse.

Everyone else, Jonah thought.

“That sounds wonderful!” You walk over to him. “What’s his name?”

“This is Cielo. And those two,” He points to the other horses being settled. “Are Estrella and Flora.”

“Will we be riding Cielo?” You ask, but Frank turns away.

“I’ll be riding alone.”

You look dejected again, so Jonah steps up, frustrated with Frankie. “C’mon, you can ride with me.” Jonah puts a put in a stirrup, launching a leg over the saddle and onto Flora, his favorite horse.

“Actually” Frankie interjects. “I think she should ride with Rey.”

Of course. 10 years later and everyone was still suspicious of him. Frankie climbed onto Cielo, and Jonah rode up to him, whispering. “Compliment her ribbon. She picked green just for you.”

*

Reyansh pulled you up and onto the saddle, allowing you to ride the side saddle to protect your modesty in the dress. If you knew you’d be riding a horse, you’d have worn pants. It wasn’t the most comfortable, and you feared falling, but Reynash’s arm was strong around you. He was careful to keep his hands at appropriate places, which you were thankful for. 

“How is your painting going?” He asks, as since Jonah leads the group and Francisco is in the middle still not keen on talking to you. Still, this was a step forward.

“It’s good, thank you. It’s nice and peaceful. I miss-” You stop yourself. What you missed was when Santi used to sit and watch you paint, drinking his wine and intent eyes on you. It had been a comfortable silence. “I do miss having company sometimes…” You missed your husband, you missed his laugh, his smile, his praise.

“Hey, I’d love to sit in on a session!” You could tell by the tone of his voice he was smiling. “I’d love to see a real artist at work!”

You laugh just a bit, “I’m not an artist, but if you’d like to watch, I'd like that.”

“Deal.”

*

You sat against a tree, legs bent modestly in your skirt and eating the sandwich Iris packed. She also packed apple juice, which you loved.

Francisco was silent. He’d thanked you for your help setting up the blanket and spoken as he served his food, but now he simply sat there. He looked sad, but even then he was handsome. Francosco sported a mustache, which had remained consistent the whole time you’d known him. Santiago was growing out his hair and beard, which was making your heart ache even more that you couldn’t kiss and touch him like you wanted to. Still, the silence wasn’t awkward. You had begun to wonder if he was just… quiet.

“Thank you for taking me out.” You say, speaking quietly. Jonah and Reynash were circling the parameter and you felt… watched. “I hadn’t realized how much time I spent inside until now.” Had you even left the house at all since your wedding? When was the last time you felt sunshine before today?

To your delight, while still looking down, he smiled. “I’m glad. Don’t like seeing you cooped up in that house all day.”

Your heart warmed at his concern for you. Feeling emboldened, you scooch close to him.

“It’s not cooped up with the men I love.”

This makes his eyes flick up to you. He narrows them suspiciously, but not angry “You… love… me?”

Your heart nearly shatters at the question, and you can’t help but find him so endearing. “But of course I do!!!” Careful, you place a hand on his face and feel the patchy bit of stubble. “You’re my beloved husband!”

“But… you had to marry me.”

You shake your head. “No, Francisco I chose you, I chose all of you and I love all of you. Is that why you’ve been distant? Is that why you’ve been so cold to me?”

“I-” He stutters over his words. “I don’t think this is good for you… I don’t think I’m good for you…”

If there were ever words you hadn’t expected from him, it wasn’t that. Francisco was a God, he was holy, good and righteous, how could he not be good for you. It didn’t matter. Clearly he was hurting, and as his wife, it was your duty to make him happy again. “Francisco Morales, you are my husband, you are the foster child of the Divine Mother, and the love of my life. I chose you before, I choose you now, and I will choose you in heaven, Divine Mother willing.” You bring your face closer to his. “I adore you, in all your God and human.” Feeling brave, you bring your mouth to him and tenderly take his pouty lower lip into your mouth, making him whimper. You liked that sound.

“You choose me?” He whispers, slowly kissing back. “Out in the open, no secrets?” His voice is slightly higher now, almost whining as he begins to chase your mouth. 

“Always” The desperation growing, you give him everything you have. You don’t care that it’s an open field surrounded by trees, you don’t care that Reyansh and Jonah could ride up at any point, and you don’t care who might see you. You were divine and if you wanted to make love to the god of nature in his own fucking land you will. You had Francisco Morales, demi-God, whimpering for your touch. You had HIM, finally had him and you weren’t going to waste it for one second. He wanted thing sout in the open, you would show him you weren’t ashamed to be seen getting filled by his seed. Before you, your husbands were not celibant, that much was known. The sex parties were stuff of rumors and you couldn’t decipher the truth from fact. However, it was clear that public sex was not off the table. Shame is a punishment for the sins of Adam and Eve, and for men born without original sin, there was no shame in sex. “I choose you, always.”

Frankie entangles his fingers into your hair, feeling the green tie in your locks. His other hand slides up to cup your breast.

“I love this ribbon, it suits you.”

*

“Whatcha think’n, old man.” Rey asks as he rides up to Jonah. Both are perched up on top of a hill overlooking the field you lay on and he watches you kiss Frankie. 

“I’m thinking,” Jonah turns to Rey, nodding his head back home. “That I got it here, and since the others are out, you should run back and try and sneak some time with Iris.”

Rey smiled at that, but hesitated. “You sure? Morales didn’t seem like he wanted her with either of you.” 

Jonah rolled his eyes, but it was good natured nonetheless. He liked Reynash, loved him even. He was a good kid. Iris was put in the position she was in, not any older than the girl was now, because of his shortcomings, his weaknesses. She was punished to punish him. She deserved all the good she could get, and Reyansh Saha was about the only bit off good left in this world, beside Iris and now Marcus’s kid he was looking after. He reminded Jonah of Delilah in a lot of ways. Always smiling. Always kind.

“Look at ‘em.” Jonah referenced the pair kissing below. “She’s going home on his lap.”

Rey laughed brightly, turning his horse. “Oh yeah, you’re quite the matchmaker!” And he road off, long dark hair wild behind him. Handsome devil.

The words matchmaker hung in the air. Was Jonah giving her false hope he wondered? Or was he giving her the time she had left and filling it with better memories. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was delaying the inevitable. It was always going to end one way for her. There was no way to live up to what Santiago wanted.

Because what Santiago wanted was Frankie with a womb.

SO MUCH JONAH HAPPENING!!!!!!!!

And poor madonna bc Jonah christ smelling your dad burn is a lot

So Marcus's face claim is David Habour, this came out of some chats with. @umnitsa in my romanaverse discord server. He is now your adopted father to keep things inclusive, but this is important as he has background info and ties in a lot. Think hopper in stranger things. Also May is already shipping him and Jonah so that ship name is Jonus lmfaooooo

If you are an active participant in one or more of my universes and have a discord (this means commenting or comment Reblogging, im looking for people who want to theorize and chit chat) dm me for a link! This is primarily focused on giving you extra content and sneak peaks but a lot of cool people are there too and you can share your work!

Please consider joining me in in donating to humanitarian aid in Rafah through Doctors Without Borders

LOVE YOU ALL!

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[yureismellslikefanfic]

alr so

yk the mitsudomoe mark behind scaras neck

the one that glows

basically

reader finds out its erogenous

thats it thats the request

Alright. Here you go :)

HAPPY B'DAY WANDERER (I'm hella late 😔)

A/N: Very short, I did Wanderer for this request bcs it suited the idea, so I'll do another version which is Scara, and I'm sorry for the wait :/

Tw: Not proof-read, Wanderer sounds aggressive at the end but idk what y'all are into 🤷‍♀️

((Written by a minor, dni if uncomfortable))

(Fluff, highly suggestive)

(ooc)Wanderer x Fem!Reader

You had seen Wanderer fighting enemies before, but you had never noticed that the nape of his neck glowed a faint blue in what looks to be the electro symbol.

You knew about his three betrayals, so you guessed the electro symbol must be from his time with Ei, the Electro Archon.

He loved you with all his being, as did you. He trusted you enough to tell you about his past. You were the listening ear he never had. Sure, he could talk to Nahida, but he chose you to talk to, which was special.

You loved each other so much, words could not begin to describe the connection you two had.

A snap of the fingers drew you out of your thoughts. "Idiot, why were you staring? It looks ridiculous."

The words he spoke came out without hesitation, his eyes expressing annoyance and boredom, although, you could see a glint of amusement behind it.

You looked at him silently, your eyes darting between his own.

"Can I... hug you?" Your words weren't something Wanderer expected. The sweetness in your voice only urged him to open his arms to embrace you, however, his arms still remained crossed.

You waited for him to give you a signal that it was alright, and almost a second later, he extended one of his arms towards you, inviting you to hug him.

You smile, stepping to him and wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug.

Your fingers purposefully brush the now hidden electro symbol, causing him to shiver slightly.

He didn't mean to shiver, it was involuntary as his body moved on its own.

You tilted your head innocently in a questioning look. Your arms still wrapped around his neck, you bring your hand back to brush against the mark again.

He lets out a shaky breath as he warns you, "Shit.. don't do that, (y/n)."

"Hm..? Do what..?" You ghost your fingertips against that spot on the back of his neck once more, feigning innocence as you provoke him.

You see him shiver again, his hand grabbing onto your wrist in a firm grip as he drags you to a more secluded area with nobody in sight.

He lets go of your arm, crossing his own arms over his chest again, staring at you, annoyance obvious in his eyes.

Your eyes look down, noticing the bulge against his shorts. You quickly look back to his face.

He had his gaze trained on your face, opening his mouth to speak.

"On your knees, (y/n). Once you get this done, we'll go home, and I'll fuck you 'till you can't walk"

© yureismellslikefanfic || do not plagiarize, translate, or modify any of my works.

[rexxdjarin]

Open Up

Pairing: Arc Trooper Echo x f!Reader Summary: Echo likes to take things slow and help really open you up.😈 Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ Warnings: Indulgent foreplay with dirty talk and praise and encouragement and sweetness because oh he missed you so💕, fingering, relationship-y? I guess?, he's just so fucking sweet. Word Count: 1k notes: I saw a thing and could not get said thing out of my head and totally imagined echo doing this because he's indulgent and reverent and giving and sexy and we need to all be obsessed with him bc hes adorable. ok thanks :) also I am well aware the gif is TBB echo not arc trooper echo but this gif was too perfect for the scenario so I HAD to.

“C’mon, my sweet girl, open up…let me see you.” Echo coaxed as his hands drew up the soft tops of your wide thighs. You kneeled before him on your bunk sheets, looking up at the unmistakable doting brown eyes of your beloved boyfriend.

His eyes were fixated elsewhere, nudging the hem of your pretty pink lace negligee up just enough to reveal your center. Gloved hands coursed over your dark bare skin, fingertips grazing down your lower belly and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Knowing him, he’d had only one thing on his mind since he’d landed back home for a few weeks, which meant he’d had a lot of time to think about exactly how he wanted you.

Parting your plush lips freshly bitten from passionate yet agonizingly slow kisses, you inhaled a soft gasp. His own drawing into a smug grin as he watched you react to his touch just as strongly as he’d imagined. You looked up at him through lust heavy lids and met his gaze, tracing down your own torso to outline the ghosts of his touches with your own. 

“Oh…Echo-” you practically squeaked, flipping up the dainty fabric to reveal what was between your spread legs. With two deft fingers you eased your outer folds apart and let your hips roll forward enticingly to meet his touch.

“There she is…good girl. Missing me, huh? Need me to take care of you?” Echo muttered, his darkened pupils locked with yours as he slipped off his gloves. One roughened palm massaged your inner thigh, carefully holding you open. He tipped forward to lock his lips with yours just enough to leave you breathless as he let his fingertips drag down your center.

You hummed your soft approval into his kiss, holding yourself open just as his middle finger dipped into your heat. He groaned lowly, breaking away from your mouth to silently curse whatever cruel circumstances or stars or gods would ever have him apart from you. The drenched slick between your thighs coated his single digit as he dragged it reverently along the length of you.

“Oh yeah, you did. Such a good girl with this dripping little pussy. All just cause you missed me. Need me to come home and touch you like this always.” He whispered, slipping in a second finger and using both to glide around the fluttering hole desperate for his entry. You keened for more, letting your hips buck forward into him lazily.

You gripped his wrist with your other hand, urging him for more and riding his fingers needily. “Of course I.. m-missed you, baby. No one else gets to touch me like this. Only you. I need you. Need you m-more.” You whimpered, his gentle stroking along your slippery folds sending shivers down your spine. 

“Awh, pretty baby, just a little more? You’re so fucking sweet. So beautiful opening up and letting me get such a good look at you.” He leaned back, brown eyes devouring the sight of you splayed out so salaciously before him. His gentle caresses quickened, twisting his wrist to allow his fingers to curve in and enter you abruptly.

You cried out sharply as his broad fingers breached your entrance and spread you apart on top of them. It took everything in your power not to snap your hips and ride his perfectly thick fingers the way he knew you wanted to. He craved patience, he wanted to take his time properly fucking the girl he loved and the faster you sped through it the sooner he’d be to leaving again. 

“Thank you…baby. Love it just like this. Take your time. I want you to feel how much I miss you. How wet I get waiting for you to come help me. My Echo.” you moaned softly, earning another weighted groan from him. 

His fingers curled into your front wall, making you buck your hips forward into his palm and brushing your clit just briefly. He chuckled with amusement, letting go of your other thigh to twist the width of his thumb in circles across your clit. You moaned louder, the twisting of his fingers inside combining with his featherlight touches on your clit bringing you rapidly close to your first orgasm. 

“Needy little thing. Stars you’re so tight, so soaked for me. Body looks so fucking good in this too. I want to fuck you so bad, but i’m going to take my time. Going to make this last so you feel the ache of me for days. Would you like that? Want me to fuck you until you’re sore? Tell me, cyar’ika. Let me hear your pretty voice again.” Echo rambled when he was turned on, his brain emptying weeks worth of lewd thoughts to the one person he could indulge in whenever he wanted.

“Yes, Echo. Fuck me. Fuck me, please. I can’t wait any longer for your cock. Now, baby. Please.” You begged, unhinging out of desperation as his endless looping circles had you balanced precariously on the edge. The familiar sizzling that had your body beginning to overheat spread through your limbs, numbing you of any other feeling but his fingers inside you.

“Hmmm my impatient little cyar’ika. I can feel how close you are. You need to let go. Soak my fingers so you can be nice and ready for my cock. I know you can do it. Cum for me, gorgeous. Just for me.” He encouraged, leaning his forehead on yours to watch your face contort in pleasure as the wave finally sucked you under.

With a high pitched whimper you came, fluttering around two of his fingers plunging in and out of your entrance and making a smug, satisfied chuckle rumble deep in his broad chest. A giddy smile drew across his dark features and he’d barely let you catch your breath before he was slicking his cock up with your leaking cum and notching himself at your entrance. “That’s my pretty girl. You ready for more?”

[galedekarios]

i need to scream in your inbox about this bc i have nobody to talk to about it irl or online aldkjfallskddk but the FACE of pure discomfort and fear gale pulls when mystra meets him in her realm and goes on that "you look well" spiel :(((((

the way she changes the way she addresses him depending on whether he obeys (i.e. calls him gale of waterdeep) vs if he doesn't (i.e. calls him gale dekarios) :((((

the way she's so fucking manipulative, telling him he looks well when it's implied that he grew out his hair and beard because of depression and the effects of the orb have also left its mark on him physically :(((

the way she goes out of her way to SEPARATE HIM FROM HIS FRIENDS all of whom (well, i guess depending on how you play it-- but i digress) have talked him out of obeying mystra and are also probably ready to bring about the second spell plague LIKE--

she's such a manipulative abuser she KNOWS how to hurt him emotionally, especially when she's angry that he's not obeying her and she isolates him from people who care about him AND PEOPLE THINK SHE'S THE ONE IN THE RIGHT IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP?????? um. no.

feel free to always come to my inbox, anon. 🖤

i agree completely with everything you wrote here.

i saw many people say he looks sad in the screenshots and yes, maybe that's part of it, but what i see is someone who is scared, afraid.

i think it's important to remember that what we see in this scene is something and someone that gale had to deal with for many years already. the power dynamic is extremely skewed with a ~40yo gale. now imagine an ~8yo gale in a situation like this.

she's insanely manipulative in this scene and it shows in the plain version already - if you know what to look for - but the moment gale steps even a toe out of the line she drew in the proverbial sand?

hoo boy. 💀

the devnotes of this scene only add to that as well.

i also think that the way she presents herself physically is important. she doesn't do it in the way that shar or vlaakith do it: larger than life. godly, in every way. there's a clear distinction there, between the mortal and the divine.

no, she chose to appear as human as possible. unassuming. non-threatening. calm and very rational. (as long as gale dances to her tune.)

and to me, that truly adds another layer that's insidious within the context of what happened in gale's story.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for snapping at someone because they kept immediately contradicting my headcanons for a character important to my ocs backstory?

im in an rp discord server that is doing a dnd-style rp and my character is a cleric of lolth, her special little guy so to speak. his backstory was that he was raised in a cult that taught him to fear her, and when he had a crisis of conscious and was exiled, she was the one that saved him, basically taking on the role of a deity who's teachings have been corrupted by mortals using them as excuses (you can really feel the catholic guilt on this one)

so i was explaining my worldbuilding for the place my character grew up (trade, social strata, textiles- all of which were based on the premise of 'what would a society that lived in this environment look like') and this person was continually hopping in with ambiguously 'canon' information that contradicted what i was saying (quotations are used bc some of the sources were the drizzt books which have questionable canonicity to begin with)

it was sort of a

me: so that's why i think that most textiles in the underdark are made of spider silk

them: actually, in the books-

in any case, after like four or five of these interruptions, i snapped that "i [was] done arguing for the night" and they got confused and upset bc they didnt think we were arguing but i found their comments to be extremely dismissive and when i said as much (and pointed out that this wasnt even the first time) they started getting kinda defensive and i guess must have thought that i meant some of their in character stuff but actually i meant when i drew a character from a shared fandom as a my little pony and they immediately (within seconds) responded with "i think [character] is a unicorn" after i had drawn the character as an earth pony

TL:DR- person has a tendency to be condescending and dismissive and i was snippy with them about it bc i didnt realize it wasnt intentional

am i the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

I’ve been out of the loop for batim/batdr for so long how did it change the lore?

none of the ink creatures are sacrificed staff members forced into a fate worse than death anymore. they're just ink creatures in a parallel dimension that joey drew made bc he was feeling pissy

in addition, it's not the real henry in there. joey was mad at henry so he made a fake henry just to torture him over and over

then allison was his Friend and so he decided to add her to the torture labyrinth to make things easier on fake henry. didnt stop the torture labyrinth tho

then he made himself a daughter out of ink and he wasn't the big evil corporate boss at all he was the Awesome Dad who encourages audrey to use her imagination and hope and shit. entire second game just forgot that he was supposed to be the villain

also in a very fanservicey way, bendy now can turn into his cute lil demon form and be audrey's little brother

a lot of people like it but it really really felt like fanservice above story to me. mascot horror isn't always like, good horror, but the first bendy really WAS. it had a great aesthetic, great designs, and was really effective in the implications of being sacrificed to an "and i must scream" demonic existence by one man's pride and lack of care (ie: capitalism) and the second game was just like "actually joey drew was a good guy the whole time and the real bad guy is this Random Obviously Evil Employee over in the corner and audrey's fixing the torture labyrinth so there's a little less torture <3"

i did like the idea of color animation being an anti-bendy threat but they literally did fuckall with that, just had the new bad guy like... mention it?? and then do nothing with it.

i feel like part of it also might have been that "trying to outsmart the fandom" thing. a popular theory, at least in my circles, was that henry was a bendy creature– the sacrificed staff had to be "perfect" for the role (IE: the two alice angels) and the first bendy was made without souls and that's why it was fucked up, and then joey realized the perfect bendy was his creator so he yeeted henry in, and that's why we never see our own hands or reflection + respawn in ink + sammy lawrence tries to sacrifice us immediately. god how fucking cool would it have been to, like, hear henry over loudspeakers trying to help us, and then we walk into the room he's in and just see BENDY.

but yeah no bendy's just a cute lil guy in the corner who can sometimes hulk into the ink monster bc... that was a thing in fanfics? joey drew is a good guy and good dad and the real enemy is the exploited worker. FUCK the original game's really good horror and atmosphere amiright

anyway i get why people like it i guess but hhh it really doesn't land for me. honestly im just pretending the first game is the only canon it was way more interesting

[purplifield]

🪻| Birthday sex

Can you guess who’s birthday it is?☺️🥳

Requests are open can’t promise I will write them asap😞

CW: 18+; oral f receiving; pet names; soft sex (bcs we NEED more fics with softer sex okay?); short, fem reader; pt 2 maybe because I’m ✨tired✨

You were eating dinner. You clearly heard J shout something at his viewers. It was past 11 pm, and because you were taking care of last minute problems about tomorrow’s party, you were exhausted.

Dragging yourself to the bathroom, all you wanted was to wash all of today’s dirt off of your body. So you clipped your hair, got all clothes off and stepped into rain of warm and relaxing water.

After you got out, you pulled on Schlatt’s shirt , which was way bigger than you. You did your skincare, checked your beauty out one more time and went to bed.

Sadly, Schlatt wasn’t there yet, but his voice wasn’t heard anymore. Sooner or later you heard him pass the bedroom door. Something kept you awake for little while, probably missing spot where he sleeps. But soon the sweet dreams drifted you away from reality.

“Wake up gal” his voice rang, and he admired how your lashes fluttered open. You groaned. It clearly wasn’t morning yet, it was dark around you. You felt Schlatt’s lips on your neck “it’s 12:17. Happy birthday y/n”

“Thank you. But you could’ve just told that in the morning”

“No. I want to gifts start from now” he looked at you with soft eyes “it starts with me taking care of you, if you’re up for it”

Your pussy throbbed. How could you say no? You nod and smile. “But I’m exhausted. Please don’t be rough”

“Your wish is my command”

You were in a spooning position. His hands trailed down from your neck, where he was giving you hickies, to your tits. He massaged them both before moving down your stomach. He started drawing patterns and as the were lowering, you started noticing Schlatt was drawing letters. He drew them slowly so you could understand them, it came to and end with what understood was ‘birthday girl’. You smiled softly.

His fingers played with hem of your underwear. Slowly but surely he got to your plush pussy. His fingers were tender, at first circling around to get you worked up, then when you whimpered he decided push one finger in. To be honest, his fingers were long and girthy, so even one made you let out a bunch of moans. He added another and his pace fastened a little. When J is mean and rough, he uses three fingers and abuses your clit. Now he doesn’t even think about adding more pressure on your bundle or third finger.

“ I can tell from your moans and expressions that you’re going to cum soon. Let’s count down” you whine out a somewhat ‘yes’ and feel your legs shaking a bit. “3…” Schlatt studies your face well, focused on you. You internally thank him for not changing the pace or how deep he pushes in “2…” he drags out his words before kissing you. He pulls away for a second seeing that you can’t wait any more “1. Now love” you let yourself go with a whimper that you swore you never heard from yourself. “Ah such a good girl. Doing so perfect”

“I’m sorry” you whimper embarrassed “can we continue this tomorrow morning? I’m exhausted and about to pass the fuck out. Can’t handle another orgasm”

“Yeah of course. It’s okay” he gets a paper towel/napkin from his nightstand and cleans your mess up “go to the restroom now please. Then we’ll cuddle. ”

You chuckle and flail your arms out around doing the grabby hands motion. There’s no way you could stand up and go by yourself right now. Schlatt understands and sigh’s smilingly, standing up to pick you up.

“Princess treatment only”

[thrashkink-coven]

Ritual Report: Wednesday July 26, 2023

My glorious and profound Father Lucifer, I thank you humbly for this marvellous experience as well as your permission to share this experience with my peers. You are infinite in your loving grace and wisdom. I revere you deeply and truly. Thank you, bless you. 🖤

“My Ritual with Lord Lucifer was fucking Amazing

I didn’t truly understand what everyone meant when they say that the Marvellous Light Bringer is beautiful and gracious beyond comprehension before this ritual. It’s been a day and I am still absolutely shaken and awe inspired. Ave the wonderful prince of darkness, Lord Lucifer. 🖤

Ritual with Lucifer (Holy Shit) (1)

Okay guys I’m not trying to be dramatic, seriously. I’m just super ?!??? aaaa ?? after the ritual I just did? But in a really great way. I just need to get this out and write this down because I’m ??? so happy? ? aa

I didn’t consider myself to be a Luciferian, but I’ve been reaching out to Lucifer for a little bit now, nothing super intense but I have definitely felt his presence and done some small offerings for him. Another spirit I work very often with is very close with Lucifer, and through him I came into contact with The Prince. I’ve worked a lot with other angels but I’ve only really started dabbling with Lucifer within the last year. He’s been good to me. Whatever whatever, just context.

I wanted to do something a little deeper, really get a solid good connection. Honestly, I just wanted to get to know him better. I’ve been thinking about him very often, seeing him in dreams. The energy in my room almost called for it. Idk.

A mutual of mine who also works with Lucifer suggested I try meditating with an enn. I’ve been meeting an unusually high number of people who also work with Lucifer within the past few weeks and they’re always sharing awesome resources I’ve never seen. As soon as I start thinking about him long enough I’ll see something that I could use to work with him. I recently went to a trip to Nelson BC and picked up these Hermetic Tarot Cards. Also came to find out that the town has a SUSPICIOUS amount of occult imagery (and a Freemason temple? very cool.)

Life is one funny motherfucker.

I think it’s worth noting that before I started this ritual, when I was writing up invocations for him, I drew a card out of a box of oracle cards that reads “become willing to see the innocence in that which you condemn” which I found very baffling at the time because I was grappling with nerves around the ritual. I’m like a full time witch so I usually don’t get the jitters in rituals. Angels usually never make me nervous, and Lucifer in no way scares me. I don’t at all see him as an evil scary thing, quite the opposite, but I was raised extremely Christian so it’s ingrained in me. I was just having that split second satanic panic thing. I think that’s important to acknowledge. Lovely shadow work exposing my deep prejudices and insecurities :)

I began the ritual by drawing his sigil on the desk in white chalk. I had already prepared a candle carved with the sigil. I like to use this card from the Goetic Tarot whenever I do rituals with Lucifer because the artwork is so stunning. This was also the first time I was using these Hermetic Tarot cards and they were wonderful, probably one of my favourite decks now.

After some meditative exercises and prayers I layer back on the floor and listened to music for a while. I do all my rituals like this naked. I like to listen to classical music when I’m preparing to go into a trance because it tickles my brain and is easy to ride. Gets all the goo out? I don’t know.

After a while of that I switched it to the enns…

So, the Enns…

I started with Lucifer’s Enn by Demonic Enn. It filled my chest. It was powerful and intimidating and my heart was pounding. It was overwhelming for me. What I felt in it was power, but not the Lucifer I’m familiar with I guess. A different aspect of Lucifer that is mighty and strong but unfamiliar. Not my Lucifer.

((Honestly the instrumentals are top tier and I really could feel it’s power but the dude’s voice just threw me off. I’m sorry I don’t know if we’re allowed to leave reviews on enns but it just wasn’t my favourite.))

It scrambled the fuck out of me and it made me nervous again. I started to doubt myself and wondered if I was making a mistake. I know that sounds stupid but I was caught in the adrenaline. What if the Lucifer I’ve felt all this time isn’t what I thought? I know that everyone experiences him differently, but what if I’m reaching out to someone I don’t really understand? I know Lord Lucifer is an extremely powerful entity and I don’t wanna fuck around and do something stupid, yknow?

I sat for a moment and then asked my deck the first question of the ritual. “What advice can you give me to continue this ritual? Am I making a mistake?”

I got this Nine of Swords, Lord of Despair and Cruelty.

“The Nine of Swords suggests that dark thoughts and disturbing feelings are weighing you down. You are worrying excessively about a situation, and your negative thoughts are getting the better of you, leaving you stressed and anxious. The more you associate with your fears, the more they will rule your life. The fear and worry in the Nine of Swords can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. As you obsess over what may go wrong, you are more likely to manifest your worst-case scenario.”

I was freaking myself out, and I needed to calm down. The jitters were holding me back and I needed to regain focus. Stop being a little bitch, basically. And idk… as soon as I read that card, I was calm again, and the energy felt warm. He needed me to preserve. I was safe with him, and he was guiding me through the darkness. If he is the Lucifer I know him to be, he will guide me well.

I tried one more enn which was Lucifer’s Enn by Carl Spartacus. Beautiful.

This is the most vivid trance I have ever been in. Like holy shit. I don’t know how best to describe this without sounding totally crazy. My body completely relaxed as I fell into the music. My face got warm, I felt embrace around my shoulders and chest. As soon as it began I saw a warm light emerge from the darkness behind my eyes. The familiar energy of the Lucifer I’ve come to know emerged. I felt close to him like I always had, it was like he was standing right before me. Like he could just reach out and touch me.

I emerged in shrubbery, I was surrounded by trees and bushes. As I turned to look into the clearing I saw a magnificent illuminating light. The energy was rich, so heavy I could reach out and grab it. I felt warmth blanket my entire body, and I began to drift from the ground and float towards him. If I didn’t know any better Id fucking swear I was levitating in the real world. It felt that real. His energy elevated and touched every part of my body and filled it with absolute bliss. There were others there, naked men and women surrounding him and singing, floating around him with laughter and glee. We were in a large stretch of field now, prancing around like children, the drum of his energy pounding like thunder and lifting us into the air. I didn’t know these people, if they were spirits or humans, but we were all in love with each other. We held hands and swung each other around. We were all so happy to be together.

Lucifer was a tall masculine energy with long black hair and deep, gentle, wise black eyes. Like all the others he was naked and seemed to glow. He took us all up and we drifted among the clouds. He danced with us, his smile was light itself.

This was all so vivid. I could feel the wind and heat on my skin. I got butterflies as we drifted. I actually felt like I was floating. Honestly I was high on it, maybe I still am.

And then, I felt my body sit forward, and I returned to our world. The candle which I had carved Lucifer’s sigil on stood tall and I could feel him within the flame. He whispered for me to come closer. It was then that I heard his voice. His smooth, gentle, careful voice. It was a whisper that washed over me like mist. Had I not been in such a high state of mind it would have scared the shit out of me.

He said in great vividness “Why have you come before me?” (Deal time!!!)

I replied simply that I wanted to know him. I said that I could not worship him, for I must worship myself. I seek him not for religion but because I have great love and reverence for him. Through magick we can connect and come to know each other. I hope only that he can show me how to be more like him. Powerful and dominant, warm and protective. He is beautiful, illuminating knowledge and purity. I want nothing more than to know him as one would know an old friend. Behold his energy, magnificent and splendid. May we dance together like we just did for as long as it serves us. He seemed very satisfied with that answer.

Lucifer commanded me to draw a card from the tarot deck, the question to which was essentially “will you take me as one of you kin, Lord Lucifer?”

I drew the Sun. Lord of the Fire of the World. Success, radiance and abundance. The Sun gives you strength and tells you that no matter where you go or what you do, your positive and radiant energy will follow you and bring you happiness and joy. This beautiful, warm energy is what will get you through the tough times and help you succeed.

We then spoke for a bit about fire and its ability to purify. It is a powerful force with the power to harm, but it is a mighty cleanser of impurity. He asked me to put my hand above the flame to feel it’s heat. I promised to always respect that flame. Allow it to burn away all that does not serve us, to never abuse it, to never try to control it. He kissed me on the forehead.

I was beyond happy. I offered him my smoky quarts and obsidian tower just to give him something, and when I did I saw him bow to me when he reached out to accept. I bowed back, and he bid me farewell for now. When I was finally completely out of the trance, his protective energy was still there. Actually it’s still everywhere, filling my altar. I can’t describe this feeling.

I can’t explain how rich and beautiful that energy was, how marvellous it felt to float in his orbit like that. The physical sensations were realer than reality. I’m still shaken. I feel ridiculously lucky which is a strange feeling I’ve never really had with a deity before. It’s so strong. aaa

I can’t bring myself to clean up the ritual lol.

Thanks for reading this holy fuck, I guess I’m a bit of a Luciferian now “

Ave the wondrous Lord Lucifer! ❤️🖤

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

Ohhh I guess I can post this! Bc I forgot! Bc I drew it while I wasn't posting on here! My panel for the WAR! comic redraw hosted by @tf2heritageposts (and thought up in a conversation with me... bats my eyes cutely). I messed around w the composition quite a bit, in retrospect this is very messy but it was a fun style thing for me!

[ID: First, a redraw of a panel from the tf2 War! comic. On the left side is Soldier, dressed in a blue t-shirt and a blue helmet, is crouched behind a long metal box, flinging one arm up as if to cover his eyes (which are already obscured by the helmet). He is grimacing dramatically and a speech bubble for him exclaims "Good Lord, no!" On the right side is a man in a gray trench coat and white gloves, holding his trench coat open and revealing a bright light. An action word reads "Flash!" The background is dark blue.

Second, the original panel. The composition is similar, although Soldier is much smaller and not holding his hand up, and the man in the trench coat is positioned in the center and with his whole body visible. End ID]

[feyhunter78]

Hey it’s me El! Can I have a one shot where she accidentally spills drink over him where they’re children in the kings landing and she profusely apologises but he says it’s alright. An older woman comes over and Says she’s an apprentice maid so forgive her stupidness. Skip forward the years and he sees her as a matured woman and joking asks if she’ll spill drink on her again. She smiles and says if the prince wishes it and they laugh. ‘She’s been promoted she’s not that bad…’ still he becomes enamoured with her, deliberately seeking her out and having conversations with her. Rhaenyra sees him sneak out one time and confronts him afterwards and asks if he was seeing that girl. Jace looks sheepish but rhaenyra says it’s okay go to her. Cause she loved Harwin and couldn’t be with him so she hopes the same for jace.

So this was supposed to go out last night, but I guess Tumblr decided not to post it??? Anyways I loved this prompt and I loved writing for Jacaerys bc he is just such a sweet boy!!!!!

Apprentice!reader masterlist

The Servant who would be Queen

Fear rushed through you as the pitcher slipped from your small hands and landed on Prince Jacaerys, dousing him in wine. Your entire body is trembling as apologies spilled from your lips faster than the wine spilled all over the prince’s finery.

“My prince, I—I am so sorry, it slipped from my hands, please forgive me.” You stuttered out as you grabbed the cloth napkins and began to dab at his chest before realizing how improper that was and dropping them with another hasty apology.

Jacaerys looked up at you. You both were of a similar age, you ten and he ten and one. “It is quite alright.” He reassured you, giving you a kind smile.

“Are you sure? I could ask one of the servants to bring you a change of clothes or—”

He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper, his hand taking yours. “Truly, you’ve done me a favor, I hate this tunic.” He scrunched his nose, which drew a giggle from you.

The head maid Marta rushed forward and yanked you away from him. “My prince, please accept my apologies, she is young and still needs more training. Forgive her foolishness.”

Jacaerys shook his head and stood, taking your hand once more. “All is forgiven, Marta, it was simply an accident.” He turned to his mother, informing her he would go change then return, before he met your eyes once more.

“Again, I am so sorry, my prince.” You said, tears in your eyes.

Jacaerys pressed a quick kiss to your hand. “Please do not fret over me, it was an accident.”

Your face warmed, and you curtsied once he released your hand. “Of course, my prince, thank you.”

Years later you see him again, a man now, much as you are a woman grown. You have finally worked your way up and been named as Marta’s right hand. Jacaerys caught your eye as you served the royal family wine, and when you reached him, he gave you a roguish smile.

“Y/N, lovely to see you again.” He said, mirth shining in his warm brown eyes.

“And you as well, my prince.” You said politely, trying to keep from showing just how handsome you now find him from showing on your face.

“I must inform you that I am not quite fond of this doublet, so if you wish to spill wine on me again, I will not be upset.”

You laughed, but a small part of you was still anxious, and you chewed on your bottom lip, not meeting his eyes. “I will if you order it, my prince, but I must say there can be nothing but perfection from Marta’s second in command.”

His hand on your forearm stopped you. “I mean the words only as a jest y/n, and I wish to congratulate you on your promotion. My grandsire tells me it is well earned.”

You ducked your head, smiling. “Thank you, I must say I have come quite far from where I was at age ten.”

“You have become quite beautiful as well, I will enjoy our trip much more knowing I will see you often.” He said smoothly, his steady voice simultaneously calming and exciting your nerves.

You finished pouring his wine and smiled shyly at him. “I will enjoy you visiting here as well.” Then you moved into the next member of his family before retreating into the kitchen, heart ponding in your chest.

Soon you found yourself in the company of the prince often. He wandered down to the kitchens, asked for you during meal times, and would try to seek you out during your free time and invite you on walks.

“And then Carina threw wine at Prince Aegon for groping her. It was quite funny, but the prince found it less so.” You recounted to Jacaerys feeling warmed by his eyes never once leaving you.

“Aegon is a pest, I despise the fact that more cannot be done to shield the servants from him.” He said, before leaning forward and plucking a stray leaf from your hair.

“It is part of the job, unfortunately. I have been lucky, thank the gods that he has not set his sights on me.”

There was a shadow that crossed over Jacaerys’ eyes, and you tilted your head in concern. “My prince?”

The shadow disappeared and he smiled brightly. “Apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.”

“Thinking of your dragon?” You ventured.

His expression turned bashful, but his hands found yours and held them tightly. “You caught me.”

“I cannot blame you, Vermax seems to be a wonderful creature.”

“Would you like to meet him?” He asked suddenly, getting to his feet and pulling you up with him.

You froze. You knew how important dragons were to the Targaryens, and you knew a non-Targaryen should only meet a bonded dragon is marriage was imminent. At least that is what you had heard from Aemond and Aegon.

“I do not think I should—it would not be appropriate, and I must get back to the kitchen now.” You said quickly, removing your hands from his grip and smoothing out your skirts.

Jacaerys’ face fell, but he nodded. “Of course, my apologies for keeping you from your duties.”

You curtsied and rushed off before he could offer to escort you back.

“Do you not already have a servant you are terrorizing?” Aemond drawled, picking at his food.

“I have grown bored of her, but y/n, she is a new challenge.” Aegon said, swirling his wine in his cup.

Jacaerys’ head perked up at the mention of your name. This was one family dinner you had been too busy to help staff, and he missed seeing your smiles as you served his wine.

“Marta will skin you alive.” Aemond said, taking a drink of his own wine.

“I am the prince, she cannot do anything to me.” Aegon said, leaning back in his chair.

“Do not say I did not warn you.” Aemond said.

Aegon folded his arms behind his head. “It will be worth it, have you seen y/n’s figure? And she is so innocent, I doubt anyone’s bed her and if they have, it was not properly.” He chuckled. “I shall have her crying beneath me by the night’s end.”

Jacaerys slammed down his cup, knuckles white around the stem.

 His mother looked up and raised an eyebrow.

He pursed his lips, eyes flickering to Aegon and Aemond before he continued to eat his food in angry silence.

It is later that night when he is sneaking through the halls intent on finding you before Aegon does that his mother catches him.

“Jace.” She said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Mother.”

“What are you doing roaming the halls at night?”

“I need to go to the kitchen?” He said lamely. He was never good at lying to her.

She smiled softly. “You are off to see y/n then.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I know she is a servant, and I am your heir, but I love her and I do not care where she comes from, I wish to marry her.”

Rhaenyra holds up a hand to stop him. “I know, sweet boy, and I approve.” She stepped closer, stroking his hair, a bittersweet smile on her face. “I will not prevent you from marrying the one your heart truly loves, like my father did.”

Jacaerys embraced her quickly, thanking her, before he rushed off in search of y/n.

“Prince Aegon, please, you are drunk, you must leave.” You said, trying to push Aegon away from you.

“No, no, I think it is time to see how well you can ride the dragon.” He slurred, arms wrapping around you, holding you in a vice grip.

“Please, let me go, I do not wish—” You were cut off by the sudden appearance of Jacaerys.

His curls were mussed, his night shirt hanging low, and there was a fire in his eyes. “Aegon. Let her go.”

Aegon blew a raspberry and turned towards him, keeping you in his arms. “Sorry, nephew, finders keepers.”

You barely blinked and Aegon was knocked out cold lying on the kitchen floor, Jacaerys standing above him, fists clenched.

“You hit Prince Aegon, he will think it was me, I could be killed.” You said, voice trembling as you bent down to inspect Aegon’s jaw.

Jacaerys stopped you, taking you in his arms. “You will not be blamed, and you will not be killed.”

“How do you know that?” You asked, fear receding as his warmth surrounded you.

“They will have to go through Vermax and I first. Then they will have to realize this was nothing more than a family matter. The future consort of the king will not be charged over something so petty.”

You nodded, comforted by his declaration of protection, then his words set in. “Consort?”

He cupped your face. “Y/N I have spoken to my mother and I will go to your family home and speak with your father, but I wish to marry you, regardless of what answer anyone gives me.”

Your eyes widened. “But I am a servant?”

“And the small folk will cheer when they hear one of their own will be their queen.” He said, his brown eyes filled with warmth and adoration.

“You want me to be your queen? Not the dozens of noble women who would be much better?” You couldn’t believe your ears.

He nodded. “Yes, I have known you should be my queen since the day you spilled wine on me.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “If you are certain—”

“I am.”

“Then yes, I wish to marry you as well.” You said, throwing your arms around his neck.

His entire face broke out into a smile and he kissed you. Warmth like the rays of the sun enveloped you, and you felt secure in his strong arms. You would be a wonderful pair. King Jacaerys the Strong and Queen y/n the Beloved.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda

[chcrryade]

when you think you know what i know.

Hasun, and all of the people he has to learn how to understand.

INCLUDES ⁺⠀lee hasun, cherryade ensemble. TIMESTAMP ⁺⠀JULY—NOVEMBER 2021. WARNINGS ⁺⠀profanity, injury, smoking, arguing. the piece as a whole is kind of a mish-mash of scenes!! WORD COUNT ⁺⠀7.8K. NOTE ⁺⠀i guess this is.. a chapter? or at least a little insight into these weirdo freaks idk.. but i hope u like it anw!!! if u hv any thoughts please tell me or i’ll blow up!!! and finally thanku to my fave isa for making the decision for me for this to be through hasun’s eyes (bc it was originally gonna b doyeon LOL). love u 🫂

ఇ⠀PRACTICE ROOM⠀3RD JUNE, 2021

Doyeon looked like he was an untied shoelace away from snapping.

It was just them in the practice room, the others having left not long after the choreographer did to spend the rest of their evenings however they so desired. Hasun stayed because of the creeping worry he was falling behind, an uncomfortable feeling hanging over his head that if he didn’t get up to standard soon he would simply be cut. Easily, thoughtlessly, as he had seen the company do before and feared they would do again.

Why Doyeon was still there, though, he had no clue. The older seemed miles ahead of him in terms of talent, every move he made flowing perfectly into the next. Doyeon was like honey, slow and sure and golden, and Hasun supposed that made him something of an irritating bee trying to replicate it for himself. He had first tried to just shut him out, focus on his own steps and twists and turns, but soon the force of Doyeon’s trainers against the wooden floor were starting to drown out the music from the speakers, and Hasun had been watching him ever since, barely attempting to keep up the pretence of following the routine anymore. His movements were ghosts of what they had been earlier, eyes fixed on the figure next to him in the mirror.

The older boy seemed.. Off. What was once honey-smooth now looked more jerky, forceful. Like it was being pulled out of him, every movement too big for his body. His face was blank, eyes far away, and his hands were curled into fists at his side. Hasun’s brows drew together, mouth opening to call out, to try and snap Doyeon out of whatever trance he looked to have fallen into, but he faltered in the face of the rhythmic beat of trainers against floorboards and the melodic vocals of their mock-up debut track playing on repeat.

Everything seemed to grow in volume. Feet on the floor. His breathing in his ears. Music from the speaker, lyrics from the song. It was a climbing crescendo, and the chilling feeling was back—running along the nape of his neck, a feather-light touch across his skin that left it crawling. Something felt wrong.

The music only felt like it got louder, after that. As if protesting against the sense of dread that was slowly seeping into his train of thinking. His hands were cold, his feet ached, his eyes widened. Everything was slowing down, and Doyeon was stopping in place, and his eyes seemed to snap open in realisation, finally awake, and then—then he was crumbling to the floor, a pained yell ringing out around the room that echoed horribly in Hasun’s ears. The demo track carried on.

He was by his side in a second, hands cautious as they hovered for a moment before he finally settled them first on his back, then moved to his shoulder. He didn’t know what to do. Doyeon pushed to sit upright, the clouded-over look in his eyes replaced with something that Hasun couldn’t name, and didn't know how to describe. 

“Hyung. Are—are you alright? Should I go get someone?”

The way the older one reacted made it seem like nothing sounded worse. He jerked further upright, shifting out of Hasun’s hesitant grip, and his hand made to grab at his arm, eyes suddenly frantic. “No, fuck. I’m.. I’m alright, Hasun-ah. See?”

To demonstrate, he pushed himself to stand and presented his hands in a flourish. It was almost believable, until he moved to take a step and one of his knees nearly buckled all over again. Doyeon slumped back to the floor before his legs could do it for him, face pale and all excuses shocked silent.

Hasun was starting to panic. His hands rose to try and reach for the dancer again, but he shoved them back by his sides when he saw how they were shaking. Idiot, he berated himself, glaring hard at the floor so Doyeon didn’t see the unsurety in his face. You’re supposed to be helping.

“Are you sure, hyung? Please don’t lie, I don’t.. I don’t know what to do.”

To Hasun’s horror, he felt the hot prickle of tears threatening to fall, a broken half-sob clogging up his throat before he choked it down and clamped a hand over his mouth. Shame came not long afterwards, the tips of his ears burning red-hot. He couldn’t be breaking down, not now, not here—not when, if anything, it should’ve been Doyeon brought to tears. Doyeon who seemed to be the picture of calm in that moment, teeth coming to gnaw at his bottom lip as he yanked up the leg of his sweatpants to inspect his ankle, brow furrowing slightly at what he saw. He lifted his gaze from his leg to try and reassure the youngest one more time, but stopped still when he saw the tears shining in his eyes, resolutely avoiding eye contact. His words faltered, coming out stilted, awkward. The positions had flipped, and now Doyeon was the one with no clue of what move to make.

“Hasun-ah, I’m fine. Hyung’s fine. There’s no need to—just. Don’t cry, Hasun-ah. Please.”

His attempts at consolement were flimsy, crumbling at the foundations, and so he gently set a hand on the maknae’s shoulder instead. That seemed to be all Hasun needed for him to collapse into Doyeon’s shoulder, head down and cries muffled in the thin fabric of his sweater. The demo track was still playing from the speakers, lyrics looping over and over. Hasun wished he was back in the dorms. In bed, underneath a duvet in a room that at thirteen had seemed so like a stranger but he now knew like the back of his hand. He wanted his tears to dry, the music to stop, a warm meal that evening, and for Doyeon to be alright. For everyone to be alright. He wanted to make it, and he wanted everyone to be fine when they did.

Doyeon appeared to understand without him saying a word. He simply pulled him in closer, a hand making its way to stroke over his hair softly, tangling and untangling the strands between his fingers. There they sat; in the practice room long after everyone else had left, long after the sun had set. Bruises were starting to form around Doyeon’s ankle, sickening shades of purple and blue. Hasun’s hands were still cold, his head starting to hurt from the soft sobs that wracked through his frame. Neither of them paid any mind, for now.

“We’ll be alright, Hasunnie. We’ll get through this.”

Maybe it was an empty promise, but Hasun didn’t care. It was good enough for him.

ఇ⠀CLUB (?)⠀5TH JULY,  2021

“Why are we here, Jalen-hyung?”

The strobe lights were hurting his eyes, painting him pink and purple and blue and a whole other range of colours he was too overwhelmed to remember the name of, the bass of whatever EDM remix they were bumping was matching how fast his heart was beating, and his hands were sweaty from where they were holding onto the back of Jalen’s shirt in a vice grip as the older led them through the back-alley club he’d dragged him to—for what reason, he could do nothing but guess.

Jalen turned back to him, the white of his teeth when he grinned gleaming at him even through the pseudo-darkness. “Inspiration. Why else? You said you wanted to write a song, didn’t you?”

Hasun shifted, straightening up when somebody knocked into him from behind and then carried on pushing their way through the crowd without so much as an apology. “Not about anything like this. I’m not—I’m not even allowed to be in here yet.”

All he got in response was an eyeroll, and then suddenly Jalen was off again, finally coming to a stop at a rare empty booth that he shoved Hasun into before cramming up next to him. Sweat was starting to bead across his forehead from the stuffiness of the room, and the older one’s voice was too loud in his ear when he leaned in close to yell in it.

“So just don’t tell anyone! It's not like I’m making you do shots, I’m just trying to get you inspired. What is it you even want to write, anyway?”

That was where Hasun stopped in his tracks, suddenly far too interested in the rings on his fingers than meeting Jalen’s eyes. The thing was.. He himself didn’t really know. Hasun just knew he wanted to do something, contribute something other than his vocals on the tracks and dancing for the stages. Every single one of the other members already had things to show, traits they were known for, both personalities and reputations already established (for better or, in some cases, for much worse), and Hasun had nothing. He was the nobody, the new boy. So he figured a good way to show people he wasn’t going to just stand around without pulling his weight would be to get his name in the credits for one song, at the very least.

But he couldn’t relay all that to Jalen. He’d probably just laugh, leer, pat him on the head and tell him that his voice would be more than enough, because he didn’t get it. Because it wouldn’t, it wasn’t, and it never would be. That was one of the first things he’d learned as a trainee, standing in the cold one November evening while his cousin stubbed out cigarettes under her stilettos and ingrained into him things that he’d never learn in any practice room.

They never just want your voice. Or your talent as a dancer, or your pretty white smile. It’s not that easy. You have to be someone, you know. You have to be the one who tells the best jokes, or gets the most girls, or the one who looks like they just don’t give a fuck about anything—about anyone. You have to write the songs, or get yourself onto billboards, or say the most in all the interviews. You’re not enough. She never said it, but it was written in the fine lines, the footnotes. Hasun was desperate to please and to prove, so with knuckling down and shoving some lyrics in front of their producer’s face with a hopeful smile he hoped to kill both of those birds with one stone.

But he couldn’t relay all that to Jalen. So instead he just shrugged, raising his head and trying not to mumble so he’d be heard over the music. 

“I don’t know. Just.. Something. Something fun.” Something worthy. Something that’s enough.

The older one again gestured at the atmosphere around them, with a force that sent one of his dangling earrings swinging and an eyebrow raised in expectation. “Fun? We’re at just the place for it.”

For him, maybe. Hasun had overheard all the stories Haeil had playfully forced him to tell the rest about his life back home, everything he’d seen and done so far. Scenes like this probably felt like a place where he could slip into a second skin, into a nature he’d grown up inhabiting. For Hasun it felt like being thrown into the deep end, locked in a cage with his oxygen cut off. Everywhere he looked was another flash of glittering fabric, sparkling jewellery, and on occasion an LED-endowed vape clutched in the hand of a drunk partygoer—which Hasun was half-sure was allowed just as much as him even being in this place at all, but from how run-down the entire establishment looked (from both the outside and in) he wouldn’t be surprised if the smoke alarm’s wires had been cut long before anyone started flicking lighters or hitting blinkers.

The air felt as if it was weighed down, so laden with the force of sweat and perfume and powder that Hasun felt that if he stuck his tongue out he would be able to taste it. He laughed weakly in response to Jalen’s question and shimmied down further into his side, trying his best to melt into the cheap leather even if the stench of the alcohol that had seeped through it made him want to retch.

Unfortunately, Jalen wouldn’t let him off that easily. His grip around his arm wasn’t a rough one, but it was firm enough that he tugged him back into sitting upwards with ease. His gaze when he turned to stare into Hasun’s eyes was unflinching and uncomfortable, and the youngest wished he’d said yes when Jalen had asked if he was doing anything that night.

“Stop moping, just humour me for a minute. Ignore this shitty music, ignore everyone else—just stay in your head and think. Lyrics can be anything, you know, no one’s expecting us to bring anything deep to the table. Fuck it, you can write about the awful shade of purple they’ve painted the walls if it means you’ve got a song on your hands. Just.. You know. Try.”

Try. Try and write something fun. Something enough. He tossed Jalen a wary look in the face of his gentle encouragement, but broke the eye contact and tried to push out the overbearing noise thumping into his skull anyway. Stay in your head. His mind was quiet, a place of solace, and he slowly lowered his head into the comfort of his folded arms atop the table, tugging his beanie down over his ears in an attempt to muffle the bass even further, and thought. Felt.

It took a while for anything to form, while he sat there and stared into the ocean of neon lights and young recklessness, and when it did it didn’t even come all at once. It didn’t come in a perfect flow of intro-verse-chorus-verse, but instead in broken lines. Or rather, just one. But he shot upright all the same, and Jalen next to him jerked in surprise, eyes wide as Hasun tugged harshly on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Hyung. We need to go. I need to write this down.”

Jalen’s grin was just as wide as it had been earlier, and looked to gleam even brighter as he got to his feet and gave the youngest a hand, arm around his shoulders as he tugged him out the same entrance they’d come in from. Hasun’s eyes were trained on his feet, at the floor, desperately trying to keep what he’d thought of in mind, trying not to lose it to the tug of the crowd and the rhythm of the music. It wasn’t whole, wasn’t any sort of final product or finished piece, but when it was..

When it was, then maybe it would be enough. But only then.

ఇ⠀CHERRYADE DORM⠀21ST JULY,  2021

The voices in the kitchen were far too loud for Hasun’s liking. He almost hadn’t heard them at all, because debut was around the corner and they were being worked to the bone, but the combination of the walls being so thin, his room being the closest to the kitchen, and the slamming of the front door with the harsh back-and-forth between whoever was out there that followed not long afterwards was enough to rouse him. He shifted upwards in his bed, bleary eyes struggling to make out one foot from the other as he shoved back the thin duvet and reached for a hoodie tossed over the chair shoved against his tiny desk. He was gentle as he pushed open the door, quiet as he pushed it closed behind him. The only light was coming from the warm yellow bulb under the stove hood, and bathed in it he could just barely make out Haeil sitting on the counter, face half obscured by the figure in front of him. 

Hasun made to step closer, to ask what was going on, until he snapped to full attention at the sound of Jalen’s voice, the coldness of his tone cutting straight through the otherwise warm atmosphere.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Are you drunk? Is that it? How could you do something so stupid?”

Haeil’s face twisted into something ugly, and he shifted away from the older man in front of him, hand reaching up to rub at one of his eyes. His reply was just as harsh, his usual apathetic state turned cruel by whatever argument he was in the middle of.

“I’m not drunk, and I’m not stupid, either. God, you make it sound like I asked for this to happen. If you’re just going to give me a lecture, you can fuck off. I can take care of this by myself.”

Jalen’s returning scoff hurt Hasun’s ears. He only pressed closer, bringing his hands up to hold Haeil’s face in a way that was far too soft for how he was berating him only moments earlier. Hasun felt slightly sick, skin burning too hot for the thick fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t think he was supposed to be seeing this or hearing this at all. But he couldn’t turn away, rooted to the spot out of the morbid curiosity that was eating through him.

“Can’t you just let me help, for once? It’s late. Knowing you, you’ll knock everything over and wake everyone up. I don’t want to deal with a pissy Yijun at two in the morning, thanks.”

Despite how Jalen’s tone had lightened, lifting at the end in a half-attempt at a joke, a hand reaching out for Haeil to take, a silent plea for them to agree on a truce, the rapper was resistant. He squirmed out of the vocalist’s hold once again, and turned his eyes towards his feet, words only just above a mumble—so quiet that Hasun strained forward in order to hear, and hated himself a bit for it.

“You’re not my mother.”

The play at being civil dropped, then. So abruptly that Hasun could feel it in the air—like there was a drop in temperature, a shift in the mood. It was a step too far. The three steps back that came as the fallout to Jalen’s weak excuse of moving forward. Jalen straightened up, all previous notions of helping Haeil discarded, forgotten. His next words sounded mean in a way Hasun hadn’t known Jalen to be, the sardonic smile visible even if his back was turned.

“That’s a bit rich coming from you, isn’t it? Has she called?”

Silence rang out in the kitchen. If Haeil had taken it a step too far, then Jalen had just ripped it apart with his bare hands. All was quiet for a few moments longer, before the oldest moved to speak up again, hand slowly raising to Haeil—who was just.. Staring at him, eyes saying far more than either of them could ever out loud and body stunned still—again, before he dropped it with a sigh and turned on his heel. Hasun froze on the spot, unsure of whether he should return to the safety of his own room or press himself as close to the wall as possible and hope Jalen would brush right past him in the dark.

But before he could come to a decision Jalen had solved the issue for him, simply brushing straight past him without a mere glance in his direction and wrenching open the door to his own room, letting it slam carelessly shut behind him and leaving Haeil behind on the counter watching in silence, mouth having opened as if to call out after him but then thinking better of it, and Hasun with his heart thumping hard in his chest, socked feet unmoving from where he’d been stood throughout the whole ordeal.

And then there were two. Haeil looked to have curled in on himself, head hanging and arms loosely wrapped around his sides, and Hasun felt he had to do something—because if he’d gleaned anything from the conversation he’d just overheard, it was that something had gone wrong. So he steeled himself, pulled his hood down from where he’d had it covering his messy head of hair, and stepped forward into the low kitchen light.

“Hyung? Are you—is everything alright? I just heard some noise, so..” The lie settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, but it was better than admitting what he’d just overheard. Haeil startled at his voice, head snapping up to face him, and what looked back at Hasun was a face that held something far worse than any of the scenarios the youngest had been thinking of. Haeil’s face was bruised, beaten, the beginnings of a black eye already starting to form. His arms looked to have fared a little better, but there was blood still sluggishly oozing from one of his scraped knees. The laugh he let out in response to Hasun’s question echoed around the empty room, sounding almost hollow.

“Does it look alright? Think some concealer would cover it up fine? Some drunk fuck jumped me while I was out for a—just. While I was out.”

His skin was burning hot to the touch, and Hasun’s hands were shaking as he tried to figure out what to do. He felt like he was back under the stark white lights of the practice room with a fallen Doyeon before him, a fawn on unstable legs. Haeil was a lot less receptive to his panic, though, simply pushing himself off of the counter (biting back a curse when he did so, the leg he’d injured shaking a bit when he landed on it too hard on his bare feet) and opening up the cupboard they’d unspokenly agreed was meant for the more miscellaneous things, fishing around for the unopened box of plasters and throwing Hasun a half-hearted thumbs-up when he found them.

“I’ll be fine, Hasun-ah. It’s nothing water won’t fix. Why don’t you go back to bed, hm? Hyung’s sorry for waking you up.”

The bathroom was all the way at the other end of the hall, and Hasun watched on in silence as Haeil hobbled his way down, melting further and further away from the warm kitchen light and disappearing into the darkness, the only sound being his bare footsteps padding across the wooden floor. Bright white illuminated his silhouette when he switched on the bathroom light, the blooming bruises on his pale skin almost unearthly in the unnatural glow. He turned and met Hasun’s waiting gaze over his shoulder, and the look he gave him felt inconceivable. The moment stretched on for a beat, another.

Haeil turned back and slammed the door shut behind him, taking the light as he went. Hasun, now standing alone in the kitchen, clad in his socks and sleep shorts and threadbare hoodie, felt like there was something he wasn’t getting—that there were lines he couldn’t see, and so was unable to read between.

But he supposed he’d never find out now. The only thing left to do was flick the stove light off and trudge back to his bedroom, falling back onto his bed and being unable to do anything but close his eyes and try to dream.

Haeil’s eyes stared back at him when he did; asking a question Hasun didn’t know how to answer, wanting to hear things Hasun didn’t know how to say.

ఇ⠀CAFÉ⠀30TH AUGUST,  2021

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Yijun smile, but it was certainly one of the only. Hasun had no clue who he was talking to on the other end of the phone, but whoever they were had the main rapper grinning like a fool, all while Jaehee and himself were left to sit opposite and make small talk—which wasn’t going all that well either, seeing as Jaehee was far too busy trying to eavesdrop into the other’s phone call to make any sort of conversation with the youngest. So the only real source of entertainment he had was to play with the straw poking out of the top of his smoothie (that Yijun had earlier commandeered one sip of, and then proceeded to fake-retch at the taste of) or people-watch from their convenient window seat, watching as couples and friends and lone individuals wandered by.

“Do you have to? Fine, if whatever you’re doing is more important than me, then go ahead, but just know I’m getting you back next time I see you. Mm. Alright. Love you, bye.”

His conversation apparently having ended, Yijun carelessly let his phone clatter back onto the table and sat back in his chair, taking his coffee with him as he did so. Jaehee leaned forward eagerly, grin on his face as he started his interrogation.

“Who was that?” The leering grin on his face made Hasun feel like Jaehee knew perfectly well who it was, and was only asking to piss Yijun off.

The question served its purpose to a T. Yijun turned his nose up and released the bitten straw from his lips to snap back at him almost immediately. “None of your business. Nosy fuck.”

The fellow rapper pulled a face, slumping back into his own seat but not staying deterred for long, piping back up after only a few seconds of sulking. “I was just asking, God.”

Hasun wanted to finish his drink as fast as possible and leave the two to their oncoming argument, but at the same time he felt he needed to attempt to mediate. Surely they wouldn’t start yelling like they did on occasion back at the dorms—seeing as the café they were all sitting in was a very public place, and with Yijun’s first group scandal already under his belt after his run-in with a senior at Inkigayo they were already walking on thin ice.

“Well, don’t.” Came Yijun’s snappy reply, taking another pointed sip of his drink that drained the rest of it and setting it back down on the table with the force that made his phone jump in its place face-down on the smooth surface. “Why are you even here? I don’t want you to be.”

The pout on Jaehee’s face was starting to morph into something that looked more like a scowl. “Who died and made you leader? I’ll go where I want, I don’t care if you want me there or not.” It seemed like a final statement, but then the rapper was turning towards Hasun with a sudden grin that made him look like something of a cartoon shark, wide and pointy. “Hasunnie does, doesn’t he?”

Shifting awkwardly in his seat, now with the force of two unblinking pairs of eyes on him, the youngest gave a nondescript gesture that was an amalgamated mix of a shrug and a nod and wished the ground would swallow him whole. Jaehee huffed, seemingly unsatisfied with his answer, and Yijun burst into laughter.

“Doesn’t look much like it to me. You’re really running out of allies if even our maknae can’t bear to spend time with you.”

And with that, Jaehee reached his breaking point for the day. It always went like this, as Hasun had come to learn over the years they’d spent together. Jaehee prodded, and then Yijun shoved and broke and snapped in retaliation. The scraping sound of his chair legs against the floor was ugly, grated against Hasun’s ears, but where he winced, Yijun simply picked his phone back up and went back to scrolling mindlessly at something or other, not sparing the rapper a singular glance.

“I’m calling Jaeyoung-hyung. I’ll just—I’ll see you back at the dorms.”

He was gone without another word, one hand clutching the remnants of his drink and the other bringing his phone up to his ear, turning back for a moment to meet the eyes of Hasun watching him go and throwing him a final thin smile that looked too fake on his lips before he pushed the door open with a shoulder and was disappearing off down the street, only pausing for half a second to pull his hood up over his head despite the late-afternoon sun still being high in the sky.

“Well,” Yijun began, shoving his phone in his pocket for the time being as soon as Jaehee was out of sight and turning to face Hasun properly. “That was quicker than usual. Maybe it’s because my friend on the phone is a touchy subject for our Jaehee.”

It had sounded more like a sore spot for Yijun himself, but Hasun wasn’t too keen on meeting the same fate as Jaehee, and so kept his mouth shut. The silence that then fell over them wasn’t awkward, by any means, but it wasn’t the most comfortable either. Hasun just focused on finishing his drink, wondering if he should tell the older man to go ahead and not bother to wait up. The words were on the tip of his tongue, shifting to sit further upright so they’d come out coherent and not a jumbled mess of syllables, but before he could say them Yijun slumped down in his chair, a hand coming up to rake through his hair before the other joined it to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes for a brief moment.

He looked tired, all of a sudden, all the fight from earlier having left him. He reached into his pocket for his phone again, but swore under his breath when the screen stayed dark, battery dead. The youngest watched as his hands squeezed together tight before just barely relaxing, fingers coming to pick at hangnails and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. Hasun took a breath, another, and then slowly brought his own phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and held it out to the rapper. He didn’t know what Yijun wanted it for, but he was going to offer it all the same. Watching the older all twitchy and uncomfortable felt odd, unnatural, and he wanted to see him back to his normal self (even if that didn’t mean someone particularly kind, or caring, or all that nice at all) as soon as possible. Yijun stopped his picking and looked at the home screen of Hasun and Eunhee arm-in-arm to the face of the youngest and back again, hesitating.

“Take it, hyung, it’s fine. Just don’t.. I don’t know, drain my bank account.”

Yijun scoffed and rolled his eyes, quickly back to his usual brash act even if his hands were wary when they took the device from Hasun’s hands. “As if. I’d only do that to Jaehee, Hasun-ah. You’re my favourite.”

Hasun grinned, happy to see him back to normal even if it was just for show, just to save face. He then finally finished off his own drink and set it on the table, getting the feeling he wasn’t really supposed to stick around any longer to listen in on any more conversations Yijun was probably going to have. He started to get his things together, yanking the zipper of his hoodie up and shooting the rapper a smile.

“I’ll go first, Hyung. Call a cab when you go if it gets late, don’t walk home on your own.”

Yijun made to protest, but Hasun stopped him before he could say a word and stood from his seat, granting the older a wave as he gently pushed open the door and stepped out into what was gradually turning into the early evening. He’d get back before dark if he walked quickly, and so only turned back for a moment to grin one last time at the rapper before he turned and was on his way, wondering absently what was waiting (or rather, what was left) for him in the fridge back at the dorms.

Later that night, when Yijun slipped into his room after only a quiet knock, he gently placed his phone back onto the bedside table and gave Hasun another one of his rare smiles, small but genuine. There were no words that needed to be shared between them, nothing more that needed to be said.

It was only a small moment of understanding, one that passed as quickly as it had arrived, but it left Hasun feeling warm all the same. Left him feeling like he was getting somewhere, finally.

ఇ⠀DOWNTOWN GANGNAM⠀16TH SEPTEMBER,  2021

This was supposed to be a coffee run. They had practice in ten minutes, and instead of doing what he said he was going to do, Minhui had hopped out of the car, blew a kiss goodbye to Jaeyoung (and got a middle finger in return), took Hasun by the arm, and dragged him along to the closest shopping centre. He’d counted three coffee shops, and the dancer hadn’t spared a glance at any of them. Minhui seemed more interested in the rack of fur coats—made from animals that Hasun could only guess, in so many outlandish patterns and thicknesses and the rest that it almost looked like a scene from a movie.

“Hyung,” he hesitantly began, looking over his shoulder before drawing closer to the still-browsing older boy. Minhui only hummed in response, half-listening. “I really don’t think we should be..”

“Shut up. Go try this on.”

A coat twice the size of him was suddenly being flung in his direction, and he only just barely caught it, before looking back up at the dancer, wide-eyed. At the sound of their commotion a few other browsers had turned to see what all the fuss was about, and it made Hasun want to melt into the floor. At the maknae’s pleading gaze, Minhui simply rolled his eyes.

“Stop panicking, won’t you? I doubt we were actually going to practise today anyway—Yijunnie fucked off to go see some of his ex-members, and Haeil-hyung was out again last night. But if we get in trouble, then don’t worry,” he threw Hasun an overexaggerated wink, his smirk cat-like and vaguely unsettling. “Hyung will take the fall for you, aegi.”

He shuddered at the term of endearment, and Minhui clearly revelled in his displeased reaction if his responding cackle was anything to go by. Still, Hasun turned the coat around and slowly slid it off its hanger, before tugging it over his shoulders. It felt odd on his bare arms, the interior lining not so much a wild and fluffy affair as it was a silkier and smoother fabric. Minhui cooed again far too loudly when he gave him an indulgent flourish of his arms, tugging his phone out of his back pocket and aiming it straight at him.

“Yah, hyung. I never said you could take pictures.” His complaints were rather unfounded when he wasn’t doing anything to stop him, but he felt he needed to get the message across anyway. Minhui, of course, ignored it.

“You never said I couldn't, either! Do a twirl for us, Hasun-ah.”

Muttering under his breath the whole while, Hasun did as told while the dancer snickered and snapped picture after picture every second of the process. He found he felt less worried about the potential prospect of missing practice the longer he was away from the company building, everything being much easier to forget when it felt like it was just him and Minhui—no managers, no staff, no-one. Just them, the generic pop songs they were playing on the in-store speakers, and a rack of fur coats.

Minhui got bored eventually, after he’d made Hasun try on everything he could find that piqued his interest, and he left the maknae struggling to catch up when he abruptly walked straight back out the entrance to the store in the same manner he’d entered: rushed, in a way, every step almost too quick to catch, but also with purpose, confidence. Like he was the owner of every location the chain belonged to, dropping in for a surprise visit and putting everyone on edge before leaving again.

He hadn’t seemed to have figured out their next stop, as when they were out in the busy Gangnam street again he stopped and turned aimlessly a few times, taking in the abundance of billboards and flashing lights and people everywhere he looked. Hasun took a small step away from him, not exactly wanting to be associated with the pink-haired dancer twirling around on the spot while innocent onlookers were made to be his witnesses, but similarly took a moment to simply stand and stare at the bustling city around him.

It felt like too much—car horns beeping at one another, ten different conversations between twice the amount of people floating into one ear and out the other, glaring LEDs hitting him in the eyes on every building he dared to glance at, and about three different idols staring back at him from their places in bus stop windows or billboard advertisements, holding whatever product they were being sponsored by close to their porcelain faces—but at the same time, it felt just like home. A part of him as much as everything else was, as much as the company was, as much as the group was.

It’d been hard to truly get a grasp on at first, what with the training and the debuting and everything in between that had made his life far too hectic for him to take a minute and really accept where he was and where he wanted to go, but now in the stolen moment of peace—by himself, with Minhui at his side, on what was supposed to be a coffee run, when they had certainly missed whatever practice there may or may not have been by now—he felt he could finally process it all properly. This is where I am. This is where I want to be. I don’t know where to go next, but that doesn’t really matter, because I don’t need to know that right now. Right now, he could just be. He could just sing the lines they gave him, dance the choreography they taught him, and just hope he was doing alright instead of worrying if he was going to be replaced.

A smile grew on his face, quiet but wide. Hasun enjoyed the moment for a second more, another, but it was ripped away from him by a complaining Minhui tugging at his arm, apparently bored with (or had gotten dizzy from) his spinning-around-in-circles gimmick.

“Hasunnie-yah. Let’s go get lunch, hm? I’m starving. It’s all on me, but if you want dessert then it’s gonna have to come out of your own pockets.”

Hasun rolled his eyes, but didn’t complain any further, letting himself be dragged along to whatever eating place Minhui could find and listening to all his tangents and rambles on the way. He didn’t feel all that annoyed at his moment being ruined—in fact, he felt it only would’ve been ruined if Minhui had let him overthink any further. He felt that his acceptance of his place was something that should be processed simply and left at that. This is where I am.

And, as he was taken down winding alleyways and wide open stretches of the high street, surrounded by conversation and lights and life, he didn’t think it was an all-too-terrible place to be.

ఇ⠀JAGUAR BUILDING⠀25TH NOVEMBER,  2021

As soon as Hasun entered the recording room, all eyes swivelled to him. Yijun, Daejin, and Doyeon were the only ones there, but even their three gazes combined made him feel uncomfortable, the back of his neck burning as they just continued to stare. It was only when he was just about to pipe up and ask what was wrong that Daejin sent him a sympathetic smile and turned fully in his chair in front of all the production equipment, pushing his headphones down to rest around his neck.

“Hi, Hasun-ah. I don’t want to be too much of a bother, but.. Do you think you could go find Jaehee?”

The immediate question on the tip of his tongue was why, and Yijun spoke up to answer it without him even needing to say a word. “He threw another tantrum and stormed off. Daejin-hyung wants his part done by tonight, so we don’t have to listen to his shitty vocals any longer than we need to.”

Doyeon clicked his tongue in disapproval at Yijun’s choice of words, but didn’t move to say anything to disprove them. Daejin visibly bit back a smile but shook his head anyway, quashing the grin completely as he looked back to Hasun to hear his answer. The maknae nodded easily enough, and turned to leave—but then stopped abruptly and swung right back around on his heels when he realised he had no idea where the rapper was.

“Where would I find him, hyung?” 

That seemed to draw a blank out of them, both the producer and leader doing nothing but shrugging helplessly. It was Yijun that spoke up again, not looking particularly happy about the answer he had to give.

“Outside. Round the back, near the main road. Tell him to go home if he’s crying though, that sniffling would drive me crazy.”

Doyeon did speak up at that, reaching over from his place settled on Daejin’s tiny leather sofa to whack him lightly on the thigh. “Leave off, Yijun-ah. The only reason he stormed out in the first place was you. As usual.”

The vague directions had only been a half-help, but Hasun was sure he’d find Jaehee if he wandered outside long enough and turned back around, letting the door swing to a close behind him as he navigated back to the elevator. Evening had long since fallen, and he stared out at the city skylights in silence on the way down.

The November air was biting through his thin hoodie, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to be looking for too long as he took the first step outside the company building. Near the main road wasn’t very helpful, seeing as they were near about three, but he diligently fished his phone out of his pocket and fiddled with the flashlight until he had a more reliable source of light that wasn’t the fleeting car headlights passing by every few moments and began his walk, straining to hear anything that wasn’t the skid of wheels on tarmac or distant conversation from the nearby shops and bars and restaurants.

“Jaehee-hyung? Hyung!”

Another harsh gust of wind hit him right in the face, and Hasun was starting to get tired of looking for the rapper already. Maybe he could just say he couldn’t find him, and go back up to Daejin’s nice, warm, recording room. Yijun definitely wouldn’t mind—would probably celebrate, even. Doyeon would just sigh and accept it, and Daejin would wave it off and say it could always be recorded another day. The more he thought about it, the more pleasing of an idea it seemed to become.

“Hasunnie?”

Nevermind. He whipped around, curious as to where the voice had come from. It was definitely Jaehee, but he just couldn’t see him. That was, not until he looked down. Then he found the very person he was looking for crouched down on the gravel with his back against the wall and his phone in hand, open on a contact whose name he couldn’t read that well upside down. Jaehee was quick to shut it off and shove it back in his pocket as soon as he recognised Hasun anyway, standing back up and smiling the same thin smile he always did when everyone else knew that, really, he didn’t feel like smiling at all—the one that was stretched too wide, far too obviously fake for someone who used to be an actor. 

“What’s up? Did you want something?”

Hasun shifted on his feet, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. “Daejin-hyung wants you back up at the recording room. Says he wants your parts done by tonight.”

The smile almost immediately melted into a scowl, his figure slumping over and head lolling back as he groaned aloud, breath coming out in a visible cloud in the cold air. “No, God no. Not until Yijun-hyung’s gone. If he’s still there I’ll just do it tomorrow.”

The maknae’s brow furrowed, not really wanting to stand out in the cold and listen to the inevitable explanation of their latest fight but hearing the unspoken prod for him to ask about it and doing so anyway.

“What happened now?”

Jaehee slid back down against the wall, phone back in his hands as he passed it from palm to palm like it was a stress toy of sorts, absentmindedly chucking it up into the air and just barely catching it when it fell back down. “He was just—talking shit. As he normally does. I don’t know why it got to me so bad tonight, though, but it just.. Did. I needed a break.”

Hasun nodded empathetically, still hopping from foot to foot. The rapper’s head tilted back to lean against the surface behind him, his face scrunching up, and for a moment Hasun had the panicked thought he was going to cry. He felt out-of-touch and awkward with Jaehee on a normal day, but if he was crying then it would no doubt be thousands of times worse. Thankfully, the rapper only relaxed his face again and sighed, his phone having dropped to the concrete beneath his feet but making no move to pick it up. His next words were quiet, strained, and Hasun had to lean closer for him to be able to hear them at all over all the other noises assaulting his ears.

“I—I don’t really know what we’re all doing this for, to be honest. I don’t even know if we’ll even make it that big in the end.”

His words blew away with the force of the winter wind, but Hasun felt frozen still. He felt like he needed to say something, to attempt to comfort him even if he had the feeling anything he came up with would sound hollow, empty. He thought it over for a few long seconds before clearing his throat, forcing the words out when they felt like they were choking him up.

“It’ll be alright, hyung. We’ll—we’ll get through this.”

Hasun felt cheap, using Doyeon's words to him from four months ago on Jaehee now, but from the way it got his face to finally lighten up again after he let the words sink in for a few moments, got him to pick his phone up from the floor and slowly stand back up to join him in walking back into the company building, he figured they were as much of a comfort to Jaehee as they had been to him. Even if they both knew it was unfounded, standing on shaky legs and likely to crumble with the next disagreement, the next fight, it was good enough for now.

And that, in the moment, was all that mattered.

[grizzlybeartist]

So I have no idea if your request are closed but can you do a John ward x demon s/o

The story is up to you but if you can thanks there is barely any John ward fanfics lately

Again you don’t have to do it just ignore this question then

Stay safe, buy gold by!

Thank you for the request! I ended up quickly drawing something for this one bc I got a very vivid image in my head before I actually wrote the fic lol

Good Morning - John Ward x Demon!Reader

Word Count: 645

Tws: ask to tag

A quick fluffy morning scene, revolving around the difficulty of waking up a sleepy John.

Sun streamed in through the open window, washing over your exposed skin like a second blanket. The light shone through your eyelids, causing you to shift a bit and rub your eyes with your knuckles. The clock ticked softly on the wall, John’s steady breathing the only other sound breaking the silence. You yawned, stretching out your limbs and sighing with satisfaction as your joints popped. You rolled over, throwing an arm over the man still sleeping peacefully beside you. You squirmed until the blanket was mostly off of you, and threw a leg over him as well. Your tail wagged lazily behind you, as your hand trailed up and down John’s chest, and your eyes trailed to the clock hanging on the wall.

You sighed, the two of you had planned to meet Lisa for brunch, and it was only a couple hours until you needed to be there. Tucking your elbows underneath you so you could lean up, you looked to your peaceful lover, sprawled comfortably on his back. You hated to wake him, he always had trouble getting to sleep, and what sleep he got was usually restless. But, you knew he would be upset if you ended up being late, and decided that waking him was the lesser of two evils.

A gentle shake earned no response, your voice in his ear calling his name only making him stir for a moment, before he settled back into sleep. You persisted, patting his arm rapidly.

“C’mon, Johnny, time to get up. We got plans today,” You nearly whined, finally getting him to wake a little.

“Hm. M’rn’ng.” His voice was crackly with sleep, barely intelligible. You giggled, brushing his hair out of his still-closed eyes. You cupped his cheek in your palm, leaning over to peck each eyelid. The feeling drew a small chuckle out of him as he half-heartedly waved you off, rolling over on his side so his back was facing you, mumbling, “Few more minutes…”

You huff. “By minutes you mean hours. I know you’re tired, Johnny, but we gotta meet Lisa in a couple hours. Better we get up now.” This garnered no response, and a whine of his name only had him humming in acknowledgement before going back to ignoring you. Finally, you warned him, “Guess I’ll have to cheat a bit, then.”

The blanket was tugged down, and soft kisses trailed down his shoulder. Hands roamed every bit of him you could reach, slowly coaxing him awake. John shifted a bit under the blanket, practically melting into the sheets at the warmth of your palms against his skin. Without warning, the hand trailing down his back pinched his rear, and you blew a raspberry into the skin of his shoulder. John yelped, then fully cackled, squirming to get out of your grasp.

“Okay, okay, I’m up! Mean…” He was still laughing between words, rolling over to face you. “You never play fair, do you?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a demon if I did, would I?” You smiled down at him, finger-combing his messy hair into an approximation of its usual shape.

“I suppose that’s true.” A warm smile tugged at his features, softened by drowsiness. It wasn’t something he would have ever expected, falling in love with a demon and waking up next to them everyday, but he didn’t regret a second of it. His arms wrapped around you, his leg hooking over your hips, and he rolled the two of you over so you were squished underneath his larger frame. He mumbled, “Unlucky for you, I don’t play fair either.”

You giggled and squirmed, trying and failing to get free. John had already gotten himself comfortable, his face nestled against your chest and his eyes closed, a content smile on his face. You sighed affectionately. You had a feeling you might be late to brunch.